Chapter 10: Savior of Worlds?

Silence in the Grand Hall of Heavenly Clarity cracked like fragile ice under the incredulous outburst from the Lord of Feather Spirit Peak: "Preposterous! Has the Mirror of Heart's Trial finally lost its ancient wit?" He jabbed a finger towards the scrying mirror, its surface still shimmering with the image of Gu Qingxi and Xu Baozhu stepping nonchalantly out of the phantasm. His expression screamed disbelief.

"Doubt it? Venture within yourself." The voice of the Violet Bamboo Peak Master was a blade of frozen moonlight, yet his gaze remained locked on the figure in the mirror—erect, the clarity in her eyes like undisturbed glacial pools. So this is the girl Tianyu spoke of… the one whose talismans hummed with nascent mastery? For the ancient Mirror to favor her so blatantly… her Dao-heart foundation must be… extraordinary. An almost imperceptible curve touched his lips.

"Ahem… merely a figure of speech." The Feather Spirit Lord quickly demurred. The Mirror of Heart's Trial was the sacred artifact forged by the Founding Patriarch, its spirit tempered over millennia. His fear wasn't exposing hidden vices, but the horror of that ancient spirit revealing his private shame: visions of himself sprawled amidst countless casks of rare spirit wine, grinning like a besotted fool! His Peak Lord dignity would shatter!

The Mirror's name proclaimed its purpose: reflecting the heart's shadows, probing the soul's core. Its illusory worlds bloomed from the deepest seeds of desire. While prone to mischievous whims, its role as the first gate in the Disciple Trials, the 'Mirror of Mortal Dust,' had been flawless.

But this… this unabashed, almost servile shortcut? It had stupefied the entire assembly of seasoned cultivators.

"The Mirror's marked favor towards this maiden," the Sect Master finally spoke, his voice resonant yet grave, "does not arise without cause."

"An Unblemished Heart-Mind?" blurted the Lord of Drifting Clouds Peak, then immediately shook his head. If purity were the metric, it fit Xu Baozhu—her desires simple as sustenance, rewarded with the carefree life of a pampered Consort. But Gu Qingxi? Elevated to Empress in a breath, her passage a near mockery, dragging Baozhu effortlessly along! Such transcendent leniency defied mere innocence.

"The Mirror cherishes her deeply," mused the Lord of Piercing Peaks.

"Why?" demanded the Feather Spirit Lord.

The Sect Master remained silent. Within the Sect's deepest archives, guarded through generations, lay a whispered secret: the Mirror held an innate affinity for those who bore… ​Heaven's Weighty Debt. For such souls, its rules softened. But this soft? Lavished with praise then ushered out? This Gu Qingxi was barely fifteen or sixteen! What monumental karma could she carry? Could she have… saved the world? The thought was so wildly absurd the Sect Master almost choked on it. A girl? How?

Yet, this fleeting moment of self-derision brushed perilously close to a sliver of truth—the Apocalypse's twilight, where the Gu Clan burned like desperate fireflies against the encroaching dark. Gu Qingxi, her own young life extinguished to shield the final sparks of hope, those sparks that would ignite the cleansing flame ending the Long Night. A deed woven into the very fate threads of humanity! Such merit burned with a light unseen yet profound.

While Gu Qingxi strolled and Baozhu stumbled along like a cheerful passenger, others still battled the phantasms. Some drowned in gilded illusions, others trapped by their own inner phantoms. Flickers of light winked out in the mirror's depths as failures multiplied.

Only those souls tempered to unyielding stone could cling to their purpose, clawing through the seductive mires towards a faint, uncertain hope of escape.

The arrogant swordswoman, ripped back to reality from her sanctuary of martial supremacy, now scrambled through labyrinthine ruins, robes torn and eyes burning with humiliation.

Gu and Xu, however, stood before the second trial.

"Seven days. Ascend this peak." The overseeing disciple's voice was flint, gesturing towards a skeletal spire of sheer, windswept grey rock. Tendrils of mist choked its waist, and the rockface glistened slickly under the humid air. "No Qi, no artifacts. Violate this, you vanish."

Gu Qingxi tilted her head back, gaze narrowing as it scaled the monstrous edifice. Seven days? To scale this sky-gouging blade using mere flesh? This demanded endurance far beyond pain—it tested the primal instinct to survive when the well of power ran dry. The Immortal Path was paved with unforeseen peril; the untempered mortal frame could be the final anchor when Qi vanished.

"Seven days?!" Xu Baozhu's shriek pierced the air, seizing the immediate, visceral crisis: "What do we eat?!" The epicurean's terror was ruthlessly pragmatic.

"Find sustenance yourselves." The disciple's reply was glacial, final. He turned, robe swirling, and was gone.

Gu Qingxi understood—a crucible of will, and a forced lesson in wilderness survival.

"Don't worry, Qingxi!" Xu Baozhu grabbed her hand, her plump face ablaze with unexpected resolve. "I know berries! Some roots and flowers too! Stick with me, we won't starve!" Her eyes shone with fierce loyalty, a silent promise: I've got you.

Warmth bloomed in Gu Qingxi's chest. A smile curved her lips. "Alright."

The peak was merciless. Jagged outcrops tore at hands. Loose scree skittered treacherously underfoot. Within hours, sweat plastered Gu Qingxi's hair to her temples, her breath rasped loud and labored. The truth of the original Gu Qingxi's neglected form was laid bare—stunted, weakened by years of deprivation and neglect, stripped of Qi, it was frighteningly frail.

"Ooh! Here! Wild raspberries!" Baozhu's keen eyes spotted the scarlet treasure trove nestled in thorny shrubs. She dived in, efficiently knotting the hem of her outer robe into a makeshift pouch and stuffing it full. Supporting the gasping Gu Qingxi, her own sturdy frame navigating the slippery inclines with surprising agility, she forged onward.

"Hah… Huh…" Gu Qingxi braced herself against a weeping rockface, lungs straining like overworked bellows. Beads of sweat traced salty paths down her dusty skin.

"HeeheeHA!" Wuling Laozu's grating cackle echoed in her mind. "Little Stormbringer! Where's the mistress of ruinous talismans now? Wheezing like a dying wind-beast! Oh, how the mighty tremble!"

The laughter cut off as if guillotined.

Wuling Laozu: "…"

A silent roar of indignation boiled within his spectral core—Just wait, girl! When this Patriarch reclaims flesh and bone, you'll find yourself draped over my knee for a good, old-fashioned walloping! A dragon drowned by puddles! Ah, the injustice! The cosmic cruelty!