The further Yanwei moved through the maze, the more he realized how deliberately deceptive it was.
The corridors twisted and looped back on themselves, and the countless doors seemed to mock him with their endless sameness. Sometimes he would step through a doorway only to find himself back where he started, the scenery repeating with maddening precision. Other times, the door would open into a narrow hallway so cramped he had to squeeze sideways to pass through it, brushing against walls thick with dust and the scent of mold.
Once, he pushed open a particularly ornate door, only to be greeted by a room filled with dense, white mist. He stepped inside carefully, his instincts sharp, but after several minutes of wandering blind, he realized it was just another trick of the place—an illusion designed to disorient, not attack.
When he found his way out, he clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Bullshit trial," Yanwei muttered under his breath, brushing the lingering dampness from his sleeves. "Trying to tire me out instead of killing me. How boring."
Another door led him into a seemingly endless staircase that spiraled downward. After descending for what felt like hours, he reached the bottom… only to discover another door, identical to the one he entered from, leading right back to where he had been.
He stood still for a long moment, staring at the doorway, a dry laugh escaping him.
"This place really wants me to lose my mind, huh?"
Yet despite the tricks, despite the maze's attempt to grind away his patience, Yanwei wasn't rattled.
If anything, he was amused.
Challenges like these didn't touch him the way they might others. His mind was tempered like his body — steady, enduring, stubborn. It wasn't the first time he had walked through some ancient, broken ruin full of traps and illusions, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
He adjusted the bloodied cloak draped over his shoulder and continued without hesitation, weaving through the false doors and misleading paths with a growing sense of rhythm. Like a hunter stalking prey, he began to spot the subtle hints — the almost imperceptible air currents, the faint vibrations in the ground — that distinguished a real passage from an illusion.
Yet even so, the labyrinth wasn't without its toll.
By the time Yanwei kicked open his tenth or maybe twelfth door — he had lost count — a fine layer of fatigue was settling into his bones again. It wasn't the heavy, suffocating weariness of battle, but a quieter, nagging exhaustion. His injuries from before, dulled by rest and medicine, had started to protest once more under the strain of constant movement.
Still, he showed no signs of stopping.
Instead, Yanwei leaned casually against the frame of yet another door, taking a moment to stretch his stiff shoulder. His black eyes gleamed with a lazy sort of sharpness, as if daring the realm itself to throw something new at him.
He smirked.
"If this is what passes for a trial," he murmured, "then they must think pretty highly of walking in circles."
Without waiting for an answer, he pushed forward again, deeper into the heart of the maze, his steps steady, unfazed.
He knew the true prize wasn't something found behind a random door. If there was anything worth finding here, it would be at the center — the core — the place that none of these distractions could truly hide.
And Yanwei had no intention of leaving empty-handed.
The endless doors blurred together as Yanwei advanced, but then—
He stopped.
His sharp instincts, honed by countless battles and narrow escapes, prickled at the back of his neck.
This door felt different.
Unlike the others, where the air was stale or weighed down by dust and mold, here, a faint breeze brushed against his skin, carrying with it a barely-there scent — something crisp, ancient, almost metallic. The ground beneath his boots, too, felt firmer, more grounded, as if what lay beyond wasn't some illusion conjured to waste his time.
Yanwei narrowed his eyes slightly, stepping closer.
He placed his palm lightly against the door's cold surface.
There was a low hum, almost imperceptible, vibrating beneath the stone — a steady thrum that resonated through his fingertips, as if something on the other side was… alive.
Or maybe calling to him.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, letting the feeling settle in his bones.
A lesser man might have hesitated. Might have thought better of charging into the unknown while still injured.
But Yanwei only chuckled quietly.
"Finally found something real," he muttered.
Without another word, he shoved the door open and stepped through.
The air changed immediately.
Cooler. Sharper. It wrapped around him like a cloak, tingling against his skin.
Ahead, the path didn't split or spiral — it stretched forward in a straight line, framed by stone walls etched with faint, faded carvings. Unlike the maze outside, this corridor seemed almost… respectful. No tricks. No illusions.
Only silence. Heavy, expectant.
Yanwei's grin widened as he moved deeper inside, each step echoing softly off the stone.
He didn't know exactly what lay at the end of this path.
But he could feel it.
The weight of something old. Something valuable.
Something that had been waiting for someone like him.
The end of the corridor loomed ahead — a tall, arched doorway without a door, just an open mouth leading into darkness.
Yanwei's steps slowed, his senses sharp, but he didn't hesitate. He crossed the threshold without a second thought.
Inside, the air was still.
It wasn't the stale suffocation of an abandoned ruin, nor the damp mold of a forgotten dungeon. Here, the stillness felt almost… sacred. As if the room itself was holding its breath.
The chamber was small, barely large enough to hold more than a handful of people. Its walls were lined with intricate carvings, though most had eroded with time, their meanings lost.
At the very center, resting atop a simple stone pedestal, were two objects.
A mirror and a book.
The mirror was no larger than his outstretched hand, framed in a material that looked neither like gold nor silver — it shimmered faintly, as if refusing to be pinned down to any one form. Its surface was so clear it almost seemed deeper than mere reflection, like peering into a still pond that hid something far beneath.
Next to it lay a thin book.
The cover was worn and unadorned, save for a faint symbol pressed into the leather — a twisting, spiral pattern that seemed to shift when viewed out of the corner of one's eye.
Yanwei approached, his steps measured but without fear.
He studied the two items for a moment, his expression unreadable.
No grand traps sprung forth.
No guardians rose to defend the prize.
It was almost disappointing.