Mirror Dream Tree

V.4.117. Spiritual Heart Stage

Tianci steps out of his room, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath his feet. The morning mist curls through the forest, and beyond it, the faint hum of the ripples like a dream. He rises through it, his robes whispering in the wind, and lands atop the tallest tree—gazing out at the valley below.

There, coiling through the mountains like a wound of darkness, lies the , its mass blotting out the horizon. It breathes like a storm, endless and hollow, and blocks the path to the —his last hope for ascension.

He watches in silence, the weight of years pressing against his chest.

Now is the time. Either face that abomination for a or wither quietly, waiting for death next year.

Two presences descend behind him, soft and steady. His disciples.

“Master…” Meikou’s voice trembles faintly, her spirit power suppressed out of respect.

Tianci doesn’t answer. His gaze remains on the writhing mist. he thinks.

He lifts his hands, removing two space rings—thin circles of light glinting between his fingers—and turns toward them.

“Take these,” he says, his voice calm, almost detached. “There are cultivation resources for both of you.”

The rings leave his control, vanishing into theirs.

“Jinhou,” Tianci continues, “I know you’re ambitious. But don’t be. When I’m gone, there will be no one to protect you.”

A pause.

“Yes, Master,” Jinhou answers, tone flat, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Tianci sighs inwardly.

He turns to Meikou instead. “If you truly wish to honour me, then listen—do not sell the Soul Well’s location until both of you reach the . The Black Tower can wait.”

Meikou’s eyes soften. “Master… nothing will happen to you. You’ll succeed—you’ll become a Demigod. I believe it.”

Tianci’s expression shifts, a faint warmth crossing his face. A disciple who still cares. He glances once more at Jinhou, who doesn’t even hide his boredom, staring at the black mist instead.

“Disciple,” he says with a small smile, “then wait for me to return from my breakthrough.”

“Master,” Jinhou interrupts suddenly, “the weird—it’s fighting someone.”

Tianci blinks and turns back toward the valley. The Weird’s enormous body twists and surges, obscuring his view, but through the mist, he —two forces clashing within that darkness.

Within the mountain, months before this moment, had opened its eyes and mouth, becoming a true

He had seized it, letting the cursed power flood through his immortal body cultivation, pushing him to the

Now, his body teeters on the edge of transcendence. One last step remains—one more battle, one more surge of life and death.

“Advancing to the next realm,” Lin Yu murmurs within the darkness of the mountain, “may be the key to breaking through the Demigod Stage.”

He opens his eyes. Across the dimly glowing blood lake, watches him. Her silver hair clings to her shoulders, her eyes shadowed by worry.

“How far are you,” she asks quietly, “from becoming a Demigod?”

The question hangs heavy in the crimson air. The lake’s glow has dimmed—its once-limitless energy now a shallow whisper of power. Both of them can feel it. The that has sustained their cultivation for years is fading, and when it’s gone, the will descend into the mountain.

They have no escape.

For years, they’ve cultivated within this sealed place, pushing their strength to the brink.

Now, both stand from the Demigod Stage—but that step looms higher than every other combined. The gap between and is a gulf that has swallowed countless prodigies before them.

Amelie’s eyes lowered. Her has only reached , while Lin Yu, who began after her, has already reached .

The difference in their pace is a difference of worlds.

Lin Yu’s voice breaks the silence.

“Very near.”

Amelie rises from the lake, droplets of blood rolling off her body like fading light. “Then I won’t cultivate further,” she says, her tone firm despite her exhaustion. “You use what’s left of the blood lake’s power. Break through to the Demigod Stage.”

Lin Yu studies her for a moment. There is no hesitation in her words. No trace of envy. Only determination.

He nods. “All right.”

Breaking through with his will be enough. Once he becomes a Demigod, even the outside will no longer be a threat.

He closes his eyes again, sinking into deep stillness—and far away, within the boundless thread that ties his souls, touches his.

The two halves of his being merge in thought.

Together, they begin to of the

This step is critical—the final stage before the mortal cultivation path ends and the begins. Both Lin Yu and Jingxuan have reached this same boundary, separated by space but linked in essence.

Jingxuan has already comprehended the and to , while his —Fire, Wind, Water, and Earth—have all reached the

He can combine them, merge the polarities of creation and destruction, and —but only if his cultivation catches up to his understanding.

And that is what restrains them both.

In the Divine Domain, Since the battle with Wenrui, the has begun.

The heavens have turned against the world, and the swarm like a tide.

The Great Zhou Dynasty, once stretching across ten thousand miles, has fallen back to its heart. The still stands—its lands encased in the Divine Domain’s barrier, pulsing faintly like the last heartbeat of a dying world.

Beyond its glow, the rest of the empire lies in ruin—cities drowned in mist, plains swallowed by shadows, and mountains crawling with Weirds that whisper the hymns of extinction.

In this silence between life and collapse, and continue their shared deduction. Their spirits, though separated by worlds, move in perfect rhythm—each breath, each flicker of thought, mirrored through the thread that binds them.

Within their , their shine like stars—burning, pulsing, alive. Around those cores swirl the fragments of their deduction, a thousand lines of law weaving into one truth.

Their result is the same.

The next realm is not to , but to

To turn the into a , with the as its origin—its beating heart.

Such a transformation would grant them . A cultivator whose Spirit Space became a world would command the laws inside it, wielding authority equal to the heavens themselves within that boundary.

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But the cost—

The was astronomical.

It would demand more resources for every step, every breath, every thread of cultivation. The time required would stretch beyond centuries, even for a genius of their level.

With the same time and effort, he could rise —gaining not only combat strength but also , the thing Jingxuan valued above all else.

Immortality was his obsession. His reason for existence.

So he does not reject the deduction. He simply it.

After the , he will not create a world—but a , mirroring the Extraordinary Heart of the .

This , however, will not be made of blood or energy. It will be forged from , the two purest essences of existence.

They continue their deduction—beyond the limits of mortal cultivation—pushing into the threshold of

To break through, a Law must reach —the point where its structure begins to imitate the framework of creation itself.

Then, the must merge with the .

The three——must intertwine with that Law to form the .

A nascent world. A seed of creation.

But Jingxuan will not fully form it. Not yet.

He will leave it , a , waiting to awaken only when he chooses to create his own world.

Both he and Lin Yu begin their next step: the

Jingxuan forms first the —Earth, Fire, Water, Wind.

Each hums with its own pulse, its own will. Earth beats steadily, fire burns furiously, water flows softly, wind whispers freely.

Then, he merges them—four hearts fusing into one, their colours twisting into a single

Next, he forges two more hearts—one woven from the , radiant and still; the other born from the , dark and eternal.

Now seven hearts beat within his spirit space, orbiting his Spirit Core like suns around a central star.

He raises his hand, and all seven begin to turn—drawn together by a force beyond element or law.

And above them all, as though whispered by something ancient within his soul, a concept begins to unfold—

The

He guides the seven hearts into alignment beneath it, merging their rhythm into one.

And as they pulse in unison, his spirit space trembles—

not collapsing, not breaking,

…but

While Jingxuan forms his own , deep beneath the blood-red mountain, sits cross-legged within the fading glow of the

The energy within it thins like a dying breath, but his focus sharpens, unbroken.

Before him floats the —now reshaped, refined—its once grotesque form gleaming faintly with runes of black and silver.

He channels his comprehension of the , fusing it into the heart, turning it into his .

Then, he does the same with the , tracing the runes with his will, and it too transforms, its structure changing into a heart pulsing with the rhythm of malevolence and decay.

Next comes the —a cold, weightless darkness taking shape, becoming his

And finally, he forms a , vibrant and luminous, balancing the others with quiet resilience.

Four hearts now pulse in his spirit space—Death, Curse, Shadow, and Life—their laws resonating with power that shakes his soul. Combining them, he can break through to the .

But Lin Yu’s goal isn’t the same as others. His seeks —a full cycle of law and balance, the foundation for a higher existence.

Even after entering the , his still refuses to cross the final boundary into Demigod.

The last barrier holds strong, the flesh yet unbroken by divinity. And the , nearly depleted, won’t be enough to push him through.

Still, he doesn’t falter. With the he already commands—each at the —his combat power now exceeds even a Demigod’s. He can face the and survive.

But survival isn’t enough. He needs more.

With the last traces of energy from the blood lake, he decides to

At first, he intends to comprehend the It aligns with his path, a natural extension of his mastery over Death and Life.

But then he pauses.

His , back in the , would likely choose the same. Both share the same consciousness, the same thought patterns—the same logic.

Their comprehension of the would mirror each other, offering little gain when they finally reunite.

Two identical mirrors never expand each other’s reflection.

He sits in silence, thinking. What law, if grasped, would help him build toward the ?

And then the answer surfaces—dark and unsettling.

The Weirds born from it are creatures that defy death itself. They cannot truly die unless their is refined, their essence eternal in its corruption.

If immortality is to be understood, it must be confronted where it is most distorted—within the Weird.

He opens his eyes, their glow turning faintly violet.

And so he begins.

He sinks into meditation, diving into the trace of Weird Energy lingering within his body, dissecting its rhythm, its breath, its terrifying logic.

Around him, the blood lake churns with whispers, as though the world itself recoils from what he is learning.

Far away, in the , sits within a collapsing hall, seven revolving above his head.

Outside, the fortress walls tremble under the siege of countless Weird creatures, their roars shaking the sky. Soldiers scream, fire burns, and the storm of madness approaches.

Jingxuan doesn’t move. He has reached the —

to merge the seven hearts under the

Outside the fortress, fights beneath the blood-red sky. The ground trembles with the weight of countless Weirds, their screams echoing through the blackened air. Her opponent—an enormous —surges toward her, its surface glistening like molten flesh.

Though the creature’s rank is high, she meets it head-on. Her has already reached the , and her power flows like a frozen storm. With each swing of her sword, shards of frost spiral through the air, forming a blizzard of cutting hail.

The storm tears through the Weird, shredding it into dozens of writhing pieces—but even as they fall, the red sludge gathers again, reforming its body, smaller but renewed.

She steadies her breath, eyes narrowing.

Its resilience intrigues her.

The Blood Slime’s regeneration, its refusal to die—there is a law behind it. Perhaps the , or something darker, is tied to the itself. In this endless war, such an ability would be invaluable.

Her mind races, and she decides to push further. Using a at her current exhaustion is reckless, but this battle has already forced her beyond the point of restraint.

Weird energy stirs around her, responding to her will as she dodges a whip-like tendril that lashes out from the slime’s body, cracking the earth.

“Ice Goddess’s Gaze.”

Her whisper blooms into command. Behind her, twin eyes of glacial blue open in the air, unblinking and divine.

A beam of frozen light cuts forward. The air itself freezes solid, and in a heartbeat, the Blood Slime becomes a statue of scarlet ice, frozen mid-movement, its writhing form locked in silence.

She raises her sword.

“Ice Sword Light.”

Her blade flashes once, then splits into hundreds of spectral arcs. The frozen creature shatters under the storm of light—breaking apart, scattering like ruby glass.

When the last fragment falls, only a remains, faintly pulsing within the ice dust.

She moves swiftly, grabs it, and retreats toward the walls.

All around her, the battle rages on. Weirds surge endlessly from the horizon under the , their bodies blotting out the light.

Her breath is ragged, her , but she keeps moving. To stop is to die.

She lands atop the fortress wall, boots striking blood-soaked stone, and turns back to the battlefield below.

The Weirds keep coming—

a tide of madness that never ends.

Beside her, the descends from the air, his armour cracked and his aura flickering. He has just slain another high-level Weird, and the exhaustion in his eyes mirrors hers.

“Princess,” he says, catching his breath, “when will the commander come out of retreat?”

Li Niyue doesn’t answer immediately. She looks down at the warlocks and soldiers below, the defenders of the Silver Mountain Fort.

They fight knowing there is no victory—

cultivating the even as the Weirds devour them, pushing their limits to protect a world already half-fallen.

They die in droves, yet none retreat.

Because there is .

The Weirds do not spare the surrendered.

They devour everything that breathes.

She looks toward the horizon, where heaven and earth quake under a crimson sky.

“He’s breaking through the ,” she says quietly. “The fortress can fall—but his retreat must not be disturbed.”

The deputy commander’s jaw tightens. His heart rebels at her words, but reason silences him.

“…Yes, Princess.”

He knows she’s right. If succeeds, his strength will no longer protect only this fortress—it will secure the . One man’s breakthrough could shift the balance of a dying empire.

So he turns and flies back into the storm, joining the other warlocks in their desperate stand.

Days bleed together in endless battle. The sky never clears, the smell of ash never fades.

Then, one morning, the air itself changes.

The pressure that falls upon the fortress isn’t from within the divine domain. It comes from —vast, oppressive, divine.

Every living being feels it.

The warlocks on the wall freeze mid-spell. The soldiers clutch their weapons and stop breathing. Even the Weirds themselves halt their slaughter, trembling as if in worship.

From the horizon, something approaches.

A , walking through the air as though the sky were solid ground. Its body is immense and headless, its grotesquely embedded in its belly. Each step distorts the world, rippling through reality like waves across a broken mirror.

A

The battlefield falls silent. The Weird creatures kneel, their claws pressed to the ground, their black blood steaming in reverence.

The deputy commander feels his spirit shudder.

“Princess,” he says, voice shaking, “we have to wake the commander.”

Li Niyue nods, her expression pale but resolute. “We can’t stop that thing. I’ll go to him myself.”

She turns and takes flight, vanishing into the fortress halls.

The deputy commander grips his sword and looks back just in time to see the stop walking. Its trunk flares, and a low rumble fills the air, like thunder grinding against bone.

Then, without warning, it

A flash—silver, sharp, divine—streaks across the sky.

A slams into the giant’s side, and the explosion that follows swallows the western horizon. The shockwave tears across the battlefield, flattening armies, shaking the fortress to its core.

Stone walls crumble. Dust rains from the heavens.

Li Niyue rushes back to the parapet, her breath catching as the light fades.

In the distance, amid the smoke and ruin, two titans clash—one dark and headless, the other blazing with silver flame.

The deputy commander stares, wide-eyed, his voice a whisper lost to the storm.

“Who… who is it?”

And in the sky, the answer burns too bright to name.