Chapter 604 - 375: Personality

The air was thick with the suffocating stench of stale copper and ancient lime.

Far removed from the grand, ruined amphitheater where Qian Yunxi had cleaved her way through hordes of winged abominations, an endless flight of narrow, cracked stone steps climbed vertically into a suffocating, lightless void.

Each stair was carved from cold, gray bedrock, slick with condensation that dripped from unseen arches overhead.

And there, Qing Yan was climbing the staircase.

His boots struck the damp stone with an uneven, scraping rhythm, the fabric of his robes hung loose and frayed, the hem soaked in a foul, greasy liquid that was neither water nor common mud.

His breathing was rapid, shallow, and rattling deep in his throat like dry peas shaken in a tin cup.

Although he doesn’t possess the bloodline of the Six Winged Divine Emperor, he was still taken to take the first test and he managed to complete it.

It seemed that the ancient mechanisms of the imperial trial ground did not simply cast out those who lacked the imperial bloodline.

While Qian Yunxi had been led into a trial of purification, a royal crucible where she slew the defiled corpses of her ancestors to refine the celestial purity of her golden wings, Qing Yan had been thrust into a labyrinth of mirrors and rusted iron.

He had not faced rotting seraphim, but instead had faced illusions of his own inadequacies, shadow-phantoms forged from his deepest shames, and an iron golem that struck with the crushing weight of a collapsing mountain.

He had crawled through the trial on broken fingers and battered ribs, surviving not through divine authority, but through a frantic, desperate tenacity that verged on madness.

He had completed it, dragging his bruised frame across the threshold of the trial chamber, only to be deposited at the base of this solitary, winding ascent.

But strangely, as he climbed, Qing Yan was scratching his arms.

Skritch. Skritch. Skritch.

His fingernails, torn down to the quick and caked with dried black grime, dragged violently across the pale skin of his left forearm.

He dug his nails in deep, tearing through the silk of his torn sleeve, scoring long, angry red welts that welled with beads of dark crimson.

Yet his face did not register the physical pain. His eyes—wide, bloodshot, and twitching with frantic, uncoordinated tremors—stared blankly at the wet steps beneath his boots.

"Shut up," he hissed under his breath, his voice cracking into a jagged, dry rasp. "Just... shut up. I told you, you should wait..."

He took another step, his left knee buckling slightly before his spine jerked rigid.

Suddenly, the frantic cadence of his stride halted completely.

The wild panic in his eyes collapsed, instantly replaced by a flat, freezing, and reptilian stillness.

His head tilted at a sharp, unnatural angle, his chin pressing into his collarbone as his lips twisted into a condescending, venomous sneer.

When he spoke again, the timbre of his voice had changed completely.

It was no longer the strained, gentle tone of the polite academy scholar; it was a low, guttural murmur that vibrated with ancient, aristocratic disdain.

"Wait? For how long, you worthless runt? You crawl behind her like a stray hound begging for scraps of bone tossed from her golden carriage. It’s embarrassing! If you wanted her, just take her by force! You are strong enough!"

Qing Yan’s jaw clenched so violently that the enamel of his molars ground together with a sickening crunch.

His right hand reached across his chest, his fingers wrapping around his own throat, digging in so hard that his windpipe wheezed!

"No!" Qing Yan gasped, his original voice returning in a frantic, tearful wail that echoed off the damp stone walls. "You don’t understand! I want to be with Yunxi... I need to see her! Don’t you dare touch her! If you harm a single hair on her head, I will shatter our dantian! I will drag us both to oblivion!"

"Foolish, sentimental filth," the second voice hissed back through his own throat, his eyelids fluttering rapidly as the cold persona reasserted its dominion over his vocal cords.

His right arm dropped, while his left hand resumed its frantic, compulsive clawing at his flesh, tearing through fresh scabs until warm blood slicked his knuckles.

"What makes you think she will ever look at you? To her, you are nothing. A companion of convenience. An insect walking in the shadow of Shen Haoran!"

The name struck his fractured psyche like a branding iron!

"SHEN HAORAN!"

Qing Yan screamed the name into the dark, a shriek of pure, frothing agony that made his vision swim in violent flashes of red and black!

His face contorted, one half weeping tears of pathetic terror while the other half twisted into a vicious, bared-teeth snarl of homicidal jealousy.

The two warring wills raged within the fragile walls of his sea of consciousness like caged beasts tearing at the bars.

He clawed at his chest, tearing the fabric of his robes away from his sternum, gasping for breath as if he were drowning in a sea of thick oil.

He was losing his grip. The name brought back unpleasant memory. That moment when that man kissed Qian Yunxi was something he will never forget in this life.

And every time he thought of that, it was like he was losing himself.

One moment he was the timid, infatuated youth who dreamed of standing beside the pure goddess of the Spirit Hall; the next, he was an ancient, bitter man who couldn’t care less about her feelings and just wanted to play with her body.

"Wait... you have to wait..." Qing Yan muttered, his voice dropping back into a trembling, pitiful cadence, his fingers twitching as he dragged his right boot onto the next stair. "She will see... she will understand... I just want to see Yunxi..."

He stumbled upward, step after step, muttering fragmented sentences, whispering oaths of slaughter and tears of devotion to the empty air, dragging his bleeding arms through the gloom.

Then, after a few moments, the damp, narrow stairwell terminated onto a vast, open terrace of pristine white jade that hovered above a sea of rolling, golden mist.

The air here was no longer choked with the foul reek of decay; it was clean, cool, and hummed with the rich, sacred aroma of ancient sandalwood and burning incense.

And as he reached the top of the staircase, he spotted Qian Yunxi standing in front of a massive stone door.

The colossal door was easily fifty meters tall, carved from a single slab of archaic Sun Gold Stone that radiated a gentle, eternal warmth.

Its surface was carved with soaring reliefs of the six-winged solar court—armies of seraphim bowing before a radiant, unblemished dawn.

Qian Yunxi, standing before it, looked breathtaking.

Her white battle tunic was unblemished, the grotesque gore of the earlier trial completely incinerated by her sacred fire.

Six magnificent wings of blinding, pristine white gold light extended from her shoulder blades, fanning out in a majestic halo that painted the mist in shades of warm amber.

Her golden blonde hair cascaded down her back like liquid moonlight, and her pale, refined profile was turned toward the carvings, her hand resting flat against the ancient stone.

The baptism of the earlier trial had elevated the density of her aura; she radiated an untouchable, imperial grace that made the surrounding space bow in reverence.

The instant his eyes fell upon her back, the violent, chaotic storm raging within Qing Yan’s skull ceased.

The frantic clawing stopped. The sneering, demonic whispers inside his sea of consciousness were shoved violently into the dark, locked beneath a facade of absolute devotion.

His eyes lit up, and he seemed to return to his usual self.

The twitching in his jaw smoothed away as he wiped the blood from his fingers against the inner lining of his sleeve, straightened his battered posture, and forced a soft, warm, and relieved smile onto his pale face.

He crossed the jade terrace, his strides purposeful and gentle, and walked towards her.

"Sister Yunxi!" Qing Yan called out, his voice smooth, steady, and filled with genuine, tender warmth.

Qian Yunxi turned around, her six wings fluttering softly as she lowered her hand from the stone door.

Qing Yan stopped three paces away, maintaining a respectful, chivalrous distance as he clasped his hands before his chest, bowing his head slightly, his eyes shining with open admiration and relief.

"I am so glad that you are safe," he said softly, his chest heaving with a faint, trembling sigh that sounded entirely natural. "When that blinding rift tore us apart, my heart seized with dread. I was cast into a terrible trial ground, and every second I fought, all I could think about was whether you were facing some powerful enemy all alone. But seeing you now... I’m relieved. You passed the trial with flying colors, didn’t you? Congratulations, sister Yunxi."

Qian Yunxi stared at him.

Her bright, blue eyes bored into his face, observing the gentle smile, the respectful bow, and the warm concern in his voice.

She was not blind, nor was she a fool.

She noticed the ragged tears along his sleeves, the fresh, bleeding gouges on his forearms that did not look like wounds inflicted by enemy blades, but rather the frantic scratches of a man tearing at his own skin.

She noticed the slight, unnatural tremor in his fingers, and the faint, unsettling glaze lurking beneath the surface of his smiling pupils.

Moreover, his relentless, cloying presence, always popping up at the exact right moment, always heaping praise upon her, always hovering like an overeager moth circling a flame, was beginning to grate heavily against her patience.

Ever since they were sucked by that spatial tear, she had wanted nothing more than quiet focus so she could listen for the sub-system’s recall signal, or find a way back to the academy, back to the Falling Blossom Villa, and back to the steady, unshakeable presence of Shen Haoran.

Dealing with Qing Yan’s continuous, suffocating attentiveness was becoming an exhausting chore.

But her kind heart would never allow her to express it.

Qian Yunxi was, at her core, a holy maiden nurtured by the righteous teachings of the Spirit Hall.

She could not bring herself to kick away someone who had ostensibly thrown himself into a dimensional tear just to reach for her hand.

Cruelty and cold dismissal were foreign to her nature; even when dealing with someone she found grating, her innate compassion and noble upbringing demanded grace.

So she smiled at him and nodded.

"I am unhurt, student Qing Yan," she replied, her voice polite, cool, and measured, keeping a distinct, impenetrable wall of courtesy between them. "The trial was arduous, but the spirits of the past granted me passage. I am glad to see that you managed to conquer your own trial and arrive here in one piece. We must remain vigilant; this inheritance site does not give up its secrets easily."

Qing Yan’s smile widened, a faint, possessive spark flickering in the depths of his eyes before he quickly masked it with another humble nod.

"As long as I can walk beside you, I fear no danger."

Qian Yunxi’s cheek twitched.

RUMBLE.

Before the conversation could linger any longer, the colossal portal of Sun Gold Stone groaned.

The ground shuddered with ancient, rhythmic majesty as the two colossal slabs parted down the center!

A blast of pure, divine energy—smelling of distilled solar nectar, ancient ozone, and primordial light—billowed out from the threshold, scattering the golden mist across the terrace in grand, rolling waves!

Beyond the gateway lay a vast, soaring throne room that seemed to stretch into the clouds, lined with twelve monumental statues of six-winged seraphim holding burning lances of gold, leading toward a towering dais crowned with an empty throne of solid celestial amber.

The trial was beckoning its true heir.

Without hesitation, Qian Yunxi walked inside.

Her six wings flared with a crisp, triumphant chime, lifting her boots an inch off the jade floor as she glided through the golden portal, her eyes locked onto the distant throne with unyielding focus.

Behind her, Qing Yan’s warm smile instantly collapsed into a cold, hollow sneer.

His fingers twitched against his bleeding wrist, his right eye trembling with that familiar, frantic madness, and Qing Yan followed her into the light of the imperial sanctum.