Time passed slowly in the void. Bai Ling’s trembling finally subsided, her breathing falling into a steady rhythm.

“Brother Han… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes lowered and filled with shame. “I’ve been a burden to you this entire time.”

“People must experience setbacks to grow,” Han Lie replied, his voice calm and steady. He reached out and patted her head. “If you do not wish to waste the help I’ve given you, then absorb this lesson. Let it forge you into something stronger.”

Bai Ling was young—barely into her twenties—and inexperienced in the brutality of the cultivation world. Han Lie did not judge her harshly. In his eyes, the fact that she had withstood the dual pressure of the Sun Moon Sect and his own scrutiny for years without collapsing was already commendable.

Had it been Han Lie at her age, he might not have fared as well. He remembered his own youth in the Heavenly Void Sect’s servant quarters—nights spent sobbing under thin blankets, nursing bruises from older disciples, contemplating ending it all but ultimately choosing to live out of sheer cowardice.

“Mhm. I will, Brother Han!” Bai Ling nodded vigorously, a spark of determination returning to her eyes.

After a few days of recovery, the void began to fracture. Reality shifted, and Han Lie, Bai Ling, and Xiao Zi were deposited onto a vast, windswept plain of endless green grass.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Others materialized nearby. First came the Iron-Masked Asura, Dongfang Xuehong, his aura sharp and bloody. Close behind him appeared Zhao Batian and Li Qingyu. Finally, Xiao Yuruo and Elder Huang Hai arrived.

The other three Golden Core cultivators were nowhere to be seen. It seemed the trial of the heart had claimed them.

Seven humans and one cat stood on the plain.

“Heh. As expected of the three great sects,” Dongfang Xuehong sneered, his gaze sweeping over the survivors. “It seems we are the final opponents.”

Zhao Batian shrugged, his eyes locking onto Han Lie with disdain. “If nothing unexpected happens, this is the end. It’s a pity Brother Han hasn’t broken through to the Nascent Soul stage yet. You might find yourself… lacking.”

“Holy Son Zhao seems very concerned about This Senior,” Han Lie drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Could it be you have fallen for me?”

Zhao Batian froze.

“Please, contain yourself,” Han Lie continued, waving a hand dismissively. “This Senior is male and strictly prefers women. I have no interest in men.”

“Pfft—” Xiao Yuruo and Bai Ling choked, turning away to hide their laughter.

Zhao Batian’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. His mouth twitched as he fought back a stream of curses. “You—”

DOOOOONG—

A bell toll, ancient and resonant, shook the very foundations of the world.

The sky split open.

【Seekers of the Path, you have earned the right to inherit my legacy. But one final trial remains.】

The aged voice boomed from everywhere and nowhere.

【My legacy belongs only to the exceptional. Prove yourselves.】

From the horizon, a massive staircase manifested. It rose at a steep forty-five-degree angle, piercing the clouds and extending infinitely into the azure sky. It was a bridge to the heavens, built of white jade and ancient pressure.

【The Final Trial: The Stairway to Heaven.】

【Ascend to the summit to claim my life’s work. The path consists of nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine steps. The difficulty will rise exponentially every thousand steps…】

Han Lie narrowed his eyes. This was not a test of raw combat power. It was a crucible for the will. Talent was common; an unbreakable spirit was rare.

According to the voice, simply crossing the five-thousandth step would grant a guaranteed reward. But the true prize—the inheritance itself—awaited only at the peak. If no one reached the top, the ruins would vanish back into the void, lost to time once more.

The group stood in silence, sizing up the monumental task.

“Haha! Since you are all so polite, I will take the lead!” Dongfang Xuehong laughed. He pushed off the ground, exploding forward like a cannonball. In a blink, he had already ascended several hundred steps.

Zhao Batian scoffed, glancing at Han Lie and Xiao Yuruo. “Let’s go.” He launched himself after the Asura.

“Fairy Yuruo, we should move,” Han Lie said, his blood heating up.

The summit called to him. This was the moment. The chance to shed the label of ‘ant’ and forge a Nascent Soul worthy of legends.

“Mhm!”

Han Lie, Bai Ling, Xiao Zi, Xiao Yuruo, and Huang Hai stepped onto the white jade stairs.

The first three thousand steps were trivial. They moved with ease, the pressure negligible for cultivators of their caliber. But as they crossed the three-thousand mark, a weight settled on their shoulders—a subtle, persistent force that dragged at their souls.

They pressed on.

Within the burn of a single incense stick, the entire group crossed the five-thousandth step.

BOOM.

The moment Han Lie’s foot landed on step 5,001, the pressure spiked violently. It was no longer just weight; it was a crushing spiritual force, demanding they kneel. Han Lie’s spine straightened, his expression hardening as he marched forward. The others gritted their teeth, their pace slowing but never stopping.

Half an hour later.

Dongfang Xuehong, still in the lead, placed his boot on the six-thousandth step.

His face drained of color. Cold sweat instantly beaded on his forehead. He looked up at the endless stairs winding into the clouds, and for the first time, a look of profound despair crossed the Asura’s face. The staircase felt infinite; his strength felt minuscule.

But he roared, forcing his leg to move, and continued the climb.

Shortly after, Han Lie’s group reached the six-thousand mark.

“Are you holding up?” Han Lie asked, glancing back at Bai Ling.

“I… I can still go on!” Bai Ling gasped, her face pale but determined.

“Sister Bai Ling, if you can’t handle it, just go down,” Zhao Batian called out from ahead, his voice dripping with false concern. “It’s no shame for the weak to admit defeat.”

With a sneer, Zhao Batian accelerated, his competitive spirit flaring as he surged past Dongfang Xuehong toward the seven-thousandth step. Li Qingyu silently followed.

“Young Pavilion Master,” Elder Huang Hai wheezed, coming to a halt. He looked at the looming path ahead and shook his head. “This old man cannot reach the seven-thousandth step. I will stop here.”

He sighed deeply. “My Nascent Soul was built on resources and time, not talent. This is my limit. Go on without me. I will not be a burden.”

Xiao Yuruo nodded solemnly. “Take care, Elder Huang.”

The group thinned, leaving only the relentless to face the heavens.

Han Lie looked up. The pressure was already immense, crushing down like a physical mountain, but his eyes burned with a fire that refused to be extinguished.

“Let’s go,” he commanded.

They climbed.