I was a mineral prospector in Chengdu, who transmigrated into the body of a mortal sword immortal.

The moment the Azure Lotus Sword was drawn, there was no earth-shattering clang, only a clear, resonant tremor like a dragon's roar. The sword radiated a pure azure light, not dazzling, yet seemingly capable of piercing through all illusion. The several blades of light that rushed towards it melted silently upon contact with the azure light, like ice and snow meeting the sun. The black figure wielding the sword paused slightly, a look of astonishment appearing for the first time in his cold eyes. Li Bai's hand gripped the sword firmly; he could feel the throbbing, almost blood-related, emanating from the hilt. He raised his head, his gaze passing over the dissipating blades, and returned to the figure on the dragon throne. This time, his eyes held no struggle, no fear, only a calm as clear as an autumn lake, and deep within that lake, an unwavering resolve. The sword was drawn. The path lay beneath his feet.

"How dare you!"

"Take him down!"

More shouts came from all directions.

It wasn't the voice of Emperor Xuanzong—the high and mighty emperor stood silently, like a cold golden statue, overlooking the inevitable suppression. The voices came from the palace warriors who had already rushed forward, from the more shadowy figures lurking in the shadows on both sides, and even from the pillars, the dome, and the air itself in the hall. This illusion, this world embodied by the concept of "imperial power," came fully alive and roared in anger when it felt its core rules being challenged.

Dozens of dark figures moved.

They no longer attacked from just the sides, but from every angle and direction. Some sprang from the ground, blades aimed straight for his throat; others swooped down from mid-air, blades tearing through the air; some even "floated" out of the jade ground beneath Li Bai's feet, their blades flashing upwards. The sound of blades slicing through the air was sharp and piercing, like the simultaneous hissing of countless venomous snakes. The chilling killing intent, solidified into a tangible force, instantly raised goosebumps on Li Bai's exposed skin, and his nostrils were filled with the icy, metallic taste of blood when he breathed.

But Li Bai did not move.

He just stood there, holding his sword.

The Azure Lotus Sword trembled slightly, the azure light at its tip growing ever brighter, like a star being conceived. The warmth emanating from the hilt intensified, spreading along his arm, across his shoulder, into his chest, and finally settling at his heart. There, something beat—not his heart, but something deeper. It was the "Sword Heart" he had forged in the "Tribulation of Love," a heart that had come to understand that "love" was not a burden but a source of power, a heart that was now clearer and more resolute.

At this moment, this heart is shining.

It is not light visible to the naked eye, but a pure light of will at the level of the soul.

He remembered many things.

He recalled the cold dagger piercing his chest on the streets of Chengdu in his past life, and the deep sorrow hidden in Yang Xiaohuan's eyes. He recalled the heart-wrenching emotion and longing that crossed a thousand years when he first met Yang Yuhuan in Chengdu after being reborn as Li Bai. He recalled the awe and yearning he felt when facing the ancient sword immortal's legacy in the Shu Mountain Secret Realm. He recalled the relief and determination he felt just now during the "Tribulation of Love," realizing that it was about "bearing its weight" rather than "severing the threads of love."

All these memories, all the emotions, all the experiences, at this moment, have transformed into a force.

A force that says, "My fate is in my own hands, not in the hands of heaven."

A force that refuses to bow to power.

A force that says, "Even if millions of people try to stop me, I will still go."

This power doesn't require fancy moves or complicated techniques.

It only needs one outlet.

A purest and most direct outlet.

Li Bai made a move.

He slowly raised his right hand, the one holding the sword, the movement slow and deliberate, as if lifting a mountain. The tip of the Azure Lotus Sword sliced ​​through the air, leaving a faint blue trail that lingered for a long time, like ink written with light. The sword made no whistling sound, not even a whooshing sound, eerily quiet.

Then, he thrust out his sword.

An ordinary, unremarkable sword strike.

There were no tricky angles, no incredibly fast thrusts, no violent slashes. It was just the simplest, most basic move that any child learning swordsmanship could do—a straight thrust.

The sword tip points forward.

The target was not any approaching shadow, not Emperor Xuanzong on the dragon throne, nor even any specific part of this hall.

The goal is ahead.

It is this space itself.

It is the intangible yet omnipresent "rules" that constitute this "illusion of imperial power".

The moment the sword was thrust out, time seemed to slow down.

Li Bai could clearly see the point of blue light at the tip of the sword, like a drop of water falling into a calm lake, rippling outwards. The ripples spread very slowly, so slowly that he could see the subtle halo around the edge of each ripple. The first ripple touched the nearest dark figure—the warrior who emerged from the ground, his blade sweeping upwards.

The instant of contact.

No sound.

There was no explosion.

There was no dazzling light.

The dark figure vanished silently, inch by inch, starting from the tip of the knife, like a pencil mark gently erased by an eraser. It wasn't shattered, nor dissipated, but rather "erased"—as if it had never existed. Then, the ripples continued to spread, touching a second, a third, a fourth dark figure… all the dark figures that lunged within three feet of Li Bai were wiped clean the moment they touched the blue ripples.

The knives in their hands, their black clothes, their cold eyes, the murderous aura they exuded—everything seemed as if it had never existed.

The hall fell silent for a moment.

All that remained was Li Bai's figure thrusting forward with his sword, and the slowly spreading blue ripples.

On the dragon throne, Emperor Xuanzong's figure swayed slightly.

It wasn't a retreat, but rather a kind of...instability. Like a reflection in water shattered by a pebble, a brief distortion appeared. For the first time, something else appeared in his usually cold and indifferent eyes—not anger, not astonishment, but a deeper, almost "confusion" emotion. It was as if he couldn't understand why this insignificant subject, who should have been kneeling at his feet, could have stabbed him with such a sword.

Why is it that this sword strike can touch upon the most fundamental rules of this illusion?

"You..." Emperor Xuanzong began, his voice no longer authoritative, but instead carrying a barely perceptible hesitation, "Do you know what you are fighting against?"

Li Bai did not answer.

He didn't even look at Emperor Xuanzong.

His gaze fell on the tip of the sword, and on the air in front of him, which was tinged with blue ripples.

What is he fighting against?

He was fighting against "imperial power".

But it's not just the phantom in the bright yellow dragon robe on the dragon throne.

He was fighting against the instinctive awe of the "Son of Heaven" ingrained in the bones of every Chinese person for thousands of years. He was fighting against the absolute order of "all land under heaven belongs to the king, and all people within the realm are his subjects." He was fighting against the ethical shackles of "if the king commands a subject to die, the subject must die." He was fighting against the invisible yet resilient net woven from fear, interests, and rules.

How many people have been trapped by this net?

How many talented poets have been trapped, forced to write arrogant lines like "Laughing loudly, I go out the door; how can we be mere commoners?", only to ultimately bow to reality? How many patriots with lofty ideals have been trapped, their ambitions to save the world crushed into dust in the game of power? How many women like Yang Guifei have been trapped, becoming political pawns, withering away in the deep palace?

This net had once trapped him as well.

In his past life, Li Bai, an ordinary geological engineer, was powerless to resist the ruthless Liu Han Group and the clutches of those who colluded with power. He could only watch helplessly as a dagger pierced his chest. Reborn, facing the torrent of history and Yang Guifei's destined fate of entering the palace, Li Bai felt despair and could only pin his hopes on cultivating immortality and seeking a sword.

But now, things are different.

He got it.

To fight this web, we don't need more brute force or more sophisticated calculations.

All that's needed is a heart that refuses to kneel.

A "sword heart" so clear it can reflect one's true nature, so firm it can break free of shackles.

"I am fighting against something that shouldn't exist," Li Bai finally spoke, his voice as calm as stating a fact.

The moment the words fell.

The blue ripples spread to their limit.

It touched the bronze crane lamps on both sides of the main hall.

"Click."

A faint, almost inaudible cracking sound.

The first crane lantern, starting from its beak, developed a fine crack. The crack quickly spread, crawling across the entire lantern like a spiderweb, and then—crash! The entire lantern shattered into countless points of light. These points of light were not fragments, but pure, golden dust, which drifted and disappeared into the air.

Then came the second lamp, the third lamp, the fourth lamp...

One crane lantern after another shattered silently and turned into dust under the touch of the blue ripples.

The light in the main hall began to dim.

It wasn't a sudden darkness, but a slow, gradual dimming. Like the setting sun, its afterglow slowly swallowed by the night. The light of the eternal lamps faded, the sun, moon, and star patterns on the dome began to blur, and the flowing golden lines, like kites with broken strings, lost their vitality, becoming dim and stiff.

Emperor Xuanzong, seated on the dragon throne, swayed even more violently.

The bright yellow dragon robe he wore began to fade, like a painting washed with water, the vibrant gold turning pale. The golden dragon embroidered on the robe, its lifelike scales, majestic eyes, and agile body, began to blur and melt, like a wax figure exposed to high heat. His face, once so clear and full of imperial majesty, also began to blur, his features as if veiled by a layer of mist, indistinct.

"I..." he tried to speak, but his voice was broken and intermittent, like a poorly received broadcast, "I am... the Son of Heaven... mandated by Heaven..."

"Heavens?" Li Bai shook his head slightly, the tip of his sword moving forward a fraction of an inch.

Just this one point.

The blue ripples suddenly became bright.

Like a silent shockwave, it spread outwards from the tip of the sword.

This time, it won't be slow.

It's as fast as lightning.

Wherever the ripples passed, everything crumbled.

The crimson pillar, with golden dragons coiled around its shaft, emitted a silent lament. Then, starting from its base, the entire pillar transformed into a shower of red wood chips, which in turn disintegrated into finer dust in the air. The sun, moon, and star patterns on the dome were wiped away, piece by piece, as if by an invisible hand, revealing the void of darkness beneath. The jade floor beneath their feet, the warm, smooth jade bricks, shattered, warped, and then turned to dust, one by one.

The entire hall resembled a painting thrown into fire, rapidly burning, curling, and turning to ashes from the edges.

And the center of the fire was precisely where Li Bai's sword was aimed.

Dragon throne.

That dragon throne, made entirely of gold and white jade, symbolizing supreme power.

The moment the blue ripples touched the dragon throne.

"Buzz—"

A low, almost inaudible hum came from deep within the dragon throne.

That wasn't the sound emanating from the dragon throne, but rather the final lament of this illusionary realm when its core rules were triggered.

The dragon throne began to melt.

It didn't shatter, it melted.

The hard gold, like butter heated to the touch, began to soften and flow, dripping down the jade steps one by one. The white jade, on the other hand, crumbled and scattered like a sandcastle blown away by the wind. The nine dragons carved on the dragon throne, those once majestic dragons, now struggled and twisted like insects trapped in amber, before turning into flowing molten gold and flying jade dust along with the throne.

Emperor Xuanzong stood in front of the dragon throne.

His body had become so transparent that it resembled a shadow.

Through him, one could see the collapsing palace behind him, and the flying wood chips, glitter, gold syrup, and jade fragments. His face was devoid of features, leaving only a blurry human silhouette. Yet he still tried to stand, trying to maintain that "emperor's" posture.

"I..." His last words were as faint as a candle flickering in the wind, "No...it's impossible..."

then.

He disappeared.

It is neither broken nor dissipated.

Instead, it disappeared completely, cleanly, and without a trace, as if it had never existed.

With his disappearance, the collapse of the entire hall accelerated suddenly.

The dome collapsed completely, revealing a pure, bottomless darkness behind it. The walls tilted inward, scattering into countless points of light. The ground shattered completely, the jade bricks beneath Li Bai's feet vanished, and he stood in nothingness. The last glimmer of light—the embers of the crane lanterns that had not yet completely extinguished—finally went out completely.

dark.

Absolute, pure darkness.

There was no light, no sound, no touch, and no smell.

Li Bai stood in the darkness, still holding the Green Lotus Sword in his hand.

The bluish light emanating from the sword became the only source of light in the darkness. The light was soft and not dazzling, yet it was enough to illuminate an area three feet around him. He looked down at the sword; its blade remained as clear as autumn water, reflecting his own face—a face that was now eerily calm, but with an unprecedented clarity in its eyes.

He sensed some changes.

Not physically—his body was still the same as before, without injury or fatigue.

It's spiritual.

It's about sword intent.

Previously, his sword intent was like a newly forged sword—sharp, but still somewhat raw and restless. That was an inevitable "superficiality" he experienced after rapidly advancing his realm in the Shu Mountain Secret Realm using modern knowledge and special opportunities. Although he had become more resolute after being tempered by the "Tribulation of Love," he was still ultimately lacking a bit of refinement.

Now, that last bit of perfection has been achieved.

Just as he thrust out that sword, using the purest "sword heart" to confront the illusion of "imperial power," and finally shattered it completely, something clicked back into place deep within his soul.

His sword intent had become refined.

Like refined steel that has been repeatedly hammered and quenched, eventually all impurities are removed, leaving it pure, resilient, and understated. It no longer needs deliberate stimulation or complex techniques; it has become a part of him, as natural as breathing and as instinctive as a heartbeat.

His mind stirred slightly.

The Azure Lotus Sword trembled slightly.

At the tip of the sword, a point of azure light quietly emerged, then slowly lengthened, transforming into a three-foot-long, incredibly solid azure sword beam. The sword beam emitted no outward aura, no whistling sound tearing through the air; it simply hung there silently, like a solidified beam of light. But Li Bai knew that the power of this sword beam was at least thirty percent stronger than when he had fully activated the Azure Lotus Sword before.

Moreover, it consumes less energy.

So small as to be almost negligible.

"This is... 'Sword Heart Clarity'?" Li Bai murmured to himself.

He wasn't quite sure what this realm was called in the cultivation system, but he could feel that his understanding of the "sword" and his comprehension of the "way of the sword" had reached a completely new level. This wasn't an improvement in cultivation level—his total spiritual power was still at the peak of the early Foundation Establishment stage, not yet having broken through to the middle stage. This was a qualitative change, a comprehension of the "Dao."

Just like the same piece of iron, which can only be made into a kitchen knife in the hands of an ordinary blacksmith, but can be forged into a peerless sword in the hands of a master swordsmith.

He is now like a piece of iron that has been reforged by the master swordsmith.

He raised his head and looked into the surrounding darkness.

The darkness remained pure and endless.

But in this darkness, he sensed a kind of "emptiness." Not an empty void, but a transitional emptiness after the tribulation had been overcome, before the next test was about to begin. He knew that the "power tribulation" had been passed. He had severed his instinctive fear of "power," and severed that potential possibility—that reliance on the illusion that "if I could gain power, I could change everything."

Power is never the fundamental solution to problems.

The essence lies in the hand that wields the sword and the heart behind that hand.

If the heart is righteous, the sword will naturally be sharp.

If the mind is clear, the road will lead by itself.

The moment he realized this.

Something changed in the darkness ahead.

A tiny glimmer of light appeared from the far distance.

The light was dim, almost invisible, like the last oil lamp about to go out in a desolate wilderness at night. But as the light appeared, an indescribable aura began to permeate this void.

That aura...

Li Bai frowned.

It is not authority, not oppression, not temptation.

Instead... it's sadness.

An extreme, heavy, and soul-crushing sorrow.

Like the cries of millions compressed into a silent ripple, like countless desperate gazes condensed into a tangible chill, like battlefields flowing with blood, wastelands strewn with starving corpses, ruins of broken homes and dead... all images of human suffering were distilled into this breath, slowly and irresistibly spreading over.

Li Bai's grip on the sword tightened slightly.

The azure light on the Azure Lotus Sword seemed to sense something, dimming slightly, and a slight, uneasy tremor emanated from the blade.

The point of light is getting closer.

No, it's not that the light is getting closer, but that the darkness is "fading away," like a curtain being slowly drawn back to reveal the true existence behind it.

A door.

The third door.

The bronze door was larger, older, and heavier than the previous two.

There are no carved golden dragons or the character "帝" (Emperor) on the door panels.

What's etched is the image.

It's a mountain of corpses.

It is a sea of ​​blood.

Broken weapons are stuck in the scorched earth, tattered flags flutter in the wind, piles of white bones lie beneath collapsed city walls, the emaciated corpses of children lie in the desolate fields, the numb despair on the faces of displaced people, the silent weeping of a mother holding her dead baby, the empty eyes of an old man gazing at his ruined home...

Each scene is so lifelike, it's as if those tragic events were happening right before your eyes.

Each engraving is deep into the bone, as if it were cast with blood and tears.

Something was seeping out from under the door.

It's not light.

It is... a dark red mist.

The fog was thin, yet it carried an overwhelming, pungent stench of rust and decay—the smell of dried blood, the stench of rotting corpses. Within the fog, there seemed to be faint, almost inaudible sounds, like countless people simultaneously sobbing, groaning, and wailing. These sounds coalesced into a soul-wrenching lament, causing Li Bai's chest to tighten and making it difficult to breathe.

He stood in front of the door.

The sword light of the Azure Lotus Sword had automatically retracted back into the sword body.

The sword hummed softly, not with the clear, resonant sound of high fighting spirit, but rather with a kind of... wary, low hum. Like a wild beast encountering its natural enemy, it instinctively lowers its body, issuing a warning.

Li Bai looked at the door.

He knew what it was.

The third tribulation.

"The Calamity of All Living Beings".

The previous two tribulations tested one's attachment to and transcendence of personal emotions, the other's reverence for and resistance to worldly authority. This tribulation, however, tests something far grander and more profound.

It is a person's choice when faced with the suffering of all living beings.

Those who wield power should know how to use it.

It is about how those who know the tragedies of history should face those inevitable tragedies.

Should we save one person or ten thousand?

Should we follow the will of Heaven, or defy it and change our fate?

Is it better to focus on one's own well-being or to help others?

Every problem is as heavy as Mount Tai.

Every choice could lead to utter ruin.

Li Bai took a deep breath.

The stench of rust and decay intensified in his nostrils, almost making him nauseous. The mournful cries around him grew clearer, like countless needles piercing his eardrums. The massive bronze gate before him, and the scenes of mountains of corpses and seas of blood, seemed to come alive in the dim light, writhing, flowing, and wailing.

He knew he had to go in.

This is the final calamity.

Only by passing this test can one truly gain the approval of the Azure Lotus Sword, truly solidify the foundation of the Golden Core Path, and truly possess the power to change things.

but……

He may never be able to leave this door.

Or, when you emerge from that state, you are no longer the same person you once were.

He looked down at the Azure Lotus Sword in his hand.

The sword remained clear, reflecting his own eyes. In those eyes, there was solemnity and vigilance, but no retreat.

He thought of Yang Xiaohuan.

I think of Yang Yuhuan.

He recalled the coldness of the dagger in his chest in his past life, and the vow he made in Mount Shu in this life.

He wants to protect those he loves.

He wanted to eliminate all injustice.

The "calamity of the common people" behind this door is probably the most extreme and cruel manifestation of the word "injustice".

"call……"

He slowly exhaled a breath of stale air.

Then, take a step.

They walked toward the massive bronze gate, which was depicted as a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood, and exuded an aura of despair.