[ Tae Hua's POV ]
"That was... remarkably intense," I heard Lady Suan Ming sigh, her posture subtly relaxing against the thick timber of the pillar as if thoroughly pleased with the resilience of her defensive runes.
Our collective gaze locked onto the far end of the cavernous lobby where the air began to wildly shimmer. With a heavy, tectonic rumble, the solid wooden floorboards parted, and a grand, sweeping staircase constructed of ancient mahogany emerged from the shadows. It was the physical manifestation of the architecture's compliance—the trial had formally accepted our victory. Exchanging a tense, weary smile, we wasted no time and immediately hopped onto the steps, ascending into the next level of the shifting pavilion.
The moment our boots cleared the top landing, the atmosphere turned heavy, suffocatingly dense, and sharply cold.
"The Death March," Eun Jo muttered beside me, his voice dropping into a flat, grim whisper.
I was about to utter the exact same words; I simply gave him a sharp nod of confirmation. Every imperial candidate who had ever laid hands on the forbidden military archives knew of this floor. The Death March was the notorious acoustic crucible of the pavilion—a sound-wound floor where the air itself literally lacerated the physical body. It was a highly critical, unforgiving stage. The texts explicitly detailed how past trespassers had died within minutes, their internal organs ruptured and minds shattered by the raw, unnerving resonance of the invisible cadence.
Sensing the shift in the pressure, Eun Jo immediately stepped toward Weicheng's side, his hand clamping onto the boy's shoulder. "Cover your ears the exact microsecond you hear the first structural beat," he commanded urgently.
Lady Suan Ming moved with desperate velocity, gathering the four of us into a tight, circular formation to maximize the range of her spiritual protection. With her golden pin, she rapidly drew a pristine boundary line around our boots, chanting a dense, overlapping protection curse to buffer our senses against the impending assault.
Then, the march started off the beat.
A hollow, agonizingly deep BOOM reverberated through the very stones of the floorboards, though there was no visible drum in sight. The air pressure dropped instantly. Lady Suan Ming poured every ounce of her remaining spiritual reserves into the boundary, keeping the sound-waves from tearing our eardrums to shreds. The imperial legends dictated that the primordial march would only endure for six minutes—but within this space, seconds felt like winters.
A small, agonizing tingling sensation suddenly flared deep inside my ear canal. I glanced over and saw Eun Jo dropping heavily toward the floorboards, his teeth bared in a snarl as he fiercely covered his ears with both palms. We were barely three minutes into the march, and the frequency was rapidly escalating toward its ultimate climax. The sheer vibration was starting to severely irritate the fine vessels in my brain.
"I can't... hold it back any longer!" Lady Suan Ming gasped, her voice cracking as the invisible beat began to forcefully crack and penetrate the perimeter of her protection circle. She dropped onto her knees, her face contorting as she tried to hold the barrier together with sheer force of will.
"We will all die here if we remain passive," Weicheng muttered, his voice sounding oddly hollow over the roaring resonance.
Before shock could even register in my mind, Weicheng deliberately stepped out of the protection circle.
Despite the blinding, physical pain radiating through my skull, Eun Jo and I both shouted at the top of our lungs to stop him. Shock was an absolute understatement. I lunged forward to drag him back by his collar, but Weicheng's hand moved like a blur—he whipped around and hurled three throwing daggers directly at our feet, perfectly pinning the heavy fabrics of our imperial garments to the solid floorboards.
I aggressively reached down to rip the daggers free, but my muscles completely locked up; the sudden spike in the acoustic frequency rendered me utterly immobile, the noise pinning us like heavy gravity. We could only look on in absolute horror as he continued walking forward entirely alone.
Weicheng tightly closed his eyes, his head shaking violently against the pressure. "Stay inside the protection. I will go alone... a localized counter-attack," he called out, his voice straining as he forced his feet to move slowly against the current of the sound.
Because our balance was severely compromised by the internal vibration, none of us could mount a proper rescue.
I watched in disbelief as thin, crimson ribbons of blood began to seep from the edges of Weicheng's ears, tracing down his jawline. I couldn't believe his sheer, reckless idiocy. Yet, he kept walking slowly, deliberately matching the rhythm of his steps to the heavy, concussive beats of the march, trying to manually counter the physical frequency with his own momentum. The moment the cadence struck its highest, most piercing note, he clamped his hands over his ears, his body bending nearly double.
My mind was rapidly turning to total haywire under the stress.
Crawling his way toward the far eastern recess of the room, Weicheng struggled through the dust until his fingers clipped the edge of an ancient, lacquer-frame guqin resting upon a low stone pedestal. The moment the instrument landed off the shelf and onto his lap, he rolled backward, pulling himself into a rigid, cross-legged sitting posture.
The death march went completely wild, the sound-waves visibly distorting the air like heat haze. Weicheng scratched frantically at his own temples, his fingernails digging into his skin as he fought to maintain sanity.
"He will either die on the spot or become permanently insane!" Eun Jo screamed through the din, trying to wrench his uniform free from the pinned dagger. "Weicheng, stop!"
But to absolutely no avail—the boy had already decided his path. He lowered his bleeding fingers onto the silk strings, struggling to form a coherent response as he gripped his head in immense, visible pain.
He plucked the first string. The note was sour, instantly swallowed by the march. He struck another, his frame shuddering. Then, after several agonizing, discordant notes, I saw the corners of his bloody lips form into a small, defiant smile.
Suddenly, his hands went completely wild over the guqin.
He didn't play a traditional melody; he unleashed a furious, high-frequency torrent of notes that mathematically clashed with the architecture's rhythm. The heavy, concussive march began to noticeably subside, the invisible waves canceling each other out in mid-air. His fingertips were bleeding profusely now, staining the pristine silk strings with bright imperial crimson, but he didn't slow down.
With a final, shattering chord, the march came to an absolute end. The silence that followed was deafening.
Weicheng's torso listed to the side, his eyes rolling back as he prepared to collapse. Running from the opposite side of the room the moment the daggers' gravity loosened, Eun Jo and I caught his limp frame right before his head could impact the hard floor.
Eun Jo immediately took his sleeve, gently wiping the side of Weicheng's head, which was completely covered in dark blood flowing from his ear canals. His physical state was easily the worst among us, his fingers raw and split. Lady Suan Ming slid beside us, her pale fingers locking onto his wrist to check his pulse. After a tense moment, she exhaled. "His internal core has stabilized. His hearing will recover, but we must move."
The moment Weicheng regained his conscious focus, he quietly pulled away from our support. I silently watched his movements as he let out a sharp, weary sigh, reached into a small pouch at his waist to extract a few dried lavender petals, and aggressively crushed them into his open finger wounds. He grimaced, his jaw tightening. It must have been excruciatingly painful.
Why does he keep constantly pretending that he doesn't feel any pain? I thought, a cold knot forming in my chest. What kind of absolute masochist is this commoner? I heaved a heavy, troubled sigh, turning my eyes away as he bound his hands with fresh linen as if nothing extraordinary had just transpired.
"A feast and a buffet," Lady Suan Ming murmured as we reached the landing of the next floor, her words answering the silent questions forming in our minds.
I stared at the space, completely bewildered. I had thoroughly studied every translated scroll regarding this pavilion. "This specific level was never recorded as harmful or defensive within the imperial archives," I stated firmly.
"You must have simply missed this specific appendix in the records, Tae Hua," Eun Jo countered quietly, though his hand remained firmly on the hilt of his blade.
Before us sat a massive, beautifully carved mahogany table stretching across the center of the room, groaning under the weight of roasted meats, exotic fruits, and crystal decanters of aged northern wine. The aroma was intoxicating.
"It's fantastic..." Weicheng muttered, his eyes looking entirely hooked and glazed as he stepped forward, completely entranced. He reached out his hand, about to pluck a plump, purple grape from a silver tier.
TWANG!
Eun Jo flipped his wrist, launching a dagger that embedded itself directly into the wood inches from Weicheng's fingers. The force of the impact caused the grapes to scatter and roll across the floorboards. Weicheng blinked, looking back at Eun Jo in total, petulant confusion.
He bent down, about to retrieve the fallen fruit from the dirt, when Lady Suan Ming's authoritative voice halted him in his tracks. "Do not touch them. These are all but illusions."
I narrowed my eyes, shifting my gaze across the lavish display. Since our intuition had exposed the trap right away, we turned our backs on the table, preparing to hop off toward the next staircase—but the moment we took a step, the wooden steps before us disintegrated into fine grey dust.
"Illusions?" I asked, my sword shifting in my grip.
Suddenly, a choked gasp echoed behind us. Lady Suan Ming dropped heavily to her knees, her left hand fiercely clamping down on her right arm. The third fire flower petal had officially turned a burning, venomous red.
"Another petal," Weicheng noted, his voice tight with panic.
Acting on instinct to stabilize her, I stepped toward the mahogany table, seizing a crystal glass of clear water and a ceramic jar labeled for topical pain. I immediately knelt beside the seer, applying the cool salve to her blistered skin while Weicheng smoothly extracted an oil vial from his belt, offering her a steady draft of water. I glanced up at Eun Jo, who was standing completely still, his analytical eyes watching our actions with a bizarre, intense scrutiny. I simply shrugged at his hesitation.
His gaze remained locked on us for a fraction of a second before his expression hardened. "Get away from her!" he roared, lunging forward and forcefully pushing Weicheng and me away from the seer's side.
Holding out his dual daggers, he executed a sweeping strike through the air, violently knocking the ceramic jar and the crystal glass from our hands. The moment the items impacted the floor, the grand illusion shattered like broken glass. The lavish banquet hall vanished, and the surrounding environment instantly morphed into a dark, decaying, subterranean cemetery.
The items we had held were nothing but jagged stones and stagnant, poisonous swamp water.
I closed my eyes, trying to violently shake my head as a thick, cloying vapor filled my lungs. My mind was already heavily clouded, an icy numbness rapidly spreading through my extremities. When I forced my eyelids open again, the cemetery was gone.
Instead, the soft, lavender-scented silk curtains of an imperial chamber greeted my senses. I looked down, and my breath caught in my throat. Princess Xie'en was sitting right beside me, her beautiful, clear eyes looking directly into mine. A flawless, radiant smile spread from ear to ear across her face as she gently helped me sit up against the satin pillows.
I roamed my eyes around the room in absolute, paralyzed disbelief. This was her private sanctuary inside the inner palace—the exact chamber I used to run to whenever the weight of my imperial duties became too troubled to bear. The only place in the entire empire where I could sleep safely; the only eyes that had ever made me feel protected.
"I truly thought you would be sleeping on me forever, Tae Hua Gugu," she teased softly, her crystalline voice wrapping around my senses.
"Xie'en...?" I whispered, my voice trembling as I slowly held out my right hand, desperately trying to reach out and touch the soft curve of her face. How could I have ever forgotten such an angelic, perfect face? She was still so young, exactly as she was before the darkness took her.
But before my fingertips could even brush her skin, her entire form violently crumbled into grey ashes, blowing away in an phantom wind.
The scenery warped instantly. I was suddenly standing outside the towering gates of the Northern Palace, the freezing winter air biting at my throat. A heavy imperial carriage was waiting on the cobblestones, and I watched in horror as Xie'en opened the silk curtains and descended the steps, looking back at me as I stood in the dirt, tears streaming down my face. This was the exact historical moment of her exile—the final time I would ever see her alive.
No... I can't lose her like this again, my mind screamed. Not a second time.
"No!" I shouted into the void, rushing across the courtyard. I lunged forward and fiercely held her hand, the fabric of her sleeve cold against my palm. "Don't leave me here. Do not go."
She offered me a sad, remarkably soothing smile, her eyes tracking far past my shoulder to gaze at the majestic gates of the Feng Palace one final time. This was the exact loop of my worst nightmares, the haunting scene that had kept my soul awake for years.
"I won't be staying within these walls anymore, Tae Hua," she murmured softly.
"Then let me follow you through the northern border!" I pleaded nonchalantly, entirely consumed by the memory. "I shall abandon the court. I will keep you safe from the assassins!"
"Are you truly willing to give everything up for me?" her soothing voice echoed. She turned back to face me, her small hand sliding down to hold my wrist, slowly patting it in an up-and-down manner. It was the exact gesture she always performed when we were children, the specific rhythm she used to calm my raging nerves whenever my father's wrath grew too heavy.
Without a single drop of hesitation, I answered, "I am. I will give it all up."
Xie'en smiled, but her eyes suddenly turned entirely hollow, cold, and dead. Her hand stopped its rhythmic motion, and she took three massive steps back, completely breaking my grip. From the shadows of the courtyard, ghostly imperial guards forcefully materialized, their iron gauntlets clamping onto my shoulders to drag me away as she held out a small item—the jade-tipped hairpin I had personally gifted her before the exile. She dropped it into the dirt.
"Why... why are you giving it back to me?" I choked out, fighting against the guards' hold in total, broken confusion.
"Because I do not deserve it," her voice turned cold, echoing from a great distance. "You need to stop looking for me, Tae Hua. Stop crying for a ghost and move forward, right now."
The carriage doors slammed shut, and the horses took off into the white storm. I stood in the middle of the desolate road, entirely dumbfounded, my chest heaving against a pain that had remained entirely unchanged after several long years.
"Tae Hua! Get over the hallucinations! It is not real!"
A sharp, violent cough ripped through my throat as a secondary layer of voices began violently mixing inside my head. The fog in my brain suddenly cleared like a struck mirror. No... I knew with absolute, tactical certainty that Xie'en would never have uttered those cruel words to me. She would have never told me to abandon her memory.
These were nothing but the defensive hallucinations of the Night Pavilion, actively consuming my deepest regrets.
I forced my eyes to snap open. The beautiful courtyard vanished, and the three faces of my companions greeted my vision as I lay flat on the cold, dusty floorboards of the cemetery level. I looked over at the mahogany table, realizing the grand feast and crystal decanters were nothing but jagged stones, moss, and skeletal remains.
"You and Weicheng both took items from the table and suffered severe psychological hallucinations as a consequence," Lady Suan Ming instructed smoothly, reaching down to assist me as I struggled to stand upright. "The architecture's illusions will either eat your living soul alive, or they will permanently trap your consciousness inside the imaginary world you have created."
I shook my head violently, trying to clear the lingering shadows from my mind. My fingers instinctively reached beneath my primary headpiece, checking the hidden compartment where I kept a small, tarnished silver hairpin—the real one Xie'en had smuggled back to me through a trusted servant before her demise. I let out a long, heavy sigh, my chest tight.
"I am remarkably glad you did not consume too much precious time under duress," Eun Jo noted quietly, his dark eyes looking far away toward the horizon as the cemetery walls began to dissolve, exposing a final, narrow spiral staircase.
The last floor before the absolute top.