The mist swallowed Tai Bàoli whole the moment he crossed the threshold of the archway.
It wasn't ordinary mountain fog. The vapor was thick, grey, and bitterly cold, smelling of ancient stone, ozone, and dried blood. With every inch he ventured downward along the winding, narrow cliff path, the outside world faded into absolute silence. The howling mountain winds vanished, replaced by an eerie, suffocating stillness that clung to his skin like damp lead.
Tai Bàoli set his ironwood broom down against the sheer cliff wall, freeing his hands. His blood-red eyes narrowed, scanning the gloom. The stone path descended sharply into the chasm, skirting the edge of a bottomless drop.
With every step he took, the atmospheric pressure mounted exponentially. It didn't feel like gravity alone; it felt as if the very air had congealed into solid iron, actively resisting his presence.
*Crack.*
The solid granite beneath Tai Bàoli's boots fractured under his weight. He grunted, his knees bending slightly as an invisible hand seemed to press down directly upon his skull and shoulders.
"Just heavy air," Tai Bàoli muttered through gritted teeth. "I have over forty points of augmented strength. A bit of pressure won't stop me."
Reflexively, he circulated his strength.
*Whoosh!*
A shroud of pitch-black, shadow-like energy erupted across his skin as he engaged *Light Devouring Phantom Body*. Simultaneously, the dusky, jade-tinted earthen sheen of *Basilisk Hide* layered over his muscles, turning his broad frame into a fortress of hardened sinew. His total Strength surged to an astronomical 42.5, while his Dexterity skyrocketed past 32.
With a fierce grin, Tai Bàoli pushed off the ground, intending to flicker down the staircase using the weightless void steps of his movement technique.
*BANG!*
The moment his foot left the stone, the oppressive aura flared with violent intensity. It did not push against his physical muscles from the outside; it bypassed his flesh entirely, crashing straight into his meridians and rattling his soul like a struck bell.
The void energy cloaking his body shattered instantly, scattering into wisps of useless darkness. The sheer shockwave forced Tai Bàoli hard onto one knee, the impact driving his kneecap several inches into the solid stone path.
"Gah!"
A sharp breath tore from his throat. His chest heaved, sweat pouring down his face and instantly chilling in the frigid mist. His muscles were rigid, his bones were intact, and his *Basilisk Hide* remained unblemished—yet he felt as though his very spirit was being crushed flat against an anvil.
Brute physical power was completely useless here.
*Master wasn't exaggerating,* Tai Bàoli thought, his teeth grinding together so hard his jaw ached. *This isn't physical weight. This is Dao intent... the sheer force of Master's will left behind in this ravine.*
As if sensing his struggle, the heavy grey fog around him began to twist and churn. The shadows along the jagged gorge walls lengthened, writhing like living serpents before coalescing into translucent, shifting silhouettes.
The air grew freezing cold, and a strange ringing filled Tai Bàoli's ears.
Suddenly, he wasn't standing in the majestic inner sect of the Hidden Mountain Tiger Sect anymore.
In his mind's eye, the mist resolved into the dilapidated, drafty shed of his childhood. The chilling winter wind howled through the wide cracks in the rotten wooden planks. He could feel the familiar, gnawing ache in his stomach—the slow, hollow agony of starvation.
Before him stood the fat, sneering figure of the village chief, tossing a dry, mold-covered crust of barley bread into the mud at his feet.
*"Pick it up and eat, boy,"* the chief's voice echoed, dripping with casual disdain. *"You're born to haul grain and plow soil until your back breaks. Don't dream of martial arts. A peasant without a clan is nothing more than an ox in human skin. Accept your place in the dirt."*
Tai Bàoli's heart clenched. The phantom cold of those winter nights felt so vivid, so real, that his breath plumed in white clouds before him. The crushing pressure in the ravine grew heavier, pressing down on his spine, trying to force his forehead into the stone.
*Accept your place in the dirt...*
Before he could push the vision away, the scene shattered and reformed.
The arrogant, handsome face of Seung Duang materialized in the fog, looking down his nose with sneering superiority during their tournament bout.
*"Do you really think a lucky commoner can stand beside true nobility?"* Seung Duang mocked, his voice echoing from every corner of the abyss. *"You clawed your way into the sect, yet you have no bloodline, no legacy, and no backing. Everything you build will crumble the moment a true clan decides to step on you."*
The pressure redoubled. Tai Bàoli's vision blurred. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, beating erratically like a trapped bird.
Then came the darkness.
The air smelled of damp earth and rotting copper. From the swirling mist emerged the towering, horrifying silhouette of the thousand-legged centipede from the subterranean cave. Its glowing, venomous mandibles clicked violently in the dark; its massive, armored carapace loomed over him like an inescapable mountain of death. He could feel the phantom sensation of his ribs snapping beneath its crushing weight, the searing agony of its venom burning through his blood, and the primal, suffocating terror of facing an opponent so overwhelming that survival seemed like an impossible fantasy.
*You are weak. You are a peasant. You got lucky.*
The lingering Dao intent of the abyss acted like an unsparing mirror, reflecting every doubt, every past humiliation, and every brush with death straight back into his soul. It demanded that he bow. It demanded that he acknowledge his insignificance before the vast, uncaring heaven and earth.
Tai Bàoli's forehead dipped closer to the fractured stone. The pressure was suffocating, threatening to extinguish the flame of his consciousness entirely.
*Why do I fight?*
The question Great Elder Yi had asked him echoed clearly through the chaos of his mind.
*Why did I endure the shed? Why did I swing that hammer until my hands bled? Why did I stand before that centipede when my body was screaming to run?*
Tai Bàoli's trembling fingers slowly curled into fists. The rough stone bit into his palms, the sharp pain grounding his fractured thoughts.
*I didn't endure all of that just to kneel in a ditch.*
He remembered the bitter cold of his youth—not with shame, but with an unyielding, burning defiance. He had survived the freezing winters when lesser men would have frozen to death. He had shattered Seung Duang's arrogant pride on the tournament platform with his own two hands. He had stood before a Palace Creation Dao Beast, bleeding from every pore, and smashed its skull to pieces because he refused to lie down and die.
He wasn't an ox. He wasn't a noble's stepping stone.
He was Tai Bàoli.
*Master said a Dao Heart is conviction,* he thought, a spark of crimson light igniting deep within his eyes. *It isn't about muscle. It isn't about bloodlines or clans. It's about deciding that no matter what the world throws at you, you will never yield.*
Tai Bàoli stopped trying to force his Qi outward. He stopped trying to use his raw physical attributes to push back against the atmosphere.
Instead, he drew his focus entirely inward.
He aligned his thoughts, his breathing, and his will into a single, unbreakable point. He accepted his humble past, accepted his fear, and forged them into an unbending pillar of resolve within his Dantian.
*I am the one who decides my limits.*
*Crack!*
Tai Bàoli's broad shoulders squared. Slowly, agonizingly, he began to push himself up from the ground.
The phantom illusions of the village chief, Seung Duang, and the monstrous centipede wavered violently. As Tai Bàoli rose, their mocking voices turned into muffled whispers before dissolving entirely into the swirling grey mist.
His boots planted firmly on the shattered stone. His spine straightened. He stood at his full six-foot-four height, his jet-black hair whipping in the sudden spiritual turbulence, his blood-red eyes blazing like twin furnaces in the gloom.
The crushing weight of the Dao intent did not disappear. It still pressed against him with the force of an entire mountain range. But it was no longer crushing him into the earth.
By anchoring his will and refusing to break, his chaotic Qi—which Great Elder Yi had compared to a headless sparrow—suddenly found its center. It stopped swirling aimlessly through his meridians. Instead, it sank deep into the core of his Dantian, circulating in a tight, disciplined vortex that resonated in harmony with his physical body.
A profound sense of clarity washed over him. The barrier guarding the Dao Condensing stage felt noticeably thinner, illuminated by the solidifying conviction of his unyielding heart.
Tai Bàoli took a deep breath, inhaling the freezing, sharp mist.
*Step.*
He lifted his right foot and brought it down firmly onto the next stair. The ground groaned, but his footing was completely immovable.
*Step. Step.*
With steady, deliberate pacing, Tai Bàoli descended further into the Tiger's Reflection Abyss. Each step was a battle of endurance against the lingering aura of his master's youth, but with every passing yard, his posture only grew taller, his stride only grew firmer. The abyss was no longer an executioner's block; it had become the very grindstone he needed to temper his spirit.
After nearly twenty minutes of continuous descent, the narrow path finally leveled out.
The oppressive mist parted slightly, revealing a vast, circular basin nestled at the very bottom of the gorge. The floor of the basin was composed entirely of pitch-black obsidian, polished smooth by centuries of isolation.
Surrounding the basin, the colossal cliff walls were scarred beyond comprehension. Tens of thousands of deep fist impressions, shattered weapon gouges, and claw marks covered the stone, radiating faint traces of ancient, violent battles.
In the dead center of the obsidian floor sat a solitary, raised stone platform.
Hovering just three inches above the center of the platform was a faint, translucent remnant of condensed Qi—a small, glowing silhouette shaped like a resting tiger, radiating an aura of absolute stillness and terrifying, latent power.
Tai Bàoli stood at the edge of the obsidian floor, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. Staring at the glowing remnant on the platform, he felt an undeniable resonance deep within his newly condensed conviction.
He took a step forward onto the black stone floor.