The Lustful Young Master starting with Holy Maiden.
Chapter 74: Eighth trial...

Chapter 74: Eighth trial...

To walk the path of power is to bleed from the soul.

The world underwent another significant transformation once again.

Where mist and silence had swallowed them before, now the fog thinned into pale streaks, unraveling like the silk sleeves of a mourning bride.

The disciples emerged into a new realm unlike any befor... a courtyard that stretched into eternity, rimmed by broken archways and skyless void.

Crimson petals fell from trees that had no roots, their branches growing out of stone statues carved into screaming immortals, each one frozen mid-death.

The matter at hand is quite magical and difficult to comprehend.

This was no garden of peace, but a grave of dreams.

It was called the Garden of Weeping Blades, though no record of it could be found in any sect’s archive. Those who stepped within often never returned, and those who did... never spoke again.

Before them lay hundreds, perhaps thousands, or even more swords.

Some rusted and broken. Others gleaming like starlight. No two were the same.

Each was planted into the earth as if grown from the blood of fallen cultivators.

They whispered, not with voices, but with intent known as "Ego"

Regret. Revenge. Duty. Betrayal. Love. Hatred. Power. Dao. Ultimate supremacy.

Each sword was bound to a soul once severed from the mortal world... and each desired only one thing, to be wielded again.

And in the center of the courtyard, upon a raised dais carved from obsidian and bone, stood a single throne. Upon that throne sat a corpse.

Or so it seemed... The vision of the Qi Saint cultivator wasn’t much and there was a mist protecting it.

But judging from what’s visible, it does look human with eyes that were shut. Its robes are untouched by time. Its hands rested on a sword embedded in its lap — black as midnight, and humming with murderous elegance.

It bore no name, no inscription, but none doubted its purpose.

It was the Blade of Judgment.

And the corpse, probably an ancient judge, or perhaps a fallen god.

The moment the disciples stepped into the garden, the voice came.

"Choose, only one sword shall heed your will.

Wield it... and be judged.

Or hesitate... and be forgotten."

No figure spoke. The voice came from the very earth, from the petals, from the swords themselves.

Yi Xinxue was the first to step forward.

Her steps were soft, like snow falling on leaves, but her eyes were sharp with inner storms. She passed dozens of blades with one screamed with vengeful crimson aura, another pulsed with the sorrow of a betrayed lover, another wept cold poison from its hilt.

But she did not pause.

At last, she stopped before a blade that shimmered not with power but with silence.

It was unadorned. Simple. Its blade carried no patterns, its hilt wrapped in plain silk, stained with old tears.

When she reached for it, it did not resist.

Instead, it sang, not aloud, but within her mind. A single, piercing note, a requiem of buried grief and blood that had never dried.

As her fingers wrapped around the hilt, the petals turned to ash.

And her trial began...

Before her, visions unfolded: a thousand moments from her past. Her clan kneeling. Her mother dying with a smile that begged forgiveness. Her sect brothers calling her heartless. Her own voice, cold and sharp, giving orders that sent children to deaths.

And above all, a single phrase echoed...

You have never cried. Not once. Even when they begged you to... Face your regret.

The blade in her hand burned. Not with flame, but with memory.

"Tears are wasted when the world is cruel," she whispered.

"I do not cry because I remember. And remembering is enough."

She raised the blade, and in that moment, she was back in her last life where she was betrayed.

"Miss Immortal, please have this wine as a gratitude, it is made from one million years old Jiexheng marrow and possesses Dao intent," a humble servant dressed in Guanfu, presented a pristine jade gourd.

This wine was an old poison that could suppress even the immortal venerable, as such she was attacked by others and died.

With anger growing, the Phoenix resting upon her chest flew high instantly burning the entire area into a Phoenix killing everyone.

"Miss Immortal venerable what is the meaning of this?"

"Fairy immortal... How can you do this," Two immortal lords came forward to ask explanation but she held the sword and with a cold eyes, she killed them instantly.

It was lucky for her that she managed to but her body and soul essence to escape or else, her Yin would have been tainted that day.

And perhaps, Young Master Zhao wouldn’t have taken fancy to her.

Her blade wept, but made no sound.

Yi Xinxue stood amid a field of cinders, her sleeves fluttering like the wings of a phoenix just birthed from fire. The crimson petals that had once fallen like mourning snow were now burned midair, leaving only floating embers.

The sword in her hand, silent and unadorned, was now alight with a translucent flame. Not of rage, but of memory... and unyielding justice.

The illusion faded, yet a fragment of that vengeance lingered in her eyes.

No longer was she the distant, cold Saintess of the foundation Jade peak Soul Sect. In that moment, she was something older. Something deeper.

"I will not be poisoned twice," she whispered. "And I will never be betrayed again."

A single step forward and the sword sealed to her soul, merging its Ego with her will. The petals no longer fell around her.

The next moment... She sighed without regret as in the end it’s just an illusion, it doesn’t matter how many she kills.

Woosh!

The sword on her hand fell down with a tinggg sound.

Pass!

The voice said as she knew living on such illusion was meaningless and her revenge hadn’t been fulfilled yet... There is still some time.