The moment the waist-bond clasped shut, the world narrowed.

  A faint click echoed between Chen Ba's ribs, more felt than heard. Followed by a thin line of warmth that ran from his own belt to the matching band around Chen Lanyue's waist. It wasn't a rope. It wasn't Qi. It was something in-between, a rule given form: your distance is allowed; your separation is not.

  The ten remaining disciples stood before the tunnel arch in a single line, each pair linked by that same quiet glow. The outer court testing ground was packed with elders and supervising disciples, their gazes heavy, judging, hungry for failure.

  Elder Chen Zhaolin's voice carried one final warning.

  "Once you enter, the tunnel will not end until it decides you have endured enough. You will not sense time. You will not sense anyone beyond your bonded partner."

  A pause... like a blade held at the throat.

  The first bell strike

  All 5 pairs stepped forward together.

  The arch swallowed them in one breath, and the noise of the world died as if cut.

  At first, there was nothing but only darkness.

  Not the simple darkness of an unlit room, but a darkness that pressed close, as if the tunnel itself had leaned in to listen. The waist-bond warmth remained, thin and steady. Chen Ba could see only Chen Lanyue, her outline, her breathing, the faint sheen of moisture at her brow.

  Suddenly, the air shifted.

  Heat surged like a slap.

  The darkness peeled away, replaced by a horizon of sand.

  Summer Stage: Blazing Sand Dunes Trek

  It wasn't a painted illusion. The tunnel had become a world.

  Endless dunes rolled beneath a sun that hung too low, too large, too hungry. The air shimmered with fire essence qi. Each breath tasted dry, and each exhale felt stolen.

  Chen Lanyue flinched back as the heat hit her. Her Verdant Listening Vessel, a plain bowl, matte and quiet, vibrated once at her hip like a muted warning bell.

  "This… are we still inside the tunnel?" she whispered.

  Chen Ba crouched and scooped a handful of sand.

  It slid through his fingers like hot metal filings. The grains were real enough to burn.

  "Yes, don't waste breath," he said. "Step where I step."

  They began to walk.

  The sand shifted underfoot, forcing their ankles to work harder than a flat road ever would. After only a few minutes, their legs started to sink deeper. The dunes weren't stable; they moved, folded, and collapsed with each step, like the ground resented their weight.

  The sun pressed down. Fire essence qi seeped into their skin, trying to roast them from the outside in.

  Lanyue's lips cracked. Sweat vanished before it could fall.

  Chen Ba's robe clung to his back, damp and heavy, but his breathing stayed even. The heat tried to find weakness in his flesh.

  All it found was resistance.

  Not Qi reinforcement. Not technique.

  Just body, strong, unyielding and stubborn, as if his skin and blood refused to admit the sun had authority.

  Suddenly, a mirages began to bloom ahead.

  A ridge appeared nearby, offering promising shade.

  A shallow pool shimmered with water so clear it looked like mercy.

  Lanyue's bowl trembled harder, and her eyes widened. "Water!"

  "It's not," Chen Ba said, voice firm.

  He angled them away without slowing. The mirage wavered. The "pool" became sand again. The shade became empty glare.

  The tunnel didn't punish with sudden violence.

  It punished with time, it punished the mind.

  With distance that lengthened each time you make the wrong choice.

  With fatigue that stacked until your bones felt filled with lead.

  Lanyue's steps began to stumble, legs heavier.

  Chen Ba moved closer, shoulder to shoulder, letting his steadier rhythm pull her forward.

  "Look at me, follow" he said. "Not the horizon. Not the sun. Me."

  Her eyes blinked, glossy with exhaustion, then fixed on him like a lifeline.

  They kept walking.

  Minutes after minutes, steps after steps.

  Then the air cooled in a single breath. So sudden it felt like stepping through a curtain.

  The sand vanished beneath their feet.

  And the world turned gray.

  Autumn Round: Foggy Decay Marathon

  They stood on a narrow pathway of weathered stone suspended above a drop that vanished into fog.

  Withered trees leaned inward on either side, their skeletal branches shedding leaves that didn't drift gently.

  They cut.

  The first leaf struck Chen Ba's forearm like a thrown blade, only to leave the thinnest line, barely visible. More followed, slicing at his robe and skin in shallow marks, but none bit deep.

  The fog was thick, carrying decay qi that seeped into the throat and made the lungs feel older. Muscles felt slightly weaker with every step, as if the body itself was being convinced to give up.

  Then the wind came.

  A gust roared through dead branches, and a storm of razor leaves spun toward them, hundreds of thin, decaying edges.

  Chen Lanyue raised her arms instinctively.

  "Don't," Chen Ba snapped.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He stepped in front of her.

  Leaves slammed into his back, arms, shoulders. His robe tore in new places. Fabric strips fluttered like wounded flags.

  Lanyue gasped.

  But Chen Ba did not fall.

  He kept moving forward, using his body as a shield.

  Ahead, the pathway narrowed further, stones crumbling at the edges, slick with dampness.

  Chen Ba pulled the Black Pole off his back and held it horizontally.

  "Hold the pole," he ordered.

  Lanyue grabbed the far end. The waist-bond warmth pulsed as they steadied together.

  Then they ran.

  Not fast, sustained. A marathon through the erosion.

  Fog swallowed distance. Pitfalls appeared as darker shadows, only visible when your foot was already about to land wrong. Lanyue's bowl helped, tiny vibrations, subtle pulls of attention.

  "Right side, two steps," she rasped.

  Chen Ba adjusted instantly.

  The decay qi gnawed at Lanyue harder than it gnawed at him. Her breathing turned wrong, wheezing, strained; like the fog had crawled into her chest and refused to leave.

  Her pace slowed. She swayed.

  Chen Ba felt it through the bond: the lag, the strain, the creeping collapse.

  He shifted closer, half-supporting her without breaking stride.

  "Thank you, but... why…" she rasped, "…why are you doing this?"

  Chen Ba glanced at her. "Because you're my partner."

  The words were plain.

  But something in Lanyue's chest tightened that had nothing to do with fog.

  She didn't answer. She just gripped tighter, both the pole and the bond, like anchoring herself to him could stop the world from crumbling away.

  Then the pathway dissolved beneath their feet like old bark.

  They stumbled forward...

  ...and the air became wet.

  Green.

  Alive.

  Spring Round: Endless Vine Labyrinth.

  A humid forest exploded around them, dense with growth that moved too fast to be natural.

  Vines writhed like living ropes, thorned, thick, layered. Flowers bloomed and died in seconds. The air was saturated with vital qi, rich enough to make the skin prickle.

  It was beautiful.

  And it was a trap.

  The moment they stepped forward, vines snapped outward, trying to coil around ankles and wrists. Thorns scraped, leaving shallow cuts that burned with a faint draining sensation.

  Chen Lanyue yelped as one vine brushed her calf. Her bowl pulsed sharply.

  "It drains qi," she said, panic rising. "If it touches your body"

  Chen Ba swung his Black Pole.

  It didn't shine. It didn't emit Qi.

  It simply hit.

  The vine snapped. More surged to replace it, regenerating almost instantly, growth accelerated by spring's vital field.

  The labyrinth didn't want them to fight through.

  It wanted them to tire.

  To slash, climb, crawl... without rest, until stamina gave in and someone broke.

  Chen Ba pushed forward anyway.

  He used the pole as a staff and lever, vaulting over tangles, smashing gaps through clusters. When vines tried to bind his arms, he flexed, and they strained, resisting, then slipped off like ropes trying to hold stone.

  Lanyue's swings grew weaker. Each touch by the vines stole strength. Her bowl began to resonate, guiding with minute warnings and path-sense.

  "Left," she whispered. "There's a hollow, an opening."

  Chen Ba trusted her instantly, carving through toward the hollow and pulling her through behind him.

  The vines snapped shut where they had been, as if furious they'd missed prey.

  Lanyue stumbled again, knees buckling.

  Chen Ba caught her by the arm before she could fall.

  For a heartbeat, she looked up at him; eyes wide, breathing shallow, and there was something there that hadn't been there before.

  Not just gratitude.

  A quiet, startled admiration, like she was seeing him not as "Chen Ba the outcast" but as someone solid enough to lean on.

  She looked away too quickly, cheeks warm in the humid green light, as if embarrassed by her own thoughts.

  The forest suddenly went silent.

  The vines froze mid-writhe.

  The vital qi thinned, withdrawing like a tide.

  The temperature dropped so fast that Lanyue gasped.

  And then...

  White.

  Cold.

  Wind like knives.

  Winter Round: Avalanche Evasion Drill.

  Snow hammered them from above.

  A blizzard swallowed the world, turning sight into a wall of white. The ground underfoot was uneven, ice ridges and buried obstacles designed to trip the unaware.

  Biting wind carried ice essence qi that attacked the skin, trying to numb fingers, slow blood, steal heat.

  Chen Lanyue immediately stiffened. Her bowl pulsed erratically, overwhelmed by chaos.

  "I… I can't…" she whispered, teeth chattering. "My hands numbed"

  A deep rumble rolled beneath the snow.

  The ground ahead bulged, then collapsed.

  An avalanche poured down a wall of snow with crushing force.

  Chen Lanyue froze.

  Chen Ba did not.

  He stepped forward instead of away.

  He drove the Black Pole into the ground.

  The pole struck ice with a dull thunk.

  For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

  Then the snow around the pole hardened, dense, braced. As if winter itself gave in and had accepted his presence.

  The avalanche hit.

  And parted.

  Snow slammed into the hardened zone and split to either side, flowing around them like water around stone.

  Lanyue stared, shocked.

  Chen Ba felt it in his bones:

  The cold here wasn't harming him.

  It was… familiar.

  Like something hidden inside him had been waiting for winter to arrive.

  Another rumble.

  This time, the ground beneath them dropped.

  They fell into packed snow, buried to the chest.

  Suffocating pressure pressed in from all sides.

  Chen Lanyue panicked, gasping as snow edged into her mouth.

  Chen Ba exhaled once, slow.

  Then he moved.

  He dug through snow like an animal born for it, arms powering through packed layers that should have demanded Qi reinforcement. He reached Lanyue and pulled her free before her breath could truly fail.

  Her eyes rolled back the moment she hit open air.

  Still conscious, but barely... the cold had eaten too much of her strength.

  Chen Ba didn't hesitate.

  He crouched, turned, and lifted her onto his back.

  The waist-bond warmth flared, pulsing as their bodies aligned; partner to partner, burden to bearer.

  Lanyue's arms slipped loosely around his shoulders. Her forehead rested against the side of his neck, and her weak breath brushed his skin, warm, human, fragile against the winter's cruelty.

  Even half-lost, she clung as if instinctively afraid the world would swallow her again.

  "Please... don't… leave… me..." she murmured.

  "I won't," Chen Ba said.

  He pushed forward into the blizzard.

  More avalanches triggered, smaller, repeated, relentless. Buried obstacles forced him to leap, dig, climb. The cold tried to numb his joints.

  But it failed, there's no affecting Chen Ba.

  If anything, Chen Ba's condition became better, movements became cleaner, and much faster.

  Like winter gave him permission to be what he already was beneath the seal.

  The tunnel resisted.

  And then, for the first time...

  The tunnel yielded.

  The blizzard thinned.

  The wind broke.

  A dark opening appeared ahead.

  Chen Ba walked through it slowly,

  and the world snapped back into stone.

  He stepped out of the tunnel mouth into daylight, frost still clinging to his torn robe as if confused by reality.

  The outer court testing ground erupted into noise.

  All ten pairs had entered together.

  Yet Chen Ba was already out.

  Only around two hours into the test.

  And he was the first.

  On his back, Chen Lanyue hung limp, semi-unconscious. Her hair was damp from melted snow. Her lips were pale. Her condition look terrible with multiple cuts all over her arms and legs.

  An instructor rushed forward, checking her pulse and stabilizing her with a thin thread of Qi.

  "She's alive," he announced, surprised. "Exhaustion. Cold shock. But alive."

  A wave of murmurs rolled over the stone stands.

  "How did they clear the tunnel that fast?"

  "That winter round should've broken them."

  "Look at Chen Ba. His robe is in rags, but he has no injuries, not even a cut was visible…"

  Indeed, Chen Ba's body showed no visible harm, no bleeding, no bruises, no cuts. Only the torn robe told the story of what he'd walked through.

  He do not look like someone that just under-go one of the hardest endurance test even.

  He adjusted his grip under Lanyue's legs so she wouldn't slip, then stayed still, calm as ever, as if exiting first was not victory but simply the natural result of refusing to stop.

  Lanyue's lashes fluttered.

  Even half-asleep, she seemed to sense the eyes on them.

  Her gaze cracked open just enough to find Chen Ba's profile.

  In that brief, fragile moment, admiration rooted itself quietly, like a seed pressed into warm soil, unseen by everyone else.

  Then her eyes closed again.

  Time passed outside.

  The tunnel mouth remained silent.

  No other teams emerged.

  The crowd's excitement slowly turned into unease.

  Then, finally a movement.

  A figure stumbled out.

  Alone.

  Chen Shun.

  He exited six hours into the test.

  His robe was shredded and smeared dark with grime. Cuts crisscrossed his arms and neck; dried blood marked his jaw. His hair hung loose and tangled, and his eyes, once smugly empty, burned with something sharper.

  The broken waist-bond clasp at his belt hung empty.

  He took one step into the light, then froze.

  Because Chen Ba was still there.

  Because Chen Ba was standing, steady.

  Because Chen Ba looked far better than he did. There was no visible injuries, no shaken posture, only torn fabric and quiet eyes.

  And because Chen Lanyue, though semi-unconscious, was alive.

  Chen Shun's gaze locked on Chen Ba.

  Confusion flickered first.

  Then anger.

  Then something uglier, an emotion he would never name aloud.

  All ten had entered together.

  He had abandoned his partner right at the start without hesitation, and still the tunnel had carved him apart.

  Yet Chen Ba had carried a burden… and walked out first.

  Chen Shun's hands clenched hard enough that his cuts reopened, fresh blood beading along old lines.

  He didn't notice.

  His eyes stayed on Chen Ba like a spear seeking a throat.

  And in the silent space between them, where the tunnel's rules no longer applied... something else began...

  Not a test of endurance.

  A test of pride.

  A test of fate.

  And Chen Shun, for the first time, felt the unbearable truth settle into his bones:

  The world was not bending toward him the way he believed it should.

  Not while Chen Ba kept standing in front of him.