The path beyond the graveyard narrowed into a tight corridor of stone and mist, where even light seemed reluctant to enter.
Chen Xin knew what was coming. He had felt its pressure since entering the vale — not a beast, not a spirit.
A reflection.
From the mist emerged a figure with his own face. Younger. Clean armor. Sharper gaze. A proud tilt to the chin, a slight arrogance in posture.
"So this is what I become?" the phantom sneered. "Worn. Hollow. Pretending pain makes you wise."
Chen Xin didn't respond.
The phantom drew a perfect replica of Merciless, spinning it with practiced grace.
"You were brilliant once. Admired. Powerful. But then you gave it all away. Why?"
The phantom charged.
Their swords clashed — speed for speed, technique for technique. The phantom was flawless. Every parry, every angle, every stance was something Chen Xin had once mastered in his prime.
But that was the difference.
The phantom hadn't changed. It had frozen in the ideal.
And Chen Xin had grown.
Blades met again. This time, Chen Xin let himself stagger — imperfectly — and used the stumble to redirect into a spiraling cut that bypassed the phantom's guard entirely.
A gash appeared across the younger self's chest.
He paused.
"You… sacrificed your edge."
Chen Xin shook his head. "No. I refined it."
The phantom stepped back, gaze darkening.
"Would you still choose the same path?"
Chen Xin's reply came without hesitation. "Yes."
The phantom lowered its sword, smiled faintly — and dissolved into drifting sparks.
The mist parted.
Chen Xin stood alone again — but not as he had before.
He was no longer shadowed by who he had been.