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Chapter 23 - The Remembrance Tribe's Trial for Lang Tieu

I. The Challenge's Setting

The waning moon hung like a bloodstained crescent on the edge of a gloomy sky, casting a dim, eerie light upon the moss-covered stone plaza hidden deep within a secret valley. Towering cliffs surrounded all sides, shrouded in drifting mists like wandering souls not yet released. At the center stood a spiraling stone altar—etched with thousands of ancestral memories belonging to the Remembrance Tribe. Each memory was a lament; each flashback, a scar across the soul.

Lăng Tiêu stood silently before the altar, his azure robe fluttering in the cold wind, his gaze deep and unreadable like an ancient well. Behind him, the enigmatic elder Lưu Tịch of the Tribe spoke slowly:

"If you wish to be entrusted with our Tribe's Codex, you must first face your own memories."

His words were soft as spring breeze, yet the atmosphere around the valley grew heavy, stifled. Below, little Bé An quietly clenched her fists. Diệp Vân Sơ turned her gaze toward Lăng Tiêu, her eyes unreadable—perhaps worry, perhaps sorrow.

A disciple stepped forward, holding a jade piece shaped like a teardrop, and placed it into Lăng Tiêu's palm. This was the "Reminiscence Seal"—a sacred artifact only used in the Tribe's most solemn rites. The one receiving it would be forced to plunge deep into the layers of their own memory, reliving every moment of their past, even the wounds their soul had tried to bury.

Lăng Tiêu slowly pressed the jade to his forehead. A flash of light burst from between his brows, and in the next instant, he was pulled into a different realm—one colored entirely by memory. No wind, no kin, no future. Only the past awaited him.

II. Entering the Trial of Past Life Memories

The ancient stone gate began to tremble. A dim light seeped from its cracks, like the breath of a beast slumbering for a thousand years. At the top of the gate, three characters were etched in archaic script: "Hall of Memory." As Lăng Tiêu stepped closer, the gate groaned open, revealing a world where light and time twisted unnaturally.

In a blink, the scene around him shifted entirely. The tranquil plaza and cold moon vanished—replaced by a vast, blood-soaked battlefield that stretched to the horizon. The clash of blades, the screams of the dying echoed endlessly. The air was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder, suffocating to the soul.

Lăng Tiêu recoiled when he saw a figure both familiar and strange—a young man clad in black robes, eyes cold as ice, black hair streaming in the wind, riding atop a massive spirit beast. He made a single hand gesture—and a small village was engulfed in flame. Not a soul survived—not even the children huddled in their mothers' arms.

"Lăng Vô Uyên..." Lăng Tiêu whispered, his eyes wide with shock.

That was his former incarnation—Lăng Vô Uyên, a once-legendary cultivator who had led the Seventh Awakening Legion, infamous as the "Doom of Dao." In pursuit of his path, he had cast aside all morality, exterminating entire sects simply because they stood between him and an ancient ruin.

Lăng Tiêu walked through the memory, heart tangled in torment. Then came the scene that shattered him completely: Lăng Vô Uyên standing before a wounded woman—Diệp Vân Sơ—her white robes soaked in blood. She did not resist, merely looked at him with calm, sorrowful eyes.

"We once vowed to protect this world together. Why... why you?"

"My path... has no room for burdens." His voice was as cold as steel.

He raised his sword and stabbed it through her chest—one strike, without hesitation.

Lăng Tiêu screamed:

"No! Stop—please, don't!"

He collapsed to his knees, hands trembling as they gripped his head, sweat pouring down like rain. In his mind, a thunderous voice echoed—a divine judgment:

"Do you accept that you were once a monster, or will you choose to forget?"

The space around him fractured. The memories splintered into shards, stabbing into his spirit. He was torn in two—one side yearning to deny, to run from the unbearable truth; the other silent, ready to embrace it. To admit that he who once stood in brilliance... had waded through rivers of blood.

"I... was him?" he murmured.

"If so, how can I ever face her again?"

From the broken memory, a pale figure emerged—Diệp Vân Sơ from the past, softly speaking:

"Sin does not strip one of the right to live. But if you cannot face your own mistakes, you are nothing more than a shell."

Lăng Tiêu lifted his head. Through the fog of memory, a faint light appeared in the distance...

III. Climax: A Choice Made

Seated amid the ruins of memory, blood soaking the ground, his tears indistinguishable from the rain of fire, Lăng Tiêu felt a thousand needles pierce his heart—not from the horrors he saw, but because he knew: they were all of his own making.

Across the battlefield of his past, he saw himself—Lăng Vô Uyên—walking coldly among corpses, devoid of emotion. That was him. A version that had traded his humanity for a path of power.

"Yes…" Lăng Tiêu choked.

"I was wrong. So wrong I don't deserve forgiveness."

The wind died. The battlefield faded. Before him now stood Diệp Vân Sơ from his past life, her eyes brimming with unspeakable pain.

"If I had another chance… could you forgive me?"

There was no answer—only a breeze that carried a voice from somewhere between heaven and soul:

"Memory is not a shackle. It is witness to one's growth.

To deny the past… is to deny yourself."

Lăng Tiêu knelt, hands clenched, veins bulging across his forehead. He drew a deep breath, eyes blazing with resolve:

"I, Lăng Tiêu, accept every sin of my past life.

I will not run. I will not excuse.

Even if guilt piles to the heavens, I vow to atone with this life—drop by drop, blood for blood, tear for tear."

His vow echoed like thunder. At that moment, light surged from all directions. The sky above the memory realm blazed—heaven and earth bearing witness to his oath.

The illusions shattered. The battlefield crumbled like broken glass. Diệp Vân Sơ smiled faintly, then vanished, leaving behind a single white flower drifting in the void.

Lăng Tiêu opened his eyes.

He stood once more in the plaza of the Remembrance Tribe, drenched in sweat—but his gaze was unwavering.

Suddenly, a strange light radiated from his chest. A tribal sigil—ancient and spiraling like flowing memory—appeared upon his skin. The Mark of the Codex.

The surrounding tribe members gasped. Some whispered prayers. Others bowed in reverence.

Elder Lưu Tịch stepped forward, voice calm but reverent:

"You didn't just survive the trial.

You faced yourself—a feat many never dare attempt in their lifetimes."

Lăng Tiêu nodded silently. Not in pride, but in understanding—his journey from now on was not to prove himself, but to redeem the bloodied memories of the past.

IV. Acknowledged – And Shadows Stir

The white-stone plaza rustled softly beneath the trees of memory, leaves falling like silent applause.

Lưu Tịch approached Lăng Tiêu, the once stern elder now showing rare admiration. He did not speak immediately, only studied the young man who had returned from the depths of remembrance.

"Memory is fire," Lưu Tịch said at last, lifting a soul-tea cup offered from the altar, "It burns the weak, and forges the strong.

You dared to look into yourself, without denial or fear—that is true courage.

Only such people… are worthy to guard the future."

The elders of the Tribe all nodded. Their eyes no longer carried doubt, but deep respect. They, more than anyone, understood the torment of facing one's past.

From afar, Bé An ran toward him, her eyes bright like dawn after a storm. Clinging to Lăng Tiêu's sleeve, she beamed:

"I knew you'd do it! The Codex accepted you! You're one of us now!"

Lăng Tiêu smiled and patted her head. Yet in the depths of his heart, the echo of his oath remained—and with it, a sense that the road ahead would be far from peaceful.

Far beyond the borders of the Remembrance Tribe, hidden within a dark crevice untouched by light, a figure cloaked in black sat amidst swirling mists of memory.

He watched the events unfold through a Remembrance Mirror—an artifact that reflected the spirit of every tribesman. Though the mirror was cracked at the edge, the image of Lăng Tiêu was perfectly clear, the Mark of the Codex glowing on his chest.

The cloaked figure said nothing, only chuckled coldly. Raising a hand, thin strands of black energy slithered around his fingers like spider silk.

"Lăng Tiêu… You've truly stirred the current of fate."

"He carries the Emperor Bone…"

His voice, raspy as a curse, echoed in the shadows:

"That kind of legacy should not exist in this era.

Let's see... if fate will allow him to live much longer."

A black raven shot out of the darkness, slicing through layers of memory like an arrow tearing the sky. Moonlight fell upon the stranger's eyes—burning with hatred and a hunger to shape destiny.

At the heart of the tribe, Lăng Tiêu slowly clenched his fist. He had not seen the shadow—but the instinct of a cultivator screamed clearly.

The storm had not ended.It had only just begun.

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