Jin tried to blink - and failed - as he stared at his outstretched arm, locked mid-swing. It hung suspended in the air, just a hair away from meeting Big Lu’s fist.

Both of them were completely frozen in place, their final clash stopped a moment before conclusion.

The clamour of battle still filled Jin’s ears. He could hear the thud of bodies slamming against each other, crescendos of pained screams and even a subdued hum - the sound of a hundred men drawing breath at the same time.

The noises formed a confused cacophony, but they were just fading echoes of a battle that had already stopped. The sounds grew fainter and fainter until finally an eerie silence descended.

The world became perfectly still.

Confused, Jin tried to look around. He couldn’t even shift his eyes, so he focused on what he was able to spy in the corners of his vision.

Big Lu’s large frame took up most of what he could see. The man looked like a sculpture of an ancient hero delivering a deadly strike. One of his feet was planted firmly on the ground, while the rest of his body shot forward, putting all its weight behind the attack. His face was absent of any strong emotion, revealing only an intense focus.

A dark pair of eyes was fixed on Jin Sou. The grim intensity in that gaze made him recoil.

The area around them was crowded with panicked miners. Those nearest to Jin all had terror-stricken expressions as they scrambled to get away. They collided with the opposing mob, who remained unaware of Jin's newfound power and still wished to participate in the “discipline".

When the time stopped, the two groups were still pushing and shoving against each other, and now their chaotic struggle was perfectly preserved.

Looking at their faces filled Jin with dejection. They were his brothers. But with just a few words, the uneasy camaraderie they shared as fellow miners was severed.

His mind began to wander. From time to time, he looked at Big Lu’s face. The power in the chief warden’s eyes no longer had much effect on him. But it was the first time he saw someone who wished to kill him.

“Am I dead?”

It was just a stray thought, but a surge of fear followed it.

He had thought he was reconciled with death. At that final moment, when he was mustering his qi for the all-out attack, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to live through it. But he wasn’t ready for this.

There was no sensation coming from his body. He should’ve been in an agonising pain, but he couldn’t feel anything at all. Even his qi seemed to have disappeared. His whole being had been reduced to a simple consciousness, tethered to nothing at all.

If that’s what death was - a silent eternity, spent in the prison of one’s final moment - then he could understand why cultivators pursued Immortality so doggedly.

His fear began to turn into dread.

When black spots began to blossom in the corners of his vision, Jin felt only relief. The spots grew steadily larger, encroaching on more and more of his vision, until their serene darkness swept up everything in its embrace.

A moment later, the silence in the hall was broken by the light tapping of measured footsteps, but Jin was no longer there to hear it.

***

Hang Min strolled in with a playful smile on his face.

He walked at a leisurely pace, his every movement projecting an air of a sage who had long transcended mortal affairs. Still, there was no hiding the excited gleam in his eyes. They darted from side to side, surveying the fruit of his handiwork with evident glee.

His formation had worked flawlessly.

He stopped by a miner who happened to catch his attention. The man had actually fallen to the ground and was trying to get himself up when the spell trapped him. Despite looking like an overturned turtle, his face was twisted in a mask of wrath and indignation.

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Hang Min leaned over to get a better look.

An exquisitely fine lattice of qi penetrated every inch of space in the hall, but he had already made sure that there was nothing wrong with his formation. Now it was the time to directly assess its effectiveness.

A series of tests began. He circled his finger in front of the miner's eyes, pinched his cheeks, and even blew some air into the man's face. Through it all, the miner's expression of righteous fury remained unchanged. An unknown shout was frozen on his lips as he pulled on the legs of people around him, trying to lift himself up.

Suddenly, Hang Min's hand flashed with a blinding light. He brought his finger close to the man's face, holding it in place for several breaths of time before allowing the light to extinguish. He peered deeply into his subject's eyes and finally let out a satisfied sigh.

“It works!”

In the tomb-like silence of the hall, his jubilant cry boomed like a thunderclap. Even Hang Min flinched, but rather than feeling flustered, he simply giggled in good humor.

His mood was excellent.

These past eight months had been a veritable trial of will.

Hang Min still wasn’t sure what purpose had brought his Teacher to this desolate place, though not for the lack of trying. He even suspected that it was his endless probing that played the key role in the elder’s decision to finally let him out under the flimsy excuse of learning more about the treasure.

Even if he’d been a bit of a pest, Hang thought, he didn’t feel anyone could fault him. His Teacher took great pains to build them a suitable sanctuary, but there was only so much one could do. The quality of qi was so disappointing, it made it not worth the effort to cultivate. And no matter how pleasing the scenery, there was no enlightenment to be found in an artificial garden.

But he was very satisfied with this spell. It was something completely of his own design. It began as a simple means to alleviate boredom, but it steadily grown into something that demanded all of his ability to complete. Even among the core disciples, there wasn’t another person who could replicate this feat.

In fact, there wasn’t even anyone who would try.

The spell demanded an exceptional knowledge of formations, expert manipulation of qi, and even profound comprehension of human physiology.

And its sole purpose was to hold in place a hundred unawakened mortals.

A first layer cultivator with an Immortal Sigil could probably defeat a hundred mortals on his own. A peak cultivator of the first layer could disable them all with a just a burst of his aura.

But who possessed the ability to freeze them in place, simultaneously ensuring their survival and preserving their form with the careful precision of an artist?

No one did. And no one would bother.

Except Hang Min.

It was a perfectly worthless skill. That no one but him could use.

The smile on his face grew even wider. His cheeks rose and pushed against his eyes, squishing them into tiny half-moons.

Thoroughly satisfied, he brushed the sleeves of his blue robe and resumed his stroll.

From time to time, he stopped by some figure that happened to catch his attention, but he didn’t bother with any more tests. He merely appreciated what he saw, even bestowing a slight nod of approval to particularly pleasing compositions.

He had really lucked out, when it came to it.

When he made his way to the hall, all of the miners were already gathered in place. They were in a great hubbub, shouting and whooping in some mortal dialect he couldn’t understand. Still, it wasn’t difficult to make sense of the situation.

The miner in the center was a great sinner and it would take the combined effort of everyone present to excise the evil that he had brought about.

It all made for an amusing spectacle, and Hang Min wouldn’t have minded to content himself with being but a passive spectator. Unfortunately, his target happened to be the very boy that was about to be purged.

Setting up the formation wasn’t a quick process. Especially since he had to do so in a manner that wouldn’t alert anyone. The temptation was too great, however. He had already been itching to test it out and who knew when a similar opportunity would come about. Thankfully, the little miner had managed to hold out for longer than expected.

He stopped at the centrepiece of the composition, admiring the final clash between Jin Sou and Big Lu.

The little miner didn’t disappoint. His body was so ravaged by wounds, it was a miracle in itself that he was still standing. And yet, instead of frailty, he radiated strength and perseverance. His wretched body was animated by a force that transcended the physical, giving form to something greater and more ethereal.

It was just a shame that he was about to die.

Hang Min sighed and reached into the fold of his robe to retrieve a small jadeite box.

A strong medicinal aroma suffused the air around him when he opened it. If this treasure were to make an appearance in the outer sect, it would start a conflict that would end many friendships and begin countless enmities. Hang Min only thought that it was a shame to destroy such a pleasing composition.

Guided by a wisp of his qi, the pill travelled to Jin’s stomach, where it instantly melted, releasing potent medicinal energies.

Jin’s wounds began to heal with speeds visible to the naked eye. Even more miraculous changes were happening on the inside. The countless cracks and fissures scarring his meridian pathways started to mend. Injuries that would’ve killed him the second his qi started to circulate again were disappearing, leaving behind a restored tissue that was stronger and more resilient than before.

Hang Min took the last look around, locking in memory the scene created by his spell. With a clap of his hands, the formation broke.

A hundred miners dropped to the ground at the same time. They writhed and gasped for air as Hang Min walked on, Jin’s limp body thrown over his shoulders. A single question occupied his mind: where could he find himself a translator?