Jin Wu’s vision blurred as he stepped onto the glowing stone path. A pulse of energy surged through him, and the world around him dissolved in a cascade of shimmering light. For a moment, he felt weightless, like a leaf caught in a breeze. Then, with a jarring lurch, he was slammed onto solid ground.

He first noticed the sound—the deep, endless roar of rushing water. He opened his eyes and froze.

He was standing in the middle of a vast, glowing river.

The water wasn’t natural—it shimmered with hues of silver and gold, twisting and churning in chaotic, unpredictable currents. Waves surged and crashed, throwing up sprays of liquid light that refracted into a kaleidoscope of colors. Beneath the surface, he saw shadows moving—dark, serpentine shapes darting through the depths.

The river stretched infinitely in both directions, its horizon fading into a haze of radiant mist. Above him, there was no sky—only a swirling void of faintly glowing symbols, the identical trigrams he had painstakingly etched onto the slate back in the cabin. They hovered and pulsed in time with the river’s flow as if the two were connected.

“Welcome to your mind, Lost Supper,” came a familiar voice.

Jin Wu spun around and found Old Yu standing on a jagged rock jutting out of the river’s surface. The old man’s translucent form seemed more solid now, his robes rippling as though caught in a phantom breeze. His fishing pole was gone, replaced by a staff carved with swirling patterns.

“My… mind?” Jin Wu asked, still struggling to process the sheer scale of what he was seeing.

“Your Inner River,” Old Yu clarified, tapping his staff against the rock. “The trigrams you burned into your soul carved this place into existence. A reflection of you, chaotic and unruly.” He gestured to the churning waters with a sardonic smile. “Not much of a flow, is it? More like a flood about to break its banks.”

Jin Wu frowned. The currents did seem… wrong. The water surged violently in some places; in others, it stagnated into dark, still pools. It was beautiful, but it felt hostile, like the river itself was angry.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Jin Wu asked, his voice low. “It doesn’t look exactly… usable.”

Old Yu raised an eyebrow. “Usable? Lost Supper, this river is you. Your thoughts, instincts, emotions—all swirling around in a mess of unchecked chaos. To wield it, you must first find its rhythm. Fail, and it will swallow you whole.”

Before Jin Wu could respond, the old man raised his staff and slammed it into the ground. The sound reverberated through the air like a gong, and the river’s surface exploded with movement.

Spectral River Fangs erupted from the depths—snarling, elongated beasts with shimmering, translucent bodies that glowed like molten silver. Their eyes burned with an unnatural light, and their serpentine forms twisted unnaturally as they rose from the water, each one at least twice Jin Wu’s height.

“Your first trial, Lost Supper,” Old Yu announced, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “The River Fangs are born of your own fears and regrets. They’ll strike without mercy, dragging you into the depths if you’re not careful. Let the river’s flow guide you, or it will become your grave.”

One of the River Fangs lunged without warning, its gaping jaws snapping at Jin Wu’s throat. He barely ducked in time, the beast’s strike sending a spray of glowing water into the air. His instincts screamed at him to fight back, and he swung wildly with a clenched fist, striking the creature’s side.

The blow landed, but it felt like punching liquid. The River Fang barely flinched, its shimmering body reforming instantly as it twisted around for another attack.

Jin Wu cursed, backing away. His footing was unsteady—the river's surface wasn’t solid, and every step felt like walking on shifting sand. The currents seemed to pull at him, throwing off his balance and dragging him toward the thrashing water.

A second River Fang joined the first, circling him like wolves. Their movements were erratic, their bodies flickering like candlelight, but their eyes burned with predatory intent. Jin Wu’s heart pounded as he realized he was hopelessly outmatched. He couldn’t land a solid hit, and the currents made it nearly impossible to stay on his feet.

“Focus, Lost Supper!” Old Yu’s voice cut through the chaos. “You’re flailing like a drunk fisherman! The river flows with you, not against you.”

Jin Wu gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling up inside him. The old man’s cryptic advice wasn’t helping—how was he supposed to “flow with the river” when it felt like it was actively trying to drown him?

The first River Fang lunged again, and this time, Jin Wu didn’t dodge in time. Its jaws snapped shut around his arm, and a searing pain shot through him. He screamed, instinctively twisting to free himself, but the beast’s grip was unyielding. It yanked him toward the water’s surface, dragging him closer to the glowing depths.

In his panic, he felt the currents surge around him, growing stronger as his thoughts spiraled into chaos. The harder he struggled, the more the river resisted, its pull becoming a suffocating force. He was drowning—both in the water and in his own fear.

Then, something shifted.

A flicker of clarity pierced through the panic, a memory surfacing in his mind. The mantra. The endless nights in the cabin, repeating it over and over. The words came unbidden to his lips, a steady rhythm that cut through the storm of his thoughts.

The currents around him slowed, responding to the shift in his mind. The River Fang’s grip loosened, and Jin Wu yanked his arm free, stumbling backward onto the surface. His breathing was ragged, but the pain in his arm began to fade.

He glanced down at the water and saw the faint glow of the trigrams reflected beneath him, their symbols pulsing in time with the river’s flow. It clicked—when his thoughts were calm, the currents stabilized. The river wasn’t fighting him; it was reacting to him.

Jin Wu straightened, his gaze hardening. The second River Fang lunged, but he didn’t panic this time. He stepped lightly to the side, letting the beast’s momentum carry past him. The movement was almost instinctive as if the river itself had guided him.

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright, let’s try this again.”

The two River Fangs attacked in unison, their bodies twisting through the air like coiled springs. Jin Wu moved with them, his steps fluid and precise. He didn’t fight the currents anymore—he let them carry him, using their momentum to dodge and counter. His strikes began to land more forcefully, disrupting the creatures’ forms and sending energy ripples through the water.

As he fought, he could feel the river’s rhythm syncing with his own. The chaos was still there, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was a part of him, something he could channel and control.

The first River Fang lunged again, and Jin Wu met it head-on. He grabbed the beast by its jaws, his grip steady despite the churning water around him. With a roar, he slammed it into the surface of the river, the impact sending a shockwave of light across the horizon. The creature dissolved into a burst of glowing mist, its form scattering into the currents.

The second River Fang hesitated, its flickering form seeming to falter. Jin Wu didn’t give it a chance to recover. He surged forward, his movements swift and deliberate, and delivered a final, decisive strike. The beast shattered like glass, its remnants sinking back into the depths.

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The river fell still, its chaotic currents calming into a steady, gentle flow. Jin Wu stood at the center, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. The glowing trigrams above him pulsed faintly, their light reflecting off the water’s surface.

“Not bad, Lost Supper,” Old Yu said, his voice carrying a note of approval. “You’ve found the river’s rhythm. But don’t let it go to your head. A river that flows unchecked will destroy everything in its path. Control comes next.”

With a grunt, Jin Wu straightened up and glanced at the glowing symbols swirling around his Inner River.

Jin Wu smirked, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Control, huh? Sounds easy enough.”

Old Yu’s laughter echoed around him, dry and knowing. “We’ll see, Lost Supper. We’ll see.”

With a flick of his staff, the world dissolved into light once more.

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Jin Wu stumbled as the light faded, his boots hitting solid ground once more. He found himself standing on a rocky outcrop, the air around him dense with mist. Below, the Inner River stretched out, but it was no longer a chaotic torrent. The waters flowed slower, darker, the surface like black glass streaked with faint ribbons of golden light. There was no roar this time—just an ominous, steady rhythm, like the slow, heavy beat of a drum echoing in his chest.

He glanced around, expecting to see Old Yu, but the old man was nowhere in sight. Instead, a voice rang out, deep and resonant, but unmistakably Old Yu’s. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, carried on the invisible currents of the river.

“You’ve learned to flow, Lost Supper, but a shallow stream will never cut through stone. Now it’s time to test your depth.”

“Depth?” Jin Wu muttered, looking down at the river below. The dark water seemed to stretch endlessly beneath him, a void that threatened to swallow him whole. He didn’t like the sound of this trial.

Before he could ask what the old man meant, the rocky outcrop beneath him began to shift. The stones cracked and crumbled, falling away piece by piece until Jin Wu had no choice but to leap into the river below.

The impact hit like a punch to the gut, the cold, viscous water dragging him down instantly. He kicked and struggled, but the currents were relentless, pulling him deeper and deeper. His lungs burned, but he couldn’t surface—couldn’t even tell which way was up. The golden streaks of light faded into blackness, leaving him blind and disoriented.

Then, all at once, the water stilled. Jin Wu stopped falling. He hung in the void, weightless, the crushing pressure of the depths strangely absent.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Slowly, a glowing shape materialized in the darkness—a massive golden lotus, its petals shimmering like molten sunlight. It floated in the center of the void, radiating a faint, pulsing light that felt… alive.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Old Yu’s voice broke the silence. This time, it came from behind him. Jin Wu turned, startled, to find the translucent old man standing on the water’s surface as if it were solid ground. His staff was gone, replaced by a glowing orb of light hovering above his palm.

“The lotus represents your soul’s core,” Old Yu explained, gesturing toward the glowing flower. “Its roots run deep, fed by your memories, emotions, and essence. But it’s fragile. Easily tainted, easily broken.”

Jin Wu frowned, watching as the lotus flickered. The light dimmed, shadows creeping along its petals like cracks in fine porcelain. A wave of unease washed over him.

“What’s happening to it?” he asked.

“It’s being tested,” Old Yu said simply. “Just like you.”

The old man waved his hand, and the darkness around them shifted. From the shadows, figures emerged—familiar, hauntingly so. Jin Wu’s breath caught as he recognized them.

The first was a boy, no older than fifteen, his face pale and streaked with blood. He clutched a broken sword in his trembling hands, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on Jin Wu. It was Feng Wei, the young disciple Jin Wu had bet on.

“You let me die,” the boy whispered, his voice hollow and echoing. “You failed me.”

The second figure stepped forward—a woman this time, her features sharp and cold, her robes stained with ash. Mei, his sister-in-law. Her lips curled into a sneer as she stared him down.

“You abandoned her,” she said, her voice cutting through him like a blade. “You abandoned your daughter.”

More figures emerged, each a ghost from Jin Wu’s past—comrades he had lost on the battlefield, enemies he had defeated, their faces twisted with rage and pain—a man in golden robes, the sect master, glaring at him with accusing eyes.

“You were always a coward,” the sect master spat. “Running from responsibility. Hiding behind your tricks.”

The figures surrounded him, their voices rising in a cacophony of accusation and hatred. Jin Wu tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The darkness pressed in, the glowing lotus flickering weaker and weaker with each step the figures took.

“Enough!” he shouted, his voice raw. “You’re not real!”

But even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him. The figures felt real. Their voices, their pain—it felt real. And the lotus… it was dying. He could feel it, as if a part of himself were being torn away.

“Depth, Lost Supper,” Old Yu’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. “The deeper you go, the more you’ll face. Regrets, fears, failures—they’ll drown you if you let them.”

Jin Wu’s hands clenched into fists. The words stung because they were true. He’d spent a lifetime running from his mistakes, hiding behind laughter and tricks to avoid facing them. But here, in the depths of his own mind, there was nowhere to run.

The figures stepped closer, their shadows deepening like storm clouds over the golden river. The lotus’s glow faltered, its petals dimming under the weight of their words.

“You were always too weak,” the sect master spat his voice cold and cutting. “A coward who hid behind laughter and tricks. That’s all you’ve ever been.”

“You let us die!” roared a fallen comrade, their voice like a thunderclap. “You ran while we fell! You abandoned us!”

The accusations hammered down on Jin Wu like strikes from a war drum, each one echoing in his chest. He clenched his fists, his head bowed under their gaze. They were right, weren’t they? How many times had his wit and cunning been used as a shield to avoid true responsibility? How many lives had slipped through his fingers because he hadn’t been strong enough?

“You’re not worthy of forgiveness,” said another shadow, stepping forward. Their face flickered—was it Mei? Or was it someone else? He couldn’t tell. Their voices blended together like a cacophony of guilt. “You’ve run from the truth your whole life. And now, there’s nowhere left to run.”

Jin Wu sank to his knees, the lotus flickering weakly beside him. Its light was barely visible, its petals wilting under the encroaching darkness. The weight of their words pressed down on him, a suffocating burden he could no longer avoid.

Perhaps this was where he was meant to stay. Perhaps this was the justice he deserved.

But as the shadows closed in, Jin Wu’s hand brushed against the water’s surface, sending ripples through the golden reflection of the lotus. He froze, staring into the trembling light, and saw not the shadows but himself—a younger Jin Wu, grinning carelessly, hiding his fears behind a mask of wit.

He had always laughed at the world, pretending it couldn’t touch him. But it had. The losses, the failures—they were etched into his very soul, wounds he’d tried to ignore but could never erase.

His fingers tightened into a fist, gripping the water like it were solid. The ripples stilled, and the reflection shifted. This time, he saw the faces of the disciples he’d fought to protect: Feng Wei, the “Ferrets,” the ones at the library. Their faces flickered like stars in the river's depths, distant but bright.

Their voices reached him—not in accusation, but in hope.

“Master Jin… you saved us.”

“You’re stronger than you think.”

Jin Wu gritted his teeth, his gaze hardening. He wasn’t that grinning fool anymore. And he wasn’t the man these shadows accused him of being. He was something else—something forged by his failures, his regrets, and the battles he’d endured. The shadows could throw every mistake at him, but he wouldn’t bow. Not anymore.

He rose slowly, the golden light of the lotus reflecting in his eyes. His voice was steady and unyielding when he spoke.

“You’re right,” he said, his words cutting through the darkness like a blade. “I wasn’t strong enough. I failed, I ran, and I lost. But I carried those failures with me, and I kept walking. Step by step. I didn’t stop then, and I won’t stop now.”

The shadows hesitated, their forms wavering.

“I am Jin Wu,” he continued, his voice growing stronger. “Caretaker, warrior, trickster—whatever you want to call me. But I am also the man who stood when others fell. I am the man who chose to fight, even when the odds were against me. And I will keep fighting, not for forgiveness, but because it is who I am.”

The lotus flared to life, its petals blazing with golden light. The river surged with energy, the water shimmering like molten gold. The shadows shrieked, their forms unraveling like smoke caught in a storm. One by one, they dissolved, their voices fading into silence.

The lotus’s glow enveloped Jin Wu, its warmth seeping into his very core. He stood tall, his gaze fixed on the horizon as the golden light settled into the river once more, calm and steady.

Old Yu’s voice broke the silence, his tone dry but tinged with approval. “Well, well, Lost Supper. You didn’t drown after all.”

Jin Wu turned, his expression unreadable. “Is this your idea of training?”

Old Yu appeared on the riverbank, his translucent form shimmering in the lotus’s light. “Training? Hardly. That was just the first step.” His lips curved into a sly smile. “You’ve shown me you can stand, but now you’ll have to swim. The River Path doesn’t wait for those who hesitate.”

The golden lotus faded, its light retreating into the river's depths. Jin Wu exhaled, his chest rising and falling as the weight of the trial lifted.

With a chuckle, Jin Wu turned toward the next path, shaking his head. “I swear, if the third test involves carp, I’m quitting this whole trial business.”