Jin Wu barely had time to collect himself before the world around him rippled like water disturbed by a stone. The meadow of the second trial vanished, replaced by roaring sound and chaos. He staggered forward, nearly losing his footing, as the ground beneath him trembled.

When his vision cleared, he stood at the edge of a vast canyon. Below him churned an immense river, its waters raging with such ferocity that jagged rocks splintered and cracked beneath the surface. The currents clashed and tore at one another like warring armies, sending waves crashing against the canyon walls.

Above him, the sky seethed with unnatural energy. Dark storm clouds swirled violently, violet lightning arcing across the heavens, casting stark, fleeting light over the furious river below.

Jin Wu instinctively drew back, his heart racing. The sight alone was enough to inspire dread, but what truly unnerved him was the river’s presence. It felt alive—its chaos thrumming against the edges of his senses as if it were testing him, waiting for him to move.

“What now?” he muttered under his breath, scanning the canyon for any sign of Old Yu or a hint of the trial’s purpose. But before he could make sense of his surroundings, the earth beneath his feet shifted violently, and the river responded.

A massive column of water erupted from the raging currents, twisting upward like a serpent unfurling its body. From the column, tendrils of water lashed outward, slamming into the canyon walls with thunderous force. One tendril shot toward Jin Wu, and he barely had time to throw himself aside before it struck the ground where he’d been standing, shattering the stone into shards.

A familiar voice boomed over the chaos. “The river doesn’t care for strength or cleverness. It doesn’t care for fear or hesitation. You’ll either find its rhythm… or be consumed by it.”

Jin Wu whipped his head around and caught sight of Old Yu standing on a ledge above the canyon, his translucent figure flickering in the stormy light. Before Jin Wu could respond, Old Yu raised his staff and tapped it once against the ground. The river below surged higher, and the storm above intensified.

“Control the chaos, Lost Supper,” Old Yu said, his tone sharp and unyielding. “Find the balance—or drown.”

The old man’s figure faded, leaving Jin Wu alone with the roaring currents and the relentless tendrils of water now converging on him from all directions.

Jin Wu cursed under his breath and scrambled to his feet, narrowly dodging another tendril as it slammed into the ground beside him, sending a spray of shattered stone and water into the air. Another tendril lashed out, and he dove to the side, rolling to avoid its grasp.

The attacks came faster and faster, each strike more precise than the last. Jin Wu’s breath came in short gasps as he darted and ducked, his body moving on instinct. But he knew he couldn’t keep this up for long. The river wasn’t tiring, but he was.

Think, think! His mind screamed. But there was no time to think, no time to plan. The tendrils were relentless, their movements chaotic and unpredictable, and every attempt to evade them only delayed the inevitable.

Another tendril whipped toward him, and Jin Wu raised his arms instinctively, bracing for the impact. But instead of striking him, the tendril coiled around his torso like a serpent, lifting him off the ground. He struggled against its grip, but its strength was overwhelming, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Panic surged through him, and in his desperation, he lashed out—not with his strength, but with his will. He reached for the chaos around him, searching for something to grasp, something to control.

To his surprise, the tendril hesitated. For a brief moment, its chaotic movements stilled, and Jin Wu felt a faint connection—a pulse, a rhythm buried beneath the torrent of energy.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. The river isn’t fighting me—it’s moving. It has a rhythm, a flow.

Jin Wu closed his eyes, blocking out the chaos around him. He steadied his breathing, focusing on the faint rhythm he had felt. It was buried beneath the river’s rage, but it was there—a subtle, unbroken cycle of push and pull, rise and fall.

The tendril around his torso tightened, but Jin Wu didn’t fight it. Instead, he moved with it, shifting his body to match its rhythm. The pressure eased, and the tendril released him, retreating back into the river.

His eyes snapped open, and a sense of clarity washed over him. The river wasn’t random or chaotic—it was alive and moving with purpose. Fighting it was pointless, but aligning with its rhythm… was the key.

Another tendril surged toward him, and Jin Wu didn’t run this time. He stepped into its path, his body loose but controlled. At the last moment, he extended his arm, guiding the tendril with the motion of his hand. It twisted away from him, crashing harmlessly into the ground.

A second tendril followed, and Jin Wu spun with it, using its momentum to hurl it back into the river. His movements became fluid, almost like a dance, each step and gesture flowing seamlessly into the next. The tendrils came faster, but he met them with calm precision, redirecting each strike with the ease of a seasoned martial artist.

The storm above began to calm, the swirling clouds parting to reveal faint light breaking through.

The canyon trembled as the river surged upward, rising into a massive column towering above Jin Wu. A shape began to form within the column—a giant figure made entirely of water, its glowing eyes brimming with power.

Jin Wu’s breath caught as the figure raised an enormous arm, summoning a tidal wave that loomed over him like a crushing mountain.

But he didn’t flinch.

Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Jin Wu closed his eyes and reached for the river's rhythm. The connection he had felt earlier pulsed stronger now, and a steady current aligned with his breathing, heartbeat, and essence.

As the wave crashed down, Jin Wu stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate. He extended his hands, not to fight the wave but to guide it. The river's energy surged around him, and he moved with it, redirecting the wave’s force and splitting it in two. The water surged past him, crashing harmlessly into the canyon walls.

The figure roared, raising both arms for another attack, but Jin Wu didn’t wait. He reached deeper into the river’s rhythm, drawing its energy into himself. The currents spiraled around him, forming a vortex that pulsed with power.

Jin Wu thrusts his hands forward with a sharp exhale, releasing energy in a single, focused strike. The vortex surged toward the water figure, colliding with it in an explosion of light and sound.

The figure shattered, its form dissolving into a cascade of shimmering droplets that rained down around him. The river calmed, its surface smooth and reflective once more.

As the last of the droplets fell, the canyon grew silent. The storm clouds faded, replaced by a clear, starry sky. Jin Wu stood at the river's edge, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

Old Yu’s voice echoed faintly in the stillness. “Not bad, Lost Supper. You’ve learned to move with the current. But don’t get cocky. The river runs deep, and you’ve barely dipped your toes.”

Jin Wu chuckled weakly, the exhaustion mingling with a faint sense of triumph. Whatever lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain:

He wasn’t just surviving anymore—he was flowing.

----------------------------------------

The vast expanse of Jin Wu’s Inner River shimmered with a quiet, silvery glow, rippling beneath his feet. The water was calm now, the raging torrents from before gone, leaving only a steady, gentle current that hummed with quiet power.

Old Yu stood before him, hands clasped behind his back, his translucent figure glowing faintly in the dim light. This time, there were no teasing grins or mocking words. For once, the old man seemed… reflective and almost solemn.

“Well, Lost Supper,” Old Yu said, breaking the silence. His voice was still tinged with its usual dry humor, but there was a note of something deeper—something almost reverent. “You’ve managed to bumble your way through my trials. Never thought I’d see the day.”

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Jin Wu huffed, crossing his arms. “Bumbling, huh? Last I checked, I’m the one standing here, not you.”

Old Yu smirked. “Fair point. I suppose even a blind fish finds the current once in a while.”

“Alright, old man,” Jin Wu shot back, though his voice carried more fatigue than venom. “I’ve survived your trials, learned your lessons, and flowed with your damn river. What happens now?”

Old Yu’s expression shifted, the teasing edge fading. He stepped forward, his translucent form seeming more solid with each step. “Now,” he said, his voice quieter, “I pass on what’s left of me to you.”

Jin Wu blinked, suddenly wary. “What do you mean, ‘what’s left of you’? You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

“Relax,” Old Yu said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not off to reincarnate just yet. But my knowledge—the essence of the River Path—that’s yours now. You’ve earned it.”

Jin Wu hesitated, glancing down at the river beneath his feet. “I don’t get it. Why me? I’m just a—”

“Enough with the questions,” Old Yu interrupted, his tone sharp but not unkind. “You think the river cares about your doubts? About whether you’re worthy? Bah!” He jabbed a finger toward Jin Wu, his translucent face twisting into a half-smile. “I’ll tell you this: you weren’t picked because of your talent. You’re here because you’re not meant to hoard like the cultivators in your world. You’re meant to flow. To give. To guide. That’s the nature of the River Path.”

Jin Wu frowned, unsure whether to feel insulted or encouraged. “Not exactly a glowing endorsement.”

Old Yu chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, you’ve got your flaws. But you’ve got one thing the river values more than anything else: stubbornness. You have the guts to stand in the current and let it shape you, even if it grinds you to nothing. That’s why you’re here.”

Jin Wu’s gaze softened, and he gave a faint nod. “So… what now?”

Old Yu stepped closer, his translucent hand glowing with a faint golden light. “Now,” he said, his voice low and steady, “you receive my inheritance.”

The river around them began to ripple, the current swirling faster as light gathered at Old Yu’s hand. He pressed his glowing palm against Jin Wu’s chest, and the world erupted in a flood of sensations.

Jin Wu’s mind exploded with images and sensations. Rivers carved through endless landscapes, their currents alive with power. Symbols and patterns seared themselves into his consciousness, each one a key to unlocking the secrets of the River Path. He saw Old Yu’s memories—centuries of wandering the rivers of the mortal and immortal realms, battles fought with the flow of energy itself, moments of stillness where the river’s truths were revealed.

The knowledge was vast and overwhelming, but it didn’t crush him. Instead, it flowed like a gentle stream, weaving through his thoughts and filling the cracks in his understanding. It didn’t replace who he was but expanded it, adding new depths and currents to his soul.

As the flood of energy slowed, Jin Wu gasped for air, his knees buckling beneath him. He sank to the river’s surface, the cool water lapping at his arms as he struggled to steady himself.

“Breathe,” Old Yu’s voice said, though it sounded faint and distant. “The river’s not going to drown you. Not yet, anyway.”

Jin Wu forced himself to his feet, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “That… was a lot.”

Old Yu chuckled, his figure flickering like a candle flame. “It always is. But you handled it better than I expected. Not bad for an old codger.”

Jin Wu glared at him, though his eyes showed no real anger. “So that’s it, then? I’m just supposed to figure this out on my own?”

“Not quite,” Old Yu said, his smirk softening into something almost… fond. “You’ll have some help.”

Before Jin Wu could respond, Old Yu’s form began to shimmer, his edges blurring like mist in the morning sun, a tiny wisp of golden light broke away from his fading figure, hovering in the air between them.

“What—what’s happening?” Jin Wu asked, his voice sharp and panicked.

“Relax,” Old Yu said, his voice growing quieter. “I’m not leaving. Just… relocating.”

The golden wisp darted forward, sinking into Jin Wu’s chest. He gasped, his hand flying to his heart as a warm, steady presence settled within him.

“You’ll hear me when you need me,” Old Yu’s voice echoed in his mind, quieter now but still carrying its usual dry humor. “Just don’t expect me to hold your hand. The river flows forward. You’d better keep up.”

Jin Wu clenched his fists, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Great. A grumpy old man in my head. Just what I needed.”

Old Yu’s laughter echoed faintly as his form dissolved completely, merging with the river. “Flow well, Lost Supper. And remember: the river doesn’t wait for anyone—not even you.”

Jin Wu stood alone in the quiet expanse of his Inner River. The weight of Old Yu’s inheritance sat heavy in his chest, but it wasn’t a burden. It was a promise. The river flowed through him now, its current a constant presence in his soul.

With a faint smirk, he glanced down at his reflection in the shimmering water. “Flow well, huh?” he muttered to himself. “Alright, old man. Let’s see how far this river goes.”

The current beneath him swirled faster, the river’s song filling the air as he took his first step forward. The journey had only just begun.

----------------------------------------

Jin Wu surveyed his Inner River, where the once tranquil currents now consisted of a vast network of glowing streams that branched endlessly in every direction. The waters now thrummed with vibrant power, the marks of a Liuzhu (Flow Master).

He had lost track of how long he had been training within this timeless space. Years? Centuries? Time flowed differently here, as intangible as the currents he now commanded. Yet, within this eternal serenity, something was changing.

His attention returned to the outside—a small clearing by Old Yu's tributary he used for training— and he took a slow breath, his hands forming a gesture that sent ripples cascading across the energies surrounding him. He reached out with his will, directing the flow of the energy streams as easily as a master painter guiding their brush. Beneath his touch, the energy danced, twisting into intricate spirals of light that rose into the air, forming symbols so precise they pulsed with life. Each movement carried intent—every stream obeyed his command, bending and shifting in harmony.

Jin Wu exhaled, watching the symbols dissolve into the currents and fade back into the ambiance. He closed his eyes, letting the steady hum of the flow fill his mind. The years spent mastering this path had taught him more than power—they had taught him patience. But even he could feel it now, stirring like a restless breeze across the waters.

A disturbance.

At first, the ripples in his Inner River were faint, subtle enough to be dismissed as imagination. But they grew stronger and deeper until the entire space seemed to pulse with an alien presence.

Jin Wu frowned, his eyes snapping open. The river beside him churned, the currents twisting into chaotic eddies. Something—no, someone—was coming.

And then, the silence shattered.

A sharp crack echoed through the air as the river's surface split open like glass. From the fissure emerged a figure cloaked in pale, ghostly light. Her presence was commanding and impossible to ignore. Her robes flowed like mist, her hair as black as the void, and her piercing gaze shone with the weight of eons.

Jin Wu instinctively stepped back, a swirl of defensive energy surrounding him. But before he could act, a familiar voice broke the tension.

“Uh… Mother Meng! What a… surprise!” Old Yu’s translucent form appeared beside Jin Wu, his usual smirk now replaced with a nervous grin. He adjusted his fishing hat, the motion jittery. “What brings you to my little tributary?”

Mother Meng’s gaze snapped to Old Yu, her expression icy enough to freeze the river in its tracks. “You know perfectly well why I’m here, Yu Taihe.” Her voice carried the weight of mountains, each syllable reverberating with unyielding authority.

Old Yu winced, scratching the back of his head. “Ah, well, you see, it’s a funny story—”

“Enough.” Mother Meng raised a hand, silencing him. Her attention turned to Jin Wu, her piercing gaze sweeping over him like a blade. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her tone sharp but not unkind. “This soul was never meant to linger.”

Jin Wu’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I’ve trained, I’ve passed the trials—”

“Silence.” Her words cut through his protest like a knife. “This is not your path, soul of the mortal realm. You have tasks yet unfinished, threads of fate that still tether you to the world below.”

Old Yu cleared his throat, raising a hesitant hand. “Now, hold on a moment. Jin Wu’s been doing just fine here. The River Path suits him, don’t you think? Why send him back to—”

“Because you tampered with the cycle of Samsara,” Mother Meng snapped, her voice like thunder. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t feel the ripple of a soul plucked from its proper course?”

Old Yu shifted uncomfortably, his translucent form flickering like a dimming lantern. “In my defense, the gate was loose,” he muttered. “Not entirely my fault.”

Mother Meng’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the entire river seemed to still under her gaze. But then, a flicker of something softened in her expression—just for an instant, like the brief glint of sunlight on a stormy sea. She turned back to Jin Wu, her tone measured.

“Chance and destiny are intertwined,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less commanding. “The River Path was not your destiny, Jin Wu. But perhaps….”

Jin Wu stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. “Then… am I going back?”

Mother Meng didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze flicked to Old Yu, a subtle shift in her expression—a look of understanding or perhaps something more profound. When she spoke again, her words were deliberate.

“Even rivers must diverge from their course to shape the land. Perhaps your coming here was necessary. Perhaps the gate was loosened for a purpose. The rest… is for you to discover.”

Her cryptic words hung in the air, leaving Jin Wu with more questions than answers. But before he could press further, she raised her hand, her fingers tracing a glowing sigil in the air. The river’s currents surged, a blinding light consuming the space as Jin Wu felt himself pulled forward—back, he realized, to the mortal realm.

“Wait!” Old Yu called, stepping forward. “What about—”

Mother Meng said coldly, cutting him off. “He returns to where he came from, or you face the consequences.”

Old Yu froze, his shoulders slumping as he watched Jin Wu’s form dissolve into the light. “Well, Lost Supper,” he muttered, half to himself, “guess the river’s not done with you yet.”

Jin Wu thought of the rivers of energy he’d learned to master, the symbols that danced under his command, and the trials that had shaped him. A smirk tugged at his lips. How would he stack up against his world’s cultivators now?

As Jin Wu vanished, Mother Meng lingered for a moment, her gaze fixed on the spot where he had stood. The air around her shimmered, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Flow well, stubborn soul,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Your current is far from finished.”

Then, with a flick of her hand, she turned and vanished, leaving the tributary as still and quiet as before.