But amidst this sea of suffering, two figures moved with a rhythm that defied common sense.

"Ninety-nine bottles of Spirit Wine on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of wine..." Lin Ji’an sang, her voice slightly breathless but remarkably steady. She took another step, planting her boot firmly on the mossy stone.

Behind her, Xie Wangchen followed. He wasn’t singing, but his breathing was a controlled, rhythmic hiss. Sweat slicked his black hair back from his forehead, revealing the sharp, determined lines of his face.

His clothes were soaked through, clinging to the new muscle definition he had built over the last few weeks of Ji’an’s "Hell Kitchen" training regime.

Ji’an glanced back. "You okay, Little Puddle? If your legs are jelly, I can tow you. I have a rope."

Wangchen looked up, wiping sweat from his eyes. A bead of perspiration rolled down his jawline, catching the sunlight.

"I am fine, Young Master," he gritted out. "The pressure... is alright. It tempers the bones."

Ji’an smiled. She knew he was telling the truth. Since the Nine-Petal Golden Marrow Pill she gave him has reshaped him.

The gravity wasn’t crushing him; it was compacting his power, making him denser, sharper.

As for herself? She touched the spot on her chest where the Yin-Yang Void Locket resided in her spiritual sea. The artifact was doing heavy lifting, creating a buffer zone that neutralized about 40% of the gravity.

Combined with her naturally sturdy Special Constitution, which turned calories into stamina efficiently, she felt like she was doing a rigorous hike, not a death march.

’Just a little more,’ she thought, looking at the distant peak. ’Once we get in, the system says I’ll trigger the "Fade Out" mission. I just need to get Wangchen settled, find him a nice Master, and then I can retire to a side peak and open a bakery!’

She looked back at him again.

He was also staring at her.

It wasn’t the first time. Over the last three days, whenever she turned around, she would catch him looking at her constantly.

It wasn’t the glare of a future villain plotting murder. It was a dark, intense, unreadable gaze that felt heavy, heavier than the gravity array.

It was a look that seemed to want to swallow her whole, dissect her secrets, and lock her in a box all at the same time.

"What?" Ji’an asked, blinking. "Is there a bug on my back?"

Wangchen didn’t look away. His dark eyes burned with a strange light. "No, Young Master. Just... watching your steps. To follow."

"Well, stop staring so hard. You’ll burn a hole in my robe."

Wangchen lowered his gaze, a faint, imperceptible smile touching his lips. "Yes, Young Master."

He didn’t say what he was actually thinking.

’You are not struggling at all, Young Master. Everyone else is almost dying, and you are treating the Stairway to Heaven like a morning stroll. Who are you, really? And why do you shine so brightly that I cannot look away?’

.

.

.

Two hours later, they crested the final step.

The pressure vanished instantly.

Ji’an stumbled forward, feeling light as a feather, and nearly face-planted into the pavement. Wangchen’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm to steady her. His grip was firm, hot, and lingering.

"Careful," he murmured.

Ji’an straightened up and gasped.

Before them lay the Outer City of the Celestial Sword Sect. It was a sprawling market town built on the flat plateau of the summit.

White stone buildings with azure tiles gleamed in the sun. Spirit cranes flew overhead. The air smelled of ozone, rare herbs, and money.

It was bustling. Merchants shouted, selling talismans and recovery pills to the exhausted candidates who had made the climb.

"We made it," Ji’an grinned, slapping Wangchen on the back. "Civilization! Real beds! Hot water!"

Wangchen looked at the city, his hand resting on the hilt of Winter’s Sigh. He felt a surge of triumph. He had climbed the mountain.

He hadn’t needed help. He stood here, not as a slave, but as a candidate with a Flawless Spirit Root.

And he stood next to Him.

"Where to first?" Wangchen asked. "The registration hall?"

"No," Ji’an said firmly. "We look like swamp monsters. If we go to register like this, they’ll think we’re beggars. We need a bath, fresh clothes, and sleep. In that order."

She grabbed his sleeve and dragged him into the crowd. "To the Inn!"

The Cloud-Rest Inn was the finest establishment in the market square. It boasted spirit-gathering arrays in every room, bathtubs carved from warm jade, and a kitchen that served spirit-beast delicacies.

It was also extortionately expensive.

Ji’an slapped her Merchant Guild VIP Token, thanks to Wen Shiru, and a bag of spirit stones on the counter.

"A room," she requested. "Top floor. Quiet. With the big tub."

The Innkeeper, a chubby man with a shrewd eye, looked at the two disheveled but obviously wealthy youths. He looked at the token. His eyes widened.

"Of course, Young Master! We have the Heaven-Grade Suite available. It has a cultivation chamber, a viewing balcony, and a master bedroom."

"Perfect," Ji’an nodded. "We’ll take it."

"And for your... attendant?" The Innkeeper gestured to Wangchen. "We have servant quarters in the stables. Very clean straw. Only 5 spirit stones a night."

The air temperature dropped.

Wangchen didn’t move, but his expression went flat. He was used to this. He was a servant. Servants slept in the stables or on the floor. It was the law of the world. He prepared to bow and accept.

"Excuse me?" Ji’an’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a cleaver.

She leaned over the counter, glaring at the Innkeeper.

"Did you just suggest I put my... brother... in a stable?"

The Innkeeper blinked. "Brother? But his robes... his position..."

"We are brothers of the Dao!" Ji’an improvised wildly, slamming her hand on the counter. "We fought back-to-back against a Thunder-Claw Bear! We shared blood, sweat, and tears! You want me to sleep in silk while my brother sleeps on straw?"