It wasn’t a cave.

  It was a mountain of gold and a sea of silver.

  Wherever I looked, the place glittered: pearls, jade rings, golds, crystals… an overwhelming hoard, dazzling enough to blind. It was as if both the imperial treasury and some duke’s private vault had exploded and dumped their contents here in one go.

  Right ahead stood a stone stele, bold characters carved across its face:

  “Take what you dare—what’s taken is yours.”

  I froze for three seconds, then burst out laughing, cold and sharp as a blade.

  “Sure. Why not just write, ‘Please come over here, try me and go to hell immediately’?”

  The system chimed politely:

  “Friendly reminder: You have entered the Trial of Greed. Refrain from taking anything.”

  “I’m not taking a damn thing,” I said flatly.

  I propped myself on my cane and turned to leave.

  Two seconds later, the system spoke again:

  “Please proceed in the correct direction.”

  “…?”

  I turned around.

  The “correct direction” was—of course—right behind the mountain of jewelries.

  So unless I waded straight through this glittering temptation, I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “You’re forcing me into rebellion,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

  Step by step, I walked across gold bricks like a man trampling on his ancestors’ commandments, my conscience bleeding out with every move.

  I wasn’t greedy! Not even a little!

  I kept my eyes forward, hands to myself, heart like stone—

  Then, just as I passed a pile of night pearls, the ground gave a violent rumble.

  The floor split open.

  And I, along with my cane, dropped straight into the abyss.

  The system’s voice floated after me, calm as ever:

  “Violation detected: Emotional fluctuation threshold exceeded. You have triggered Hidden Trial—Playfulness.”

  I was furious, half laughing, half choking.

  “Playful? I’ll show you—”

  Before I could finish, a heavy mist surged up from below, swallowing me whole. The world flipped over.

  When the haze cleared, I found myself somewhere a hundred times more absurd.

  I was standing on the stage of a grand pleasure house—golden balconies, drifting incense, lights as bright as day. I was dressed in rainbow feathers, a gilded fan in hand. Behind me, lanterns swayed; before me, a packed audience roared in delight.

  “Lord Gong! One more pose!”

  “Do the tour en l’air! Again!”

  I looked down.

  Oh heavens.

  I was wearing the infamous Cloud-Walker Embroidered Slippers—the “limited edition” shoes every brothel dancer dreamed of owning. Legend said they let you “step on clouds, bloom with every stride.” A must-have for any debut performer.

  The system popped up again:

  “Current temptation: Vanity. Please remain mentally clear.”

  I cracked. My soul left my body.

  “System, what do you mean by this? Greed, lust, fear—I’ll admit all that. But fame? I’m a humble, self-effacing gentleman! A lonely orchid blooming in silence—”

  “Error. Record found: You once engraved ‘Capital’s No.1 Gentleman’ on one hundred folding fans and distributed them to thirteen brothels across the city to ‘boost recognition.’”

  “…”

  “That was theater marketing,” I muttered weakly.

  “No comment.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Onstage, my illusory self suddenly executed a flawless smile. The crowd went wild.

  That was the last straw.

  “Enough!” I yelled, hurling the fan. “Burn this stupid stage down!”

  I kicked at the curtain—

  And the whole illusion shattered.

  Gold, silver, lanterns—all crumbled into dust before my eyes.

  “Action detected: Voluntary destruction of illusion. Trial cleared. Stage One: Greed—Completed.”

  “…What?”

  I just stood there, staring at the ruins.

  “You’re telling me I couldn’t pass by insight or restraint—but throwing a tantrum works?”

  The system paused, then displayed:

  “Congratulations. You have passed the Trial of Greed using the Technique of Doing Something by Doing Nothing.”

  “Just say I cleared it by losing my mind,” I snapped.

  “Next trial initializing: Wrath.”

  I slumped to the ground, panting like a fish on shore.

  “Wrath? Don’t bother opening it. I can curse for three days and nights without repeating myself.”

  “Trial Two: Wrath. Type: Emotional provocation, memory distortion, immersive illusion.”

  My gut twisted. This wasn’t going to end well.

  Before I could even lift my cane—

  Crack.

  The stone beneath me collapsed, dragging me down again.

  The plot felt painfully familiar.

  Last time I fell off a cliff, I landed in a cave. Then a lake.

  Same story this time—splash, darkness, cold water everywhere.

  Damn it. Heaven must still be mad about that bottle of sacrificial wine I “borrowed” from Father years ago.

  But this water wasn’t normal.

  It was cold as grave mist, slick as serpents, and it coiled into my bones like old debts coming to collect.

  I kicked, thrashed—but the harder I fought, the deeper I sank.

  All around me, darkness. Then—voices.

  “Why are you even alive?”

  “You’re worthless.”

  My heart lurched. “Shut up!” I tried to shout, but the sound came out muffled.

  The voices pressed closer, clearer, crueler:

  “Even Mother doesn’t want you. Why don’t you just die already?”

  Something inside me cracked.

  Four faint lights glimmered ahead.

  I looked—and my blood froze solid.

  Two faces. One body.

  A twin-headed monster.

  And both faces—my second and fourth elder brothers.

  My mouth trembled.

  “I remember it…”

  I did. Too well.

  When I was five, my third brother carved me my first wooden sword. The next day, it broke by the lotus pond—because these two had held me under the water until I nearly drowned.

  They’d called it a game.

  “Little Gong,” Second Brother sneered, teeth gleaming like ice. “You’ve lived too long already.”

  Fourth Brother’s voice was flat. “Mother never trusted you. She said you’d never amount to anything.”

  Their words rolled through the water, echoing in my skull.

  “Useless.”

  “Disgrace.”

  “You’ve shamed the entire General’s House.”

  Was it true? Or just my memory twisting?

  Something inside me whispered: They were only teasing you, you were a child.

  Another voice answered: No. That was the truth—you just refused to hear it.

  The deeper I sank, the heavier my heart became.

  Then—her face appeared.

  The lady of the house, pale against her couch, fingers toying with a piece of amethyst.

  “Gong’” she’d said softly, “this jade isn’t worth much, but its meaning matters. Remember—living wisely is better than living impressively.”

  Her hand had been so thin, her tone so gentle.

  But she was never truly my mother.

  I was only the boy she took in from a brothel, out of pity—or guilt.

  She never struck me, never scolded me.

  She simply kept her distance. Always.

  And I… I never dared call her “Mother.”

  I’d kept that jade like a lifeline—until the day I shattered it in anger.

  She hadn’t yelled. She’d only looked at me once, with that quiet, unreadable gaze—like she was looking at a stranger who had disappointed her.

  Since then, I never set foot in her chambers again.

  Even now, when she nods at me with that same soft smile, I feel nothing but shame.

  I know I don’t belong. Not in her house, not in her world.

  But still… why give me the jade, if I was never meant to hold it?

  The twin-headed thing drifted closer, sneering.

  “How could you ever be a true son of the General’s House?”

  “If she loved you, why was she silent when you broke it?”

  The water squeezed around me. My chest burned.

  “Shut up,” I rasped.

  The monster pressed on. “You don’t even believe you belong. You just want someone to prove you’re not a mistake.”

  Something in me snapped.

  I raised my bone staff, trembling.

  For a moment, I wanted to kill it—to kill the illusion—to kill the boy who still wanted to ask, ‘Am I really your son?’

  “No,” I growled. “You’re not real!”

  “System!” I shouted hoarsely. “When does this trial end?”

  “When you achieve emotional recognition and releases wrath”, it replied.

  I barely had time to curse before the surface above me exploded.

  A hand plunged through the water and gripped my wrist.

  It was Lian.

  He pulled me up, cutting through the twin-headed phantom with a sweep of his sleeve. His voice was calm, low, steady:

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

  Droplets glistened on his lashes. His eyes—clear, tender, just as I remembered them. The one person who’d ever stood up for me when the world turned away.

  “Lian…” I whispered. Hope, fragile and foolish, bloomed in my chest.

  He drew me onto a floating stone platform.

  “It’s over,” he said.

  I exhaled shakily. Before I could thank him, he leaned close and murmured—

  “But you really shouldn’t be alive.”

  Steel flashed.

  A slender blade slid from his sleeve, straight into my side.

  I froze. Stared.

  “You… you’re not him.”

  He smiled faintly.

  “No. I’m the version of him you fear the most—the one who betrays you.”