By the time the Heavens took pity on her, Bai Ning was about ready to scratch her own ears off.

  “…and I keep telling you, that’s not how it works. It’s not extortion, it’s tax. The Righteous Alliance takes a portion of our earnings so they can serve the collective interests of the Thousand Shattered Islands.” Li Kang’s loud, strident, and impassioned defense rolled like thunder through the green corridor of massive cubes they were traversing, like an elephant trumpeting its arrival long before it actually arrived.

  By contrast, Chen Zhuhe’s sharp, mocking bark of laughter was immediate but just as loud, a hyena jeering at a lion. “Right,” he said, drawing the word out with obvious skepticism, “so they tax you instead of just calling it robbery, and that magically makes it fine.” He shook his head. “I’ll never understand how people can be content handing over hard-earned spirit stones for vague promises.”

  Li Kang swelled up again, and Bai Ning was seriously reconsidering her stance on murdering allies when she spotted something above.

  Hope – desperate and fervent hope for an escape – bloomed within her, and she shouted over Li Kang’s sermon on how tax was not robbery and “only an idiot would confuse the two, by which of course I mean you, Chen Zhuhe!”

  “Brothers, look! The corridor splits ahead!”

  She took off before they could do more than glance up from their argument, leaping forward and sprinting until she skidded to a stop before the section she had seen. Two walls had descended parallel to one another, splitting the single corridor into three equal passages: left, right, and straight ahead. There were no markings and no indication of what they meant or where they led.

  A moment later, both Li Kang and Chen Zhuhe dropped down beside her, having sprinted to catch up. Mercifully, their incessant argument had been abandoned in favor of examining the passages before them.

  The conclusion was the same.

  “…I can’t sense anything special about any of these routes. My spiritual sense runs out halfway in, and the passages just keep going,” Chen Zhuhe said at last.

  Both Bai Ning and Li Kand nodded mutely to Chen Zhuhe’s words. They had sensed the same thing.

  Before Bai Ning could speak, Li Kang exhaled heavily and said bluntly, “We should split up.” His voice carried a weight that made both of them look at him.

  Chen Zhuhe immediately scowled. “Idiot. Obviously we should stay together. Did you hand over your brains along with your money to the Righteous Alliance?”

  Instead of snapping back, Li Kang sighed again. “I don’t want to split up either. But let me tell you both a secret that I only know because of my Sect’s closeness to Ancestor Qing.” He looked left and right, then leaned in as if about to share something of monumental importance.

  Bai Ning dutifully leaned in, though she doubted Li Kang was actually about to say anything important.

  “I’ve heard from my elders that this grand artifact is, in truth, a maze.” He breathed out the last word in a conspiratorial whisper. “And not a maze because it is confusing to navigate, but because it shifts. It changes every time and opens paths according to its own decisions. One corridor splitting into three while there are three cultivators present… that’s the maze telling us we need to move separately.”

  Huh. Bai Ning blinked in surprise. That aligned perfectly with what Master Mo Jian had taught her about the World of a Million Cubes: it rearranged itself, offering forward paths to those inside, and it was up to the contestants to find the most optimal ones. They could continue as a group, but clearly splitting was the better option. It was a tournament, after all. She just hadn’t expected Li kang to know that too, though she supposed she was being uncharitable. It wasn’t a secret, after all.

  Chen Zhuhe, by contrast, looked suitably taken aback. He cast an uneasy glance at the floor and the walls, as if afraid the corridor might be listening, before reluctantly nodding. “As I thought, the orthodox factions always hide the best knowledge for themselves,” he muttered. “Still… thanks for telling me, Brother Kang. I won’t betray your trust.”

  “Fool,” Li Kang said, voice thick, “what need is there for thanks between brothers? Besides, consider it my apology for my unjust attack on you earlier.” Then, shifting abruptly from solemnity to teasing, he added, “In fact, this is a good sign. You should give up your vagrant lifestyle and join the orthodox faction. I’ll even vouch for you.” He puffed out his chest proudly.

  Chen Zhuhe snorted. “As if. I’m not giving up my freedom to join a bunch of stuffy fools.” Then, belatedly realizing Bai Ning was present, he added, “Oh-apologies, Sister Bai Ning. I obviously didn’t mean you.”

  Chen Zhuhe’s apology earned him a flat look from Bai Ning, but before she could decide whether to bother responding, Li Kang clapped his hands together.

  “Well then,” he said, forcing brightness back into his voice, “since the maze itself has given us its guidance, let’s not waste time. The longer we linger, the more likely the paths will shift again.”

  That earned a grimace from both of the others.

  Bai Ning looked at the three passages; each identical and stretching far enough that even extended spiritual sense simply dissolved into the distance. Three paths for three cultivators. Simple, in the way only dangerous things tended to be. Which meant there was almost certainly another trial waiting ahead.

  “So,” she said, turning back to the men, “which way is everyone taking?”

  She asked because, as far as she could tell, there was nothing unique or special about any of the passages. Choosing one was entirely down to luck, and given that, any of them worked for her.

  Li Kang planted his hands on his hips. “Naturally, as the righteous member of this group, I shall take the rightmost path.”

  Chen Zhuhe snorted again. “Naturally, as the one with the most common sense, I’ll avoid the path chosen by someone who thinks taxes are good, and go left.”

  Li Kang drew himself up, outraged. “You-!”

  But before the argument could bloom into its usual storm, Bai Ning stepped between them and pointed at the middle corridor.

  “Then I’ll go straight. Until next time, Fellow Daoists.”

  That stopped them cold. A brief, awkward silence followed, before Li Kang bowed deeply. “Brother Chen, Sister Bai Ning, may fortune accompany you. Let’s meet again at the other side.”

  Chen Zhuhe offered a more casual salute. “Don’t die. Either of you.”

  Bai Ning smiled faintly. “Same to you.”

  For a heartbeat more, they paused. Then, without another word, each of them stepped into their chosen path.

  The change was immediate. This corridor was narrower than the ones she had traversed before, though “narrow” still meant wide enough for three people to walk abreast. More importantly, it was finally silent.

  She moved forward in that silence for several minutes, senses straining for even the slightest disturbance. Her barrier shimmered around her as a faint crimson bubble, and her sword hung coiled at her waist, ready to leap into her hand at a moment’s notice. Yet nothing appeared.

  At last, she let her head fall forward with a groan. “I must be going crazy. I can’t believe I’m missing their idiotic arguments already.”

  She slapped her cheeks, hard enough to sting. “Enough, Bai Ning. Focus. Think of what winning will be like.”

  That image did spur her on; herself standing as the final victor of the stage, faceless foes defeated behind her while she reached for the tournament prize.

  Bolstered by that thought, she continued on.

  A few minutes later, she finally saw something. It began as a faint shimmer at the corner of her eye, so subtle she dismissed it as imagination. But then it came again, a twitch of silver, gone before she could properly focus. She blinked, once, twice, leaning forward, qi sharpening her vision.

  She slowed, eyes straining-

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  -and there.

  A flash like lightning on polished steel. It had been just for a second, but she saw it. A colossal blade, as tall and wide as the corridor itself, cleaving out from the seam between two massive cubes on her right and vanishing into the opposite wall with impossible speed. A breath later, a second blade swept from left to right, crossing the first’s path like the interlocking fangs of some mechanical titan.

  They moved so fast she hadn’t truly seen them; only the afterimage burned into her vision.

  Bai Ning’s pulse raced in excitement. She considered for a moment, then extracted a simple paper scroll from her storage pouch.

  She lobbed it forward.

  The air flickered – once, twice.

  The scroll hit the verdant floor in neat silence… in three perfectly sliced pieces.

  She stared at the fragments and tapped her chin. Based on the speed of the blades, could she get through before being cut into thirds? Not with the Imperial Flying Steps. The Paper Crane, then? Except there was barely enough room to deploy it, and even if she did, she wasn’t confident it would work. Timing was everything there, and she’d need to retreat, build up speed, then pass through at the exact right moment. If she misjudged…

  Well, she wasn’t interested in becoming a neatly portioned cautionary tale.

  It might not have been such an issue if she were certain her barrier could withstand the blades, but she wasn’t about to stick a hand through them to test it. She could extend the barrier, but thinning it would defeat the point. Besides, she had another option, and she’d much rather try that first.

  Drawing a deep breath, Bai Ning activated the Divine Water Lightning Technique.

  She still didn’t like using it. Even after mastering the finicky balance between lightning qi and water qi it demanded at her current stage, the technique was still too slow and troublesome for actual combat. Compared to it, Imperial Flying Steps was as natural as breathing. The Divine Water Lightning Technique might be faster, in theory, but it was also a hundred times more temperamental.

  Still, a static trap like this was the perfect chance to use it.

  A luminous nimbus of blue and silver wrapped around her, dimming with each breath as the two energies blended until she was outlined in a faint, shimmering film. Her senses sharpened. The blades snapping from left to right and right to left – so fast she had barely glimpsed them before – now slowed enough for her to truly see them. And between their alternating swings, she spotted it: a gap; a brief opening created when the blade from the right overlapped with the blade from the left, roughly midway into the opposing walls.

  It was like threading the eye of a needle. Find the opening, perfect the timing, and move.

  She put away her sword and her parasol. They would only slow her down.

  The good thing about the Divine Water Lightning technique was that it cut down the lag between thought and motion. Her body followed her mind’s instructions perfectly. The blades cycled through their murderous rhythm before her, and she watched them with unblinking focus, her gaze fixed on the fleeting gap that appeared at the same instant each time the edges crossed.

  There. The opening vanished, and Bai Ning slid one foot back, coiling herself like a drawn bowstring, waiting for the next emergence of the gap.

  Then, she moved. The world stretched thin around her, dragged out like silk drawn between fingers. Everything slowed down, even her own pulse, so that the moment seemed to stretch on for eternity. The blades that had blurred with impossible speed now swept through the corridor in long, deliberate arcs, metal screaming against metal as they crossed.

  She slipped into the opening.

  The corridor seemed to contract around her, narrowing to the width of the gap she’d chosen. The walls became streaks of green and shadow at the edges of her vision. The blade from the right whispered past her shoulder, its passage stirring the cloth of her sleeve. The blade from the left slammed down just ahead, close enough that she felt it tug a few strands of hair forward as it descended.

  And then she was through.

  The world snapped back to its proper speed, the blades crashing behind her with a sound like steel parting silk. Bai Ning exhaled, half a breath, half a laugh, exhilaration rushing through her as the shimmering film of the Divine Water Lightning Technique dissolved into drifting motes of silver and blue.

  She looked back at the corridor.

  The blades continued their relentless dance, indifferent and unceasing to her passage. She was still grinning like a fool, but she mastered herself and continued on. This was hardly going to be the last trap she came across.

  Yet, for the moment, the maze seemed content to pause its trials. Bai Ning pressed onward, moving through the narrow corridor for what felt like an hour. No openings appeared and no traps presented themselves, either. At one point, the corridor widened to the size of the regular passages, but beyond that, nothing. She had started tense, every sense alert, and by the time she saw something else, she was fighting tedium.

  Then, finally, the corridor ended.

  She stepped into a vast, cavernous room, but one unlike any she had encountered. There were no walls here; only the outlines of a green cube, hovering in the void, tracing the edges of the space. Within it, another cube floated, outlined in the same luminescent green, angled so that its points met the walls of the larger cube like a kite suspended inside a square.

  And the room was not empty.

  A narrow floor spanned between the floating cubes, composed of the same green material but etched with intricate designs. A group of five cultivators stood on that floor, and they noticed her the instant she noticed them. Their spiritual sense collided with hers in mid-air like invisible swords clashing.

  Still, none of them made a move to attack. The reason became clear a moment later. From the pitch-black void surrounding the chamber, a single green cube dropped from above toward the floor. The cultivators studied its underside briefly before unleashing a precise, collective strike, nudging the cube to the left. It landed perfectly atop the floor, its etched designs matching exactly, and the entire platform rose a foot into the air.

  Bai Ning suddenly understood. This room was a puzzle. Each falling block had to be positioned precisely; only then would the floor lift, carrying anyone on it forward. It was a game of alignment, a three-dimensional puzzle with invisible rules preventing flight or deviation. The cultivators had to play it correctly, or risk being stranded.

  No wonder the cultivators were looking at her warily. If she attacked, they’d be hard pressed to defend themselves. Bai Ning studied them for a moment longer, watching their robes, their tools, their pinched expressions, before deciding to move on. They neither looked like they needed help, nor like they would welcome it.

  Instead, she focused her attention on another passage she could see, on the other end of the room. It was identical to the one she was peering into this room from, but reaching it would require crossing the room first.

  She stepped out from the ledge of the corridor she was perched on, and dropped, aiming for the edge below her. She overshot slightly and had to reach out, grasping the nearest edge. But instead of pulling herself upward, she felt gravity shift. The ‘wall’ she clung to became a ‘floor.’ From her new vantage, the actual floor, and the cultivators standing upon it, had rotated into a perpendicular plane, a wall they now walked along.

  Weird, but exhilarating.

  She tested the edge, shifting her weight, leaping from one side of it to another. Each jump rotated the world anew. The edge she had left became a towering wall; the one she landed upon solidified into her floor. Her body twisted midair to follow the ever-changing pull of gravity, her barrier shimmering faintly to stabilize her balance.

  Finally satisfied, and a little nauseous, she carefully moved along the edge, then leapt towards the ‘wall’ in front of her. Gravity shifted again, and the edge she had just left became another ‘wall,’ and the edge she had leapt towards became the ‘floor.’ She progressed like this, barrier active, moving with deliberate caution and precise timing, until she reached the opening she had spotted from her entry point.

  It led to another corridor, identical to the one she had emerged from. She spared a final glance at the cultivators below; they returned her gaze with the same wariness. Then, Bai Ning stepped forward, leaving the floating chamber, and its enigmatic puzzle, behind her.

  The new corridor seemed to pulse in time with her own excitement, as if it were alive and aware of her presence. She had barely stepped far enough that the opening behind her vanished from sight when the passage abruptly ended. A wall of green cubes rose before her, smooth and unbroken, a monolithic barrier that seemed to thrum with quiet judgment, whispering, dead end.

  Then, without warning, the wall shivered. The cubes quivered like liquid stone, and from their midst, a face began to form. It was made of the same green blocks, yet somehow animated, as though the wall itself had peeled back to reveal a consciousness hidden within. Massive, blocky, and impossibly vast, it stretched from floor to ceiling, filling the corridor with its presence. If it opened its mouth, she realized, she would vanish in an instant, swallowed whole by geometric jaws.

  Bai Ning backed away bit by bit as the face emerged, her Crimson Parasol shining defensively at her back. The face continued to unfold, until it spanned the full width of the corridor. Then, its eye opened. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but what stared back at her was both on point and still mesmerizing: an intricate lattice of shifting blocks, moving in hypnotic, impossible patterns. At the center, a single green cube burned with the intensity of a star, a pupil glowing with unearthly green fire.

  Bai Ning prepared herself for a fight.

  But the face did not attack. Instead, it spoke.

  The voice came from everywhere at once, rolling off the walls, vibrating through the floor beneath her feet, and yet it also seemed to originate from the mouth alone. The effect was dizzying, and somewhat unnerving.

  “Contestant,” it rumbled, each word shaking the very air, “answer my three riddles, and the passage is yours. Fail, and pay the penalty. Solve at least two, and you may leave. Will you face me, or flee with your tail tucked between your legs?”

  A smile spread across Bai Ning’s face with each word, growing until it seemed to light her entire being. Her pulse leapt with exhilaration; she could hardly keep herself from bouncing in anticipation.

  This – this was exactly like the jade slips she had read. And now, the stories had come alive before her eyes.

  She spoke up, barely able to contain her excitement. “I will answer your riddles, guardian. Bring it on. In fact, the answer to the first is… ‘Man.’”

  “Very well,” the voice rumbled again, but then faltered, actually registering her words. “Wait-what do you mean by ‘Man’? I have not yet given you the riddle.” Its booming tone slipped into a peculiar, almost incredulous whine.

  Bai Ning looked up, unshaken. “Isn’t the first riddle going to be: What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?”

  The face regarded her for a long, silent moment. “No,” it finally said, sounding irked. “Why would I ask something that everyone already knows?”

  “Oh,” Bai Ning said, caught off guard. The logic was sound, but it did little to satisfy her thrill-seeking heart. In every story, wasn’t the first riddle always the same?

  She drew in a steadying breath, pushing her disappointment aside. “No matter. Even if you are not as grand as the talking walls in the stories, I will still solve your riddles. Bring them on.” Her enthusiasm had dimmed slightly, though determination still shone in her eyes.

  The face seemed, for the first time, genuinely at a loss for words. It opened its mouth, then paused, as if reconsidering, before finally speaking. “Here is the actual first riddle. Are you ready?”

  Bai Ning’s grin returned, fierce and uncontainable. “Always.”

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