Chapter 22: The Mirror

“Strange, there’s no trace of the Black Wind Lord.”

Zuo Meng openly landed atop the highest structure of Heifeng Fort without concealment. With his current cultivation, none of the Black Wind Lord’s disciples posed a threat—neither the boatman nor the woman could withstand even a single strike from him. On this mountain, he feared nothing except the Black Wind Lord himself.

“I clearly saw him ascend during the day, yet no one has descended since.”

Zuo Meng grew increasingly wary of the Black Wind Lord’s cunning. After modifying the laws, his internal energy had surged by two centuries. He should have detected anyone leaving the mountain, yet this formidable figure had vanished like smoke, cooling Zuo Meng’s recently inflated mentality.

This world held deeper secrets than he’d imagined.

“I’ll search the chambers first.”

With a flip, Zuo Meng entered an upper-level room of Heifeng Fort. The boatman had reported here earlier—this had to be the Black Wind Lord’s quarters.

The room lay silent. Dust coated the wooden floors. Shelves held bamboo scrolls while landscapes and calligraphy adorned the walls. Further in sat meditation cushions and a bed, appearing entirely ordinary.

“Suspicious. This empty space shows no signs of habitation.”

Memories of the Lord who’d escorted him up the mountain prickled Zuo Meng’s instincts.

“Common calligraphy scrolls?”

He inspected a bamboo slip only to find mundane writings.

Venturing deeper, Zuo Meng discovered scattered bamboo slips and peculiar puppets in a back chamber. Finding no clues, he returned to study the wall paintings—crude works likely created by the Black Wind Lord. Alongside landscapes and flora, bizarre human portraits caught his eye: all figures faced away, their backs turned as if gazing into eternity. Young and old, monks and Daoists—none revealed their faces.

At the third window-side painting, Zuo Meng froze. Lifting the scroll revealed hollow darkness behind.

“Stairs?”

A hidden staircase ascended where no higher floor should exist. Though cautious, his two centuries of cultivation emboldened him. After momentary hesitation, he climbed.

The world hushed as his foot touched the first step.

Silence swallowed all sound.

“Absent sound laws?”

Zuo Meng instantly recognized the missing fundamental forces.

“More than sound—multiple laws are deficient here. Is this the Black Wind Lord’s true power?”

Law loopholes!

Twenty-one steps led to a sparse loft containing only a table and tarnished mirror. As Zuo Meng approached, primal dread froze him mid-step.

Danger!

Extreme danger!

The bronze mirror’s cloudy surface held a watching figure—a being whose gaze promised death. Instinct screamed that advancing would unleash this entity.

“What nightmare is this?”

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Despite his formidable power, Zuo Meng recognized forces beyond mortal comprehension. The mirror’s secret birthed legends—this was how the Black Wind Lord ascended.

“Deeper law analysis required. The Dream World needs further development.”

Suppressing ambition, Zuo Meng retreated.

Back in the empty chamber, he fled through the window into night’s embrace.

Moments later in the hidden chamber, the mirror quivered. A pale hand emerged, its touch reducing the table to ash. Black Mist billowed as a silhouette stepped forth.

“Resisting temptation… Worthy of being my disciple, slayer of the Defiler.”

The figure ascended to Zuo Meng’s entry point. Dissipating mist revealed the Black Wind Lord himself.

“Soon,” the Lord murmured by the window, “new portraits will join my collection.”

“Wouldn’t you agree, Dao Zuo?”

From shadowed corners emerged the puppet Zuo Meng had glimpsed earlier.