Tô Mạc Tà and the Silver Horn Taoist, Gold Horn Taoist, rose at the same time.
As previously agreed, the girl moved to the farthest corner from the straw cushion, so far that even if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to return in time.
She closed her eyes. Her brows drew together ever so slightly.
Ngân Giác Tử and Kim Giác Tử were probably gloating by now. From their perspective, they had her cornered, no other cushion left, no chance to sit. They likely thought she'd shut her eyes in quiet resignation, submitting to fate without resistance.
But in truth, Tô Mạc Tà was thinking. Deeply.
There was something wrong about this Thunderclap Pagoda.
The first two trials had been cruel, each designed to kill without any escape in sight. Why would the third be any less vicious?
Time crept by.
One by one, the green candles began to extinguish. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel each tiny flame flicker and die. In her mind's eye, the room dimmed slowly, inching toward complete darkness.
She was reminded of a name that once haunted all of Aparagodānī - Blood Shade.
That madman had stalked the weak, mortals with barely a Chi Pearl to their name. He could've ended them cleanly. He chose not to.
He'd drug them. Bind them. Then approach slowly with a blunt knife - relishing every tremble, every tear, every strangled breath.
When the Four Great Sects finally captured him, Blood Shade confessed: it wasn't the killing he craved. It was the moment just before. That instant when his victims realized death was coming, and there was no escape. He lived for that flash of naked terror in their eyes, so sharp it seemed ready to spill out of their skulls.
To Tô Mạc Tà, this pagoda was no different.
It didn't kill with blades or poison. It killed with time.
It let you "watch" - not with your eyes, but with your mind - as each candle's life vanished. A slow suffocation. A rising tide of dread.
She thought of the elder from Phù Trúc village. She thought of Lạc Trần.
Fear gives birth to despair. Despair breeds madness. And madness... madness can do terrifying things.
At last, she opened her eyes.
She had understood the nature of this trial.
When the thirty-third green flame guttered out, the chanting stopped. The three shadows rose and slowly made their way to the exit, leaving behind the final straw mat - an empty one.
Ngân Giác Tử dropped onto it instantly, sitting cross-legged with a self-satisfied smirk.
Kim Giác Tử stepped forward, blocking Tô Mạc Tà's path, trying to give his brother the best chance at survival.
But Tô Mạc Tà didn't flinch. She calmly raised the Soundstone and fed Chi into it.
The chanting resumed.
The three shadows, just steps from the threshold, paused. They turned in unison, movements stiff as wooden dolls, and walked back toward the altar.
Ngân Giác Tử froze. He had misread everything.
Luckily for him, Kim Giác Tử acted fast. He yanked his brother off the mat just in time. The moment Ngân Giác Tử's weight lifted, the three "monks" silently reclaimed the straw cushion. Had he lingered even a breath longer, he'd likely have been executed on the spot, just like the village chief.
The near-death scare left Ngân Giác Tử shaking, not from fear, but fury.
"You cheated!" he snapped, voice cracking.
Tô Mạc Tà tilted her head, half amused. "Ngân Giác Tử, be careful. Slander is unbecoming of a Taoist."
"I said you could have the mat," she added, covering her smile with her sleeve. "And I did."
From the shadows, she sent him a teasing look - half playful, half cruel.
"Y-you… vile woman!"
His voice trembled with outrage. He pointed at her, fingers shaking like reeds in a storm, but his words choked in his throat, like swallowing a rag soaked in bile: too foul to gulp, too thick to spit.
In the end, all he could manage was a hoarse curse.
Tô Mạc Tà chuckled.
"'Vile'? 'Despicable'? I've heard worse," she said with a shrug. "But you'd best watch your tongue. Because right now, this 'vile woman' holds the advantage."
She leaned in slightly, voice low and calm.
"Tell me, Silver Pup. What do you think happens if the chanting outlasts the candles?"
By now, she had read them well.
Kim Giác Tử played the brute - but underneath, he was calculating, cold. Ngân Giác Tử? The opposite. Meticulous on the surface, but emotionally brittle. Coddled. Overprotected. A boy raised in the shadow of his brother's strength.
She knew exactly which one would break.
"Brother, let's kill her," Ngân Giác Tử hissed. "If we take the Soundstone, we win!"
Kim Giác Tử frowned. "This feels… wrong."
"What's wrong with you?! This is our only chance!"
Kim Giác Tử stood still, staring at Tô Mạc Tà.
"Tô Mạc Tà," he growled, "drag this out if you want. But you'll never sit on that mat. Why not die with dignity?"
She smiled sweetly.
"Oh, you're the only one among you with a functioning brain," she said. "Tell me, when your mother was pregnant, did she feed all the nutrients to you and leave the other one hollow?"
She tapped her forehead, laughing.
That did it.
Ngân Giác Tử's fan snapped open with a flick.
Still, Tô Mạc Tà didn't flinch.
"Be fair," she said. "Who was I playing with before this? Lạc Trần. And who burned the divine bamboo segment, forcing us to flee here?"
She rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck.
"If I die, dragging the two of you down with me wouldn't exactly be out of character. But I'll give you this: nice try with the whole negotiation act."
The final spark had been lit.
Ngân Giác Tử lunged, fan slicing through the air. His palm followed, aimed straight for her chest.
Kim Giác Tử joined in. His Coin Sword flashing toward her brow.
But they never connected.
Tô Mạc Tà had been waiting.
Before either strike landed, both brothers were slammed to the ground, pinned.
But not by her.
By their own shadows.
She dusted off her sleeves and smiled.
"You walked straight into it."
"What… what did you do?!"
"Nothing. I'm not strong enough to take both of you down. That wasn't me."
She gestured at the walls.
"That was Thunderclap Pagoda."
She turned, walking slowly toward the archway.
"Have you forgotten the village chief? No combat is allowed in here."
"Then what's the point of fighting for a damn mat!?" Ngân Giác Tử shouted.
Tô Mạc Tà narrowed her eyes.
She could see it: their lifespans plummeting. Something was devouring them, thread by thread. Her mind flashed back to the mold strands anchoring the fat monk's body. Ominous, they had called it.
When they first entered the main hall, each brother had nearly two hundred years ahead of them. Now, barely twenty remained.
Kim Giác Tử's voice turned bitter. "We've been played. This whole temple's a trap. The first three trials? Just bait. Carefully crafted to lure us in."
"The fat monk made us think the rules had changed," he went on. "We thought the pagoda would tolerate breaking precepts, so long as it stayed within the 'game.' We thought this final trial was about seizing mats."
His voice dropped. "That assumption was our death sentence."
Ngân Giác Tử stared at him, aghast. "Then shouldn't we hate her even more?!"
Kim Giác Tử shook his head.
"Hate her for what? She understood the trial. She survived. We lost."
"But..."
"You still don't get it? Look."
He pointed.
Tô Mạc Tà's shadow had returned to her feet.
And the final straw mat… was untouched.
Ngân Giác Tử's voice cracked. "Why…?"
"Tô Mạc Tà… at least let me die knowing why."
His silver horn scraped against the ground as he collapsed to his knees, sparks trailing behind.
Their lifespans were down to days.
Tô Mạc Tà gave a small nod.
"You never wondered why the pagoda could summon those eighteen copper monks, yet the ones chanting... were our own shadows?"
She paused.
"If all it wanted was chanting, why separate us from our shadows at all?"
A beat.
"No. That was the game."
She looked back at them.
"They just needed someone, anyone who's alive enough, kneeling and chanting in front of the statue. If our shadows could do it…"
She stepped through the doorway.
"…why couldn't we?"
Tô Mạc Tà gently tapped the Sound Stone.
"The moment I played the chant," she said, "by the rules of the trial, I became one of the kneeling monks."
Her gaze didn't waver. "And as per the rules, you have no choice but to yield the cushion."
Ngân Giác Tử lowered his head, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Rage, despair, and bitter resignation twisted across his face.
That was the end.
His lifespan hit zero.
There was no scream. No struggle. His body simply stopped, then dissolved, first to mist, then to dust.
Kim Giác Tử followed moments later, silent to the last.
Tô Mạc Tà didn't gloat. She reached down, picked up the Coin Sword and the banana-leaf fan, and slid both into her storage jade.
Without ceremony, she sat cross-legged on the straw mat, waiting.
The final candle's flame fluttered.
Then, with a soft sigh - extinguished.
In that breathless moment, the staff resting across the statue's knees disappeared.
Then came the cracking.
The statue began to crumble.
Copper flaked off like dead skin, clattering to the floor. Metallic scales rained down onto stone, clink, clink, clink.
The statue collapsed entirely.
And standing in its place…
Was Lạc Trần.
A heart of metal pulsed within his chest, left of center - surrounded by a translucent, golden membrane. It glowed with a light that was radiant, alien...
... and unmistakably alive.