Nothing to Live For

At this moment, Yi Feng, who had been deep in thought with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them.

If his guess was correct, out of these sixteen bridges, only one should lead to success.

The other fifteen were likely dead ends.

After all, this was an ancient trial known for its lethality, so such rules weren’t surprising. And there was only one inheritance to be had.

To avoid being influenced by the trial’s creator—and to prevent his own cleverness from backfiring—Yi Feng decided on a simple approach: he would randomly pick a bridge and walk onto it.

No reading the damn stone tablet, no worrying about where it led.

Just pure, blind luck. Pick one and go.

He refused to believe that, with sixteen options and fifteen of them fatal, he’d somehow stumble onto the only safe path.

He raised a finger and began muttering under his breath.

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a tiger by the toe, if he hollers, let him go, eeny, meeny, miny—no, wait… this one."

Yi Feng randomly selected a bridge and strode forward without hesitation, not caring where it led.

This scene left the spectral observer in the sky utterly stunned.

His eyes widened, and his entire form trembled with excitement.

"The Heart of a True Warrior! This boy possesses the Heart of a True Warrior!"

In truth, every bridge in this trial was a dead end.

Only those with the Heart of a True Warrior—those who moved forward without hesitation, unswayed by choices or paths—could turn peril into opportunity.

Thus, while all sixteen bridges were deadly, they were also all survivable.

Originally, the spectral observer had little hope for Yi Feng’s success. Over the years, many promising cultivators had reached this stage, only to fail here.

Yet, against all odds, today had produced a victor.

And not just any victor—one who had cleared the trial instantly.

Tears of joy nearly welled up in his eyes.

But Yi Feng, at this moment, was utterly crushed.

He sat there, lifeless and despondent, like a walking corpse.

"In my past life, I was so damn poor. From sports lotteries to scratch-offs, scratch-offs to slot machines—I never even won five bucks."

"And now, out of sixteen choices, I somehow land the one right path?"

"Damn you, heavens! Are you messing with me?"

At this moment, Yi Feng finally understood what it meant to be toyed with by fate.

All I wanted was to die.

Why is it so hard?

He pulled out some beef jerky from his storage ring, chewing angrily while grumbling to himself.

After eating his fill, a determined glint flashed in his eyes.

"No, I can’t give up."

"My luck’s been terrible so far. Given the setup, there should be more trials ahead—even deadlier than before."

"There’s no way my luck holds. I’ll definitely find a way to die this time."

Hope reignited in Yi Feng’s heart.

Sherlock Holmes mode reactivated, he believed that with strategy and cunning, he could surely find a path to death.

Just as Yi Feng was psyching himself up, a soft voice drifted into his ears.

"Greetings, young friend."

The voice startled him.

Turning his head, he saw a spectral figure standing beside him—an elderly man in simple hemp robes, his expression kind and his voice gentle, as if trying not to frighten Yi Feng.

"Who are you?" Yi Feng blinked.

"I am Ren Yong, master of this inheritance. I appear before you to deliver good news—you have passed the trial and may now receive my legacy!" The old man stroked his beard and smiled, delivering the announcement directly.

"Wait, what?" Yi Feng was dumbfounded. "But—aren’t we still in the middle of the trial? Aren’t there more challenges ahead?"

The old man chuckled mysteriously. Strictly speaking, Yi Feng hadn’t completed all the trials, but to him, it no longer mattered.

The moment Yi Feng crossed the Sixteen Immortal Bridges, he had already won Ren Yong’s approval.

"The remaining trials are irrelevant. You’ve already proven yourself."

With a wave of his hand, the surroundings began to dissolve before Yi Feng’s eyes.

"Hey, hey—wait!"

"Hold on! I haven’t finished! I’m not qualified yet!"

Yi Feng reached out in protest, but the trial’s dangers and scenery vanished, replaced by a small stone chamber, no more than a dozen square meters in size.

The chamber was dusty, its furnishings sparse—just a table, a stool, and a skeleton lying atop the stool.

Yi Feng stared blankly at his surroundings.

The old man’s voice spoke again.

"Young friend, no need to look further. The corpse before you is mine."

"Our conversation is merely a remnant of my will, left behind before my death."

"To be honest, there are indeed more trials ahead."

"But I can wait no longer. My time is up. If I delay further, I may never find a successor. In my eyes, you’ve already passed."

"Enough digressions. Let me reintroduce myself."

"I lived a million years ago, a sage who attained enlightenment through courage. My legacy has taken the form of a set of Warrior’s Armor."

"Today, I bequeath this armor to you. Using it is simple—channel your will and circulate your spiritual energy, and it will manifest to protect you. In moments of danger, it can also act on its own."

"With it, no one below the sage realm can harm you. It will shield you as you walk the path of the warrior."

"Wait, what?" Yi Feng’s face twisted in horror. "No, no, no—"

Before he could finish, he felt an invisible force surge from the corpse, wrapping around him and merging into his body.

"Young friend, I’ve no further instructions. Once the armor is passed on, my will can no longer sustain itself."

"Today, I pass it to you with joy."

"The road ahead… I believe in you…"

With those final words, the voice faded into silence.

"Hey, old man!"

"Don’t—don’t go yet!"

"Hold on a little longer! You can do it! Stay strong!"

"Hey! At least take this damn armor back!"

"I don’t want it!"

Yi Feng stomped his feet in frustration.

Damn it all.

Dying was already hard enough.

Now this old man had saddled him with a Warrior’s Armor—something that made him invincible to anyone below sage level.

How the hell was he supposed to die now?

"Old man, wake up! Don’t die yet!"

Yi Feng rushed to the skeleton, grabbing and shaking it violently.

But no matter how hard he shook—nearly dislodging the skull—the old man’s voice never returned, as if it had never existed.

After struggling in vain, Yi Feng slumped into despair.

He sat limply against the wall, his eyes hollow, his spirit broken.

He had come here to die.

Yet not only had he failed to die, he’d somehow ended up with a Warrior’s Armor.

How was he supposed to handle this in the future?