Chapter 4: The First Tribulation Walks In

The first cultivator arrived at dawn.

Wei Chen felt him before he saw him—a ripple in the dungeon's awareness, like a stone dropped into still water. He was meditating in the control room when the sensation hit, jolting him from his trance. The core pulsed a warning through their connection, and images flooded his mind: a man approaching from the east, walking along the crumbling path that had once been the Celestial processional way.

*Cultivator,* the core whispered. *Qi Condensation, sixth layer. Carrying a sword. Coming quickly.*

"He's early," Wei Chen muttered, scrambling to his feet. "I thought they wouldn't come until noon."

The core had no answer for that. It simply pulsed again, showing him the man's progress—past the fallen pillars, through the broken gate, up the stairs that Wei Chen had spent half a day repairing. In fifteen minutes, he would reach the entrance.

Wei Chen's heart hammered against his ribs. He wasn't ready. The illusions were barely tested. Guardian One stood in the corner like a golden statue with no idea what to do if someone actually attacked. And the meditation room—the only real feature of the dungeon—was a single cushion on a floor.

"Alright," he said, forcing calm into his voice. "Alright. We knew this was coming. What do I do?"

The core pulsed. *You are the dungeon master. You control everything within these walls. Act like it.*

"Act like it. Right. Easy."

He closed his eyes and reached out with his new senses. The dungeon spread before him like a map drawn in light and qi. He could feel every stone, every formation, every wisp of spiritual energy that drifted through the halls. The main entrance was a gaping wound in the fabric of the dungeon—a door that had been torn off its hinges centuries ago and never replaced. Beyond it, the path wound through a short corridor and into the Celestial Audience Hall.

The first floor was simple. Too simple. A single room, a single guardian, a single trap.

But the trap was good.

Wei Chen had spent the last three days learning the illusion technique the core had shown him. It was called the Maze of Reflections, and it was beautiful in its cruelty. The formation created a pocket dimension that mirrored the real room but twisted it—reflections that moved independently, corridors that led nowhere, paths that doubled back on themselves. A cultivator trapped inside would see only endless copies of the same space, their own reflection staring back at them from a hundred angles.

The kicker? It fed on their qi. Every moment they spent trying to break free, the formation drained them a little more. If they were weak enough, it could strip them down to nothing but a mortal shell.

Wei Chen had tested it on himself. It worked. It scared him.

He took a deep breath and began to activate the formation.

The qi in the dungeon stirred. Golden light pulsed along the walls, brighter and faster than before. The air grew thick, heavy with spiritual pressure. In the audience hall, the murals seemed to come alive—the gods in the paintings shifted, their eyes tracking something unseen. The jade floor rippled like water disturbed by a breeze.

And then the formation snapped into place.

Wei Chen felt it click, felt the world fold in on itself as the Maze of Reflections settled over the audience hall like a second skin. To anyone standing in the room, nothing would look different. But beneath the surface, reality had become a lie.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay. It's active. Now I just need to—"

The core pulsed. *He's at the entrance.*

Wei Chen opened his eyes and looked at the viewing mirror he'd created—a simple bronze disk that showed him whatever part of the dungeon he wished to see. In its surface, a man stepped through the broken door.

He was young, maybe twenty-five, with the lean build of a fighter. He wore blue robes of good quality, and a sword hung at his waist—not a cheap iron blade, either. Wei Chen could see the faint shimmer of spiritual steel along its edge. The man's face was sharp, arrogant, his eyes scanning the corridor with undisguised contempt.

"The Heavenly Court," he muttered, his voice carrying through the dungeon's acoustics. "What a joke. This place is a ruin."

He walked forward without hesitation, his footsteps echoing on the jade floor. When he reached the entrance to the audience hall, he stopped.

Wei Chen held his breath.

The man studied the room. His eyes passed over Guardian One without interest—the construct was motionless, its blank face turned toward the wall. He looked at the pillars, the murals, the misty ceiling. He sniffed the air, and his expression shifted from contempt to surprise.

"The qi here is..." He trailed off, taking a deeper breath. "Pure. Very pure. Maybe this place isn't completely worthless."

He stepped into the room.

The Maze of Reflections activated instantly.

Wei Chen saw it happen through the viewing mirror—saw the man's image split, duplicate, multiply. Suddenly there were a hundred identical cultivators standing in a hundred identical rooms, all of them looking around in confusion. The real one—Wei Chen tracked him through the core's senses—stopped mid-stride, his hand going to his sword.

"What is this?" His voice echoed strangely, bouncing off walls that weren't there. "An illusion formation? In this dump?"

He drew his sword. It gleamed with spiritual light, and Wei Chen felt a spike of worry. This wasn't some random bandit with a rusty blade. This was a real cultivator, with real training, facing his first real test.

The man slashed at the air in front of him. The illusion rippled but held. He slashed again, harder, and Wei Chen felt the formation groan under the strain.

*He's strong,* the core pulsed. *Stronger than expected. His technique is crude, but his qi is dense.*

"How long can the formation hold?"

*Against this cultivator? Twenty minutes. Maybe less.*

Wei Chen cursed. Twenty minutes wasn't enough. He needed something else, something that could end this faster. He looked at Guardian One, still motionless in the corner, and an idea formed.

"What if I send in the guardian?"

*The guardian is incomplete. It cannot fight.*

"It doesn't need to fight. It just needs to scare him."

There was a pause. Then the core pulsed with something that felt almost like amusement. *That might work. But be careful. If he attacks the guardian, it will shatter.*

"Then I'd better make it convincing."

Wei Chen reached out with his mind, taking control of Guardian One. The construct felt strange—hollow, like a puppet with no strings. He made it turn. Made it walk. Made it stop at the edge of the illusion, where the man could see it but couldn't reach it.

Then he opened its mouth and spoke.

"WHO DARES ENTER THE CELESTIAL AUDIENCE HALL WITHOUT PERMISSION?"

The voice boomed through the room, amplified by the dungeon's formations. Wei Chen had tried to make it sound like a god's voice—deep, commanding, filled with ancient power. It came out more like a shouting merchant, but he hoped it was enough.

The cultivator froze. His sword dropped slightly as he stared at the golden construct.

"This is... a guardian?" He sounded uncertain for the first time. "It's still functional?"

"YOU STAND BEFORE THE THRONE OF THE JADE EMPEROR," Wei Chen continued, trying to sound more impressive. "STATE YOUR NAME AND PURPOSE, OR BE STRUCK DOWN."

The man's arrogance returned. He straightened, sheathed his sword, and gave a shallow bow—more mockery than respect.

"I am Lin Feng, disciple of the Crimson Cloud Sect. I've come to explore this ruin and claim whatever treasures remain."

*Treasures,* Wei Chen thought bitterly. *All I have is a cushion and a half-finished illusion.*

"THERE ARE NO TREASURES HERE FOR THE UNWORTHY," he said. "LEAVE NOW, AND I WILL SPARE YOUR LIFE."

Lin Feng laughed. "Spare my life? You're a broken construct in a broken temple. I'd like to see you try."

He drew his sword again and charged.

Wei Chen panicked. He made Guardian One raise its spear, but the movement was too slow, too clumsy. Lin Feng dodged easily, his blade flashing toward the construct's chest—

And stopped.

The Maze of Reflections shifted, sending Lin Feng stumbling into a corner of the room that hadn't existed a moment before. He hit the wall hard, gasping as the formation drained a thread of his qi.

Wei Chen let out a shaky breath. "That was close."

*He's learning,* the core warned. *The formation won't fool him for much longer.*

It was right. Lin Feng was already getting to his feet, his eyes scanning the room with renewed focus. He was tracing the flow of qi, looking for the formation's anchor points. In another few minutes, he would find them.

Wei Chen needed a new plan.

He looked around the control room, searching for anything he could use. The core sat in its pedestal, pulsing with soft light. The viewing mirror showed Lin Feng's progress. A few scraps of paper lay on the floor—notes he'd taken during his practice, diagrams of formations he'd copied from the core's memories.

One of the diagrams caught his eye.

It was a simple binding formation, used by the old Heavenly Court to restrain prisoners. It required the user to channel qi through a specific pattern while maintaining eye contact with the target. Wei Chen had dismissed it earlier as too difficult to master in three days.

But now, watching Lin Feng methodically dismantle his illusion, he wondered if he had a choice.

"Core," he said. "Can you show me that binding formation again? The one from the archives."

The core pulsed. A stream of information flowed into his mind—the precise sequence of hand gestures, the flow of qi through his meridians, the mental focus required to lock the target in place. It was complex. It was delicate. If he made a single mistake, the backlash could kill him.

But it was his only shot.

"Alright," he said, stepping toward the door. "I'm going in."

*That is unwise. You are still weak. If he attacks you directly—*

"I know. But if I don't stop him, he'll break the formation and walk out with everything I've built. Then he'll tell his friends, and they'll come, and it'll all be over." Wei Chen took a deep breath. "I didn't bind myself to a Heavenly Dungeon Core just to die in a basement. I'm going out there."

The core pulsed, and for a moment, Wei Chen felt something like pride through their connection. *You have the arrogance of a true Jade Emperor.*

"I'll take that as a compliment."

He walked out of the control room and into the audience hall.

Lin Feng saw him immediately. The cultivator's eyes widened as Wei Chen stepped through the illusion—which parted for him like a curtain—and stood before the golden pillars. For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Then Lin Feng laughed.

"You? You're the one controlling this place?" He shook his head, his sword lowering slightly. "I thought I was dealing with a real guardian. Instead I get a mortal with a trick formation."

"Leave," Wei Chen said. His voice was steadier than he felt. "Leave now, and I won't hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Lin Feng's grin was vicious. "I'm going to take that formation from your corpse and sell it for a fortune."

He lunged.