Walker Of The Worlds

Chapter 2830: Meng Baiʼs Experience

His body hit the stone with a dull THUD, and for a moment, Meng Bai lay still.

His breathing was ragged, his limbs trembling—not from pain, but from something deeper. The pressure on the thirteenth step hadnʼt been physical; it was like his spirit had buckled beneath a weight he couldnʼt see.

Why is this so hard? he thought, blinking up at the swirling mist above.

He didnʼt feel injured. His Qi hadnʼt been drained. But his heart… his heart felt exhausted.

”What even is this test?” he muttered, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His face was slick with sweat, even though the morning air was cool.

Lin Mu remained where he was, observing silently. His presence was a calm beacon at the bottom of the path.

Meng Bai grit his teeth. ”No point lying here.”

He stood up once more, knees wobbling slightly as he faced the fourteenth step.

STEP

As soon as he planted his foot down, the world twisted again.

This time, it wasnʼt voices. It was images.

He saw himself in the future—or at least, he thought he did. A slightly older Meng Bai stood among peers, all wearing sect robes, all laughing.

But then the laughter turned. The image twisted. His robes turned to rags, his face dirtied, and the voices whispered again.

”Youʼll always be the weakest.”

”A master like Lin Mu deserves better.”

”Youʼre holding him back.”

Meng Bai clenched his fists.

No… No! Thatʼs not true!

He pushed forward, stepping onto the fifteenth.

The images shattered like broken glass.

He gasped, the air around him suddenly sharp and biting, like it had been watching him—judging him.

STEP

Sixteenth.

A cold wind swept through his thoughts, this time bringing back memories. His mother, weeping in the hut when his father hadnʼt returned. His own voice, crying out in hunger. The ache of watching others eat while he swallowed bitter roots.

He bit his lip hard, the metallic taste of blood grounding him.

”Iʼm not there anymore,” he whispered to the wind. ”Iʼve moved forward.”

Seventeenth step.

His legs trembled again. His vision doubled, then cleared.

Eighteenth.

He screamed this time—not in pain, but in defiance. A scream to drown out the creeping, mocking silence that tried to seep into his bones.

By the nineteenth step, tears were rolling down his cheeks. He didnʼt even know why.

They werenʼt tears of sorrow. They werenʼt tears of pain.

They were just… release.

A weight inside him—years of buried fear, inferiority, and shame—was unraveling step by step.

He looked down and realized how far heʼd come. The fog below was thick, but Lin Muʼs silhouette remained, watching patiently.

The twentieth step felt easier.

Not because the pressure had lessened, but because he had grown.

His heart beat louder than the voices. His breath steadied, not from peace, but from sheer determination.

He stepped onto the twenty-first with quiet resolve.

The twenty-second greeted him with an illusion—an endless staircase stretching into the heavens.

But he knew now.

Itʼs not endless. Itʼs only as long as I believe it is.

He stepped forward again.

Twenty-third.

A flash of heat rolled through his chest. His Qi stirred—barely noticeable, like a whisper of approval.

Twenty-fourth.

His shoulders slumped, but he kept going.

Twenty-five.

He stumbled, caught himself.

Twenty-six.

He smiled. Just a little.

Twenty-seven.

He stopped for a breath. The mist thinned slightly, and sunlight filtered through the canopy above, glinting off the carved stone railings.

”I can do this,” he whispered to himself. ”I will do this.”

Step.

Twenty-eight.

He was beginning to understand.

This staircase… this mountain… it wasnʼt testing his strength. Not his cultivation level. Not his body.

It was testing his resolve, his conviction—his will to walk forward even when everything inside screamed for him to stop.

Twenty-nine.

Each step was a choice.

A choice to stand against the illusions of failure, the fear of weakness, the shadows of his past.

Thirty.

He exhaled slowly, deeply, and then sat down on the thirtieth step.

Not from exhaustion—but to reflect.

He looked down at the mist-covered path he had crossed. His body was shaking, yes. His robes clung to him with sweat. But his eyes gleamed—not with pride, but with clarity.

He had faced something today.

And he had not turned away.

From below, Lin Mu gave a faint nod, eyes unreadable but pleased.

Meng Bai grinned, wiped his face with his sleeve, and whispered:

”…Iʼll go even further next time.”

Meng Bai had barely taken thirty steps, and yet the experiences he had felt were quite vast. It was something other monks or cultivators might experienced in hundreds or thousands of steps.

But it was understandable since he was simply too young. All that he had experienced in his sixteen years of life was too short.

There were forty thousand steps on the main peak and they were intended to test those who had lived for not just sixteen, but tens of thousands of years. Their memories and experience would be far greater, thus needed a bigger test.

Lin Mu didnʼt even know how far Meng Bai would be able to go with his limited cultivation. While he wasnʼt particularly old when compared to the others, his experiences were quite vast due to the life he had lived.

There was adventure, there was joy, there was fear and there was discovery. It allowed him to get the most out of this test. But to Meng Bai, it might as well just be a preliminary test.

Meng Bai got up again after a few minutes of rest and began to walk. But upon reaching the thirty first step, he stopped again. He felt no pressure, no voices, no visions.

All he felt was like he could simply not move. As if his legs didnʼt exist, and the step in front of him wasnʼt just a few inches tall, but a monstrous peak.

”Come back.” Lin Mu spoke seeing Meng Baiʼs state. ”That is the extent of what you can reach as of now.” he added.