Wind screamed through the stone labyrinth, each gust a blade that etched scars into ancient rock, whipping dust into clouds that stung the skin and sharpened the senses. Towering slabs loomed, their edges honed by relentless gales, casting jagged shadows that flickered like knives under a sky sliced by streaks of silver cloud. The air was taut, laced with a metallic tang that quickened the pulse and set the nerves alight. Beyond a cleft where the stone seemed to bleed, a rift gleamed—a silver slash that pulsed with a force so keen it could sever fate itself. The Razor Meridian, the fifty-ninth force, had risen, its boundless blade of infinite power a silent vow to shred Lin Feng's spirit to ribbons.