The bright spring sunlight did not bring warmth as Fang Lin stepped out of the white jade building of the Star-River Merchant Alliance branch. In his leather storage bag, he carried three intermediate-level core manuals—the Deep-Flow Sutra, the Iron-Rock Stance, and the Verdant Breeze Method—along with three bottles of basic meridian-cleansing pills and three protective wood amulets. He had spent exactly five days in deep seclusion, and his consolidated Late Spirit Foundation three-path meridians were now quiet and stable within his chest. He suppressed his Qi completely, keeping his shown cultivation locked at the baseline of a mortal youth, ready to return to his neighbors in Willow Alley.
His steps halted at the base of the white jade stairs.
Two small, shivering figures were huddled near the massive stone columns of the entrance, their faces covered in dust and dried tears. It was Hu Zi and Er Ya. The two children were clutching each other, their worn cotton coats stained with soot and dark, dried splatters of blood. The moment they saw Fang Lin walk out of the doors, they let out a loud, desperate cry and rushed toward him, grabbing his robes with their small, shaking hands.
"Big Brother Lin!" Hu Zi cried out, his voice hoarse and raw from weeping. "You have to help them... they took him... they took Xiao Chuan!"
"The bad men came," Er Ya sobbed, her small shoulders shaking violently as she pressed her face against his sleeve. "There was so much blood. Auntie Mei won't wake up, and Uncle Zhang is... he is dying in the smithy. The old fisherman is trying to hold them, but they won't open their eyes!"
Fang Lin's chest tightened, a cold, heavy weight settling in his spiritual sea. He did not ask any more questions at the gate. He immediately picked up Er Ya in his arms and grabbed Hu Zi's hand, his steps turning into a rapid, silent stride that carried them down the market road.
His movement was a swift blur. He was utilizing his physical strength and his circular footwork to move faster than any mortal could run, slipping past the busy street vendors and disappearing into the mist of the residential lanes without drawing the attention of the crowd.
When they reached the mouth of Willow Alley, the usual peaceful atmosphere was gone. Auntie Mei's vegetable stall was smashed, green radishes and broken wooden crates scattered across the dirt lane. The heavy wooden door of Uncle Zhang's smithy was hanging off its hinges, and the smell of soot and burnt iron was thick and sour in the air.
Fang Lin rushed into the open smithy.
The forge was cold, the black charcoal scattered across the stone floor. In the center of the workshop, Uncle Zhang was lying on a low wooden cot, his broad chest rising and falling in shallow, rattling gasps. His face was a grey, bloodless mask, and his chest was covered in deep, purple bruises and gashed cuts that had torn through his leather apron. In the corner of the room, Auntie Mei lay on a pile of dry straw, her head wrapped in clean linen rags, her breathing quiet and faint.
Old Master Jiang was sitting on a low stool beside Uncle Zhang's cot, his thin hands pressing down on the blacksmith's chest. The old fisherman looked tired and travel-stained, his brow covered in sweat, but his fingers remained steady as they held the positions.
"You are back," Old Master Jiang said, his voice quiet and carrying none of his usual teasing tone. "Good. The children spent the morning searching for you at the big merchant hall."
"What did you do to them?" Fang Lin asked, stepping closer.
Using his Peak-Solid Soul, Fang Lin scanned their conditions. Uncle Zhang's internal organs were ruptured, and three of his main chest ribs were completely shattered, threatening to pierce his life core. Auntie Mei had suffered a severe impact to her temple, causing her consciousness to sink into a deep, dark sleep. Yet, despite these fatal injuries, their fading life forces were locked in place, prevented from collapsing.
"Folk medicine," Old Master Jiang muttered, pointing to a wooden bowl containing a thick, dark-green paste of marsh reeds and deep-water mud. "I used lake-reed acupressure on their chest gates and plugged the deep cuts with mud poultices. These lake-shore herbs are good for cooling the internal heat and slowing down blood loss. The mud holds the skin together, and the reed needles keep the blood from running wild."
Fang Lin's divine sense probed deeper. Beneath the thick mud poultices and the reed needles, he felt a soft, yielding water energy flowing quietly through Uncle Zhang's chest. The energy was incredibly stable and patient, acting like a soft, liquid cushion that wrapped around the damaged organs, preventing them from bleeding out.
It was a miraculously stable treatment, far more effective than any mortal herbs should be. However, Fang Lin looked at the old fisherman's calloused, sun-darkened hands and his simple wooden fishing rod resting against the wall. He remembered that Old Master Jiang had spent forty years on the lake, learning the secrets of the water veins and the local plants.
"He has spent his life on the water," Fang Lin thought, his mind rationalizing the miracle. "A master mortal healer who has spent decades studying the body's pressure points and the local marsh herbs can perform wonders that rival low-grade spiritual pills. The natural resilience of Uncle Zhang's blacksmith body must have helped hold the thread of life."
He did not suspect the old fisherman was an expert, attributing the survival of his neighbors to a combination of mortal healing experience and sheer physical toughness.
"Thank you, Master Jiang," Fang Lin said, his voice soft. "I will take over from here. I have some pills from the Merchant Alliance."
Old Master Jiang stood up, wiping his hands on his simple canvas trousers, and stepped back into the doorway, his eyes quiet as he watched the youth.
Fang Lin sat on the edge of the cot. He opened his storage bag, drawing out three bottles of basic meridian-cleansing pills and his own hidden medicine. He did not feed them the pills immediately, knowing their mortal throats could not swallow them. Instead, he placed his palms over Uncle Zhang's chest and Auntie Mei's forehead.
He released his Qi.
The cool, vibrant emerald-green energy of his Nether Life Spirit Qi flowed from his palm, entering their bodies like a gentle, deep-spring stream. The green energy carried the pure essence of life vitality. This meant that the regenerative spiritual Qi generated by his central meridian path began to target their ruptured flesh, cooling the internal fevers, binding the torn blood vessels together, and knitting the shattered ribs with absolute patience.
Fang Lin controlled the output of his Nether Life Spirit Qi with absolute precision. He did not release any external light or spiritual pressure, keeping the green energy contained entirely within their physical frames to avoid alerting the old fisherman or the children.
Within Uncle Zhang's chest, the green vitality flowed through the shattered bones, the bone fragments drawing together and fusing back into solid, healthy structures. The internal bleeding stopped, the ruptured organs smoothing out as the cool energy restored their vital functions. Auntie Mei's shallow breathing grew deeper and steadier, the dark swelling on her temple receding as the green Qi dissolved the blood blockages in her head.
After several minutes of intense healing, Fang Lin withdrew his hands. Uncle Zhang let out a long, deep sigh, his face returning to a healthy, ruddy color as his chest rose and fell in a stable, natural rhythm. Auntie Mei shivered slightly on the straw, her eyes remaining closed, but her pulse was now strong and steady.
They were out of danger, their life core and organs stabilized by the pure life force.
Fang Lin stood up, turning to face Hu Zi and Er Ya, who were watching him from the corner of the smithy, their eyes wide with hope.
"They will live," Fang Lin said, his voice quiet. "They are sleeping now to recover their strength."
The two children let out a collective breath, their small bodies relaxing as they wiped their faces.
"Now tell me," Fang Lin continued, his eyes turning toward the open doorway, looking out at the cold grey mist of the alley. "Who came to the smithy? What did they look like?"
"It was three men," Hu Zi said, his voice tightening with remembered fear. "They came in the middle of the night, when the rain was heavy. They did not knock; they just smashed the door and grabbed Xiao Chuan from his bed. Xiao Chuan screamed and tried to bite them, but one of the men hit him with an iron rod."
"Uncle Zhang heard the noise and ran out with his forge hammer," Er Ya added, her voice whispering as she held Hu Zi's sleeve. "He hit one of the men, but the taller one just waved his hand, and a wave of black water knocked Uncle Zhang against the anvil. Auntie Mei ran in from the street with her vegetable knife, screaming for the guards, but they hit her too. They said... they said they were taking the boy to the southern marsh, and that no one in this garbage alley could stop them."
"What were they wearing?" Fang Lin asked.
"They wore grey robes," Hu Zi recalled, his fingers drawing a wave in the air. "With black wave embroidery along the collar and sleeves. And the taller one had a copper compass in his hand that kept glowing blue when he looked at Xiao Chuan."
Fang Lin's eyes narrowed.
Grey robes with black wave embroidery. The copper tracking compass. The southern marsh.
It was the Black Water Alliance.
He recalled the reports he had transcribed in the Book Hall and the rumors he had heard in the market. The Black Water Alliance was a powerful rogue group that operated in the southern wetlands of Lotus Lake County, using the thick reed beds and the floating log towns to hide from the magistrate's patrols. They were ruthless, elemental cultivators who specialized in water and poison arts, and they had no respect for the laws of the sects.
"They took him for his constitution," Fang Lin thought, his mind locking the evidence together. "They detected his Deep-Spring Water Body with their compass while I was away. They think he is just an orphan child with no one to stand for him."
A cold, quiet anger rose from the depths of his spiritual sea, flowing through his three-path meridians like black frost.
The air inside the smithy suddenly grew cold. This meant that the temperature in the room dropped several degrees as his Frost and Stillness pathway reacted to his internal emotion, causing the damp moisture on the iron anvil and the soot on the floor to turn into thin, stiff crystals of white frost. The children shivered, looking around in confusion as the air became sharp and dry.
Fang Lin closed his eyes, drawing his breath in and suppressing his Qi to the absolute limit. The cold air receded, the frost on the anvil melting back into damp water drops, but the quiet weight in his chest remained as solid as basalt.
"They think they can take whatever they want from this alley?" Fang Lin thought, his blood boiling and his hand resting on the cracked wooden doorframe. "They think a mortal smithy has no claws."
He looked back at Uncle Zhang and Auntie Mei, who were sleeping quietly under the warm blankets he had pulled over them. He looked at Hu Zi and Er Ya, their small faces pale and waiting for his words.
"Stay here with Master Jiang," Fang Lin said, his voice flat and calm, carrying a quiet authority that made the children nod immediately. "Keep the doors closed. I will bring Xiao Chuan back."
He walked out of the smithy, his simple, dark mortal cotton robes rustling in the cool spring wind as he stepped into the damp mist of Willow Alley. He did not take the main roads to the southern docks, choosing instead to slip into the obscurity of the narrow back lanes, his silhouette disappearing into the grey rain clouds that were beginning to gather over the county, leaving no traces behind.
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