The next morning, under a sky heavy with frost, Merin and his fellow Lanshan sect disciples follow the Ice and Snow Palace group.
At the head walks their elder, a stern figure radiating the cold clarity of the mountains themselves.
Merin keeps his gaze calm, but his ears catch Yu Lei's quiet teasing voice behind him.
"Senior brother, why do you keep glancing at her? Do you like her?"
The only senior brother Yu Lei ever calls is Wang Zishan.
Merin turns slightly and sees what Yu Lei means—the lead disciple of the Ice and Snow Palace, a woman whose bearing is as sharp and elegant as the snowbound peaks they march through.
If this were another world, he might have shown interest, but here and now, with his mission weighing on him like a chain, he keeps his heart steady.
They press deeper into the mountain until the passage opens into a cavernous chamber.
The air glimmers faintly with spiritual energy, shelves and pedestals stacked with magic instruments—yet no people, no guardians, only silence.
Merin narrows his eyes. A lab, most likely abandoned. But by whom?
Finding nothing more, the groups withdraw. The Ice and Snow Palace continues its investigation elsewhere, while Merin turns inward again, focusing on the marrow change.
He sits in stillness, jade qi flowing into his bones, ripple vibrations cracking and mending, reshaping marrow itself.
And alongside the physical transformation, he immerses himself in the law.
Every refinement of the Ripple Technique shatters one ripple law mark into countless fragments, revealing finer details of its truth.
With each step, he senses the pulse of the earth's solidity, the wave hidden in water's flow, the vibration humming in wind and fire alike.
Time blurs, meditation stretches, and then—he feels the final shift.
The marrow change stage is complete.
A surge of power ripples through him, his cultivation soaring, steadying at 402 years.
Yet even now, the Jade Spiritual Body remains unfinished.
He can temper his body, refine his bones and marrow, but he cannot yet draw in spiritual energy directly through his flesh.
That final threshold still lies ahead.
Merin decides to pause his cultivation and join the investigation.
With the advancement of his Ripple Technique, his senses sharpen—he can now distinguish the faint differences between the cells of ordinary humans and those of the werewolves.
One day, while walking the streets of Xue City, he sweeps the crowd with his spirit sense. His eyes narrow as he locks onto a man. The man looks ordinary, behaves normally, but deep inside his body, Merin detects the same altered cells he found in the corpses of the werewolves.
He tails the man discreetly. The trail leads him straight to the gates of the City Lord's mansion.
Merin stops, realisation striking cold through him. So that's why the investigation hasn't made any progress. The City Lord himself is involved.
He withdraws into the shadows and waits.
Hours pass. Snow begins to fall, blanketing the streets in white as dusk deepens. At last, the man emerges.
Merin follows him out of the city, step by silent step, until they reach a secluded clearing at the edge of the woods.
The man halts, then turns his head slightly.
"Come out."
Merin steps forward openly, eyes glinting with curiosity.
"Your nose is like a dog's."
The man smirks coldly.
"Are all sect disciples this arrogant, even knowing they're about to die?"
"I don't know about the others," Merin replies evenly, "but I'm arrogant because you cannot kill me."
The man's grin widens, sharp teeth flashing.
"Then I'll show you. Your Qi refiners… your time is over."
At those words, Merin's gaze hardens. So he isn't even a cultivator. An ordinary man transformed into one of them…
The man's clothes rip apart as his body bulges and tears free. Snow-white fur bursts from his skin, claws glinting, and in moments, a towering werewolf stands before Merin, fangs bared under the falling snow.
The werewolf lunges, snow spraying beneath its claws.
Merin doesn't even retreat. He pivots, palm glowing with rippling jade qi, and slams it into the beast's ribs. The Ripple Technique detonates inside the werewolf's body, shaking bone and muscle until it staggers back with a strangled howl.
"Too weak," Merin mutters, stepping forward as if he were handling a child.
Every slash, every bite the werewolf attempts is easily diverted, Merin's ripples flowing through its limbs and unbalancing its movements. Each counter leaves the beast more battered, its roars echoing hollowly into the snowy night.
At last, Merin's hand flashes up and strikes the side of its skull. The beast collapses to its knees, trembling, unable to resist further.
Merin places his hand on its forehead. Jade qi ripples spread, and his spirit dives into the man's sea of consciousness.
Images open before him like the pages of a book—memories laid bare. Rituals under blood-red moons. Villages turning. A shadowy figure behind the transformations. The City Lord's presence, clear as day.
Merin's eyes flicker with interest. So this is how it began…
He withdraws his hand. The werewolf kneels still, chest heaving, waiting for the inevitable.
When nothing comes, its bloodshot eyes lift, confused.
"You… you will not kill me?"
Merin's expression is unreadable as he steps back.
"No. Not yet."
Merin doesn't spare the man another glance.
"Let's go. I want to meet your master."
He turns, walking as if he already knows the way.
The werewolf's body shudders, snow-white fur receding, claws shrinking until only a pale, trembling man remains. He stares at Merin's back, his eyes widening as the youth leads them straight toward the hidden route.
How does he know?
His thoughts run wild—Did I say something? Did I reveal it? But when he remembers the casual ease with which Merin subdued him, fear locks his tongue. Any reckless move would mean instant death.
They leave the city through a concealed passage, stone corridors damp with frost, and step into the roar of a waterfall. Spray mists the air, icy against their skin. The man hesitates, but Merin doesn't pause—he walks directly behind the curtain of falling water.
A hidden passage yawns beyond.
The tunnel winds downward, echoing with dripping water and muffled cries. The deeper they walk, the colder it grows. Then, the passage opens into a vast cavern.
Rows of benches line the space, each one chained with struggling figures. Needles pierce their veins, tubes draining or feeding some black liquid into their bodies. Around them, other humans in white robes move busily, recording notes, mixing concoctions, or watching as their subjects twist in agony.
Some collapse into madness, jaws snapping, eyes glazed with frenzy. Others manage to hold themselves together, shifting back and forth between human and wolf form with unnerving control.
Merin stands still, his gaze sweeping the cavern.
"So this is the experiment," he murmurs softly, almost to himself.
The cavern falls silent the moment Merin steps fully into view.
Dozens of heads snap toward him, the scratching of quills and clinking of vials ceasing.
The guards, hulking men with veins pulsing black, snarl as their bodies twist and tear—snow-white fur bursting from skin, claws gleaming like ice daggers. In seconds, a pack of werewolves crouches low, fangs bared, ready to lunge.
Then someone among the researchers points a trembling finger.
"Fu Jian… you traitor! You brought an outsider into our base!"
The name hits the trembling man beside Merin like a blade. Fu Jian's face pales. His lips tremble as he whispers, "I… I didn't… I swear I didn't." Tears well in his eyes, but no one believes him.
Merin doesn't even glance his way. His eyes are locked forward, calm, steady, cutting through the murderous atmosphere like a blade.
"Mr. Ming," he says, voice clear, carrying across the cavern. "I want to talk to you."
The researchers recoil, exchanging nervous glances.
"He even dares to speak Master Ming's name…" one hisses.
"Kill him now before Master comes!" another urges.
But before claws can rip the air, a voice cuts through the tension like thunder.
"Wait."
The werewolves freeze mid-step.
The crowd parts quickly, bowing their heads in unison as an old man walks forward. His hair is silver, his back straight despite his years, and his eyes gleam with a sharpness that pierces flesh and spirit alike.
Fu Jian falls to his knees instantly, forehead touching the cold stone.
"Master Ming…"
The old man studies Merin with quiet intensity, then speaks in a voice that holds both wisdom and weight.
"Stranger, what is it you seek here?"
Merin smiles faintly, as though none of the tension matters, as though the snarling beasts and murderous stares are beneath his notice.
"I've come," he says slowly, each word deliberate, "to help you."