"By the ancestors, we've struck gold—real gold!"
Zhao Xunan's rough exclamation burst from his lips as his divine sense probed the water for a mere five breaths. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, his voice trembling with barely contained excitement.
"Master, Father and Mother said no swearing!" Zhao Ping'er poked his nose, her face scrunched in disapproval.
Zhao Xunan shot her an apologetic grin before shrugging off his robe. Only then did Zhao Ping'er realize his intent—her eyes lit up, fixed on the dark spring source. "Master… could there be gold there?"
"Better than gold," Zhao Xunan said, grinning as he shed his shirt and pants. "Gold's trash compared to this."
With a surge of true qi, he plunged into the icy water. Zhao Ping'er watched, her brow furrowed—she couldn't fathom anything more valuable than gold.
The river bit like ice, but Zhao Xunan's excitement burned hotter. He swam against the current, diving into a pitch-black cavern. When he resurfaced, gasping, Zhao Ping'er's jaw dropped.
The spring's source wasn't just a trickling stream—it was a cavern brimming with fluorescent light. Strange, glowing rocks lined the walls, casting an otherworldly glow.
Zhao Xunan ignored the sights, rushing to a stalagmite half a meter tall. With a punch, it shattered, revealing a flash of purple light.
His hands trembled as he unearthed a palm-sized crystal, its surface radiating violet energy. Zhao Ping'er stared, wide-eyed. "Master… that's not gold."
"Purple spirit stone," Zhao Xunan breathed. "The currency of cultivators. I've only heard of them in legends—never thought to find one in the mortal realm, let alone a high-grade one like this."
He wrapped it in his inner robe, securing it tight. Only then did he explore further, discovering a split spring: one branch flowed outward (their river's source), the other plunged into darkness.
Curious, he leaned close to the underground current—only for a dragon carp to splash water in his face. He grabbed it, grinning. "Got you, you little thief—"
But his words died. This wasn't the same carp he'd seen earlier. Its head bore short, pointed horns; its fins had morphed into claw-like appendages. It looked… almost dragon-like.
"Bloop bloop—" The carp gurgled, tears welling in its eyes. Zhao Xunan shivered, then released it back into the dark current. It darted away, tail flicking, as if grateful.
Back on shore, Zhao Ping'er clung to him, tearful. "You said you'd come back soon!"
"Don't fret, little one," Zhao Xunan soothed, though his mind raced. The carp's strange appearance lingered. "Let's head back."
Once dressed, Zhao Ping'er bombarded him with questions. "Did you find the golden thing? Is it a dragon egg? Will it grow up to be a real dragon?"
"Enough, you little dreamer," Zhao Xunan chuckled, though his smile faded as he recalled the carp's sorrowful eyes. "You're right—I owe you an apology. You're wiser than I thought."
"Really? Or are you just being mean?" She pouted, crossing her arms.
"Mean? Me?" Zhao Xunan feigned outrage, pinching her cheek. "You're the one who talks nonstop!"
She yelped, but her laughter soon followed.
That night, Zhao Ping'er stared at the purple spirit stone, entranced. "It's so pretty… can I wear it as jewelry?"
"Sure," Zhao Xunan said, "but use a cloaking technique. Otherwise, someone might steal it—and we'll be in trouble."
She nodded eagerly, clutching the stone like a treasure.
The next morning, Zhao Ping'er shrieked, "Master, look!"
Zhao Xunan dropped his grass bundle, rushing over. "What's wrong?"
"Not me—look at the stone!"
He held it to the sun. Purple light shifted, revealing a transparent shard inside… and a broken human finger, pale and delicate, its nail painted red.
Zhao Xunan's blood ran cold. He'd heard tales of spirit stones containing relics—even body parts—but this was no ordinary find. The finger's owner must've been a powerful cultivator; the stone's energy felt ancient, dangerous.
"Master… is that a finger?" Zhao Ping'er whispered.
He nodded, sweat beading. "A right index finger. Torn clean off."
"Who… who does it belong to?"
He couldn't answer. Instead, he scribbled a divination: "Peach blossoms fill the tree, yet faces fade. Five elements converge, heaven reopens." Nonsense, he thought—typical of his chaotic fortune-telling.
"Hide behind the carriage. Don't come out unless I call."
With a sharp knife, he split the stone. A flash of white light erupted, splitting the cliff and carving a tunnel into the mountains. Clouds rippled, as if the sky itself had been torn.
"Master… that finger…" Zhao Ping'er stammered, staring at the hole.
"Likely a celestial's," Zhao Xunan said, voice shaky. He secured the crystal (now whole again) around his neck. "A powerful one."
That night, he dreamed of a woman with red-painted nails, standing in a field of phoenix flowers. "Unusual, isn't it, Bu Fan?" she'd said.
He jolted awake, drenched in sweat. The crystal's red nail glowed in the dark, matching the dream.
"Master, your eyes are all black!" Zhao Ping'er gasped the next morning.
"Spring's coming," he muttered, splashing cold water on his face. "Disrupted my sleep."
"Spring? You're just horny!" She giggled, ducking behind the carriage.
Zhao Xunan rub his temples. "Let's go. The Spring Examinations wait."
After a simple breakfast of flatbread and pickles, they set off. Zhao Ping'er, still wary of the dragon carp, stuck to dried rations.
"Master, since we can't eat the carp, let's hurry," she said, munching.
"Right," Zhao Xunan agreed, though his mind lingered on the finger, the dream, and the voice that had whispered, "Bu Fan…"
Somewhere, a phoenix flower bloomed.