By the time Jiang Muchen returned to the Servants' Quarters, dusk had already smeared the sky in bruised gold.
The ten-man dormitory was empty—at this hour, the workers were either still hauling firewood around the sect grounds or crammed into the mess hall fighting over bowls of nearly oil-less gruel. Yet the room churned with the residue of emotions left behind: jealousy, suspicion… and an eager, almost twitchy sort of flattery.
He set the bundle of Red-Sun Wood against the wall and had just sat down when the door creaked open.
It wasn't Lu Hanshan.
It was Zhao Xiaoliu—the skinny gossip who always claimed he had "ears in every corridor." He shuffled in with his back hunched, holding a steaming bowl of spirit-rice porridge. The grains shimmered faintly with golden spiritual light—something far beyond what the servants' kitchen could ever produce.
"Brother Jiang, back already?" Zhao Xiaoliu grinned, pushing the bowl toward him. "Ran into Steward Li at the mess hall. He insisted I take this—'Golden Silk Spirit Rice Porridge,' he said. Supposed to reward whoever did good work today. You know I don't deserve such stuff, so I figured—this must be meant for you!"
The words were sweet; the eyes behind them were sharp, calculating.
Jiang Muchen didn't take the porridge. He merely lifted his gaze.
His Insight Technique stirred—quiet, precise.
Zhao Xiaoliu's heartbeat was two degrees too fast.
His breath carried the faint medicinal tang of **Calming Powder**.
Fresh ink stained the inside of his sleeve—residue from rapid-note inscription talismans.
He was nervous. And he was here to record something.
"Steward Li?" Jiang said steadily. "I have no dealings with him."
"Oh, not yet, but you will," Zhao Xiaoliu leaned closer, dropping his voice. "You've caught Elder Huoyun's eye. The Fire-Earth Hall is drenched in resources—if a little spills through your fingers, we brothers could live half a year off it."
He crept even closer.
"Not lying to you—three groups asked me about you today. Some want you to pass materials to the Fire-Earth Hall. Some want to know Elder Huoyun's needs. And some…" He hesitated. "Some want to know what's going on between you and that brute, Lu Hanshan."
Jiang Muchen finally looked at him—just once.
But that single look made Zhao Xiaoliu shudder as if his insides had been peeled open and inspected.
"Senior Zhao," Jiang said quietly. "You do have a good nose for news. But the Elder's preferences? I'm no more than a wood-hauling servant. As for Senior Brother Lu—nothing but shared duties."
He crossed the room, pushed open the rickety window. Evening wind rolled in, sweeping out the thick staleness.
"As for the porridge," he added, back still turned, "have it yourself. I'm not hungry."
Zhao Xiaoliu's smile twitched. He grabbed the bowl and backed out.
"Then… then I won't be polite. If you need anything dug up, Brother Jiang—just a word!"
His footsteps skittered away.
Jiang Muchen watched his silhouette vanish into the gathering night, golden light flickering faintly in his eyes.
Flattery wasn't the only emotion inside Zhao Xiaoliu—there was something deeper, a frantic anxiety, like an ant scorched onto a hot pan. Someone above him was pulling strings, and Zhao was collecting information not just for himself.
Who?
He was still thinking when a faint footstep brushed the wall outside—the southeast corner. Someone trying very hard to be quiet, but unable to hide the tension in their breath or the messy, suppressed spiritual ripple.
The skinny merchant boy from earlier—the one from the Nine Continents Trading Guild.
He's here.
Jiang Muchen sat back down, drawing out his jade flute and wiping it with a rough cloth. Its surface glowed faintly in the dark.
Three breaths later, the window frame tapped softly—three times.
"Junior Brother Jiang?" A hushed voice slipped through, smooth with a merchant's polish. "About earlier at the Fire-Earth Hall… I owe you thanks. May I come in?"
"The door isn't barred," Jiang replied.
The boy—Wang Duobao—slipped in, closing the door behind him. He wore plain gray cloth now, but the **Treasure-Weave Medallion** at his waist gleamed faintly.
"Wang Duobao, external handler for the Red-Dust Pavilion," he introduced himself with a cupped-fist salute. "If not for your words earlier, I'd have made a fool of myself in front of Elder Huoyun."
Jiang activated his Insight fully.
A heartbeat too quick—habit of high-pressure negotiations.
Eyes tightening at the edges—a reflex of calculation.
The faint scent of Breath-Hiding pills—he'd suppressed his cultivation.
Underneath everything: greed… covered by an almost desperate craving for recognition. Like a starved jackal begging to be acknowledged.
"Your thanks is unnecessary," Jiang said, placing the jade flute on his knee. "I only made an observation."
"You saved me a fortune!" Wang Duobao leaned forward, pulling a cloth pouch from his robe. "A small token—fifty lower-grade spirit stones. Let's call it a friendship fee."
Jiang didn't look at the pouch. Instead he asked:
"You approached Elder Huoyun today using information about *Flame-Heart Grass*, yes?"
Wang Duobao's smile froze.
"Junior Brother has sharp eyes… Merchants like me—our business is connecting people. A master smith like Elder Huoyun isn't someone we often get a chance to approach."
"But your intel was incomplete," Jiang said.
Wang Duobao's face stiffened.
"It was… difficult to—"
"No," Jiang cut in. "It was deliberately altered."
Wang Duobao's pupils shrank.
"The Flame-Tide recedes three hours before the full moon," Jiang continued. "That's true. But the *Annotations on the Volcanoes of the Southern Frontier* mentions the Tide at the southeastern fissure gets disrupted by geomagnetic storms every thirty-six years."
"And this year," he said softly, "is the thirty-sixth."
"If you entered by the usual timetable, you wouldn't meet a receding tide. You'd meet a *surge*. Anyone below Foundation Establishment—instant death."
The boy staggered back, hitting the door with a dull thud.
"H-How do you know—"
"The archives contain more than one book." Jiang rose. "Whoever fed you that intel either wanted you dead or didn't care if you lived."
Silence crashed over the room.
Cold sweat streamed down the merchant's face. Then, suddenly, he bent deeply at the waist—almost collapsing.
"Junior Brother Jiang… save me. Please."
This bow was heavier than Lu Hanshan's kneeling earlier.
Because Lu begged for a future.
Wang Duobao begged for survival.
Jiang helped him up. "You must have had your suspicions. You came here for a reason."
Wang swallowed. "The intel came from a senior steward. He claimed to have purchased it from a herb-picking squad returning from the *Iridescent Blossom Sea*. They supposedly found traces of a 'Seven-Hue Lotus.' He promised me that if I impressed Elder Huoyun, the trading guild would grant me a slot for the next deep-zone exploration—"
"Iridescent Blossom Sea?" Jiang's gaze sharpened.
"Yes. They returned three days ago. Said they'll head back soon with a larger team."
Pieces snapped together.
The Blossom Sea.
The Seven-Hue Lotus.
The Azure-Underworld Herb Valley.
He had seen it in his future cultivation notes: The Nine-Turn Soul-Returning Pill needed the **Lotus Heart of Seven Hues**—found only in the Blossom Sea.
Coincidence?
Or the **Cause-and-Echo** effect of the *Ten-Thousand-Spirits Resonance Art* pulling him toward things tied to his destiny?
"Tell me," Jiang suddenly asked, "has this steward been meeting with anyone from the Ghost-Underworld Court or the Abyssal Caverns recently?"
Wang Duobao froze, then stared at him in horror.
"You… how…"
Before he finished, multiple footsteps thundered outside.
Not one. Not two.
Five—armed, aggressive, coming straight for them.
Wang Duobao's face went ashen. "The steward's men. They followed me!"
Jiang, however, remained calm. He had sensed their gathering hostility long before.
"Listen carefully," he whispered. "If you want to live, obey me. Leave through the window. Go to the Fire-Earth Hall and find Lu Hanshan. Tell him I sent you. Elder Huoyun's iron order token can shield you temporarily."
"And you—?"
"I'll handle this."
He shoved open the rear window.
Wang Duobao gritted his teeth and leapt out, vanishing into the night.
The front door exploded open.
Five masked enforcers stormed in—their leader pulsing with seventh-layer Qi Refinement.
"Where's Wang Duobao?" he snarled.
Jiang lifted the jade flute, running his fingertips along its cool, smooth surface.
"Who are you looking for?" he asked mildly.
"Quit playing dumb!" The leader advanced, aura flaring. "Hand him over and I'll—"
Before he finished, Jiang raised the flute to his lips.
The sound that spilled out wasn't a melody—just long, simple tones.
Clear. Cold. Piercing.
The jade shimmered.
Sound rippled like blue water along the walls.
All five froze.
The murderous intent in their hearts thinned… melted… warped into a sudden, absurd thought: *Why are we even bothering with a servant boy?*
"Demon trick!" the leader roared, biting his tongue to break free. "Get him!"
Five bodies lunged.
Jiang's flute shrieked suddenly—sharp as a crane's cry splitting the heavens.
A wave of pale-blue sound burst outward—
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Three were blown out the doorway.
The remaining two stood stunned, eyes unfocused.
The leader staggered, barely standing.
Jiang moved.
His steps were fluid—not a cultivation art but something he'd learned watching Lu Hanshan split logs: force rising from the ground, power transmitting through the waist.
He slid in like a shadow.
The flute tip jabbed the man under the ribs.
The enforcer convulsed, half his body going numb.
Jiang leaned close, voice soft as snowfall:
"Tell your steward this: Wang Duobao is under my protection. Reach for him again—"
He released a wisp of Resonance-energy into the man's meridians.
The man's face twisted in terror. That energy didn't attack—but made him feel as if his emotions, spirit, even thoughts were laid bare in Jiang's palm.
"Get out," Jiang said.
The five fled, stumbling over each other.
The dormitory fell silent.
Jiang closed the window.
The jade flute warmed in his hand, humming faintly.
Across the courtyard, Zhao Xiaoliu pulled back from his peephole, face white, hands shaking so badly he almost dropped his talisman pen.
Far away atop Jade-Sword Peak, Lin Yueyao opened her eyes from meditation, frowning toward the servants' compound.
"Him again… that spiritual ripple is strange."
She reached for a message talisman—then hesitated and put it away.
"I'll observe a little longer."
Night thickened.
Jiang extinguished the lamp and sat in the dark.
The jade flute pulsed softly.
Golden runes of the *Ten-Thousand-Spirits Resonance Art* stirred in his mind.
Wang Duobao.
The Iridescent Blossom Sea.
The Ghost-Underworld Court.
The Azure-Underworld Herb Valley.
A net was forming.
And he now stood at its center.
*Sometimes the best way to protect someone… is to make them an irreplaceable piece on your board. True loyalty isn't begged for—it's built, until they choose to stand behind you of their own accord.*
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