Three days after Wang Duobao delivered the map, dusk trembled over the Bone-Forging Crags behind the Earth-Fire Hall.
Lu Hanshan's bare torso steamed with dusty yellow mist, every muscle drawn tight as forged iron. He was working through a set of ancient, almost primitive fist forms—not Red-Dust Pavilion techniques, but three incomplete moves of **"Indestructible Vajra Body"**, casually mentioned by Elder Huoyun when he'd been in a rare good mood yesterday.
Each swing of Lu's fist cracked the air with a muffled boom. The bluestone beneath his feet fractured in thin spiderweb lines.
"Stop."
Jiang Muchen's voice wasn't loud, but it pierced the roaring wind around the fists like a needle.
Lu Hanshan halted. The haze around him gathered into a faint golden aura clinging to his skin. He looked at Jiang—no questions in his eyes, only quiet expectancy. In the past three days he'd gotten used to this junior servant pointing out flaws he himself couldn't sense.
"Your transition from the third form, *Mountain-Pressing Force*, into the fourth form, *Golden Edge Break*, is off."
Jiang stepped beside him, tapping lightly between his third and fourth lumbar vertebrae. "Your waist turns half a beat too early. Your force cuts off here."
Lu held his breath as he replayed the movement. Cold sweat prickled instantly.
He wasn't wrong. The pause was tiny—almost imperceptible. In a real fight, it was the difference between dodging a sword and having it tear through your organs.
"But this isn't your fault."
Jiang pulled out a piece of rough beast hide—bought by spending all the contribution points he earned delivering firewood these two days. It was a rubbing of the **Human Meridian Atlas** from the scripture vault.
He smoothed it on the stone and dipped a finger in the warm mud near the springs, drawing bold lines across the hide.
"The technique was originally designed for cultivators who possess only earth-and-metal roots," he explained calmly, as if discussing the weather. "You have dual roots. When your earth-aligned qi transitions into metal, a natural delay occurs."
He marked a nexus point.
"So you can't simply follow the form as written. Earth-qi ascends the Lesser Yin Kidney Meridian to this point—" he tapped, "—then you divert a thread along the Jueyin Liver Meridian. Wood feeds fire, fire tempers metal. It'll refine the conversion before rejoining the main channel."
He raised his head, meeting Lu Hanshan's stunned stare.
"It's a longer path, but it removes the delay."
Lu's breath trembled like bellows.
This wasn't instruction—this was **personalized technique modification**. Even simple external arts rarely received this kind of adjustment. Only master-to-disciple, blood-lineage transmission… that level.
"Brother Jiang…"
His voice caught.
"Try it."
Lu steadied himself, closed his eyes for three breaths, then reopened them—gold glinting deep inside. He launched into the form again, this time following Jiang's new qi route.
The faint snag was gone.
The fist-wind now carried a whisper of metallic resonance.
*Bang—!*
His punch slammed into the nearby iron-testing pillar. The thing never budged—designed for Foundation Establishment cultivators to test power—but when he withdrew his fist, a crisp imprint gleamed on its surface, the rim shimmering faint gold like it had been brushed with molten metal.
It worked.
Lu stared at his own fist, the tingling in his knuckles undeniably real. He turned sharply toward Jiang and bowed—deeper and longer than the first time they'd met.
Jiang caught his arm to pull him up—
—but his spiritual sense suddenly pricked.
An all-too-familiar aura was sprinting up the narrow back-mountain path.
Wang Duobao.
His qi was a chaotic mix of excitement, fear, and the manic high of someone who'd just gambled a fortune.
"Keep practicing," Jiang told Lu, patting his shoulder before walking toward the ruined herb garden behind the crags.
---
### Half a stick of incense later — inside the abandoned herb plot.
Wang Duobao arrived flushed red, breath ragged like he'd run a hundred miles. When he saw Jiang, he practically shoved a bulging pouch and a copper token into Jiang's hands, fingers trembling.
"Brother Jiang—We did it!"
His whisper trembled with barely contained hysteria. "Steward Qian accepted the map! He rewarded me with **a hundred lower-grade spirit stones** on the spot—and promoted me to **Level-Three Procurement**! Gave me a *Merchant Guild Internal Access Token*, too! With it I can view all public-tier secret-realm intel and buy supplies at insider prices!"
Jiang flipped the token over. Cool to the touch. The front bore the Treasure-Gathering sigil of the Nine Provinces Guild, the back engraved with Wang's name and a simple authentication seal. A quick sweep of Insight Technique confirmed it—authentic, unaltered.
"He didn't suspect anything?"
"He did at first," Wang admitted, wiping sweat. "He even brought a guild appraiser—one of their old map-reading experts—to examine the map. Three hours of scrutiny! But Jiang, your map looked too real! You marked all three routes, the beast behavior patterns, medicinal symbiosis, even the ley-line energy tides! In the end that old man said—"
Wang changed his voice to mimic the elder's tone:
'*If the boy hasn't scouted the place several times, then I'll eat my boots.*'
Jiang smiled faintly.
Naturally the map was "real."
Seventy percent of the information he'd pieced together using the **All-Life Resonance Art**, listening quietly to inner-sect disciples who visited the scripture hall—bits of conversation from those who'd run missions or heard their masters talk. The remaining thirty percent was careful inference… with deliberately placed ambiguities.
A perfect map invites suspicion. A map with a few "to-be-verified" areas feels genuine.
"What else did Steward Qian say?" Jiang handed the token back.
But Wang didn't take it.
"Brother Jiang… you keep it. I'm under scrutiny now. Carrying it will make me look suspicious. You hold it—and whatever intel you need, I'll retrieve and recite for you."
Jiang nodded once, pocketing it.
"Continue."
Wang swallowed, nervous again.
"Steward Qian wants me to keep digging for intel on Qingming Herb Valley—especially the exact location of *Revival Grass*. And he said…"
He licked his cracked lips.
"…the Guild has already partnered with the **Nether Ghost Hall**. Three days before the valley opens, they're sending an elite team to infiltrate early. The leader is a mid-Foundation elder—'Ghost-Mask Elder'—and two guild members will accompany him. Qian hinted… one of the spots might be mine."
Jiang's gaze narrowed slightly.
Three days early?
Earlier than the "three days ahead" excuse Qian gave Lin Tianying. So even Qian was holding back the truth from the Red-Dust Pavilion elder. Or perhaps… the Ghost Hall had its own hidden agenda.
"Why is the Ghost Hall so desperate for the Revival Grass?" Jiang asked.
"No idea. But I overheard Qian tell his confidant: 'The Hall Master's injuries can't wait.' And something about the *Nine-Turn Soul-Return Pill* being his only hope."
The Ghost Hall's master was injured and desperate…
Interesting. In the grand storyline, the Ghost Hall later becomes entangled with ancient demonic infiltration. Perhaps the buried thread began even earlier than expected.
"You want to go?" Jiang asked suddenly.
Wang's expression twisted.
"I want the opportunity… but I'm terrified. Ghost Hall cultivators eat people alive. If I go, I might not come out. But if I refuse, Qian will never trust me again."
Caught between a cliff and a blade.
Jiang thought for a moment, then:
"Did he say who the other guild candidate is?"
"He did." Wang grimaced. "His nephew—Qian Fugui. Sixth-layer Qi Refiner. Sent here after causing trouble at headquarters. Qian wants him to 'gain experience.' I think he just wants to give the brat a shiny résumé."
"Gain experience?"
A cold glint flickered behind Jiang's eyes.
Sending some pampered nephew into a near-death secret realm just to 'build credentials'? Either Qian loved that nephew dearly—or intended to use him as a disposable minesweeper.
"Wang," Jiang said suddenly, his tone mild but razor-sharp beneath, "do you want to avoid the secret realm and still make Qian value you more?"
Wang's eyes widened.
"Brother Jiang… you have a plan?"
"What kind of person is Qian Fugui? His hobbies?"
"Arrogant, lustful, drinks too much—cowardly as a mouse." Wang answered instantly. "In three days he's already gotten warned twice by the Disciplinary Hall for harassing female cultivators. Loves the most expensive 'Hundred-Flower Brew.' Only listens to a courtesan—one of the 'Clean Ladies'—play *Flowing Waters*. Says ordinary women's voices 'dirty his ears.'"
Jiang nodded and quickly scribbled on a small piece of beast hide, handing it to him.
"Tomorrow take him drinking at Drunken Immortal House—say you're apologizing and want to treat him. Order the Hundred-Flower Brew. Order *Flowing Waters*. And casually mention three things."
Wang read the list under the fading light:
**1. A deadly "Bone-Rot Miasma" has appeared around the outer valley—three breaths kills Qi Refiners. But it disperses briefly at noon each day. (This intel wasn't on the map. Exclusive.)**
**2. There's a "Phantom-Mist Flower Field" in the southeastern corner—its fragrance attracts entire groups of Green-Scale Pythons. Their gallbladders can be sold for breaking-barrier pills.**
**3. The Ghost-Mask Elder cultivates the Soul-Devouring Art and must periodically consume living souls. He devoured twelve rogue cultivators in a secret realm last month.**
Wang trembled as he lowered the hide.
The first was false—the miasma existed, but only deep inside, not near the entrance.
The second was half-true—the pythons were real, but they never appeared alone. A Qi Refiner encountering dozens was essentially a corpse.
The third… was pure psychological warfare.
"Brother Jiang… this…"
"Qian Fugui is vain and cowardly," Jiang said softly. "He knows the Ghost Hall is dangerous but can't refuse his uncle. You'll give him a 'proper excuse': for example, if he 'accidentally' inhales miasma and injures his foundation, he can't go. Then you imply the Ghost-Mask Elder is unpredictable. Fear will do the rest."
"And the flower field…?"
"That's his offering when he returns to Steward Qian."
Jiang's voice remained calm.
"He'll say *you intended to investigate personally, but were injured.* He'll carry the intel back with pride. Qian, worried for his nephew, will send stronger cultivators to scout it. And those scouts…"
He paused.
"…will be the stones thrown ahead to test the path."
Wang sucked in a sharp breath.
Layered within layers.
Pulling Qian Fugui out, making Qian admire Wang more, and clearing future threats inside the valley—
All at once.
"And if Qian insists I go?" Wang whispered.
Jiang lifted the copper token and brushed it with a trace of qi. A thin mark of All-Life Resonance hid deep within its seal—undetectable to anyone but him.
"If he forces you to join them," Jiang said, handing it back, "keep this token on your body the night before departure. Activate it with qi three times. I'll know."
The metal felt warm in Wang's palm.
Not from heat—
but from comfort.
"Brother Jiang…" His voice wavered. "Why… why do you do all this for me? I'm just a—"
"You," Jiang interrupted gently, "are a living piece on my board. And living pieces… deserve investment."
Wang stood frozen.
Then bowed deeply—almost to the dirt—before disappearing into the sinking dusk.
Jiang remained, fingers brushing the warm jade flute hidden in his robe.
The flute pulsed faintly.
Southwest—
the approximate direction of Qingming Herb Valley.
The seal at the valley entrance had been fluctuating more violently each day, like a bubble rising from the bottom of a dark lake.
And deeper still…
Something was stirring.
Or being stirred awake.
---
### Meanwhile — Red-Dust Pavilion Main Peak, Disciplinary Hall.
Lin Tianying stood before a massive water mirror. Reflected inside: Steward Qian studying the map in the elegant Rain-Listening Chamber. In the corner, Wang Duobao's silhouette retreated with a bow.
"Hah. That old miser Qian is hiding things after all."
Lin Tianying sneered. "He told me 'three days early.' To the Ghost Hall? He says 'three days before opening.'"
A rasping voice emerged from the shadows.
"Shall we… intervene?"
"No need." Lin raised his hand. "Let him and the Ghost Hall rush in first. The Revival Grass isn't easily taken—especially under the Blue-Myst Sword Sect's watchful eyes. If we provoke those sword-maniacs…"
He let the sentence trail, then shifted.
"That servant—Jiang Muchen. Found anything?"
"Investigated," the voice replied. "From a minor southern clan. Clan destroyed three years ago. He's kept a low profile ever since—until three days ago when he suddenly 'woke up.' Then gained the attention of Lu Hanshan, Elder Huoyun… and now Wang Duobao."
"'Woke up'?" Lin Tianying murmured. "A servant attracting a body-refinement prodigy, a crafting master, and now a merchant steward—all in three days? Coincidence?"
"My men watched him. All he did was deliver firewood, train, and… clean the floor outside the scripture hall."
"Clean the floor…" Lin repeated, eyes narrowing. "And while cleaning… what was he listening to?"
The shadow hesitated.
"Conversations of disciples entering and leaving."
Lin fell silent for a long moment.
Then laughed lightly.
The laugh chilled the shadow to its bones.
"Interesting."
He stepped toward the window, gaze drifting toward the servant quarters.
"Keep watching him. Until Qingming Herb Valley opens, don't spook him. I want to see… just how big a wave this little fish thinks he can make."
Night swallowed the last of the light.
Back at the servant dorms, Jiang Muchen sat quietly in the corner of the communal bunkroom.
Golden sigils from the **All-Life Resonance Art** rotated slowly in his mind, echoing the warmth of the jade flute.
And then—he *saw* it.
Not with eyes, but with that deeper sense.
The pulsating rhythm of the valley's sealed entrance.
A heartbeat.
Growing faster.
Jiang opened his eyes, the brief flash of gold fading instantly.
The board was set.
The bait cast.
Now—
He waited for the fish to bite.
*(The deadliest bait… is the one each person believes they chose for themselves. True power isn't licking someone's hand—it's the hand that scatters the bait. And Jiang… was holding the fishing rod.)*
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