At the hour of Zi, the Burial Mound was thick with the scent of earth and decay.
Paper talismans fluttered in the night, like skeletal hands summoning spirits. Moonlight fractured through the gnarled branches of the old locust tree, casting jagged shadows across the ground. Jiang Muchen leaned against the trunk, eyes closed, the jade flute in his arms cool and soothing—a gift from Master Huoyun just yesterday. "Enough for listening at the Qi Refinement stage," the elder had said casually.
His fingertips tapped lightly on the flute.
Within thirty feet, every sound—the scuttling of insects and rodents, the flap of night birds, even the subtle shift of soil over graves—was sharp and clear in the web of his spiritual awareness. He had reached the limit of his current third-stage Qi refinement, but it was sufficient.
Footsteps approached.
The first was light, fragile, almost dissipating in the wind. Jiang Muchen opened his eyes and saw Zhou Xiaohuan peeking from behind a mound—her face pale, tinged with frostbite, a tattered cloth bundle clutched to her chest.
"Senior Brother Jiang…" Her voice trembled.
"Sit." Jiang Muchen handed over an oiled paper bundle from his robes. "Still warm."
Two white steamed buns. Zhou Xiaohuan stared at them, throat moving as she rubbed her hands across her rough cloth sleeves three times before accepting them. She bit delicately, chewing slowly, counting each morsel as if it were grains of wheat. And as she ate, tears rolled down, swallowed along with the buns.
Jiang Muchen didn't look at her. His eyes tracked the direction of the next approaching footsteps.
Solid. Deliberate. Each step driving into the earth. Zheng Xiaoqi approached barefoot, the cracks in his skin bleeding dark under the moonlight. Without a word, he knelt and handed Zhou Xiaohuan a warm bamboo tube.
"Fish soup."
The tube was warm. She lowered her head to drink, tears dripping into it, not bothering to wipe them away.
The third arrived like a shadow drifting over the tall grass.
Wang Duobao emerged, round-faced and grinning, tossing a cloth bag onto the ground. Clink! Clatter! Dozens of fragmented spirit stones and two low-grade ones shimmered enticingly in the moonlight.
"This month's profits," he said, rubbing his hands together, eyes bright. "Eighteen shards from the Jade Pearl Rice, thirty-five from the Clear-Heart Herb, plus two full spirit stones. We tapped into the scrap from Master Huoyun's Artificer Hall—waste, but usable."
Jiang Muchen nodded. "Divide it."
Wang Duobao worked deftly, splitting the shards into four piles, and using a small specialized cutter, sliced the full stones precisely—twelve shards per pile, plus half a low-grade stone.
Zhou Xiaohuan stared at her portion, hands trembling. In a year of sweeping the servant quarters, she had not even saved ten shards. Tonight alone, she had more than she had earned all year.
"I… I can't…" she murmured.
"Take it." Jiang Muchen interrupted. "The intel you gathered is worth every bit."
She bit her lip, securing the stones close to her chest, as if hiding her very life.
"Now, business." Jiang Muchen glanced around at the three. "Xiaohuan, the Scripture Pavilion."
Zhou Xiaohuan drew a deep breath and pulled a small hand-bound notebook from her robes, worn at the edges. She flipped to a page, its charcoal marks crooked:
"Two days ago, during midday, the Scripture Pavilion announced that the Qingming Herb Valley will open on the fifth day of next month. Entry allowed for mid-stage Qi refinement or lower, limited to the outer thirty miles. Inside lies the primary ingredient for the Nine-Rebirth Pill—Rebirth Herb—and a thousand-year Lingzhi, guarded by the Azure-Scaled Python."
Wang Duobao's eyes sparkled. "A first-tier peak, roughly mid-stage six. Its poison targets the throat with a single cut."
"Also," Xiaohuan turned the page, "the valley's outskirts are laced with a natural maze. Take the wrong path and you're trapped. But the key points have 'Guide Flowers'—yellow blossoms by day, glowing at night. Follow them and you can exit."
Wang Duobao whispered, "This intel alone… worth five spirit stones."
Jiang Muchen raised a hand, gesturing for him to pause. His gaze shifted to Zheng Xiaoqi.
Zheng stayed silent a moment. "The logistics hall's Cold Iron Ore shipment… schedule changed. Every month, the twelfth and twenty-second, at Zi hour. The escort is Lin Bao, cousin of Lin Tianying. He stops at the Crow's Beak Inn for an hour—drinks, gambles."
Wang Duobao sucked in air. "Gambling while escorting? Looking for trouble?"
"More." Zheng added, "If he loses, he'll pinch ore from the ship to pay his debt."
Jiang Muchen's eyes narrowed.
Cold Iron Ore, in short supply at the Artificer Hall, had to be logged meticulously. Lin Bao dared this only if someone powerful backed him; otherwise, ten heads wouldn't suffice.
"Does Lin Tianying know?"
"Unclear," Zheng said. "But when Bao loses, he curses: 'Cousin is stingy, won't give pocket money.'"
Jiang Muchen filed the info carefully, then turned to Wang Duobao: "Marketplace."
Wang flipped his notebook: "Three points. One, Senior Brother Sun at Dan Ding Peak is buying up Skeleton-Eroding Flowers—thirty pounds so far. Two, Officer Li of the Law Enforcement Hall purchased ten Clear-Heart Talismans; he despises rogue arts. Three…" He leaned in, barely audible: "Inner disciple Sister Su Qingwu tried buying the 'Tranquilizing Flute Scores' yesterday—failed."
Su Qingwu. A mere inner disciple, not even a senior yet. Jiang Muchen's fingers traced the jade flute. "Tranquilizing Flute Scores…" he noted.
Intel exchanged, he pulled three small ceramic bottles from his robe: "Spirit-Breaking Ink. Draw sigils to pierce protective auras. For survival."
Then, three pouches of pest-repelling powder: "Corrupted Bone Flower-based, useful in the herb valley against venomous insects."
Finally, he handed Zhou Xiaohuan the oiled paper bundle. She froze as she opened it.
Inside were several handwritten booklets: Illustrated Basic Sigils, Spirit Flow Circulation Essentials, Herbal Identification Primer. Neat, fresh ink—copied by Jiang Muchen the night before.
"Senior Brother Jiang… this…" She looked up, tears welling.
"Eavesdropping isn't a long-term plan," Jiang Muchen said. "Start with these. If you don't understand, ask me."
Zhou Xiaohuan clutched the booklets, nodding fiercely, tears smudging the pages.
Wang Duobao and Zheng Xiaoqi exchanged a glance but remained silent, their expressions settling into something deeper.
"Lastly," Jiang Muchen said, eyes toward the darkness, "keep watch on Zhao Xiaoliu. He stole Bloodsand scrap at the Artificer Hall, buried things in the Burial Mound… something's off."
Three nods.
"Dismissed. Next meeting, the first day of the month, same place."
Wang and Zheng disappeared into the night. Zhou Xiaohuan turned back once, voice trembling: "Senior Brother Jiang… yesterday while sweeping the pavilion stairs, I overheard two inner disciples talking… Lin Tianying is asking about you."
Jiang Muchen raised an eyebrow.
"About how you got into the Artificer Hall… and why Master Huoyun favors you. One of them said… he wants to make you pay during the outer disciples' competition."
"Understood." Jiang Muchen nodded. "Thanks."
She turned, hurrying into the burial mound. Silence returned.
Jiang Muchen remained under the old locust, moonlight stretching his shadow like a sword thrust into the soil. He crouched over a patch of freshly disturbed earth—where Zhao Xiaoliu had buried his jars.
With a touch of spiritual energy, he traced a shallow line on one of the three toppled grave markers. A subtle scratch, seemingly accidental.
Any adept of arrays would recognize it—a "Yin-Breaking Mark," dispersing gathered negative energy, countering corpses and soul-gathering formations.
Task complete, he brushed off the soil and headed back to the servant quarters. The jade flute warmed slightly in his grasp.
A faint curve appeared on Jiang Muchen's lips.
Lin Tianying wants him to shine in the outer disciple competition? Perfect.
Finally, he had a stage where Red Dust Sect could see exactly what "empowerment," "value," and true… Tian Dao looked like.
Moonlit, he walked alone; his shadow snaking among the graves.
He recalled White Gui's fading whisper:
"The greatest gift is making the recipient believe—the rose belongs in their hand."
Did Zhou Xiaohuan believe it?
It didn't matter.
From tonight on, every breeze, every whisper, every secret in the Scripture Pavilion… would flow through her ears, straight into his web.
Tian Dao Truth: True empowerment isn't charity—it's lighting the "I am worthy" lamp in another's heart. Once the lamp is lit, the path will appear, and someone will walk it for you.