Seven ice-blue scales lay scattered across the moss, like shattered mirrors strewn across the ground.
Each was the size of a palm, edges sharp as razors. Under the dim light, fine concentric rings shimmered faintly—each ring marking ten years of cultivation. Jiang Muchen counted carefully.
Seven scales.
From two different serpents.
Four of them bore rings so dense they nearly fused together.
At least fifty years old.
Qi Condensation, eighth layer.
Trouble.
"Brother Jiang…" Wang Duobao's voice stuck in his throat. "Maybe… maybe there's another spring?"
"There isn't." Jiang Muchen's gaze stayed locked on the cold spring three zhang away, white mist curling from its surface like breath from a sleeping beast. "Elder Huoyun needs Frost-Eye Cold Spring. The entire Medicine Valley has only this one. The others are too impure—useless for tempering Scarlet Fire Essence Gold."
"But two Ice-Scale Serpents—"
"More than that." Jiang Muchen crouched and brushed aside the moss, revealing a dark red stain beneath. "Human blood. Less than two days old. Someone came before us. Injured—or dead."
The blood trail twisted toward a rock crevice three zhang away, then vanished abruptly.
Dragged away.
Or barely escaped.
Jiang Muchen stepped closer to the spring and dipped his fingers in.
The instant his skin touched the water, sensation vanished.
A brutal cold surged upward—thousands of icy needles racing along his meridians, drilling straight into the marrow. He yanked his hand back, forcing his Qi to circulate hard before the chill could spread further.
His fingertips had already turned purple.
"This spring is vicious," he said grimly. "We can't collect it directly. Without a cold-grade container, anything we pour it into will shatter."
From his robes, he produced the cold jade box that once held Moonlight Lingzhi. The quality was mediocre, but it would suffice. He carefully wrapped the remaining herb and emptied the box.
"Three jin should be enough." He looked up. "What about the Frost-Tear Vine?"
Zhou Xiaohuan pointed toward the cliff face five zhang above. Dozens of crystalline vines hung down, their surfaces coated in frost, glowing faintly with rainbow hues.
"It secretes once every ten years," Jiang Muchen said. "This year's cycle is right. One person climbs up, uses a jade blade, cuts the skin, and collects the sap."
Five zhang.
Slick rock.
Thick moss.
And two Qi Condensation eighth-layer beasts watching.
A death sentence.
"I'll go," Lu Hanshan said.
"Your injuries—"
"My left shoulder's recovered seventy percent," Lu Hanshan replied, rolling it once. "Enough. I'm the lightest. I'll make the least noise."
Jiang Muchen studied him for three breaths, then nodded.
He handed over a small pouch. "Hold this in your mouth. Breath-Concealing Powder. Good for an hour. Don't look down while climbing. Slow and steady. Only use jade—no metal. The vine withers on contact with iron."
Another small vial followed. "If you're discovered, smash this. Concentrated Bone-Corrosion Flower extract. It'll drive snakes away—for a moment."
Lu Hanshan accepted both and nodded.
Jiang Muchen turned to Wang Duobao and Zheng Xiaoqi. "You two keep watch. Duobao, watch the path behind us. Xiaoqi, the opposite cave. That's likely the nest."
"And you, Brother Jiang?"
Jiang Muchen drew out his jade flute and sat cross-legged.
"I'll talk to them."
Lu Hanshan began his climb.
His movements were painfully slow, as if time itself had thickened. Every reach was calculated, every fingertip finding purchase in narrow cracks. His feet pressed down as lightly as feathers.
Three times, slick moss nearly sent him sliding.
Three times, he steadied himself.
Jiang Muchen sat three zhang from the spring, the flute resting across his knees.
He didn't play.
He waited.
Lu Hanshan reached three zhang up—only one zhang from the nearest vine. Wang Duobao and Zheng Xiaoqi barely dared breathe.
Jiang Muchen closed his eyes and pushed his perception to its limit.
There.
A scraping sound echoed from the left cave.
An Ice-Scale Serpent slid out.
Eight chi long, its scales pale blue. Its vertical pupils scanned the spring—then fixed on Jiang Muchen.
Jiang Muchen didn't move.
The serpent glided closer, stopping two zhang away, head raised in caution.
Jiang Muchen reached into his robes and pulled out a slab of Arrow-Tusk Boar meat—frozen solid in cold spring water, hard as stone. He placed it on the ground and retreated three steps.
The serpent stared at the meat.
Then at him.
At last, it slid forward, tested with its tongue, and swallowed it whole.
Jiang Muchen produced another piece, setting it closer to the spring.
The serpent hesitated.
Its gaze flicked between the meat and Lu Hanshan on the cliff. Its body coiled slightly, agitation rising.
The flute sang.
A sharp, clipped birdcall—an alarm note.
The serpent recoiled instinctively, pupils darting.
Nothing.
The music stopped.
Another piece of meat was placed at Jiang Muchen's feet.
He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, like a man cultivating.
The erratic behavior confused the beast.
Doubt crept in.
On the cliff, Lu Hanshan reached the first Frost-Tear Vine.
A jade blade—no more than a sharpened shard—flashed.
He sliced gently.
Milky sap seeped out, thick and fragrant.
Lu Hanshan hurried to catch it in the jade box.
One drop.
Two.
The liquid flowed like something alive.
The first vine was done. He shifted to the second.
Then—
The cave rumbled.
A heavier sound. Slower. Deeper.
The second serpent emerged.
Over a zhang long. Thick as a barrel. Its scales were dark blue, like deep ocean water, cultivation rings packed tight.
Fifty years.
Its eyes swept the spring, the man, the cliff.
No hesitation.
Only killing intent.
It reared back and opened its jaws.
Hiss—!
A blast of icy breath shot toward the cliff!
"Move!" Wang Duobao screamed.
Lu Hanshan kicked off the wall, leaping sideways three chi.
The frost blast grazed his back and struck the cliff, instantly freezing a wide swath of stone. A heartbeat slower, and he would have become a statue of ice.
But the leap cost him his foothold.
He fell.
"Catch him!" Zheng Xiaoqi hurled a rope—twisted from Arrow-Tusk Boar sinew, crude but strong.
The rope arced.
Lu Hanshan reached—
Missed by half a foot.
The flute screamed.
This time, the sound condensed into a needle-sharp wave that stabbed straight into the serpent's skull.
The old serpent froze.
It shook violently, breath cut short.
That instant—
Lu Hanshan grabbed the rope.
Zheng Xiaoqi and Wang Duobao hauled with everything they had, dragging him back to solid ground.
Lu Hanshan stumbled, clutching the jade box to his chest.
"Got it," he gasped.
But the danger wasn't over.
The old serpent shrieked in fury, abandoning the cliff and lunging straight at Jiang Muchen.
Fast as lightning.
Jiang Muchen didn't retreat.
He stood, gripped the flute with both hands, and changed the melody.
High and low. Fast and slow.
A thousand voices speaking at once—yet none at all.
Chaotic Mind Tone.
The serpent charged to within three chi—and faltered.
Its body refused its intent. Advance and retreat clashed. Rage twisted it into madness as it thrashed, gouging deep scars into the ground.
The younger serpent had already retreated to the cave, watching with only half its head exposed.
"Go!" Jiang Muchen shouted between notes. "Take the materials and run! Wait at the waterfall!"
"What about you—"
"Now!" Veins bulged at Jiang Muchen's temples. "I can't hold this long!"
Wang Duobao gritted his teeth and dragged Lu Hanshan and Zheng Xiaoqi away.
Zhou Xiaohuan hurled a packet of snake-repelling powder behind them.
They vanished into the fog.
Only Jiang Muchen remained.
The flute's jade surface cracked, fine fissures spreading as spiritual energy bled out.
Thirty breaths.
At most.
Backing away while playing, Jiang Muchen's eyes caught the dark red bloodstain near the spring.
An idea sparked.
He shifted the melody, poured his remaining Qi into the flute, and hurled it into the spring.
Splash.
The jade flute sank.
Instantly, the spring erupted.
Water churned violently. White mist exploded outward, flooding the area. The temperature plunged.
The old serpent froze mid-motion.
Fear flickered through its eyes.
It retreated.
Jiang Muchen turned and ran—not toward the waterfall, but straight into the densest fog.
Behind him, the serpent's furious hissing faded.
It feared the spring.
Or rather—
What slept beneath it.
Jiang Muchen ran blindly, direction meaningless, until his Qi was nearly gone. He collapsed against a rock wall, gasping.
Safe. For now.
He looked down at his empty hands.
The jade flute was gone.
The instrument that had carried him through his hardest days—won him the arena, saved his life more than once—now lay at the bottom of the cold spring.
His chest tightened.
But a flute could be replaced.
A life couldn't.
After catching his breath, he tried to orient himself.
He was far from the mapped route. Fog swallowed everything.
Lost.
Jiang Muchen laughed bitterly.
At least the Frost-Tear sap and cold spring water were secured. Elder Huoyun's task was half-complete.
The real question was how to regroup.
And—
His gaze drifted into the mist.
Stone Fool Elder's words echoed in his mind:
Beneath the cold pool lies another world.
Nine transformations, one thread of fate.
The deep pool beneath the waterfall.
Whatever dwelled there…
Jiang Muchen touched the Ink-Jade Sword at his chest. The blade felt cool—then slowly, warmly alive.
Opportunity?
Or a grave?
He didn't know.
But only two days remained in the Medicine Valley.
A choice had to be made.
By the waterfall, Wang Duobao and the others hid behind a massive boulder.
"Brother Jiang…" Zhou Xiaohuan's eyes were red.
"He'll be fine," Lu Hanshan said firmly. "He always survives."
"But the flute—"
"A flute can be lost," Lu Hanshan said. "A life can't."
Before the words faded, the pool rippled.
The guarding Ice-Scale Serpent raised its head, eyes locked on the water.
Bubbles surfaced.
A hand broke through—pale, cut, gripping a flute.
The jade flute.
Jiang Muchen emerged, coughing, dragging himself onto the shore. He was soaked, ghostly pale—but his eyes burned bright.
"Brother Jiang!" Wang Duobao rushed forward.
Jiang Muchen waved him off, collapsed to sit, and raised the flute.
It was intact.
More than that—the faint patterns once dulled within it now glowed clearly: a coiling dragon etched from tail to mouth.
"The cold spring didn't destroy it," Jiang Muchen gasped. "It woke it."
He lifted the flute and blew a single note.
Hummm—
The sound rippled across the pool.
The Ice-Scale Serpent stared.
For the first time, reverence flickered in its eyes.
It lowered its head and retreated, coiling and closing its eyes.
True submission.
Jiang Muchen lowered the flute and looked at the others. "The materials?"
"Here!" Wang Duobao handed over the jade box.
Jiang Muchen checked it and nodded. "Enough."
He stood and looked toward the cave behind the waterfall.
"One and a half days left," he said. "You take the materials out and wait outside."
"You're going back in?!" Wang Duobao blurted. "That's suicide!"
"The Stone Fool left a thread," Jiang Muchen replied calmly. "Beneath the cold pool lies another world. I need to see it."
"But—"
"Relax." Jiang Muchen clapped his shoulder. "If I don't come out by tomorrow at this time, take the items to Elder Huoyun."
Without hesitation, he turned and walked toward the waterfall.
The water curtain fell.
His figure vanished.
The three exchanged looks.
"We really wait?" Zheng Xiaoqi asked.
"We wait," Lu Hanshan said, gripping his blade. "When he says he'll come back—he does."
Behind the boulder, the Ice-Scale Serpent cracked one eye open.
It watched the waterfall, tongue flicking slowly.
Waiting.
Or perhaps—
Expecting.
The fog remained.
The cold remained.
But something fundamental had changed.