The wall of water crashed down like a falling mountain.
The instant it hit, Jiang Muchen felt as if a warhammer had slammed straight into his chest.
He forced the air from his lungs, curled his body, and drove himself into the curtain of the waterfall. The impact was several times stronger than before—his body, still chilled from the Cold Spring, hadn't fully recovered. His muscles felt stiff, half-frozen, unresponsive.
But he didn't stop.
Teeth clenched hard enough to crack, he inched forward, inch by inch.
Seven steps.
Twelve.
Eighteen—
The moment he broke through the water veil, the world fell silent.
He stumbled into the cavern, soaked through, collapsing onto the icy stone floor. His chest heaved violently, lungs wheezing like a broken bellows. A metallic taste flooded his throat.
The cave was unchanged.
Dim light. Heavy moisture. The withered skeleton of the Stone-Obsessed Elder still sat upright on the stone bed.
But this time—
Something in his arms was warm.
The jade flute.
Not burning hot, but gently warm, like fine jade pressed against skin. Jiang Muchen drew it out. The flute was glowing—soft blue-gold light seeping from the dragon carvings, illuminating a ten-foot radius. The etched lines seemed to stir, as though alive, slowly coiling and shifting.
Stranger still—
There was a pulse inside it.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Like a heartbeat.
Warmth flowed from his palm into his body, driving the lingering cold from his bones. He lowered his gaze to the water's surface.
Reflected in the glow of the flute, the pool was black as ink—and in its depths, something seemed to be looking back.
The Stone-Obsessed Elder's words echoed in his mind:
"Beneath the Cold Pool lies another world. Nine turns to become a dragon—one thread of fate."
Fate… or a dead end?
Jiang Muchen checked his belt pouch.
Moonlight Ganoderma fragments.
Three Rejuvenation Pills.
The Black Jade Sword.
Everything he had.
He drew a deep breath, wrapped his spiritual energy tightly around his heart meridian, and plunged into the pool.
Splash.
Cold swallowed him whole.
Far worse than he'd imagined—like countless ice needles piercing every pore. The ganoderma fragment beneath his tongue released a frantic surge of warmth, barely keeping his heart from freezing solid, but his limbs numbed almost instantly.
He sank.
The jade flute's glow spread through the water, revealing a three-foot radius. Dark green weeds drifted like ghostly hair. Translucent fish darted past. Deeper still, bioluminescent specks floated like stars.
Five zhang.
Ten.
Fifteen.
The pressure mounted. His ears rang. His chest felt crushed beneath an invisible weight. The ganoderma was gone. The Rejuvenation Pill's power was draining fast.
Still no bottom.
Just how deep was this pool?
As darkness crept into his vision, the scenery below suddenly changed.
No mud.
No silt.
Instead—smooth stone slabs.
Clearly carved by human hands, etched with worn, ancient patterns.
His feet touched down.
The jade flute illuminated the surroundings.
A vast underwater chamber—over thirty feet across. The stone walls were polished smooth, carved with dense, crumbling runes. Most were damaged, but even so, their purpose was unmistakable.
A sealing formation.
At the center stood a black stone pillar.
About ten feet tall, its surface dark as obsidian. A dragon was carved around it—not a divine, majestic dragon, but something twisted and feral, locked in eternal agony. Two dull red gemstones were set into its eyes, now faintly glowing.
And at the base—
Someone was nailed to it.
No.
Pinned to it.
Jiang Muchen swam closer.
An old man in tattered Daoist robes. Skeletal. White hair hanging loose. Black nails pierced through his hands, feet, and chest, driving him into the pillar. Flesh and stone had fused together.
His head hung low.
But—
He was still alive.
Barely.
A spark of life flickered inside him, weak as a candle in the wind.
At that moment—
The jade flute trembled violently.
Hummm—
A clear, piercing note rang out. The dragon carvings flared with light.
Simultaneously, the red gems in the pillar's dragon eyes blazed.
Danger screamed in Jiang Muchen's mind. He tried to retreat.
Too late.
Water spiraled violently around the pillar, forming a massive vortex. A terrifying pull dragged him toward its center.
He fought it, flailing uselessly in the water. His spiritual energy moved sluggishly, frozen and heavy. The last Rejuvenation Pill dissolved away.
I'm going to die.
The thought had barely formed when—
The jade flute tore free from his grasp.
Not dropped.
Released.
Blue-gold light exploded outward, condensing into a three-foot-long dragon phantom. Small, but regal. It roared soundlessly and slammed into the pillar's dragon carving.
Boom!
The chamber shook.
The red glow dimmed. The vortex weakened.
Jiang Muchen seized the chance and shot upward.
He hadn't gone far when a voice spoke directly into his mind.
"Child… wait…"
He stopped.
Turned.
The old man on the pillar slowly raised his head.
His face was like cracked bark, eyes sunken deep—but those eyes were clear, bright as ancient wells.
"Forty years…" he murmured, gaze fixed on the flute. "At last… someone with fate has come…"
Jiang Muchen said nothing, staying alert.
"Do not fear," the old man said, forcing a crooked smile. "If I wished you harm, you'd already be dead."
"Who are you?" Jiang Muchen asked.
"My Dao name is Stone-Obsessed," the old man replied weakly. "My true name… I've forgotten. Forty years ago, I came seeking Black-Pattern Mystic Iron. I triggered an ancient seal and was nailed here by this Dragon-Sealing Pillar. Neither alive nor dead."
The Dragon-Sealing Pillar.
"This pillar was forged to suppress calamity," the old man said. "I grew greedy. I reached for the iron essence beneath it. For forty years, my body has been nailed here, my soul trapped, devoured daily by the dragon remnant."
His gaze returned to the flute. "Where did you obtain that flute?"
"By chance."
"Chance?" He laughed softly. "That is the Azure Nether Dragon-Calling Flute, one of the sacred relics of the ancient Azure Nether Sect. It soothes dragon souls. You wield it—not by coincidence."
So that was it.
No wonder the Ice-Scale Serpent had feared him.
It hadn't feared him.
It feared the flute.
"What do you want me to do?" Jiang Muchen asked.
The old man's eyes gleamed.
"Help me… be free."