When Jiang Muchen surfaced from the depths of the icy pool, his lungs felt like they were about to burst.
The cold had already soaked into his bones, but the jade box clutched to his chest radiated a gentle warmth. Inside it lay three stalks of Nine-Revolution Soul-Returning Grass, their leaves glowing faintly, as if bathed in moonlight.
The instant he broke the surface, three figures on the shore lunged toward him.
"Brother Jiang!"
Lu Hanshan seized his arm and hauled him up. Jiang Muchen collapsed onto the gravel, coughing violently as icy water—flecked with frost—spilled from his mouth.
Wang Duobao squatted beside him, hands trembling.
"Half an hour… You stayed underwater for a full half hour!"
Jiang Muchen waved him off weakly and reached into his robe. He cracked the jade box open just enough for a sliver of light to spill out.
A soft, pearly glow washed over their faces. Nine leaves unfurled like lotus petals, veins shimmering as though tiny galaxies flowed within them. Even the faint life essence leaking out was enough to sweep away the exhaustion they'd built up over days.
"It's real…" Zhou Xiaohuan whispered, covering her mouth.
"Nine-Revolution Soul-Returning Grass," Jiang Muchen said hoarsely, snapping the lid shut. "Keep it safe."
He didn't mention the Foundation Establishment–level giant serpent at the bottom of the pool.
Didn't mention the gamble he'd taken—or the price paid by the dragon soul.
Some truths lasted longer when fewer people knew them.
Lu Hanshan met his gaze, eyes sharp, but didn't ask. Instead, he scanned their surroundings.
"We can't stay here. The Herb Valley closes in two hours. Move."
They packed quickly.
Aside from the jade box, they'd gathered coagulation herbs, calming flowers, and—thanks to Wang Duobao's sharp eyes—a small patch of Moonlight Moss, prized for making luminescent powder.
The most valuable find was still the thousand-year spirit mushroom, now wrapped layer upon layer in insulated cloth. Its aura was sealed tight, yet even a trace of fluctuation made the air feel heavy.
"Let's go."
Jiang Muchen staggered as he stood, fresh blood seeping from his left shoulder. Lu Hanshan silently handed him half a calming flower stem. Jiang chewed it down, bitterness flooding his throat, clarity following close behind.
The return path was quieter than their approach.
The ice-scaled snakes never reappeared. From the direction of the deep pool, Jiang sensed a sluggish, slumbering pulse—the giant serpent was digesting the sliver of fate it had been granted.
Two hours later, the exit portal shimmered into view.
Outside, dozens of disciples had already gathered. Some were all smiles, storage pouches bulging. Others limped, bloodied and bitter. A few clustered together, whispering, eyes flicking toward anyone who looked too fortunate.
This was the jungle, stripped bare.
Jiang Muchen's group blended in, keeping their heads down. Still, Wang Duobao's overstuffed pouch drew more than a few predatory glances.
"Well, if it isn't the trash-yard crew."
The sneer came from the side.
Zhao Qing—one of Lin Tianying's lackeys—stood with two fellow Azure Underworld Sword Sect disciples. Their eyes raked over Wang Duobao's pouch like blades.
Jiang Muchen stepped forward, blocking Wang.
"Senior Brother Zhao. Something you need?"
"Nothing," Zhao Qing grinned, yellow teeth flashing. "Just curious. Heard you lot went to Cold Mist Ravine? Even inner disciples won't touch that place. Yet here you are—alive and loaded?"
He raised his voice deliberately. Dozens of eyes snapped their way.
Jiang Muchen stayed calm.
"Lucky break. Picked up scraps near the edge. Hardly worth mentioning—unlike a major sect disciple's haul, I'm sure."
The words sounded light. The barb underneath was not.
Zhao Qing's face stiffened. His own run had been a disaster—delayed near the lava lake, chased half to death by flame lizards.
"Sharp tongue," he snorted. "Once we're out, we'll talk."
Right then, the portal flared.
The elder's voice rang out like a bell.
"All disciples, exit in order! No pushing. Violators will be punished!"
The crowd surged forward.
Jiang Muchen's group slipped through smoothly. The moment they crossed over, familiar spiritual energy washed over them—mountain wind, mortal scents. It felt unreal.
A flying vessel hovered above, ladder lowered.
Aboard the ship, Jiang Muchen found a corner and sat down, eyes closed. Wang Duobao and the others formed a loose triangle around him—silent walls.
He could feel it.
At least five gazes followed them from different directions.
By the time they returned to the sect, the sun was setting.
The mountain gate glowed gold. Disciples dispersed—some to report, some to heal, some… quietly tailing Jiang Muchen's group.
"They're still on us," Lu Hanshan murmured.
"I know," Jiang said. "We're going to the Refining Hall."
They veered off, skipping the servant quarters and heading for the side peak. At dusk, only scattered hammering echoed through the hall. The air smelled of iron and charcoal.
Elder Huoyun was packing up tools when he saw them.
"Back alive? Guess you're luckier than you look."
"Thanks to you, Elder," Jiang bowed.
"Save it." Huoyun eyed him, lingering on his pale face. "You're injured."
"Nothing serious."
"Cold spring water?"
Jiang took the jade box from Wang Duobao and presented it.
"Three jin of cold spring water. Plus frost-tear vine sap."
Huoyun dipped a finger into the water. The droplet held its shape, glowing faint blue, biting cold.
"Good quality." He nodded. "Your Redflame Essence Gold's ready. Corner."
A palm-sized block of crimson metal sat there, flame patterns flowing like living things.
Top-grade. Worth at least 120 spirit stones.
Jiang stored it, then said, "Elder, I'd like to rent Earthfire Room C-3. Three days."
"Five stones a day. You know the rules." Huoyun squinted. "What are you scheming now?"
"Alchemy."
Huoyun laughed. "Haven't mastered forging and you're jumping into pills? Go on—just don't blow it up. That's five hundred stones if you do."
That night, in Earthfire Room C-3, Jiang Muchen began to work.
This time, the treasure stayed hidden.
What emerged instead… would change everything.
Tongue of the Dao — Entry Fifty-One
The real treasure isn't what you hide at the bottom of your pouch.
It's what you plant in other people's hearts—
so when the storm comes, it blooms into a forest that shields you.