The news of Zhang Yi's awakening spread like wildfire.
By the time the sun climbed past the rooftops, the walls outside the Alchemist Hall were already drowning in people. A black sea of heads pressed forward, all craning their necks to look inside.
Most of the Cold-Born Mutual Aid Society had shown up. So had disciples who'd once benefited from Zhang Yi's help. And more than a few were there simply to see the man who had "come back from the dead"—along with the former menial who'd saved him.
Former menial, that is.
Now he was officially an outer disciple.
Jiang Muchen stood at the very edge of the crowd, head lowered, posture humble—so unassuming he might as well have been a clump of roadside foxtail grass no one bothered to notice.
Beside him, Wang Duobao was trembling with excitement.
"Brother Jiang… look at all these people. We really made it big this time."
"Fame is never a blessing," Jiang Muchen replied quietly.
"When a tree grows too tall, the wind will always come for it."
"But—"
"Look," Jiang Muchen said. "They're coming out."
The courtyard gate creaked open.
Zhang Yi emerged, supported on both sides. His face was still pale, like thin rice paper, but his eyes had regained their edge—sharp, clear, freshly honed. The Alchemist Hall steward followed behind him, wearing a smile carefully measured to look generous but not greedy. Saving a late-stage Qi Refinement cultivator was no small merit.
"Senior Brother Zhang!" someone cried out, voice shaking.
The crowd erupted like boiling water.
Zhang Yi raised a hand, signaling the aides to step back. He straightened, took a deep breath, and scanned the crowd—until his gaze locked onto Jiang Muchen.
Then, in full view of everyone present, he pushed past the people around him and walked straight toward him.
His steps were unsteady, but each one landed firmly.
He stopped.
Then bowed.
A full, solemn bow—deep enough that his forehead nearly touched the stone.
"Junior Brother Jiang saved my life," Zhang Yi said, voice loud and steady, echoing across the courtyard.
"I, Zhang Yi, will never forget this debt. From this day forward, so long as it does not violate my principles—anything you ask of me, I will do. Even if it costs me my life."
Silence.
Absolute, crushing silence.
No one breathed.
A late-stage Qi Refinement disciple, a long-established figure in the outer sect, bowing this deeply to a newly promoted disciple at Qi Refinement Third Layer.
The weight of it was enough to bend the air.
Jiang Muchen looked genuinely panicked. He rushed forward, nearly tripping as he tried to help Zhang Yi up.
"Senior Brother, please—this is too much! I only did what I should have done. I don't deserve such a gesture!"
His hands shook. Sweat beaded at his temple. His face was full of fear and unease.
But Zhang Yi insisted on completing the bow.
When he straightened, he placed a hand on Jiang Muchen's shoulder and lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear.
"This debt," he said softly, "I will carry for the rest of my life."
"You honor me too greatly," Jiang Muchen replied, head still lowered.
Zhang Yi smiled faintly and turned back to the crowd.
"Fellow disciples," he announced, voice ringing across the yard,
"I survived this calamity thanks to Junior Brother Jiang Muchen's Nine-Cycle Soul-Return Herb—and the full efforts of the Alchemist Hall."
He paused, then raised his voice sharply.
"Let this be witnessed by all: from this day onward, Jiang Muchen's affairs are my affairs. Whoever makes an enemy of him, makes an enemy of me."
The words struck like a hammer on an anvil.
The crowd exploded.
Wang Duobao was shaking from head to toe. Zhou Xiaohuan's eyes were red.
Jiang Muchen, meanwhile, looked even more flustered than before, waving his hands in protest, voice almost breaking.
"Senior Brother, please don't—how could I possibly—"
"I said it," Zhang Yi cut in firmly. "That makes it so."
With that, he bowed to the Alchemist Hall steward, then walked away under countless stares—his back straight, his steps steady.
The crowd parted instinctively.
Only when he disappeared did the noise truly erupt.
"He's openly backing Jiang Muchen!"
"That's a declaration of war!"
"Against Xiao Chen's faction, no less…"
"About time someone stood up for the cold-born!"
Jiang Muchen listened, head still bowed, humility intact—but his mind was crystal clear.
Zhang Yi had repaid the debt.
And in doing so, he'd pushed Jiang Muchen into the light.
From this moment on, Jiang Muchen was no longer an easy target. Anyone who wanted to touch him would have to measure Zhang Yi first—and then consider the fury of the cold-born disciples behind him.
"Let's go," Jiang Muchen said, tugging Wang Duobao out of his daze.
They headed toward the Forging Hall.
Eyes followed them the entire way—curious, envious, wary, hostile.
"Brother Jiang," Lu Hanshan murmured, "wasn't that… a bit too loud?"
"He meant it that way," Jiang Muchen replied.
"He's telling everyone that we're no longer lambs waiting for slaughter."
"And us?"
"We follow," Jiang Muchen said with a faint smile.
"It's easier to grow beneath a large tree. And right now, that tree needs vines."
Sparks flew in the Forging Hall courtyard.
Elder Huoyun was hammering a red-hot billet, each strike sending bursts of molten light into the air. When he spotted Jiang Muchen, he stopped and tossed the hammer aside with a clang.
"Not bad, kid," he grinned. "Heard Zhang Yi bowed to you in public."
"Even you heard?" Jiang Muchen bowed.
"Everyone heard." Huoyun wiped his sweat. "But don't get cocky. Some people don't care who you saved—only whose interests you stepped on."
"I understand."
Huoyun tossed something over.
"Catch."
It was a heavy bronze token, warm to the touch.
"Forging Hall registered disciple token," Huoyun said.
"Free access to most areas. Ground-fire rooms below Grade B. Ten spirit stones a month. Three bottles of basic pills."
Jiang Muchen froze.
"This is too much—"
"Too much my ass," Huoyun snapped. "Take it. Learn. Fail the outer-sect exam and I'll personally throw you off the mountain."
"Yes, Elder!"
That evening, at the Mutual Aid Society…
When the Mistveil Forest mission was rejected—
And the reason became clear—
All eyes turned to Jiang Muchen.
He stepped forward calmly.
"If the Task Hall won't give us a road," he said gently,
"then we'll carve one ourselves."
Silence fell.
Then fire ignited.
Later, under the blood-red sunset, Jiang Muchen accepted a box of snow-cold pastries from a girl sent by Murong Xueli.
Three hundred spirit stones' worth of goodwill.
And information about the Mistveil Forest.
He didn't refuse.
Some debts, after all—
Are better when they're large.
Tongue Path Maxim · Entry Fifty-Six
The most dangerous creditor isn't the one who lends you money.
It's the one you owe an enormous favor to—
and who hasn't decided what they want yet.
That's the true art of debt.