The Frostveil Pavilion sat on the northern slope of the Crimson World Pavilion, tucked into the shadow of the mountain like a place the world had quietly forgotten.
Three modest houses with blue-gray tiles.
A bamboo fence barely chest-high.
Several cold-resistant fir trees stood in the courtyard, their needles still dusted with frost that hadn't melted since days ago.
Plain. Almost shabby.
Yet the ice-blue banner above the entrance snapped sharply in the night wind, its frost-crested sigil gleaming under the moonlight.
No one dared underestimate this place.
When Jiang Muchen arrived, carrying the food box, night had fully fallen. The gate stood slightly ajar. Warm lamplight spilled onto the stone path, shadows swaying gently like breathing.
He adjusted his threadbare robe and raised his hand, knocking softly.
Creaaak.
The door opened. It was the same young maid from earlier, dressed in pale pink. Seeing him, she stepped aside with a polite nod.
"Senior Brother Jiang, you've come. My lady has been waiting. Please, come in."
Her voice was light and calm—like snow settling on pine branches.
Jiang Muchen bowed in thanks and followed her inside.
The courtyard was small but impeccably clean. Not a single fallen leaf lay on the ground. Inside the main room, Murong Xueli sat on an old bamboo chair. A small charcoal stove warmed a teapot beside her, steam rising as tea fragrance mixed with the scent of burning pinewood.
She had changed into a simple moon-white dress. Her long hair was loosely tied, secured with a jade hairpin. The icy aloofness she carried by day had softened, replaced with something almost… human.
"Senior Sister Murong," Jiang Muchen stopped at the threshold and bowed.
"Come in. Sit," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her. "The second boil just finished. Perfect timing."
He sat, placing the food box carefully by his feet.
"Thank you for the pastries. I shared them with my companions. They were very fond of them."
"I'm glad." Murong Xueli poured tea, the amber liquid filling white porcelain cups. She slid one toward him. "Try it. Snowcrest Cold Bud—only brewed in the northern regions."
The cup felt cool in his hand, yet when he drank, the tea unfolded strangely—first a sharp chill on the tongue, then a warming flow down the throat, and finally a refreshing clarity that seemed to pierce straight into his spirit. Even the exhaustion from days of studying formations eased slightly.
"Excellent tea," Jiang Muchen said sincerely.
Murong Xueli didn't respond immediately. She watched him quietly until he set the cup down.
"You mentioned earlier… you plan to enter the Mistveil Forest?"
"Yes," he nodded. "Senior Brother Zhang Yi needs soul-nurturing wood. And the Mutual Aid Society needs this opportunity."
"You've found an alternate entrance?"
"Not yet," Jiang Muchen admitted. "But damaged restrictions always leave cracks. If we trace the perimeter long enough, we'll find one."
Murong Xueli was silent for a moment.
She stood, moved to a cabinet against the wall, and opened a hidden compartment. From it, she retrieved a yellowed beast-hide map. When she spread it on the table, its edges were worn and the ink faded, but the terrain lines remained clear.
"This is a partial map of Mistveil Forest," she said. "My father drew it thirty years ago during an expedition."
Her finger rested on an unremarkable mark in the southwest corner.
"There's a ruined ancient teleportation array here. If repaired, it can send you directly into the inner forest—bypassing most of the outer illusions and beasts."
Jiang Muchen's eyes lit up.
But instead of reaching for the map, he looked up.
"Why help me, Senior Sister?"
"Two reasons." Murong Xueli met his gaze, the firelight flickering in her eyes.
"First—you agreed to save my sister. I need you alive."
She paused, her voice dropping lower.
"Second… if the Mutual Aid Society succeeds, it benefits the Murong family's position in the north."
That made his heart stir.
A great clan… leveraging common disciples?
He didn't ask.
Some things were safer left untouched.
"May I study the map?" he asked.
"Yes—but only here," she replied. "Memorize it. You cannot take it with you. As for repairing the array, I can teach you the basics. The rest, you must figure out yourself."
"That's more than enough," Jiang Muchen bowed deeply. "I won't forget this."
"No need." She waved lightly. "This is simply an exchange."
The candle flickered as she explained the terrain. Their shadows stretched and overlapped on the wall—sometimes meeting, sometimes parting.
By the time Jiang Muchen left the Frostveil Pavilion, it was well past midnight.
Only then did he realize his back was soaked—not with sweat, but with tension. Speaking with Murong Xueli felt like walking on thin ice. One wrong word, and he could plunge into something far colder than death.
But pressure meant opportunity.
As he walked, he reconstructed the map in his mind.
Southwest corner. Ruined teleport array.
Fifty li straight to the core.
Between them—Phantom Marsh, Wailing Grove, Flower-Demon Gorge…
Every step a death gate.
When he returned to the servant quarters, the lamp was still lit.
Wang Duobao and the others were awake, crude sketches spread across the table.
"Brother Jiang!" Wang Duobao jumped up. "How'd it go?"
"Good news." Jiang Muchen closed the door and explained the array.
The room went silent—then erupted in suppressed cheers.
"A teleport array!" Wang Duobao flushed. "If we fix it, we skip half the nightmare!"
"Don't celebrate yet," Jiang Muchen cut in. "Repairing it needs three materials: spatial stone, illusion flower dew, and spiritual power from at least a late-stage Qi Condensation cultivator."
Silence fell.
"Materials can be gathered," Lu Hanshan said calmly. "But late-stage Qi Condensation… we have none."
"Zhang Yi counts," Jiang Muchen said. "And Zhao Tieniu can barely cover half."
Plans were set.
Orders issued.
By dawn, everyone had tasks.
Three days later.
Under the flickering oil lamp, Jiang Muchen studied formation scrolls, eyes bloodshot yet razor-sharp.
He understood seventy percent of teleportation arrays now.
When Wang Duobao returned from the market, his expression was grim.
"Spatial stones are on the black market," he said. "Tiny ones—fifty mid-grade spirit stones each."
"And illusion flower dew?"
"Unavailable. Only grows in the Mistveil core. Unless we deal with Phantom Mist Manor."
Jiang Muchen marked it down.
That night, Lu Hanshan brought news: Zhao Tieniu agreed—on the condition he got thirty percent of the soul wood.
"Accepted," Jiang Muchen said without hesitation.
Strength mattered more than fairness.
Near midnight, as Jiang Muchen sat in darkness, a faint sound reached his ears.
A leaf falling.
He opened the window.
Moonlight revealed a monk standing calmly in the courtyard.
"Forgive the disturbance," the monk smiled. "I sensed karmic threads… and a Buddhist affinity."
He left behind a jade slip.
"A fragment of the Diamond Sutra. It may steady your mind."
Then, as suddenly as he appeared, he vanished.
Jiang Muchen stared southwest—toward the forest.
He smiled faintly.
The waters are getting crowded.
Good.
Muddy water hides the deepest fish.
Tao of the Licker — Entry Fifty-Seven
A true net is never woven with a single thread.
You let others tie their lines, believing they're fishing—
while you stand in the center, quietly pulling the strings.
That… is a game.