The news spread faster than wildfire.
By the next morning, the entire Outer Sect was buzzing. Whispers passed from mouth to mouth, growing wilder with every retelling. By the seventh or eighth version, the story had mutated into something almost mythic—
Young Master Xiao Chen himself had supposedly carried a chest of spirit stones to Zhao Tieniu's residence, only to be hurled—man and chest alike—straight into the street. The stones scattered everywhere, and half the alley rushed in to scoop them up.
When Jiang Mucheng heard this version, he was standing before an anvil in the Refining Hall, hammering a block of glowing red iron.
Elder Huoyun leaned against the doorframe, a wine gourd hanging from his hand, eyes half-lidded as he watched Jiang work. After a while, he spoke.
"Kid. Your heart's not steady. That strike drifted—should've hit the core. You were off by half an inch."
Jiang stopped, wiped the sweat from his brow, the hammer heavy in his grip.
"Your lesson is taken, Elder."
"You heard the rumors outside?" Huoyun took a long drink.
"I have."
"And what do you think?"
Jiang was silent for a moment. He tossed the iron back into the furnace. Flames roared up, lighting his face in flickering shadows.
"Xiao Chen isn't that stupid," he said calmly.
"Oh?"
"If he really wanted to buy off Senior Brother Zhao, he'd do it quietly. He wouldn't let it blow up like this." Jiang stared into the fire. "What we're seeing feels more like someone stirring the waters—trying to make us tear ourselves apart first."
Huoyun studied him for a long moment. Then the wrinkles around his eyes eased into a smile that carried both approval and unease.
"Good. At least your head's still clear."
He set down the wine gourd and clapped Jiang on the shoulder with a hand scarred by burns and calluses.
"But don't underestimate Xiao Chen. He's arrogant, sure—but not foolish. You disrupted his plans. A snake never forgets a grudge. Ever."
"I understand."
"Good." Huoyun straightened. "Finish today's work and get out. Don't come tomorrow. Prepare for the secret realm."
He paused, voice lowering.
"Coming back alive matters more than anything else."
The courtyard of the Coldborn Mutual Aid Society was wound tight as a drawn bowstring.
More than twenty people stood gathered. Zhao Tieniu was at the center, his iron arm clenched, metal joints grinding.
"I never took Xiao Chen's money!" he roared. "Anyone who keeps spreading that crap—I'll twist their head off!"
But suspicion crept like ivy, quiet and persistent, into every pair of eyes.
Too many Coldborn disciples had been bought before. Every betrayal started with pretty words. After enough times, hearts grew cold—and once frozen through, they never truly thawed.
When Jiang Mucheng stepped into the courtyard, every gaze snapped to him.
"Junior Brother Jiang," a tall, thin man sneered, "what do you say about Zhao's business?"
Jiang didn't answer right away.
He walked straight up to Zhao Tieniu and stopped, looking up at the towering man. Zhao's eyes were bloodshot—not from tears, but rage.
"Senior Brother Zhao," Jiang said clearly, his voice ringing through the courtyard,
"Xiao Chen's people approached you yesterday afternoon—Zhengyang Street, third alley. Correct?"
Zhao blinked. "How did you know?"
"Lead man had triangular eyes. Black mole on his left eyebrow. Touched his chin with his right hand when he spoke."
"That's him!"
Jiang turned to face the crowd. Morning light spilled in behind him, outlining his figure in gold.
"Brothers," he said, voice steady, "that man's name is Li Si. One of Xiao Chen's dogs—the kind used for dirty work."
Gasps rippled outward.
"Yesterday afternoon, he didn't just visit Senior Brother Zhao. He visited Master Wang in the Refining Hall, Senior Sister Sun in the Herb Gardens, and Steward Liu in the dining hall."
Faces paled.
"The prices ranged from fifty to a hundred spirit stones," Jiang continued.
"The condition was always the same—make things easier when we enter the Mistbound Forest. Or trip us up."
The courtyard erupted.
"I mean this," Jiang raised his voice, pressing the chaos down,
"Xiao Chen isn't buying one man. He's casting a net. Senior Brother Zhao refused—and that's his integrity. But we can't condemn everyone who was approached."
His gaze swept across the crowd—young faces, weathered ones, scarred ones, all marked by struggle.
"Coldborn disciples already live hard lives. If we start doubting each other, watching each other's backs—then no one else needs to destroy us. We'll collapse on our own."
Silence followed.
The thin man opened his mouth, then closed it.
Vice President Li stepped out and placed a firm hand on Jiang's shoulder.
"Junior Brother Jiang is right. At a time like this, we hold together."
He looked around, eyes burning.
"This expedition is dancing on a blade's edge. If we can't trust our own people, then we may as well surrender now. And after that? We stay crushed under the boots of those noble families forever."
"Vice President's right!" Zhao Tieniu shouted.
"Everyone knows Zhao's character!" another man yelled, scar cutting across his face. "He lost that iron arm saving us years ago! If he wanted to cling to Xiao Chen, he'd have done it back then!"
"Trust Zhao!"
The tension eased, like frozen ground touched by spring sun.
Jiang let out a quiet breath.
Doubts wouldn't vanish overnight. A thorn pulled out always leaves a hole—but as long as the surface held, the wind couldn't get in.
By noon, Wang Duobao came running back, barely containing his excitement.
"Brother Jiang! Huan Xinyue agreed! The space stone can be credited—she'll send it tomorrow!"
"And the price?"
"Dreamflowers. Seventy percent." Wang lowered his voice. "But she said if this goes well, we can cooperate long-term. She even offered to send two disciples with us to help gather Illusion Petal Dew."
Jiang nodded.
Wang hesitated. "Brother Jiang… something feels off?"
"Too smooth," Jiang said quietly, eyes on the withered vines crawling along the wall. "That's what worries me."
He told Wang about the unexpected visits earlier that day.
Wang frowned. "Could be coincidence?"
"Maybe." Jiang shook his head. "But caution never hurts."
He paused.
"Also—check Murong Xueli. Her sister's injury. How bad it really is. And why a Northern powerhouse family needs Coldborn help at all."
Wang's eyes sharpened. He nodded.
That afternoon, visitors arrived one after another.
First came Nangong Feiyue—crimson attire, high ponytail, saber at her waist. She strode in like fire incarnate.
"You're Jiang Mucheng?" she asked.
"I am."
"Take me with you." Straight to the point. "Qi Refinement Sixth Level. Cultivate the Blazing Sun Art. I counter yin and illusions."
"And why help us?"
"Two reasons," she said bluntly. "I've hated Xiao Chen for a long time. You stand against him—I respect that."
She paused, fingers tightening on her saber.
"My sister Feiyun damaged her heart meridians. She needs Life Spring water. I found records suggesting a rift to the Life Grove might exist deep in the Mistbound Forest."
Jiang considered her carefully.
"Until we secure Soul-Nourishing Wood, will you follow our lead?"
"Yes." Her eyes didn't waver.
"Deal."
She laughed—bright as midday sun—and tossed him a pouch.
"Blazing Sun Talismans. Good against ghosts."
Not long after, Dongfang Qingluan arrived.
Star Pavilion robes. Folding fan. Grace incarnate.
"I hear you're restoring an ancient teleportation array," he said pleasantly.
"I can help. In exchange—I want a fist-sized Starstone."
"And what do you offer?"
"Improved array design," he smiled. "And basic spatial techniques. Short-range Blink."
Jiang's pulse jumped.
"In that forest?" he said. "Deal."
Night fell.
Maps, jade slips, supplies lay spread before Jiang. The lamp flickered low.
Wang Duobao returned with grim news.
Everyone had a wounded sister. A soul injury. A desperate reason.
Too many threads converging.
Coincidence?
Jiang didn't believe in coincidence.
"Still cooperate?" Wang asked.
"Yes," Jiang said softly. "But only on agreed terms."
He opened the window. Cool mountain air swept in.
"There's no kindness without cause," he said. "If someone treats you well, it's because you're useful—or dangerous."
Wang nodded slowly.
The lamp went out.
In the darkness, Jiang stood for a long time.
He remembered another line from the White Jade Legacy:
True merchants don't ask what others give you—
they ask what you can give that others must buy.
And now…
He had something.
That was enough.
Tongue of the Licking Dao —
The real danger isn't the enemy who bares his fangs,
but the one who smiles, hands you candy,
and counts how many pieces you have left while you walk away.
The highest skill?
Knowing he's counting—and letting him believe you don't.