Wang Duobao came back on the third night, dew still clinging to his sleeves.
In the three days before that, the threshold of the menial courtyard had been worn shallow by boots of every shape and color. No one came openly looking for trouble—at least not on the surface. They came to "make friends."
They brought gifts. They spoke with smiles. And behind their eyes, each carried a private calculation.
Disciples from the Golden Armor Sect arrived first, presenting a suit of refined spirit-metal soft armor. Yellow-tier, mid-grade. Heavy in the hands, the plates whispering softly when they touched. The messenger's smile never wavered as he made his meaning clear: if Junior Brother Jiang ever refined fine pills in the future, the Golden Armor Sect hoped to be remembered first.
Thunder Hall followed.
Ten Thunderlight Talismans, sealed in a custom sandalwood box. Each talisman crackled faintly with restrained arcs of lightning. Their terms were even more direct—if any clues to Thundercrystal veins were discovered in the Mistbound Forest, Thunder Hall expected to be informed. Generous rewards would follow.
The Star Pavilion's Dongfang Qingluan came twice.
The first time, he delivered an improved teleportation array schematic—more refined than Murong Xueli's, with every array line carefully annotated. The second time, he personally guided Jiang Mucheng through the basics of Stellar Shift and Reversal, patient and meticulous.
As he left, he would always mention—casually, as if in passing—that a fist-sized Starstone could be traded for an entire courtyard residence in the market.
The strangest visitor of all came from the Nether Ghost Prefecture.
He slipped over the wall at the hour of the rat. Black robes melted into the night like a drifting shadow. He knocked on no door, spoke not a word. He simply placed a jet-black token on Jiang Mucheng's windowsill and vanished—light as a falling leaf.
The token was icy to the touch.
On its face, the word Nether clawed outward like a ghost's talons. On the back was a crude map—barely more than a sketch—marking several points where the Mistbound Forest bordered the Nether Ghost Domain. The ink was still fresh, carrying a faint stench of decay.
No conditions. No demands.
Just a stone tossed into deep water.
Jiang Mucheng studied it beneath the lamp for most of the night, the flame flickering as shadows rose and fell across his face.
"Brother Jiang," Wang Duobao said as he pushed the door open, bringing a slice of cold night air with him. His expression was grave. "I found it."
Jiang put the token away and looked up.
"Murong Xueli's sister. Murong Xuening." Wang lowered his voice. "Three months ago, she attempted a Foundation breakthrough in the Murong family's forbidden grounds. Suffered a mental backlash."
He swallowed.
"But that place is protected by three grand formations. No one's ever been hurt there. Not once."
"So…" Jiang said quietly.
"Someone interfered." Wang nodded. "I asked merchants from the northern routes. The Murong family's first and second branches are at each other's throats. Xueli is the first branch's direct heir. The timing of her sister's accident… too perfect."
The oil lamp popped softly.
"And Nangong Feiyun," Wang continued, faster now. "The most gifted disciple of the Blazing Sun Sect. Cultivated the Heaven-Scorching Art for fifteen years without incident. Half a month ago, her heart meridians were suddenly damaged."
"Official explanation?" Jiang asked.
"Cultivation backlash," Wang said grimly. "But privately? No one believes it. That art's been practiced for centuries. It's never damaged heart meridians."
"Unless the method was tampered with."
"Yes."
"And Senior Brother Zhang Yi?"
"His injury looks the most 'normal.' Hurt while suppressing rogue cultivators." Wang hesitated. "But the clue leading him there came from… Xiao Chen's people. 'Accidentally' discovered. 'Specially' recommended."
Silence filled the room.
Jiang closed his eyes.
Three fragments—Murong Xuening, Nangong Feiyun, Zhang Yi—rotated in his mind, sliding into place with chilling precision.
Not accidents.
A purge.
Someone was quietly clearing the board—removing those who might one day become uncontrollable variables. Murong Xueli, future pillar of the Icebound Palace. Nangong Feiyun, the Blazing Sun Sect's tomorrow. Zhang Yi, a rare backbone among common-born disciples.
If they grew without obstruction, they would disrupt someone's grip on the game.
So they were removed.
And now, those injured—or those closest to them—had all turned to Jiang Mucheng. To his alchemy. To his journey into the Mistbound Forest. To this sudden, unexpected variable.
A grand game, indeed.
Jiang opened his eyes. No anger. No fear.
Only cold clarity—like a lake frozen at dawn.
"Wang Duobao," he said, "handle two things."
"I'm listening."
"First. Take half of our Soul-Stabilizing Pills. Repackage them in plain jade bottles. Deliver them to Nangong Feiyue tonight."
Wang blinked. "That's—"
"Call it advance sincerity," Jiang said evenly. "Tell her if we find clues to the Grove of Life in the forest, further compensation follows."
He continued without pause.
"Second. Go to the Icebound Palace encampment. Tell Murong Xueli that I likely know the cause of her sister's injury."
Wang stiffened.
"To cure it fully," Jiang went on, "requires a primary ingredient—Ninefold Nether Soul Grass. It only grows deep within the Nether Ghost Domain. I can't obtain it now."
He met Wang's eyes.
"But if she's willing to wait. If she can buy me time. After the Mistbound Forest… there may be a way."
Wang hesitated. "Brother Jiang… that herb is practically legendary."
"Not having it now doesn't mean never," Jiang replied. "What matters is this—she needs to know I have a path. And that path requires time."
Wang nodded slowly. "What about Senior Brother Zhang?"
"His injury can be treated with Soul-Nourishing Wood," Jiang said. "That's the simplest—and it's why this expedition cannot fail."
Wang turned to leave, then paused.
"And one more thing," Jiang added, voice dropping. "Tell everyone offering 'help' this—cooperation is welcome. But once inside the forest, all actions follow my command."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Late that night, Jiang Mucheng packed alone.
Pills sorted. Talismans stacked by function. Tools inspected—ropes tested, blades sharpened, fire-starters checked for dampness.
From beneath the bed, he pulled out a small wooden chest.
Half a Nine-Turn Revival Herb, glowing faintly. A space stone humming with subtle distortion. The Illusion Petal Dew promised by Huan Xinyue. Nangong Feiyue's Blazing Sun Talismans, warm to the touch. Dongfang Qingluan's jade slip, smooth and gentle. The Nether Ghost token, cold as death.
And finally—
The fragment of the Diamond Sutra left by Shi Jiamingkong.
He packed each item carefully.
Like a man packing his life.
The oil lamp died.
Footsteps sounded outside—light, steady, each step grounded like a sword driven into earth.
Jiang looked up.
A young man stood in the doorway, dressed in blue. Seventeen or eighteen. A worn sword on his back, its scabbard polished smooth by years of use. His gaze was cold, his presence sharp—like a blade halfway drawn.
Lin Hanshan. Azure Nether Sword Sect.
"You're going to the Mistbound Forest?" Lin asked.
"Yes."
"When?"
"The day after tomorrow. At dawn."
Lin was silent, sword intent gathering like pressure before a storm.
"I'm going too."
Jiang frowned. "Didn't you already lead a team inside?"
"That was the visible team," Lin said. "Where I'm going—they can't follow."
He tossed a piece of beast hide onto the table. It unfolded midair and settled like a leaf.
The map was astonishingly detailed. Over a dozen danger points marked in red. Beside one, written in vermilion ink, sharp as sword scars:
Sword Tomb. Suspected burial site of Azure Nether predecessors.
Sword tomb.
Jiang's pupils contracted.
Sword tombs held more than blades—they carried legacies, insights, paths worth dying for.
"An exchange," Lin said flatly. "You help me find it. I guarantee your people's safety in the forest. If Xiao Chen's men move—"
His hand rested on his hilt.
"My sword doesn't mind more blood."
Jiang believed him.
"Deal," he said. "One condition."
"Speak."
"Once inside, no solo actions. At least until we secure Soul-Nourishing Wood."
Lin studied him, then nodded. "Agreed."
As he turned to leave, he paused.
"Jiang Mucheng," Lin said, moonlight silvering his profile. "You saved Zhang Yi. You challenged Lin Tianying. Now you're leading common disciples into the Mistbound Forest."
He looked back.
"Do you know what that means?"
"I do."
"Good." Lin's voice was calm. "This path—walk it well, and ten thousand will honor you. Walk it poorly, and you'll be buried beneath it."
He left, blue robes snapping like a lone banner.
Jiang watched his silhouette dissolve into the night.
He understood.
This was no longer survival.
He was breaking a wall everyone pretended was natural—the wall between the common-born and the noble families. He was carving a hole through it with his own hands.
If the wall fell, he'd be the first crushed.
There was no middle ground.
At dawn, he stepped outside.
The others were already training.
He looked at them—tired, tense, but burning with something new.
"Today," Jiang said, smiling, "final preparations."
"Tomorrow?"
"We depart."
Toward the south, the Mistbound Forest lay silent beneath morning fog—like a sleeping beast.
And this time—
They were walking straight into its jaws.
Tongue of the Licking Dao ·
A road is never built for you.
You walk it bleeding, one step at a time,
until those behind you see the marks and follow.
That is opening a path.
That is planting a tree.
And one day,
it becomes a road that cannot be erased.