Silence gripped the valley like a sheet of ice.
It froze breath in throats.
At the center stood the Black-Robed Elder of Nether Ghost Manor, leaning on a staff carved from bleached bone. Ghostly fire flickered inside his hollow eye sockets. To his left, two cultivators from the Golden Armor Sect—one standing, one seated—gleamed with cold metallic light as dusk crept downward. And on the right, a lone man from Thunder Hall stood with arms crossed, faint arcs of lightning snapping and crackling around his body like a storm waiting to detonate.
The moment Jiang Mucheng's group of twenty stepped into the valley entrance, the overlapping pressure from all three sides slammed down—
Pinning them in place.
Corpse rot.
Iron and blood.
Scorched thunderfire.
Three auras twisted together, crushing the air so hard that Zhou Xiaohuan's face went pale. She swayed, barely able to stay upright.
"Blood sacrifice…" Wang Duobao whispered, voice shaking. "They really plan to feed people to the array?"
Jiang Mucheng didn't answer.
His gaze swept across the valley like a blade.
Nether Ghost Manor was the strongest. The Black-Robed Elder was at least early Foundation Establishment. Thirteen disciples stood behind him, Yin energy coiling thick around their bodies, their formation subtly interlocked.
Golden Armor Sect had only two men—but the tall one held a shield like a wall, the shorter one gripped a spear like a serpent. Both were peak sixth-level Qi Refinement.
Thunder Hall had just one cultivator.
And he was the most dangerous of them all.
His lightning-patterned robe fluttered without wind. Wherever his gaze passed, space itself seemed to warp.
And Jiang's side?
Lin Hanshan.
Nangong Feiyue.
Dongfang Qingluan.
Three at Qi Refinement Sixth Level.
Everyone else was Fourth Level or below—plus two wounded members still recovering from spider poison.
An egg crashing into an anvil.
If they fought head-on, they wouldn't last an incense stick.
Jiang Mucheng drew a slow breath. He cycled it through his chest three times before exhaling—humility woven with calm. He stepped forward and bowed to all three factions.
The angle of his waist.
The curve of his arms.
The length of his pause.
Measured. Precise. As if cut by a ruler.
"Disciple Jiang Mucheng of Red Dust Pavilion greets the seniors and fellow cultivators."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it echoed clearly through the dead valley.
The Black-Robed Elder lifted his eyelids. The ghostfire flared.
"Red Dust Pavilion?" he rasped. "Perfect timing. The blood sacrifice is still short a few bodies with strong yang energy."
"Senior jests," Jiang replied evenly, bowing lower. "We entered the forest only to gather Soul-Nourishing Wood to save a fellow disciple. We wish no conflict. As for this teleportation array—we merely seek passage. Once the medicine is obtained, we will leave at once."
"Passage?" The tall Golden Armor cultivator snorted, metal plates grinding. "Do you know how many treasures it takes to repair this ancient array? You think a pack of nobodies like you can just borrow it?"
"I have some knowledge of formations," Jiang said, lifting his head. His eyes were clear as mountain spring water. "If the seniors do not disdain me, I am willing to assist. Once the array is complete, each party takes what they need. Would that not benefit everyone?"
A needle hidden in silk.
—You're deadlocked because no one wants to bleed first, and no one wants to let go. Let an outsider like me fix the array first. Then you can fight over the meat.
Before the Black-Robed Elder spoke, the Thunder Hall cultivator stepped forward.
"Do you really understand formations?" His gaze crackled like lightning.
"A shallow understanding."
"Prove it."
Jiang nodded and crouched at the edge of the array.
The stone platform spanned nearly ten meters. Runes tangled like spiderwebs, most of them eroded. Three massive cracks scarred the perimeter. At the center, a fist-sized black stone pulsed weakly—the spatial fluctuation flickering like a dying flame.
Worse than he'd expected.
But he was prepared.
He took out Dongfang Qingluan's modified jade slip and Murong Xueli's map. His finger traced damage points as he spoke—calm, steady, as if describing someone else's misfortune.
"The foundation remains intact. But the third slab at the southeast corner has an internal fracture—it must be replaced with Dark Yin Iron. The array lines from Kan to Li are entirely destroyed—three hundred seventy-two runes need to be re-engraved. The Void Stone at the core has lost over ninety percent of its power. At least thirty percent spatial energy must be restored…"
Detailed. Accurate.
The expressions of all three factions shifted.
Even Dongfang Qingluan's pupils shrank—some details were ones even he hadn't noticed.
Ghostfire flared violently in the elder's eyes.
"Boy. Who taught you?"
"My master is Elder Firecloud of Red Dust Pavilion's Forging Hall," Jiang answered calmly. "I learned formations by studying ancient texts on my own."
"Self-taught?" The Thunder Hall cultivator's voice sharpened. "Then tell me—what's the most dangerous part of repairing this array?"
"Spatial stability," Jiang said without hesitation. "The Mistbound Forest's space is already unstable. Repairing the array directly risks spatial tearing during activation. A Stabilization Formation must first be set to lock a three-meter radius."
"And you can set it?"
"I cannot." Jiang turned toward Dongfang Qingluan. "But Brother Dongfang can."
Dongfang stepped forward smoothly. "Dongfang Qingluan of Star Pavilion greets the seniors. The Stabilization Formation is indeed our sect's specialty. If trusted, I can set it."
"Star Pavilion too?" the Black-Robed Elder frowned.
"Everyone takes what they need," Dongfang replied lightly. "I only want one Starstone."
Eyes met. Sparks flew.
The shorter Golden Armor cultivator suddenly sneered. "How do we know Red Dust Pavilion and Star Pavilion aren't working together? This could be a trap."
"You may assign supervisors," Jiang answered instantly. "Repairing the array requires materials from all three sides—Nether Ghost Manor's Soulwood to stabilize the base, Golden Armor Sect's Refined Gold Stone to restore the runes, Thunder Hall's Thunder Essence Crystal to activate the core. Missing any one, it fails."
He lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret.
"Each faction may send two people to assist. Everyone watches everyone else. If someone tampers—four pairs of eyes will catch it."
That struck home.
The stalemate existed because no one trusted anyone. Now there was a ladder down—one that allowed supervision and saved face.
The Black-Robed Elder thought for a long time. Then his bone staff slammed the ground.
"Fine. We do it your way." Ghostfire blazed. "But boy—if you dare play tricks, I will flay your soul and refine it into ash."
"I would never."
The killing intent in the valley eased—slightly.
The three factions retreated to their corners. Jiang's group was placed near the valley entrance—farthest from the array, but closest to escape.
By the time they settled, the sun had dipped below the cliffs.
Wang Duobao wiped sweat from his back. "Brother Jiang… when that old ghost looked at me, I thought we were dead."
"If he wanted us dead, we already would be," Jiang said quietly. "Remember—when strength is absolute, stubborn pride only kills you faster. You must make the strong see value in you."
"But will they keep their word?" Lu Hanshan asked, hand tight on his blade.
"No," Jiang replied bluntly. "The moment the array is finished, we're dead. So before that—we carve ourselves a way out."
"What way?"
Jiang's eyes flicked to the ruined array. Cold light flashed.
"We make the array… recognize only us."
Silence.
Dongfang Qingluan approached, face grim. "I can set the stabilization formation—but it requires six uninterrupted hours. If disturbed, it fails."
"I'll give you eight," Jiang said. "But you must add a bloodline lock into the array core."
Dongfang stiffened. "If discovered, we'll be torn apart."
"It won't be," Jiang said, producing Illusion Dew from Huan Xinyue and a spatial stone from Zhang Yi. "I'll give them a better array. Stronger. Wider. Once they taste the sweetness, they won't suspect poison."
Dongfang studied him until night fully fell.
"You're insane."
"Poverty breeds courage," Jiang said with a bitter smile.
Later, two from Nether Ghost Manor approached.
One was a sinister disciple.
The other—
Lin Tianying.
He strutted over, smug grin plastered on his face. "Surprised, Junior Brother Jiang?"
"Impressive," Jiang said calmly. "You found shelter with Nether Ghost Manor."
"Thanks to you," Lin hissed. "If you hadn't driven me into a corner, I wouldn't have joined Ghost Elder. Now I have backing. Touch me again—I dare you."
He leaned closer, smile twisted.
"When the array is complete, you'll be the first sacrifice."
He left, laughing like a mangy dog.
"Ignore him," Jiang said quietly. "The dog only barks because its master allows it."
His gaze drifted toward the meditating Black-Robed Elder.
Though the elder's eyes were closed, Jiang could feel it—
A cold, sticky divine sense wrapped around them like a snake.
Night swallowed the valley.
Three campfires burned in three corners. Shadows twisted grotesquely. Jiang's group doubled their watch—they were the most numerous, and the weakest.
Jiang sat at the outer fire, charcoal scratching against stone as he drew formation diagrams.
All-Beings Resonance Art ran at full power.
He could hear every breath.
The ghost elder's breathing—cold, long, like wind through graves.
Golden Armor Sect—one light, one heavy.
Thunder Hall—soft crackling between breaths.
His own people—
Blades being sharpened.
Metal joints clicking.
Fire qi circulating.
Hands counting spirit stones.
Steady hands, hurried breathing.
Everyone preparing.
"Junior Brother Jiang."
Huan Xinyue sat beside him, movements light as falling leaves.
"Do you think we'll really walk out alive?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because we're still useful." He looked up, firelight dancing in his eyes. "And when we're no longer useful—"
"We won't be here."
She studied him. "You're gambling."
"Yes. On their greed."
Greed blinded eyes.
It made them miss an extra rune in the core.
It made them overlook bloodline recognition.
It made them forget—
That the deepest darkness wasn't outside the valley.
It was inside themselves.
Jiang stood at the valley mouth, mist rolling like an ocean beyond.
He tightened his grip on the jade flute.
Cold instrument.
Burning hand.
The game had begun.
Tongue of the Licking Dao ·
A true trap is not the pit dug by others.
It's the one you see—and still step into smiling.
While praising the craftsmanship of the pit,
digging it deeper,
and leaving yourself a tunnel only you know exists.
That is a trap within a trap.