Behind the massive rock, the five of them gasped for breath.
The air was thick with the smell of salt, damp stone—and blood.
Zhang Xiaoshu sat slumped on the sand, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his face drained of all color. The three black tendrils had stopped less than half an inch from his brow. The chill of death still clung to his skin, sharp and lingering, like needles of ice pressed into his nerves.
Wang Dahui checked his blade in silence, movements slower than usual. Li Feidao inspected his throwing knives one by one, his jaw set hard. No one spoke.
Liu Qing crouched beside Ji Bochuan. Her voice was low, each word squeezed out between clenched teeth.
"That barrier you raised just now—
that wasn't something a first-layer Nourishing Breath cultivator should be capable of."
Her eyes locked onto him, sharp as a drawn blade.
"Condensing spiritual energy to that degree… even someone at the third layer would struggle."
Ji Bochuan wiped the sweat from his brow. Three faint red marks burned across his palm, still carrying the numbing chill unique to Yin-corrosion vines. He knew there was no hiding it—at least not from someone like Liu Qing. She had seen the fluctuation clearly. Nothing escaped her in moments like that.
"A family-taught survival trick," he said evenly, his voice a little hoarse from the drain.
"It takes a heavy toll. I won't be able to use it again anytime soon."
Half truth. Half camouflage.
The heart-lamp within him had dimmed slightly—but it was far from exhausted. What mattered was making them believe this was a last-resort card, not something he could casually rely on.
Liu Qing studied him for three long breaths. Then she straightened and swept her gaze over the group.
"An Yin-corrosion vine changes the mission risk level," she announced.
"We vote now. Continue—or withdraw."
"Withdraw?" Wang Dahui snapped. "And give up thirty spirit stones? I've already burned forty percent of my energy—and three protective talismans! That's six stones right there!"
"Your life's worth more than stones," Li Feidao replied coldly.
"Yin-corrosion vines infect. Once they latch on, it's over. I've seen someone brushed by one—three days later, he was a pile of rotting flesh stuffed with vines. I abstain."
Zhang Xiaoshu swallowed hard. "I… I'll follow the captain."
The decision fell back onto Liu Qing.
She hesitated, then turned to Ji Bochuan—the youngest among them, yet the one who had just proven the most dangerous.
"What do you think?"
Ji Bochuan didn't answer immediately.
He walked to the edge of the rock. Black sand crunched softly beneath his boots as he stared toward the patch of violet-black vines. The heart-lamp flickered. His perception spread outward like a web.
The energy there was chaotic—spiritual winds tangled with corrosive Yin, blue and black strands tearing at each other, locked in a fragile, violent equilibrium.
"The Yin-corrosion vine fears Yang," he said slowly.
"It's noon. Yang energy is at its peak. Its activity will be at its lowest—tendrils contracted, attack range reduced by at least thirty percent."
He turned back to them.
"If we continue, it has to be during daylight. Clear the southern and outer eastern zones, then retreat before nightfall. After midnight, its activity triples. Its reach can extend over a hundred meters."
Li Feidao frowned. "How do you know this? The Island Office briefing didn't mention any of that."
"Family teachings," Ji Bochuan replied calmly.
"And one more thing—"
He pointed toward the corrupted cliff.
"Creatures like that don't guard empty ground."
Everyone stiffened.
"The stone there is different," he continued.
"Darker. Faint crystalline refractions under sunlight. That's likely an exposed vein of Spirit Wind Crystal."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the group.
Spirit Wind Crystal—
rare, valuable, and always in demand.
Even raw ore sold for five spirit stones per jin. High-purity cores were worth ten times that—and almost impossible to find.
"You sure?" Wang Dahui asked, eyes blazing.
"Seventy percent," Ji Bochuan said.
"Yin-corrosion vines thrive where dense spiritual energy accumulates alongside cold Yin. Spirit Wind Crystal veins naturally gather both. And look at the airflow above—it spirals downward in a stable vortex. Classic sign of a spirit vein node."
Liu Qing tapped her staff against the sand, silent.
Risk. Reward.
Finally, she nodded.
"Adjusted plan. Finish the southern zone only. Stay at least fifty meters from the eastern corruption. If anything moves—anything at all—we retreat. No hesitation."
They resumed work.
This time, everyone was more cautious.
Ji Bochuan deliberately slowed himself down.
What once took ten breaths now took twenty. His cuts were slightly less precise. A hint of impurity left on the cores.
A necessary disguise.
Even so, his efficiency outpaced the rest.
By mid-afternoon, the southern zone was fully cleared—103 vine cores collected.
As the sun dipped westward, they withdrew to the bay entrance.
The one-armed boatman was still there. Seeing them alive, his good eye twitched with mild surprise.
"Back early," he muttered. "Didn't expect that."
"Conditions changed," Liu Qing said, tossing him five stones. "We return tomorrow."
On the boat, Ji Bochuan sat quietly, eyes closed.
But within his mind—
The faint imprint left by the wind spirit unfurled.
A hidden cave.
Beyond the corrupted zone.
Soft cyan light.
A motionless figure.
And a jade pendant—its markings eerily similar to the one in his possession.
When he opened his eyes, dusk had swallowed the cliffs.
This place wasn't just dangerous.
It was hiding something.
That night, he returned to his boat-house.
Someone had been there.
A black wooden token lay on the table—three intertwined serpents carved into its surface.
Nine Nether Sect.
Beneath it, a note in dark red ink:
"Tomorrow at dusk. Mirage Sands. Come alone."
Three low-grade spirit stones weighed it down.
Ji Bochuan stared at it in silence.
They had found him.
And this time—
he wouldn't be able to avoid the meeting.