The wooden token was cold to the touch.
Under the dim glow of the oil lamp, the three black serpents carved into its surface shimmered faintly, their bodies seeming to writhe as if alive. Ji Bochuan had the unsettling impression that, at any moment, their tongues might slip free from the grain of the wood.
He stared at the note for a long time.
So long that the lamp wick crackled, spitting a tiny spark.
Only then did he move.
He struck a fire flint and held the paper to the flame. The edges curled, blackened, and caught, orange fire racing across the dark red characters until the words vanished completely. The flickering light illuminated half his face, casting a distorted shadow against the wall.
When the paper burned down to ash, he crushed it between his fingers and smeared it flat across the tabletop—no trace left behind. Not even the outline of the ashes remained.
The Nine Nether Sect had found him.
Sooner than he'd hoped. But not unexpectedly.
Ever since the Spirit Wind Cliff mission, he'd known it was only a matter of time. Someone in Liu Qing's squad could have been compromised. Qian Fugui might have spoken carelessly. The Island Office's registration records could have been bought. There were too many cracks for light not to leak through.
What surprised him was how they reached him.
Silently. Effortlessly. As if his boat-house had never had a lock.
That meant two things.
First, the Nine Nether Sect's network on Fog-Hidden Island was far tighter than he'd estimated—tight enough to pinpoint the temporary residence of an unaffiliated cultivator.
Second, they weren't planning to strike immediately.
They wanted to talk.
Polite first. Violence later.
Old rules. Same script.
And there was only one thing worth talking about.
The Dao-Spirit Jade Pendant.
Ji Bochuan retrieved it from the hidden compartment beneath the bedboards. The jade was warm, a soft cyan glow flowing beneath its surface like living water. When he held it, the warmth spread from his palm into his arm, seeping gently into his meridians.
This was no ordinary artifact.
When his Second Uncle, Ji Yuncheng, had given it to him, he'd said only one thing:
"It leaves you a path when all others are cut off."
At the time, Ji Bochuan had thought it comforting rhetoric.
Now, he suspected it was a warning.
Because every lifeline came with a cost.
Like a vine hanging over a cliff—it could pull you back… or drag you down even faster.
He hid the jade again, this time wedging it into a crack beneath a rotting roof beam, dusted over until it blended seamlessly into the decay. Then he sat down and began planning.
Tomorrow. You hour. Mirage Sands.
Mirage Sands lay in the northwest of Fog-Hidden Island—a shifting wasteland of moving dunes and hallucination-inducing mirages. The terrain never stayed the same. Solid ground could become a death trap in seconds. Purple mist lingered year-round, filled with mirage gas that twisted perception, forcing victims to see what they desired most—or feared most.
A perfect place for ambush.
And, if you knew it well enough, a perfect place for counter-kills.
Ji Bochuan had no intention of going.
At least—not on their terms.
If the Nine Nether Sect could slip a token into his room, they already had him marked. Going meant walking into a net. Refusing meant escalation.
Next time, it wouldn't be a wooden token.
It would be a poisoned blade.
So he needed a third option.
A name surfaced in his mind.
Han Tie.
The black-market broker who had hovered around him since Wanghai City—always nearby, never fully visible. If the Nine Nether Sect had found him this quickly, Han Tie's intelligence channels were almost certainly involved.
Black markets sold information the way others sold vegetables. Fresh, accurate, and completely amoral.
But that cut both ways.
Middlemen understood leverage better than anyone.
Ji Bochuan took out the bone whistle.
It was carved from the finger bone of some unknown beast, etched with dense, ancient-looking patterns. Held to the light, the carvings resembled primitive sigils.
Han Tie had been clear: blow it, and someone would come within half an hour.
The location would depend on where the sound traveled.
Blow it—and expose himself.
Don't—and stay a sitting target.
Risk and opportunity were twins.
At the third watch past midnight, the world fell silent.
Ji Bochuan slipped out the back window, moving like a shadow along the wall. After ten breaths with no movement in the alley, he headed deeper into Mirage Market.
An abandoned salt warehouse stood at the western edge—one of the black market's fixed contact points.
The front gate was locked solid with rust, but a small side door showed recent repairs. Light leaked through the cracks. Voices murmured inside.
Ji Bochuan didn't knock.
He circled around back, climbed a warped barrel, and used a leaning old tree to reach the roof. Through a broken skylight, he looked down.
Seven or eight people surrounded a table cluttered with ore, herbs, and sealed jars. At the center sat a one-eyed man—an old acquaintance from the tea house, known for selling maps.
"This batch is weak," a robed buyer said, holding up a chunk of ore. "Lightning essence is barely thirty percent."
"With the Thunder Ruins sealed by the Violet Heaven Hall, you're lucky to get anything," the one-eyed man replied with a grin. "Take it or leave it."
Coins changed hands. The buyers dispersed.
Ji Bochuan dropped soundlessly inside and pushed open the side door.
"Who—"
The one-eyed man spun, hand on his blade.
"Han Tie sent me."
Password. Hand signal.
Recognition flickered.
"Speak."
"The Nine Nether Sect invited me to Mirage Sands."
The man froze.
Ji Bochuan placed the black token on the table.
Silence thickened.
"They didn't find me by accident," Ji Bochuan said calmly. "And Han Tie promised his clients weren't for sale."
Threats followed. Blades half-drawn.
Then the truth.
"They'll silence everyone involved once they're done," Ji Bochuan said. "Including you."
Sweat beaded on the man's brow.
"What do you want?"
"Two options," Ji Bochuan said. "Kill me and collect your reward. Or pass a message."
"What message?"
"I'll trade a secret—for my life."
A secret about the jade.
One that could burn half the island if released.
The man hesitated… then nodded.
By dawn, Ji Bochuan was preparing like a craftsman sharpening a blade.
Inventory. Placement. Redundancy.
When morning came, even Qian Fugui warned him—the Nine Nether Sect was asking questions.
By noon, he was in Tranquil Mind Teahouse.
Han Tie didn't come.
Instead, a nondescript scholar sat across from him.
"Han Tie accepted your terms," the man said. "He calls it an investment."
No Mirage Sand Gold—but something better.
A Ferry Token from the Other Shore Mutual Aid Society.
A way out.
A way off the island.
A way to survive—if he lived long enough to use it.
As the carriage rolled west, Ji Bochuan closed his eyes.
Within his consciousness, the heart-lamp burned steadily.
The record shifted.
New warnings etched themselves into fate.
High-risk scenario. Multiple factions involved.
Trust limited. Escape routes mandatory.
Information is leverage. Survival is profit.
He clenched his fist.
The trap was closing.
But hunters didn't wait to be caught.
They prepared to break free.