True generosity is not giving you the best thing I have,
but seeing what you need most—
and reshaping it until it belongs to you alone.
So that when you take it, it already bears your name.
The three items from the hidden compartment were laid out on a flat slab of blue stone beside the campfire.
The Blackwind Cavern Survey Log lay there quietly—its yellowed pages curled like dead leaves, so fragile they seemed ready to crumble into ash at the slightest touch. Beside it were several shriveled plant remains, dark brown and lifeless, as if time itself had wrung the vitality from them.
And then there was the bone shard.
Black. Cold. Unnaturally smooth.
Firelight danced across its surface, but no light truly reflected back. It looked less like an object and more like an eye—closed, sleeping, and waiting for the moment it would open.
The air in the stone chamber felt colder than before.
No one spoke.
Breathing was subdued, uneven.
Jiang Muchen's gaze lingered on the bone shard the longest.
He had held it earlier.
The instant it touched his palm, a piercing cold had surged into him—like countless frozen needles burrowing along his meridians. The sensation was familiar. The aura was of the same origin as the Ghost Seven Token… but purer. Older. As though distilled from a deeper, more ancient darkness.
When his chaotic sword intent instinctively dispersed the invading cold, Jiang Muchen had felt it clearly—
There was awareness inside the shard.
Not a full soul.
A remnant obsession.
Directional. Purposeful.
It was searching.
Or marking.
Or waiting.
"Senior Brother Jiang…" Zhou Xiaohuan finally broke the silence, worry evident in her voice. "That bone shard…"
"It belongs to the Nether Ghost Court," Jiang Muchen said plainly.
He placed the shard into a specially prepared jade box. The inner walls were etched with a simple Pure Light Seal—a technique he had copied years ago at the Azure Nether Sword Sect, designed to isolate yin-based corruption.
"It was likely left behind by those who hunted Senior Shi Jian," he continued calmly. "A tracker. A token. Or something worse."
He sealed the box. Golden runes flared briefly, then faded.
"I'll keep it for now. It may matter later."
His attention shifted to the journal.
He opened it with extreme care, lifting the pages using spiritual energy rather than fingers. The paper was so brittle that each movement shed tiny flakes. Jiang Muchen read not with his eyes alone, but with his divine sense—absorbing the words before they vanished.
The journal documented more than three months of exploration.
Detailed hand-drawn maps.
Toxic miasma zones.
Hidden underground currents.
Residual ancient formations.
And seventeen rare cavern materials—each with harvesting times, preparation methods, storage techniques, and even antidotes for accidental exposure.
Its value was immeasurable.
For a team expected to survive thirty days in Blackwind Cavern, this journal was worth more than any cultivation manual or spirit stone.
"Zhou Xiaohuan."
He gently closed the journal and offered it to her, wrapped in spiritual energy.
She froze.
"You'll safeguard this," Jiang Muchen said, his tone firm yet warm. "Compare it with our own findings. Expand it. Organize it. Turn it into a new Blackwind Cavern Survival Guide."
"This will be the first true reference for low-born disciples who come after us."
"I… me?" Her voice trembled. "It's too important. I'm afraid I'll—"
"That's exactly why it's yours," Jiang Muchen interrupted gently. "You notice what others overlook."
He paused.
"When you recorded the Bone-Eating Insects earlier, you didn't just sketch their anatomy. You noted the correlation between their trail residue and toxin concentration. Most people wouldn't."
Her eyes reddened.
She accepted the journal with both hands, wrapped it in oil paper, and placed it carefully against her chest.
"I won't fail," she said quietly.
Then came the plant remains.
Jiang Muchen examined them one by one.
Shadowvine.
Bone-Rot Flower.
Then he stopped at the third.
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary black root. But at the fracture point—there was a faint, dark-golden pattern.
His pupils contracted.
"A companion vine… of a Ley-Core Crystal?"
His thoughts flashed back to the journal's final question:
Did they believe I possessed a Ley-Core Crystal?
What if… they hadn't been mistaken?
Jiang Muchen carefully stored the plant remains.
Only then did he return to the true inheritance.
The Thick Earth Art.
And the Earth-Origin Stones.
"Everyone," he said. "Come closer."
They formed a circle around the fire.
Jiang Muchen sat cross-legged, five heavy stones arranged before him, the jade slip placed at the center.
"This technique," he began, holding up the jade slip, "is not meant to make you deadly."
"It teaches only three things."
"How to stand firm."
"How to endure."
"How not to fall… when everything else collapses."
His gaze swept across the group.
"For most of you, this is both the cruelest and the kindest path."
"Cruel—because it tells you that talent and fortune are not yours. All you have is persistence."
"Kind—because it promises that if you endure long enough, you'll still be standing when others aren't."
Silence thickened.
"But cultivation depends on the person," Jiang Muchen continued. "So try only the first layer. If it fits—good. If not, don't force it."
"I'll help you find another way."
Then—
He took out twenty-one blank jade slips.
And began to carve.
Not copying.
Adapting. Translating. Personalizing.
Each jade slip became different.
For Lu Hanshan—defense shifted to the non-sword side.
For Zhao Tiezhu—raw strength refined into true force.
For Zhou Xiaohuan—slowed circulation and a breathing focus to quiet her mind.
Two hours passed.
Twenty-one jade slips were handed out.
No two were alike.
When it was done, Jiang Muchen rose to his feet.
"These Earth-Origin Stones," he said, lifting one, "exist to be used."
He explained each application in detail.
Weapon reinforcement.
Defensive shields.
Meditative anchors.
The final stones were fashioned into six protective pendants.
"For those who support us quietly," he said. "If danger comes, crush the pendant. It will give you three breaths of protection."
"Three breaths," he repeated softly. "Sometimes… that's the distance between life and death."
Eyes burned red.
When everything was settled, Jiang Muchen bent down and gently wrapped Shi Jian's bones with the same white cloth—now gray with dust.
His movements were tender.
Like laying a child to rest.
"Senior," he murmured, "we'll take you… to the sunlight."