True trust isn't telling you a secret.
It's placing the key in your hand—
even knowing you could use it to lock the door from the inside.
Zheng Xiaoqi crawled back through the eastern fissure of Blackwind Cave just as the last sliver of the midnight hour faded into darkness.
When he emerged, he looked less like a man and more like something dragged out of blood and mud.
His gray cloth robe—thin to begin with—was torn down to half its length. The left sleeve was ripped clean off at the shoulder, exposing an arm wrapped in crude, blood-soaked burlap. The bandaging was sloppy, clearly done in haste. Worse still was his back.
Three parallel claw marks tore diagonally across his body—from right shoulder to left waist—deep enough to expose bone. The edges of the wounds were tinged with a sickly blue-black hue, as if something cold and poisonous were eating away at the flesh from within.
He didn't walk into the chamber.
He collapsed.
The dull thud echoed through the stone room and snapped everyone out of their shallow sleep.
Zhao Tiezhu, on night watch, reacted instantly. He grabbed the mining pick leaning against the wall and lunged forward, stopping the sharpened tip just three inches from Zheng Xiaoqi's throat—
Then the firelight caught the man's face.
"Z-Zheng… Zheng Junior Brother?!"
By the campfire, Jiang Muchen's eyes snapped open.
He was on his feet in an instant, moving like a shadow. In two strides he was already kneeling beside Zheng Xiaoqi, fingers locking onto his wrist as threads of spiritual energy flowed inward.
A rapid assessment.
The arm wound was superficial—but poison residue lingered.
The three claw marks carried a chilling, corrosive Yin侵蚀, slowly gnawing at muscle and bone.
Worst of all was inside: his spiritual energy was nearly depleted, several key meridians showing signs of fracture.
He hadn't just been injured.
He'd fought, fled, and then forced himself to run a long distance on sheer willpower.
"Don't talk," Jiang Muchen said calmly, his hands already moving.
Three jade vials appeared in his palm.
From the first, he sprinkled white medicinal powder over Zheng Xiaoqi's back. It hissed softly on contact as black smoke rose—the poison being forced out.
From the second, he applied a green salve, spreading it evenly. The bleeding slowed, then stopped; the wounds visibly began to close.
From the third, he poured out two pale-cyan pills and pressed them into Zheng Xiaoqi's mouth.
"Rejuvenation Powder. It'll stabilize your condition and restore spiritual energy."
He helped Zheng Xiaoqi lean against the stone wall, then looked up sharply.
"Zhou Xiaohuan—clean water, fresh cloth.
Senior Brother Lu—take two people and secure the entrance. Check the fissure he came through. If he was followed, deal with it."
The chamber sprang into motion.
Zhou Xiaohuan tore the last clean cloth into strips.
Lu Hanshan hefted his greatsword and vanished into the darkness with two others.
The rest gathered around in tense silence, firelight flickering across young, anxious faces.
After the time it took an incense stick to burn, color finally returned to Zheng Xiaoqi's face.
When he opened his eyes, he didn't reach for water.
His trembling hand went straight to his chest—where a hidden pouch was sewn into the lining of his clothes.
"Senior Brother Jiang…" His voice was hoarse, raw. "The fat one… Wang Duobao… he said I had to give this to you. Personally."
He pulled out a tightly wrapped bundle.
It was no larger than a palm, sealed in three layers of oil paper and two layers of waterproof beast hide. On the outside were three talismans:
A red Water-Repelling Talisman, still faintly glowing.
A blue Concealment Talisman, already dimmed.
And a yellow Self-Destruct Talisman—half-activated, its surface webbed with hairline cracks.
Jiang Muchen took the bundle and lightly tapped the yellow talisman.
It flared briefly, as if "recognizing" him.
Three breaths later, it extinguished itself and crumbled into ash.
Layer by layer, the wrapping came undone.
Inside were four items:
A standard one-use transmission jade.
A neatly folded slip of treated paper.
A thumb-sized black token.
And… a withered root, finger-thick, glowing faintly ice-blue.
Jiang Muchen picked up the root first.
It was freezing cold to the touch—like holding a shard of ancient ice. Natural spiral纹路 ran along its surface, and the broken end revealed fine blue veins like frozen blood vessels.
He brought it to his nose.
A crisp, clean medicinal scent—like meltwater from a snowy peak, laced with a hint of minty chill.
"Root of Iceheart Grass," Jiang Muchen murmured. "From deep within the Frozen Illusion Realm. Takes three hundred years to reach this size. A core auxiliary ingredient for Ice-Grade pills… capable of suppressing inner demons and stabilizing the soul."
He frowned slightly.
"This isn't something Wang Duobao should be able to obtain."
Zheng Xiaoqi nodded weakly.
"He spent all of the Muchen Association's liquid funds this month to buy it from a rogue cultivator who'd just left the Frozen Illusion Realm. That cultivator was originally selling it to the Northern Ice Clan—but they suddenly canceled the purchase. Said the clan head ordered a halt on acquiring this kind of material."
Northern Ice Clan… halted purchases?
Something clicked in Jiang Muchen's mind.
He set the root aside and unfolded the paper slip.
The bamboo paper felt oddly slick—treated with invisible ink. Jiang Muchen let a thread of finely tuned wind-sword intent brush across it.
Pale blue characters surfaced like reflections in water.
"To Brother Chen,
The situation within the sect is as delicate as walking a tightrope.
Xiao Chen's faction appears restrained on the surface, but their movements have grown more frequent in secret. Lin Tianying is keeping his head down after punishment, yet his subordinates have already 'accidentally' trespassed into our newly opened herb fields three times.
Three points of note:
First: Among neutral disciples—mostly from minor families with limited resources—roughly twenty have warmed to our distribution of the Thick Earth Art. I've quietly approached seven; five have stated that if the Muchen Association needs help, they're willing to assist, so long as it doesn't endanger themselves.
Second: Deacon Li from the External Affairs Hall (the one who approved the Blackwind Cave assignment) let slip while drunk that 'Old Firecloud finally had to beg me.' I suspect he owes Firecloud Elder a favor. If we need an extension or extra supplies, this may be leveraged—once, and only once.
Third: Procurement steward Qian's grandnephew, Qian Xiaoyi, is a gambler. He owed Fifty-Three low-grade spirit stones to Fortune Den and was held hostage. I paid his debt. He swore a blood oath to provide one copy of the Inner Sect procurement list each month, plus rumors. His first piece of news: A delegation from the Northern Ice Clan arrived three days ago. Seven members. They're staying at Frostsnow Courtyard on Guest Peak.
Officially, they're here for 'exchange and sparring.' In truth, they're seeking Pill Hall Elder Qingmu to refine the Ice-Soul Stabilizing Pill—a necessity for the clan head's Nascent Soul breakthrough. However, Elder Qingmu abruptly entered closed-door cultivation three days ago. The delegation is stuck, unable to advance or retreat.
Final and most important: Yesterday at the Shen hour, Xiao Chen met privately with a young delegate—Han Song, a collateral branch member of the Han family. They spoke for half an incense stick. Han Song left pale and unsteady. I suspect coercion.
Be careful. Hope you return soon.
—Duobao"*
At the bottom, a final line in tiny script:
"That Iceheart root is your door-knocker. Ice cultivators crave it like rain in a drought. If you choose to use it, tread carefully—giving warmth in a snowstorm is easy; walking away afterward is not."
Jiang Muchen read it three times.
Then, with a flick of spiritual energy, the paper disintegrated into fine ash and drifted into the embers.
He picked up the transmission jade.
Inside was a short, encrypted message in their agreed code:
"The Blackwind Ravine demonic seed has been claimed—by Nangong Feiyue of the Blazing Sun Cult. All sect elites witnessed it. Xiao Chen is moving frequently around the Shattered Star Mine; suspect ritual preparation. Be alert.
Also: The Sect Master exited seclusion yesterday and summoned Saintess Su to the Tranquil Mind Hall for an hour. She left with a furrowed brow. Passed the outer sect afterward, paused, and stared toward Blackwind Cave for a long time."
The message was brief.
Each line, a stone dropped into still water.
Jiang Muchen crushed the jade in his palm.
Only the black token remained.
It was cold—different from the Iceheart root. This cold felt… funereal. Like something unearthed from a grave.
On one side was a single ancient character: Shadow.
On the back, a number: Ding-Wei 379.
The edges were heavily worn, especially the cord hole—clearly carried close to the body for years.
"This is…?" Jiang Muchen asked.
Zheng Xiaoqi shook his head.
"Duobao said it came from a 'friend.' If you ever face a true dead end, take it to the Old Locust Tavern at Two-Realm Mountain. Give the code: Ding-Wei 379. That person… might help you once. But Duobao warned—unless it's life or death, don't use it."
Shadow token.
Two-Realm Mountain.
Old Locust Tavern.
A masked face with dead-water eyes surfaced in Jiang Muchen's mind.
So the world's greatest assassin had turned a promise into something tangible.
A promise that could save a life—or invite far greater trouble.
Jiang Muchen let out a quiet chuckle and tucked the token away.
"Tell me the whole journey," he said. "Every detail."
As Zheng Xiaoqi spoke, the room fell silent.
By the time he finished, no one spoke.
Finally, Jiang Muchen took out a crimson jade bottle and placed three blood-red pills into Zheng Xiaoqi's hand.
"Blood-Origin Pills. One per day, for three days."
Zheng Xiaoqi stared at them, trembling.
Jiang Muchen turned to the group.
"The choice before us is clear," he said quietly.
"The Ice Clan doesn't need charity."
"They need a reason."
He looked toward the darkness beyond the cave.
"What we're offering… isn't coal."
"It's a spark."