The best way to approach someone is to become the only light left in their darkness.
Not because they crave illumination—
but because no one else is capable of lighting it.
Han Lin entered the Lower Disciples' Quarter carrying five jin of Profound Ice Sand.
He chose precisely the third quarter of the Si hour—when the marketplace was at its liveliest. The standard blue robes of the Frostborne Family escort, the frost-patterned jade token at his waist, and the jade casket in his hands that continuously leaked cold air—walking through the crowd, he might as well have been a torch in the night.
From Guest-Receiving Peak to the Lower Quarter—a distance of three li—he counted at least eight spiritual senses sweeping over him from different directions. Three carried open hostility. One even tried to probe the contents of the jade casket, only to be repelled by the Ice-Heart Talisman Han the Deacon had given him earlier.
The talisman shattered on contact.
The probing sense recoiled like it had been pricked by a needle—angry, but forced to retreat.
When Han Lin reached Jiang Muchen's small courtyard, he took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock—
The door opened on its own.
The one who opened it was neither Jiang Muchen nor Wang Duobao, but a young girl with twin ponytails and a few freckles across her cheeks. She held a broom, clearly in the middle of cleaning. After a brief pause, she smiled brightly.
"You're here for Senior Brother Jiang, right? He's testing a new array plate in the back courtyard. Please follow me."
Her voice was clear, her movements natural—far too composed for a lower disciple receiving a noble family guard.
Han Lin followed her, scanning the courtyard.
At first glance, it was utterly ordinary: three tiled rooms, a stone well, piles of ore and dried herbs in the corners. But on closer inspection, faint lines of spiritual light glimmered between the stone tiles—crude, but complete defensive array markings. Under the eaves hung several clay wind chimes. Their design was plain, yet to someone sensitive to airflow like Han Lin, their tones carried an unnaturally stable frequency, subtly calming the mind.
This Jiang Muchen… was interesting.
The back courtyard was even simpler.
A stone table. Four stone stools. A rough ceramic tea set releasing a faint herbal fragrance. Jiang Muchen stood with his back to the gate, leaning over a palm-sized bronze array plate on the ground. Complex patterns covered its surface. At the center sat a yellow-brown stone, while eight nodes around it pulsed rhythmically—like breathing.
Hearing footsteps, Jiang Muchen turned.
The first thing Han Lin noticed wasn't his face.
It was his eyes.
Clear. Calm. And deep—like an ancient well that swallowed stones without a ripple. This was not the gaze of a Qi Refinement Fourth Layer disciple. Han Lin had seen countless young elites in the Frostborne Family—eyes filled with arrogance, calculation, or fear.
Never this kind of unsettling stillness.
"Daoist Han," Jiang Muchen said with a slight nod, his tone as casual as greeting an old acquaintance.
"Please, sit. Xiaohuan, tea."
Han Lin sat, the stone stool cold beneath him, and carefully placed the jade casket on the table.
"Daoist Jiang," he said, opening it, "Deacon Han remembers your help with the medicine yesterday. He asked me to deliver five jin of Profound Ice Sand for your use in artifact refinement."
Cold air spilled out instantly, frost forming across the tabletop. Inside lay fine ice-blue grains, each one crystalline, refracting rainbow hues in the sunlight.
A jin of this could sell for fifty contribution points—if you could even find it.
Jiang Muchen glanced once—then closed the casket and slid it back.
"This is too much," he said calmly. "A few batches of calming powder aren't worth this."
Han Lin froze.
He had expected excitement. Greed. Polite refusal. Price negotiation.
Not this.
This was the reaction one gave to lukewarm water.
"Daoist Jiang… this is Deacon Han's goodwill—"
"Which is precisely why I can't accept it."
Jiang Muchen smiled faintly. "Deacon Han is under immense pressure over the Soul-Stabilizing Pill. This ice sand should be leverage for alchemy resources, not a gift to an unrelated junior."
Han Lin's heart slammed.
How did he know?!
Only a handful of people within the envoy knew the truth. Han Lin himself had learned the full situation only last night.
Seeing his shock, Jiang Muchen gestured to the steaming tea.
"Rumors say the Frostborne Patriarch's seclusion went awry and he needs Soul-Stabilizing Pills. Deadwood Daoist's price includes vast amounts of ice-attribute materials. Not hard to deduce."
He paused.
"And judging by how publicly you arrived today, Daoist Han, this visit was never just about delivering a gift."
Cold sweat soaked Han Lin's back.
From the moment he entered, he'd been dancing to Jiang Muchen's rhythm.
"I can help," Jiang Muchen said gently. "But not yet."
He placed a newly engraved array plate on the table.
"This is a prototype. I call it a Resonance Plate."
With a touch of spiritual power, the eight nodes lit up.
"If eight cultivators of similar attributes inject power simultaneously, the central Earth-Core Stone harmonizes the fluctuations, forcing their spiritual energies into temporary synchronization."
Han Lin frowned. "In combat, forming a direct array would be faster."
"Useless in battle," Jiang Muchen agreed. "But what about healing?"
Han Lin's breath caught.
"Eight ice cultivators stabilizing one afflicted by qi deviation. Or mixed attributes—ice, water, wind, earth—creating a pseudo-cyclic flow to buy time."
This wasn't a tool.
It was a new path.
By the time Jiang Muchen finished, Han Lin was gripping his teacup hard enough for it to tremble.
"You're saying… pills might not be the only solution?"
"I'm saying it's a possibility."
Silence.
Then realization dawned.
Jiang Muchen didn't want direct access to Deacon Han. He wanted Han Lin—a seam, a crack—through which this idea could naturally reach the decision-makers.
If Murong Xueli became interested, she would come herself.
That was the strategy.
Not forcing entry.
Making the door open itself.
"Here." Jiang Muchen handed him a jade slip. "Details. Risks. Countermeasures."
Han Lin scanned a few lines.
His hands shook.
This wasn't prepared in days. Or months.
This was a long game.
"One last question," Han Lin asked hoarsely. "What do you want?"
"A piece of Ice-Soul Glaze," Jiang Muchen replied calmly. "Palm-sized."
"For… a friend."
Han Lin's mind flashed with a name.
Nangong Feiyue.
When he left, clutching the jade slip and still holding the rejected ice sand, his steps turned into a run.
Not long after, Zhao Qing arrived.
He left in disgrace.
And when the Frostblade Sword Qi split the sky—
Jiang Muchen knew.
Murong Xueli was no longer patient.