When the gift you give is the exact piece missing from someone's puzzle,
they lose the ability to remove you from the board.
By late afternoon, the results of the evaluation had already spread through the Outer Sect of the Crimson Dust Pavilion like wildfire.
"Did you hear? That Qi Refinement Fourth Layer kid—Jiang Muchen—forced Senior Brother Zhao Hu back three steps with a single flute!"
"Back three steps? Lin Tianying personally declared him qualified on the spot! And he accepted the flute too—a Yellow-tier high-grade artifact!"
"Three-attribute resonance! Fire, Wood, Wind—all harmonized! Nine Wind Spirit Runes carved inside the flute's bore!"
"That thing's worth at least twelve hundred spirit stones on the market! Where did he even get something like that?"
"You don't know? He's tied himself to Elder Murong of the Frost Palace! Yesterday, even Shadow Elder—Murong's personal guard—came looking for him in the Outer Sect. The whole place was buzzing…"
Tea stalls, mission halls, corners of the training grounds—clusters of disciples whispered in hushed tones. The clink of bowls, the snap of jade slips, deliberately exaggerated gasps—all merged into a low, restless hum.
And at the very center of those rumors stood Jiang Muchen himself.
He was in the rear courtyard of the Hall of Stewards, hands folded respectfully at his sides.
Lin Tianying cradled the Flowing Fire, Chasing Wind Flute, his fingers tracing from the snowflake-veined Ice Soul Stone at its tail all the way to the mouthpiece. His movements were feather-light, as if touching the wings of a newborn butterfly.
The flute was warm to the touch. Ice-blue channels pulsed faintly beneath the bamboo grain, and within the bore, the nine Wind Spirit Runes rotated at a glacial pace, stirring the surrounding air. Fallen leaves lifted from the ground and spiraled lazily around his feet.
He sent a thread of spiritual energy into it.
The flute trembled—and released a clear, lingering cry, like a phoenix awakening.
Within that sound was a faint yet unmistakable resonance of sword intent:
Drifting clouds. Chasing moon. Leaving no trace.
Lin Tianying's pupils contracted sharply.
"How did you know," he asked slowly, eyes locking onto Jiang Muchen like a hawk,
"that I'm comprehending the third realm of the Flowing Cloud, Chasing Moon Sword—Moon Without Shadow? Even my master doesn't fully know how far I've gone."
"I didn't," Jiang Muchen replied, bowing slightly—respectful, but never servile.
"I only heard Senior Brother Wang Duobao mention in passing that you were searching for a light, agile artifact to assist your cultivation. I happened to acquire some materials and received guidance from Uncle Firecloud. I thought a flute might help—its sound is clear and airy, well-suited to the intent of clouds dispersing and moonlight leaving no trace."
Flawless.
He admitted nothing.
Claimed coincidence.
Shared credit.
Left no handle to grab.
Lin Tianying studied him deeply—scrutiny, admiration, a hint of discomfort at being seen through, and a subtle thrill of encountering a worthy opponent all flickering across his gaze.
Then he laughed.
"Junior Brother Jiang, you're a clever one."
He carefully stored the flute in his personal pouch, treating it like a family heirloom.
"This gift—I accept it. Today's evaluation: perfect marks across all three trials. Unmatched in the Outer Sect for the last ten years. When the secret realm quotas are discussed in five days, I'll speak for you."
"Thank you, Senior Brother."
"Don't thank me yet." Lin Tianying lowered his voice.
"I've heard you're closely connected to Elder Murong Xueli of the Frost Palace. You even carry her Ice Soul Token?"
A chill flickered through Jiang Muchen's heart—but his expression didn't change.
"The Elder had certain… personal matters. I happened to know some rudimentary sound-healing techniques. The token is merely a temporary pass. Once my task is done, it will be returned."
"Personal matters…" Lin Tianying repeated softly, lips curling.
"The Heart-Eroding Demon Seed. Murong Feng's power grab. The Ghost Nether Mansion pulling strings from the shadows. That's not 'personal.' That's a century-level internal war—an endgame played by Nascent Soul cultivators."
He turned slightly.
"You're Qi Refinement Fourth Layer. Step into that whirlpool, and you'll be like an ant dropped into boiling oil."
"I understand," Jiang Muchen said quietly.
"But I also understand this—some opportunities never come twice. Some cliffs… are stairways in disguise."
A long silence followed.
Even the shadow of the locust tree shifted.
At last, Lin Tianying waved his hand, turning away.
"Very well. One warning, then."
He paused.
"Xiao Chen has noticed you."
Jiang Muchen's pupils shrank.
"Yesterday evening, he sent people to the Hall of Stewards. Asked about your cultivation, background, movements—especially your dealings with the Frost Palace. I covered for you."
Lin Tianying glanced back.
"But if Xiao Chen sets his sights on someone, he won't stop until he digs something out."
"Take care."
He left.
Jiang Muchen remained where he stood, exhaling slowly.
Xiao Chen.
The name felt like an icicle hanging above his spine.
By the time he returned to the Cold Courtyard, the sun was already slanting west.
Maps. Plans. Tokens. Trades.
By nightfall, five secret-realm tokens lay neatly aligned on the stone table—cold, heavy, undeniable.
The first step was complete.
Tomorrow at dawn, he would head north.
To the Ice Lotus Pavilion.
To Murong Xueli.
To the center of a storm where Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, and Nascent Soul cultivators all played for blood and power.
Jiang Muchen clenched the Ice Soul Token in his hand, a faint smile forming.
Qi Refinement Fourth Layer?
So be it.
In a world where strength devoured the weak, he would survive—not by force alone, but by understanding people.
Not by begging.
But by mastering the way of leverage.
The Way of Leverage
A true chess player never worries about having too few pieces.
He only cares whether every move forces the opponent to respond.