When you turn your opponent's deepest doubts into a stage for your own expertise,
their challenge stops being a blade—and becomes a ladder you offered them yourself.
The first floor of the Ice Pavilion was brutally cold.
Not the ordinary kind of cold, but a lethal, marrow-deep chill—one that slowed the circulation of spiritual energy, that threatened to freeze blood itself. Seven figures in white robes stood in silence on either side of the hall, like living ice statues. Their gazes locked onto Jiang Muchen the moment he stepped inside.
Those eyes held scrutiny. Suspicion. Bare, undisguised contempt.
Like seven invisible blades of frost, they seemed ready to carve open this Qi Refining fourth-layer outsider and inspect him piece by piece.
These were the core disciples personally trained by the main branch of the Frostbound Clan. Even the youngest was well past thirty. The weakest among them had already stepped into early Foundation Establishment. The strongest—a hawk-nosed elder with deep-set eyes—stood at the very peak of late-stage Foundation Establishment, only half a step away from forming a Core.
To them, Jiang Muchen looked like a sheep that had wandered into a pack of ice wolves—one breath away from being torn apart.
"Miss," the hawk-nosed elder finally spoke. His voice was rough, like coarse sand scraping against ice. "You claim the one who can save the Patriarch, the one who can uproot the Heart-Eroding Demonic Seed… is him?"
This man was Zhang Hanshan, Vice Hall Master of the Frostbound Clan's Enforcement Hall.
Murong Xueli stood half a step beside Jiang Muchen. Her simple white gown reflected the cold glow of the Ice Pavilion's spirit lamps. Her voice was calm—yet absolute.
"Deacon Han Song has verified his methods repeatedly over the past three days. Resonance arrays. Sonic guidance. Emergency contingencies. They are viable."
"Han Song?" Zhang Hanshan snorted. "An outer deacon who manages errands and logistics? What does he know of array medicine?"
His gaze sharpened.
"Miss, the Patriarch's life hangs in the balance. A thousand years of Frostbound legacy teeters on the brink. This is no place for childish gambles. This man is only at the fourth layer of Qi Refining. He has never even touched the threshold of the Frostbound Art. There is not a trace of ice-aspected spiritual energy in his body."
His voice rose.
"On what grounds does he think he can command eight Foundation Establishment cultivators to form the Iceheart Resonance Array? On what grounds does he think he can take charge?"
The remaining six nodded in unison.
A round-faced woman with thin brows frowned. "Miss, it's not that we doubt you. But the Iceheart Resonance Array is a clan secret. It requires perfect synchronization—eight cultivators resonating in mind and spirit. One mistake, and backlash is inevitable. At best, cultivation damage. At worst, shattered meridians."
She looked directly at Jiang Muchen.
"With his cultivation and soul strength, he might not even withstand a wisp of our externalized frost energy. How is he meant to coordinate us?"
Her name was Li Ningshuang, mid-stage Foundation Establishment, a specialist in frost healing techniques.
"Exactly," another disciple stepped forward. Tall and reed-thin, eyes sharp as knives. Zhao Feng, at the peak of early Foundation Establishment.
"I had someone investigate him. Jiang Muchen entered the Crimson Dust Pavilion only three months ago. No background. No lineage. He appeared out of nowhere."
His tone turned cold.
"What if he's a spy from the Netherworld Court? Or a hidden piece planted by Elder Murong Feng—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Outside the Ice Pavilion, Wang Duobao's face had gone deathly pale. Lu Hanshan's grip on his heavy blade turned white-knuckled. Zhou Xiaohuan bit her lip until blood nearly seeped through. Zheng Xiaoqi's fingers slid toward the poisoned dagger at his waist.
Only Shen Lingshuang remained indifferent, arms crossed against the ice wall, ice-blue eyes half-lidded—as if the tension meant nothing to her.
Jiang Muchen smiled.
The smile was faint, like frost patterns on a winter window.
He took three steps forward, into the center of the semicircle, and calmly met every gaze filled with doubt.
Then he spoke.
And with his very first sentence, the Ice Pavilion fell into absolute silence.
"Elder Zhang," he said respectfully—not submissively. "Three inches below your left shoulder's Tianquan acupoint, there is an old injury from three years ago. Every night at the Zi hour, when yin energy peaks, it flares with needle-like pain for the duration of one incense stick."
Zhang Hanshan's pupils shrank violently.
"Warm Meridian Pills ease it—but never cure it. Am I wrong?"
Zhang Hanshan's hand flew to his shoulder. His voice tightened. "How… how do you know this?"
Jiang Muchen turned smoothly.
"Aunt Li," he said, his gaze settling at her Danzhong acupoint. "You've been stuck at the third layer of Frostbound Art: Iceheart Chapter for two years and seven months. Every attempt to break through stalls when your energy reaches the chest meridian—like a frozen river refusing to flow."
Li Ningshuang's face drained of color.
"And afterward, there's a tearing pain in your meridians. Correct?"
She clutched her chest, speechless.
"And Senior Brother Zhao," Jiang Muchen continued, eyes flicking briefly to the cloud-patterned pouch at Zhao Feng's waist. "Three months ago, your attempt to advance was sabotaged. Your cultivation stabilized—but there's a hairline fracture in the lower-left region of your dantian."
Zhao Feng froze.
"Any meditation longer than an hour causes your spiritual energy to scatter uncontrollably. That's why you carry Stabilizing Origin Pills—and only those refined by Crimson Flame Daoist will do. Others lack the purity to suppress the frost backlash."
Zhao Feng grabbed the pouch as if burned.
The hall was so silent one could hear a pin drop.
Even Murong Xueli's gaze shifted slightly.
Jiang Muchen turned back to the seven stunned cultivators.
"My cultivation is insignificant," he said calmly. "So small it barely deserves mention. But that is precisely why I see more clearly—and hear more keenly."
He tapped his eyes. Then his ears.
"My soul is weak. My spiritual sense extends only three meters. My control is crude. And because of that, every fluctuation, every discordant vibration, every trace of disharmony in the surrounding energy screams at me."
He paused.
"The Iceheart Resonance Array has never been about who has the strongest cultivation. It's about who can hear the harmony—and who knows how to tune it."
Zhang Hanshan swallowed. "Even so… how do you expect to guide eight Foundation Establishment cultivators? You're like a child trying to control eight wild stallions."
"I won't guide," Jiang Muchen said, shaking his head.
"I'll coordinate."
He placed a modified white jade array disk onto the icy floor.
"It records," he said softly. "And it reflects."
His voice was steady.
"I am not driving the horses. I am tuning the orchestra."
The metaphor landed perfectly.
Li Ningshuang's eyes lit up. "So we play… and you tune?"
"Exactly."
The doubts didn't vanish—but they softened, giving way to curiosity.
Until Zhang Hanshan voiced the final concern.
"And what about the two eyes Murong Feng planted among us?"
The temperature plunged.
Jiang Muchen smiled again.
This time, calmly.