The Eighth Truth of the Licking Path:
A true deal is not written in contracts, but weighed on the scale hidden deep within the human heart.
When the other party believes they owe you—
you gain the lever that can move heaven and earth.
When Jiang Muchen opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was ice-blue light.
Not the ceiling of a carriage—
But frost crystals naturally formed along the inner walls, their patterns resembling ancient runes. As the carriage rocked along the road, those crystalline veins shimmered faintly, as if breathing.
He lay atop thick snow-marten pelts, soft enough to sink into, yet the cold still crept relentlessly through his pores, drilling straight into his bones.
He tried to move his fingers.
Pain.
Not the pain of flesh, but of meridians—like thousands of icy needles stabbing through him all at once. The spiritual energy in his dantian was so thin it felt like the last puddle in a cracked bowl. Any attempt to circulate it triggered violent spasms throughout his body.
"If you're awake, drink the medicine."
The voice came from his left—cool, distant.
Jiang Muchen turned his head with effort. His neck let out a rusted click. Murong Xueli sat by the carriage window, Frostglow Sword resting across her knees, wiping the blade with a strip of ice-silkworm silk. Sunlight filtered through the window, slicing her profile in two—one side bright as snow, the other drowned in shadow.
She had changed clothes.
No longer the austere robes of a Frost Palace elder, but a pale cyan tunic patterned with cloud motifs. Her hair was tied up with a simple jade pin. The authority was gone—replaced by something colder, more distant, and somehow even less approachable.
"This is…" Jiang Muchen croaked, his voice scraping like sandpaper.
"On the road back to the Crimson Dust Pavilion."
Murong Xueli sheathed her sword in one smooth motion and lifted an ice-jade bowl from the small table. The medicine inside was dark brown, a thin layer of frost floating on top. "You were unconscious for two days and two nights. My father has just stabilized. He needs quiet recuperation. I can't remain in the Northern Ice Domain."
She handed him the bowl.
Jiang Muchen reached for it, fingers trembling violently. Frost clung to the rim and bit into his skin.
Murong Xueli paused.
Then she did something that made his pupils shrink.
She scooped up a spoonful and brought it to his lips.
Ice crystals clung to the spoon's edge.
The medicine was bitter—so bitter it numbed his tongue—but once swallowed, it turned into a warm current, slowly nourishing his torn and parched meridians. After three mouthfuls, Jiang Muchen finally gathered enough strength to speak.
"Thank you, Elder."
"The one who should be thanking you is me."
Murong Xueli set the bowl down, her gaze steady. "Seventy percent of the Heart-Eroding Demonic Seed has been removed from my father's heart meridians. His life is no longer in danger. The Frostbound Clan owes you a life."
She said it calmly.
But the words owes you a life struck the narrow carriage like a hammer.
Jiang Muchen leaned back against the wall, breathing slowly. The scent of medicine filled the space, mixed with the faint, icy fragrance clinging to her. He could hear his own heartbeat—weak, sluggish, yet stubborn.
"You overstate it," he said hoarsely. "It was… a fair exchange."
"A fair exchange?"
Murong Xueli repeated, then took out an ice-blue jade slip and placed it on the table between them. "This is a list of the Frostbound Clan's holdings across the Nine Provinces. Three spirit stone veins. Seven millennium-grade herb gardens. Twelve merchant houses. Thirty-seven strongholds."
Runes rippled across the jade slip—an encryption unique to great clans.
"My father said," she continued, "take whichever one you want."
Jiang Muchen glanced at the jade slip.
Then looked away.
Silence stretched. The carriage hit a rough mountain path and jolted violently. The ice-jade bowl slid toward the edge—Murong Xueli caught it without looking.
"What if," Jiang Muchen finally said, "I want nothing?"
Her brow arched.
It was a sharp, blade-like arch—cut with surgical precision.
"Then what do you want?"
"A promise."
He lifted his eyes. They were clear enough to reflect the brief flicker of surprise on her face.
"If one day I face death, with nowhere left to go… will the Frostbound Clan open a door for me?"
The carriage fell utterly silent.
Wind, hooves, the driver's shouts—all faded away.
Murong Xueli stared at him, as if trying to see past his skin, past the pitiful scraps of spiritual energy in his dantian, into whatever calculations hid behind his calm.
After a long moment—
She nodded.
"Yes."
One word.
Light as falling snow.
Heavy as a mountain.
Jiang Muchen smiled. Faint, but real. The tension carved into his brows eased slightly.
She watched that smile, something complicated flickering in her eyes.
"How old are you?" she suddenly asked.
"Seventeen. I turn eighteen in three months."
"Seventeen…" she murmured. "When I was seventeen, I had just established my foundation. I thought my sword could cut down every injustice in the world. You, on the other hand, are already planning for decades ahead."
"It's not scheming," Jiang Muchen shook his head, wincing as pain flared. "It's self-awareness. You know my position—outer disciple, Qi Refining fourth layer, no background, no backing. And yet I've been dragged into the blood feud between your clan and the Nether Ghost Court. Do you think Murong Feng will let me go? Or the Nether Ghost Court?"
His voice dropped.
"I need a life talisman—not one that works today or tomorrow, but one that still holds five or ten years from now."
"The Ice Soul Token isn't enough?"
Murong Xueli placed the ice-blue token beside the jade slip. "With this, all Frostbound Clan properties across the Nine Provinces will treat you as an honored guest. In emergencies, you may mobilize three Foundation Establishment guards."
Jiang Muchen picked up the token.
Cold seeped into his palm. The ice-phoenix engraving glimmered faintly.
"Enough—and not enough."
He traced the edge slowly. "Tokens are dead. People aren't. Today, gratitude protects me. But three years from now? Five? Gratitude fades. Hearts change."
He looked up, sharpness flashing in his eyes.
"What I want is long-term interest binding."
Murong Xueli's pupils tightened.
"And how do you intend to bind it?"
Jiang Muchen took out a small cloth bundle—old, frayed white at the edges. Inside were seven or eight materials: withered Scarlet Flame Grass, fragments of Ice Soul Stone, snow lotus petals, Fire Yang Stone shards, and several dull gray ores.
"These are from the Blazing Inferno, Blackwind Cavern, and a few minor secret realms," he said. "Northern domains abound in ice-aspected resources—but fire and earth materials are scarce. The southern territories and western regions are the opposite."
His fingers moved among the items like pieces on an unseen board.
"What if I could open a trade route between the North and the South? The Frostbound Clan supplies Ice Soul Stone, snow lotus, cold iron. I handle procurement of Scarlet Flame Grass, Fire Yang Stone, and Blacksteel ore in the south—then resell them to northern sects. Profits split fifty-fifty."
Murong Xueli froze.
She had expected cultivation manuals. Artifacts. Spirit stone stakes. Even a nominal guest elder title.
She had not expected… business.
"You're a cultivator," she frowned. "Instead of focusing on cultivation, you're plotting merchant routes?"
"Cultivation requires resources," Jiang Muchen replied evenly. "Spirit stones. Pills. Artifacts. Formation materials. None of it is free. I come from nothing. If I want to survive, I earn my own."
He paused, a hint of slyness surfacing.
"And trade routes are people routes. Traveling north and south, meeting all kinds—who knows what opportunities appear? Isn't that the best form of worldly cultivation?"
Silence.
The carriage entered a forest path, light flickering across her face. Her expression shifted again and again.
Finally, she exhaled.
"I'll consider the trade."
Then, coldly: "But two conditions."
"Please."
"First. Absolute secrecy. The Frostbound Clan will not appear openly. All transactions are under your name. Profit-sharing will be handled through hidden channels."
"Agreed."
"Second."
She looked straight at him. "Within five years, you must reach Foundation Establishment. The Frostbound Clan does not partner with trash doomed to rot in Qi Refining."
The words were harsh.
Jiang Muchen smiled.
"Three years," he said. "In three years, I will establish my foundation."
She studied him for a long moment, then said nothing.
Instead, she produced an ice-blue pill and pressed it to his lips.
"Hold it. Don't swallow. Ice Marrow Meridian Restoring Pill."
The pill melted into icy liquid, flowing gently through his torn meridians. He could feel the damage slowly knitting together.
Worth at least eight hundred spirit stones.
"Elder—"
"Don't speak."
She interrupted and produced a sword.
Three feet, two inches long. Ice-blue throughout. Thin as a cicada's wing. The hilt carved into a spreading ice phoenix. Even sheathed, the temperature in the carriage dropped sharply.
"A replica of Frostglow," she said. "The original rests in the ancestral hall. This one was my father's during his Foundation years. Yellow-tier, upper grade. Keep it."
A thousand spirit stones—at least.
And this was clearly just the beginning.
"One more thing," she added quietly. "My father asked me to pass on a message."
Jiang Muchen looked up.
"He said—'The Heart-Eroding Demonic Seed is a core secret of the Nether Ghost Court. Whoever dared use it on me holds significant status there. Boy, by saving me, you've severed that person's path. From now on… live very carefully.'"
Jiang Muchen's heart sank.
As expected.
Saving Murong Yuan meant carving his name into the Nether Ghost Court's blacklist.
"Elder," he asked calmly, "what exactly is the feud between your clan and the Nether Ghost Court?"
She was silent for a long time.
Then, cold as polar wind:
"Thirty years ago, the Nether Ghost Court attempted to establish a branch in the Northern Ice Domain to refine a Ten-Thousand Soul Banner. My father led the purge. Two Golden Core elders died. One of them… was the current Court Lord's younger brother."
Jiang Muchen understood.
A blood feud.
The kind that ends only with annihilation.
She took out one last item—a ring, ice-blue, engraved with a blooming ice lotus.
"Ice Lotus Ring," she said. "Three sword intents inside. Each equals seventy percent of my full strike. Crush the faceplate in mortal danger."
Three lives.
He slipped it onto his finger. The lotus glimmered—then vanished.
The carriage slowed.
"Miss, Crimson Dust Pavilion gate," the driver called.
Murong Xueli looked at him one last time.
"Three years. Foundation Establishment. Fail—and all promises are void."
Jiang Muchen bowed deeply.
"I will not fail."
He jumped down.
Outside, Wang Duobao rushed over.
"Brother Jiang—bad news. Xiao Chen came out of seclusion. He's publicly declared that at the inner competition in three days, he'll 'personally test' you."
Jiang Muchen's pupils constricted.
Inner disciples challenging outer ones—mandatory acceptance.
A rule.
A killing rule.
He looked toward the mountain gates, layered halls crouching like beasts in the dusk.
"Good," he said softly, the Ice Lotus Ring cooling against his finger.
"I've been meaning to meet Senior Brother Xiao."
No fear.
No panic.
Only the stillness before a storm.