Tang Xiaoqi's footsteps carried him onto the frozen earth of the northern plains. Here the wind was like a blade, breath turned to ice, the extreme cold and vast snowfields composed a scene utterly different from the Central Plains' bustle. He still sealed his cultivation, wearing thick fur robes no different from local herdsmen, his face roughened by wind and snow, looking like an ordinary traveler trying to make a living on the snowfields.
He followed ancient merchant road remnants, occasionally encountering sparse nomadic tents, trading a bit of salt and herbs for dried meat and directions. One day, the sky suddenly changed. Lead-gray clouds descended like a heavy quilt, the wind whipping snow foam, instantly turning heaven and earth into chaos. Blizzard—the northern plains' most merciless natural disaster—arrived without warning.
Xiao Qi, relying on keen perception of vital energy, found a leeward rock depression to shelter. However, in a lull of the storm, he faintly heard the weak cries for help and panicked livestock neighings carried by the wind. Following the sound, despite the blizzard he trudged for several miles, and in a relatively wind-sheltered mountain valley discovered a small tribal settlement.
This tribe was tiny, fewer than twenty dilapidated tents, now precariously besieged by this sudden blizzard. Several tents had already been crushed by snow accumulation or blown askew. The bonfire at the tribe's center used for warmth and lighting had long since gone out, only scattered beast-oil lamp lights flickering in the wind like despairing eyes.
The tribe's young adults were desperately reinforcing tents and rescuing supplies. Women and children huddled in the undestroyed tents, shivering. Children's cries were torn and intermittent by the wind. Worse, the sled dog packs and dozens of long-haired yaks that sustained the tribe's survival had scattered, more than half when the storm first hit. The remainder were agitated and restless, ready at any moment to break free and dash into the storm.
Xiao Qi's arrival initially attracted little attention until he actively joined the tent reinforcement effort. Though not using spiritual power, his flesh body strength and understanding of structures far exceeded ordinary people. His movements were quick and effective, quickly stabilizing several tents on the verge of collapse.
The tribal chief was an old man named Batu, his face carved with furrows of wind and frost, yet his eyes still firm. He gratefully glanced at Xiao Qi, thanking him in halting common speech, then threw himself back into the intense disaster relief.
However, the situation continued deteriorating. The blizzard showed no signs of weakening. Snow accumulated thicker and thicker. Temperature dropped sharply. Most critically, the tribe's stored hay and fuel were rapidly depleting. Once exhausted, in this dozens-of-degrees-below-zero cold, everyone would freeze to death.
"Someone must go out, find the scattered livestock, or find new fuel!" Chief Batu watched his huddled tribe, especially those children with blue-tinged faces, eyes full of pain and resolve. "I know there's a patch of short trees to the west. If we could reach there, perhaps we could cut some firewood..."
"Chief, I'll go!" Several young tribal men stepped forward, their faces carrying the emotionas if. Everyone knew that leaving the relatively wind-sheltered mountain valley into the vast snowfields in such weather was almost equivalent to seeking death.
"No! The wind's too strong, you'll lose your way!" Batu shook his head. He couldn't watch the tribe's future dash to their deaths.
"Let me try." Xiao Qi spoke calmly. In the crowd's surprised gaze, he walked to the tent's edge, carefully observing the blizzard's flow direction and the faint light in the sky (though obscured by clouds, he could still rely on perception far exceeding ordinary people to capture the extremely subtle stellar). "I'm good at finding directions. And I'm more mobile alone."
Batu looked at this unfamiliar outsider, his gaze complex. Finally, the desire to survive overcame everything. He heavily patted Xiao Qi's shoulder, handing him the tribe's best snow fox fur and a honed bone knife. "Friend, be careful! If... if the situation becomes hopeless, come back! We'll... we'll think of something else."
Xiao Qi nodded, said nothing more. Tying the fur robe tight with leather rope and stuffing several blocks of frozen dried meat into his bosom, he fearlessly plunged into the violent snowstorm.
The moment he left the mountain valley, the wind force instantly multiplied several times. Cold snow particles like gravel beat against his face, painful. Vision limited to white, no way to discern direction. Xiao Qi deeply inhaled the cold air, completely relying on that self-sealed yet still far surpassing mortals' perception, like the most precise compass, trudging through the blizzard.
He avoided dangerous ice crevasses. Against winds that could blow people away, each step sank deep into knee-deep snow. He found several frozen sled dogs, dragging them under a rock for shelter. Following traces, he located a part of the scattered yaks that had run off and gathered together, huddling together for warmth. He didn't try to drive them back to the tribe—that was impossible under current conditions. He only confirmed they were temporarily safe.
His main goal was that patch of short trees. In the almost lost direction's desperation, relying on the faint of life energy, he finally found that patch of short yet resilient trees stubbornly standing in the storm. He swung the bone knife, cutting those dead branches. His arms were numb from cold and exertion, yet he didn't stop. He tied the cut firewood with leather rope, dragging it behind him, step by step toward the tribal direction he remembered.
The return journey was even harder. Dragging the heavy firewood, going against the wind, physical strength rapidly depleting. Several times he was almost blown down by gusts, buried by snow, relying entirely on stubborn willpower to struggle free. He felt his exhaled breath about to freeze. Hands and feet had long since lost sensation, merely moving forward by instinct.
Just as he felt he was reaching the limit, flickering firelight appeared in the storm ahead!
It was Chief Batu! He had led two other strongest men, risking their lives, following the faint, almost erased traces Xiao Qi had left when he left the mountain valley, searching all the way, finally finding him almost collapsed dragging a huge firewood bundle, stumbling like a snowman.
"Friend! You're alive! Thank heavens!" Batu's voice choked.
Back at the tribe, the bonfire was rekindled, bringing warmth and light. Though Xiao Qi's firewood wasn't much, it was enough to get the tribe through the most dangerous period. Children gathered around the fire, rosy-cheeked, nestled in their mothers' arms and fell asleep. Batu gave Xiao Qi the warmest spot, handing him the tribe's treasured emergency liquor to ward off the cold.
Watching the tribe members after their narrow escape from death, seeing in their eyes that pure, selfless gratitude and relief from surviving, watching Chief Batu's resolve to risk his life searching for him for the tribe's sake, watching those young men step forward without hesitation despite knowing it meant almost certain death...
Xiao Qi held that bowl of spicy liquor, feeling the warmth from the fire. His heart seemed touched by something.
This was not lofty salvation, but mutual support among the weak in desperate circumstances, the struggle to survive despite hope being slim yet still refusing to give up, the pure righteousness of sacrificing oneself for those one protects.
This protection did not change due to strength or weakness, did not distinguish based on the value of the protected. It originated from the most instinctive, most simple emotions of life, a link connecting each tiny, insignificant individual, enabling them to unleash astonishing resilience before cruel nature and fate.
His Nascent Soul remained dormant within him, the seal still firm. Yet his understanding of "protection" had at this moment injected a deeper, heavier, and more closely adhering quality to blood and soil. This was no longer an abstract concept or lofty responsibility, but concrete to every face, every breath, every faint light of hope that still refused to extinguish in desperation.
That night in the northern tribe, the blizzard still howled outside the tents, but within, a warm current named "protection" quietly flowed in everyone's heart. Xiao Qi closed his eyes, feeling everything. He understood he seemed, once more, a small step closer to that mysterious Spirit Transformation turning point.
This understanding of protection, of shielding the weak and fostering hope in the most desperate circumstances, had become another vital thread woven into his path toward enlightenment.