The misty channels of the Black Reed Channels wound through the southern swamp like the intestines of a sleeping water beast. A thick, cold drizzle fell from the black sky, turning the surface of the lake into a slate-grey sheet marked by a million tiny, needle-like ripples. Mist rose from the warm mud beds below, mixing with the rain to create a heavy white shroud that reduced visibility to a few paces.
Fang Lin sat silently in the stern of the small wooden skiff. His simple, dark mortal cotton robes, though damp and heavy with moisture, clung to his slender frame. He looked like a normal, frail mortal teenager, his breathing slow and shallow, carrying no trace of the spiritual energy that defined a cultivator. In his hand, he held a simple wooden staff, its surface rough and unpolished, resting across his knees.
The skiff glided forward without the sound of oars or the splashing of water. Behind the stern, a thin layer of ice formed on the water, expanding rapidly to push the boat forward before melting back into the cold lake. This ice-propulsion method was a trick of his Frost Qi, a low-visibility application of his primary element that left no spiritual trails and made no noise. It allowed him to travel through the dark maze of the reeds like a silent water snake, avoiding the notice of the local gang patrols.
"A path of blood and water," Fang Lin thought, his eyes fixed on the dark channel ahead.
His Peak-Solid Soul State was active, though tightly restrained. The soul was a silent observer in the dark, a perception that allowed him to read the faint vibrations of spiritual energy in the air. In plain terms, his superior soul strength let him detect the residual water Qi left by the abductors' fast boat, tracing their passage through the mist as clearly as a hound tracking a scent on dry land. The abductors had left a trail of disturbed water energy, a blue-aligned ripple that hummed softly in his perception.
Suddenly, Fang Lin felt a faint, rhythmic pulse beneath the water. He immediately stopped the skiff's forward momentum, letting the boat slide into the thick clump of black reeds at the channel's edge.
A detection array lay ahead. It was a net of spiritual strings stretched across the channel, anchored to floating wooden buoys hidden beneath the lotus leaves. If any boat passed over them, the disruption of the local water flow would trigger a warning bell in the nearby fortress.
Fang Lin closed his eyes, his divine sense narrowing into a thread-like probe. He did not launch a wide scan, which would have flared like a beacon in the night. Instead, he traced the vibrations of the array strings, finding the gap where the current ran deepest and the spiritual pressure was thinnest. It was like finding a loose thread in a silk curtain. He guided the skiff through the narrow gap, the wooden hull passing three inches from the main anchor buoy without touching it. The spiritual strings remained still, their silent warning untriggered.
Ten minutes later, the fortress appeared through the shifting walls of mist.
It was a creaking timber-and-stone stronghold built on massive black wooden stilts, anchored to a muddy island in the center of a wide, stagnant pool. The wood was slick with green moss and wet rot, the stone walls reinforced with crude iron bands that had rusted red in the swamp air. Behind the fortress stood three ancient, massive cypress trees, their dark branches stretching into the grey sky like the fingers of buried giants.
A wooden catwalk ran along the perimeter of the fortress, ten feet above the water. Two guards in grey robes with black wave embroidery walked slowly along the catwalk, carrying iron lanterns containing green tallow candles. The greasy light flickered weakly, casting green, distorted reflections on the muddy water below.
Fang Lin let the skiff drift under the dark timber stilts, where the smell of rotting weeds and stagnant water was thick. He bound the boat to a thick, mossy pile with a hemp rope and looked up. The wooden beams above him dripped with cold water, the wet mud of the island sucking at the base of the stilts.
Using his physical agility—an instinct trained by the Nine Nether Phantom Body technique—he climbed up the mossy wood without making a sound. His fingers found the small crevices in the timber, his weight shifting from one stilt to another like a spider crawling up a wall. He did not use spiritual energy for the climb, relying entirely on his physical balance to keep his approach hidden from any tracking compasses.
As he reached the edge of the catwalk, the sound of heavy footsteps approached. A guard was walking back, his iron lantern swinging by his side, the metal handle creaking softly.
Fang Lin waited in the dark corner behind a wooden support beam. The guard stopped three paces away, spitting into the water below, his face turning toward the mist.
Before the guard could turn back, Fang Lin slipped out of the obscurity. He did not draw his sword. He simply extended an index finger, tapping the guard lightly on the side of the neck. A microscopic burst of Frost Qi entered the guard's throat, freezing the blood in his carotid artery and the moisture in his windpipe instantly. The guard's eyes widened in brief, silent shock, his body stiffening into a rigid pole. Fang Lin caught the falling lantern with his left hand and held the guard's collar with his right, gently lowering the stiffened corpse onto the wet wooden deck without a sound.
"One," Fang Lin thought.
The ice inside the guard's throat prevented any cry, and the sudden freezing of his core stopped his heart before it could pump blood to his brain. It was a clean, silent execution that left no external wounds and no spiritual fluctuations that could alert the inner fort.
He dragged the body into the dark space between two wooden crates and moved toward the stone doorway of the main building.
The interior of the fortress was damp and silent, the stone corridors lit by occasional iron torches that sputtered in the draft. The walls were wet with condensation, the floor constructed of rough, uneven stone slabs that had been worn smooth by years of muddy boots.
Fang Lin walked down the corridor, his boots making no sound on the wet stone. He did not use his eyes to navigate; instead, his soul perception traced the path of the water Qi, which grew stronger and colder as he descended into the lower levels of the fortress. The air here smelled of copper and old blood, a metallic tang that grew heavier with every step.
He reached a heavy iron-wood door at the end of the descent. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of blue light leaking from the gap, accompanied by the low, rhythmic humming of a spiritual array.
Fang Lin peered through the gap.
The room inside was a wide, circular stone chamber, its floor flooded with three inches of cold lake water. In the center of the chamber stood a massive basalt pillar, its surface carved with twisted runes that writhed like black worms under the blue light. Xiao Chuan was bound to the pillar with thick, iron-reinforced ropes, his small head hanging down, his face pale and slick with cold sweat. His breathing was weak, his chest rising and falling in shallow, painful gasps.
Around the basalt pillar lay a complex, five-pointed star array drawn in glowing blue liquid. It was the blood of water-aligned spiritual beasts, mixed with cold-lake mercury to stabilize the energy flow. The array hummed softly, drawing thin, thread-like wisps of blue vapor from Xiao Chuan's chest, channeling them toward a small copper cauldron resting on a stone altar nearby. In simple terms, the array was extracting the water-aligned vital energy of the boy's constitution to store it for refining pills.
Fang Lin observed this, his eyes narrowing and rage smoldering.
Beside the stone altar stood a gaunt, grey-haired elder wearing a dark grey robe with thick black wave embroidery along the sleeves. His fingers were long and thin, clutching a small bone compass that spun slowly, its needle pointing directly at Xiao Chuan's chest. This was Elder Wu, a Late Spirit Foundation cultivator of the Black Water Alliance. Two guards stood beside him, holding long copper needles and wooden bowls filled with blue salt.
"His constitution is pure," one of the guards said, his voice echoing in the wet chamber. "The water marrow is thick. Elder, tonight's extraction will surely allow you to refine the Deep-Wave Pill."
Elder Wu did not look up from the bone compass. His voice was cold and thin, carrying the dry rattle of a man who spent his life in the damp dark. "The boy's foundation is natural, but his meridians are locked. Someone taught him to seal his gates, otherwise the water compass would have found him months ago. No matter. The sacrificial array will tear the lock open in three hours."
"Is that so?"
The voice was quiet, flat, and carried no weight, yet it cut through the low hum of the array like a cold knife.
Elder Wu's hand stopped. The two guards turned immediately, their hands dropping to the hilts of their sabers.
Fang Lin stepped through the doorway, his wet, dark mortal robes clinging to his frame. He carried his simple wooden staff in his right hand, the tip splashing quietly as he walked into the shallow water of the chamber. His face was calm, his eyes dark and unreadable under his hood.
The guards looked at him, then at each other, and laughed. It was a loud, mocking sound that filled the stone room, echoing off the wet walls.
"A mortal kid?" the guard on the left sneered, pointing his saber at Fang Lin. "A little trash insect? How did you crawl in here, kid? Did you lose your way in the mist?"
"He carries a wooden stick," the other guard mocked. "Look at those plain clothes. He doesn't even have a storage ring. A garbage mortal helper from the docks. Did you come to sweep the floor?"
Elder Wu turned slowly. He did not draw a weapon, nor did his expression change. He looked at Fang Lin's simple, dark robes, then at his pale face, his expression one of quiet, absolute indifference. To a Late Spirit Foundation elder, a Qi-less teenager in plain mortal clothes was not an enemy; he was merely a stray leaf that had blown into his courtyard.
"Dispose of this stray leaf," Elder Wu said, his voice calm and dry, turning back to the copper cauldron. "Why did the guards let a mortal insect crawl inside? Cut his throat and throw him into the marsh to feed the turtles."
"Yes, Elder," the left guard said, stepping forward with a grin. The iron saber in his hand gleamed blue in the array light. "Hey, kid. If you kneel and crawl out, maybe I'll make it quick."
Fang Lin did not answer. He did not shout, nor did his expression change. He stood in the shallow water, his body completely still.
He walked slowly to the side of the chamber, where a wooden weapon rack stood against the stone wall. With a calm, deliberate movement, he placed his simple wooden staff against the rack, leaning it carefully so it would not fall.
The wind entering through the narrow stone vents above suddenly stopped.
The sputtering torches along the walls went out one by one, leaving only the cold blue light of the sacrificial array.
The temperature in the stone chamber dropped rapidly, the breath of the guards turning into white plumes of mist in the air.
"Hey... why is it so cold?" the right guard muttered, his hand tightening on his hilt as he looked around.
Fang Lin turned back to face them. He stood in the center of the wet floor, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
"Let him go," Fang Lin said.
His voice was still flat and quiet, but it carried a strange, heavy density that seemed to press down on the water in the room.
The guards laughed again, though their laughter was slightly strained this time. "Let him go? You think you're—"
"Enough," Elder Wu dryly interrupted, his back still turned to the room. "Kill him."
Fang Lin stopped speaking.
He did not warn them a second time. He did not make a speech about justice or the cruelty of their sect. If they chose not to listen, he would not waste his breath.
The next thing they heard was the sound of consequences.
Fang Lin took a single step forward.
The three inches of lake water on the stone floor froze instantly. The ice was not ordinary water ice; it was a dense, white frost that carried the absolute cold of his consolidated Late Spirit Foundation Frost Qi, backed by the immense weight of his Peak-Solid Soul. The blue light of the sacrificial array was instantly smothered by the white frost, the glowing liquid freezing into dry, blue dust that cracked under the pressure. In plain words, the frozen water locked the guards' feet to the floor and seeped into their bodies, paralyzing their muscles and freezing their internal organs before they could react.
"What—" the left guard screamed, but the word was cut short. The ice had climbed his boots, freezing his legs to the stone floor. Before he could raise his saber, the frost raced up his thighs, his torso, and his arms. The moisture on his skin turned to white needles, and the blood in his veins froze into solid red glass. His eyes remained wide, glazed over with a thick layer of ice, his scream locked forever inside his throat.
The right guard tried to circulate his Qi to break the ice, but the spiritual energy inside his meridians was instantly suppressed by the absolute cold. The frost climbed his throat, entering his mouth and freezing his tongue and vocal cords before he could make a sound. In three breaths, both guards had turned into solid, white ice statues, their sabers frozen in mid-air.
Elder Wu turned around, his face finally showing a look of shock. His bone compass slipped from his fingers, splashing onto the frozen floor and shattering into cold fragments.
"Who are you?" Elder Wu gasped, his hands moving to form a hand seal. "A Late Spirit Foundation expert? No... this cold... this is Core Formation power!"
He mobilized his Late Spirit Foundation Qi, a dark, water-aligned energy that surged from his dantian to form a defensive blue barrier around his body. The barrier hummed, water vapor swirling rapidly to push back the encroaching cold.
Fang Lin did not answer. He did not tell him his name, nor did he explain how he had bypassed the outer guards. To Fang Lin, the elder was already a dead man, and the dead did not need explanations.
He took another step.
The frost on the floor rose like white mist, wrapping around Elder Wu's defensive barrier. The blue water barrier began to creak, the swirling vapor freezing into rigid ice plates that cracked under their own weight. Elder Wu's face turned pale, his teeth chattering violently as the cold penetrated his skin, freezing the spiritual energy in his meridians.
"Wait! I am an elder of the Black Water Alliance!" Elder Wu screamed, his voice shaking with terror. "If you kill me, the Alliance Master will—"
Fang Lin reached the edge of the sacrificial circle. He looked at Elder Wu, his eyes dark and empty, carrying the absolute stillness of a deep, frozen pool.
He did not raise his hand. He did not draw his sword. He simply released a tiny pulse of his Peak-Solid Soul pressure, coordinating it with a concentrated burst of Frost Qi.
The soul pressure hit Elder Wu like a mountain, shattering his mental focus and breaking his hand seals. Without his Qi to support it, the blue water barrier shattered into a thousand icy shards. In simple terms, the raw power of Fang Lin's soul crushed Elder Wu's concentration, causing his defensive barrier to collapse and leaving him completely exposed to the freezing cold.
The white frost rushed in, covering Elder Wu's grey hair, his face, and his dark grey robes. The ice climbed his chest, freezing his heart mid-beat. His limbs stiffened, his fingers locked in the half-formed hand seal, his face frozen in a mask of absolute terror.
The chamber became completely silent. The only sound was the drip-drip of water from the ceiling vents, which froze before it hit the floor.
Fang Lin walked past the three frozen statues. He reached the basalt pillar, where Xiao Chuan was bound.
With a light kick, he shattered the glowing blue runes at the base of the pillar, the frozen beast blood crumbling into harmless blue dust. He reached out and tapped the thick ropes binding the boy's chest. The Frost Qi inside his hand made the iron fibers brittle, and with a light pull, the ropes snapped like dry twigs.
Xiao Chuan slumped forward, his small body cold and trembling. Fang Lin caught him with one arm, pulling the boy against his shoulder.
"Big... Big Brother Lin" Xiao Chuan whispered, his eyes opening slightly, his voice weak and confused. "You... how..."
"Sleep," Fang Lin said softly.
He tapped a small pressure point behind the boy's ear, letting him drift into a deep, dreamless unconsciousness to protect him from seeing the aftermath.
Fang Lin turned back to the room.
The frozen figures of Elder Wu and the two guards stood in the blue gloom, their bodies white and stiff.
Fang Lin walked past them toward the weapon rack, retrieving his simple wooden staff. As he walked, the vibration of his footsteps passed through the frozen floor.
The ice statues of the guards and the elder began to spider-web with deep fissures. A second later, they collapsed silently, shattering into a million tiny, sparkling fragments of ice dust. The bodies, the clothes, the weapons—everything was reduced to white powder that mixed with the melting frost on the stone slabs, leaving no physical traces, no blood, and no evidence behind.
Only a single dark grey leather storage bag remained on the floor where Elder Wu had stood, untouched by the frost.
Fang Lin bent down, picked up the storage bag, and slipped it into his simple leather storage bag.
He carried Xiao Chuan on his shoulder, his wooden staff in his right hand, and walked out of the silent, dark chamber. Behind him, the water on the floor began to melt, washing the white ice dust into the drainage holes, leaving the stone room empty and wet, as if nothing had ever happened.
The skiff was waiting under the stilts. Fang Lin placed Xiao Chuan gently in the bow, covering him with a dry hemp sack to keep off the rain.
He loosed the rope and pushed the boat into the dark, misty channel, the ice layer forming behind the stern to guide them back toward Willow Alley.
"Three hours," Fang Lin thought, looking at the black reeds. "By dawn, they will know the branch fort is empty."
But by dawn, the rain would have washed away all tracks in the mud, and the lake would have swallowed the silence.
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