The stone alcove was silent, save for the periodic hiss of the dying embers. A cold mountain breeze swept through the thick brambles that shielded the entrance, carrying the damp scent of pine needles. Outside, the valley was wrapped in the dark veil of night, the towering cliffs rising like silent guardians against the starry sky.
Fang Lin sat cross-legged in the deepest corner of the alcove, his back resting against the stone. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow. Within his flesh, the cool, green vitality of the Nether Life Spirit Qi circulated through his parallel paths, gradually sealing the microscopic tears in his meridians. The throbbing pain had subsided into a dull, quiet ache. He could feel the pathways knitting together, his body essence gradually restoring the dry channels. He did not force the circulation, keeping his active Qi output locked at exactly zero percent to prevent any premature strain from damaging his foundation.
Although his physical meridians were dry, his Peak-Solid Soul was untouched. He opened his eyes, the dark pupils reflecting the faint orange glow of the embers. He reached into his simple cotton robes, pulling out the canvas wrap that Uncle Zhang had placed on the carriage floor. Inside were the three leather storage pouches taken from the dead rogue hunters, the cracked copper sensing bead, the shattered shards of the heavy iron broadsword, and the broken pieces of the green jade soul-defense amulet.
Fang Lin focused his attention on the three pouches. Being Core Formation cultivators, the rogues had left their imprints on the seals, but with their bodies destroyed, the imprints were weak, fading threads.
Fang Lin did not draw upon a single drop of Qi. Instead, he released a silent wave of pure soul force. The invisible force wrapped around the first pouch, grinding against the weak lock. With a soft pop, the seal broke. He repeated the process for the second and third pouches, erasing the residual imprints in a matter of breaths.
He tilted the pouches, emptying their contents onto the rough canvas. A small pile of coins, stones, and minor bottles fell silently. Fang Lin sorted through them with practiced efficiency.
From the first pouch, he gathered one hundred and twenty low-grade spirit stones, twelve mid-grade spirit stones, and a small jade vial containing three Core-Nurturing Pills. The second pouch yielded eighty low-grade spirit stones, fifteen mid-grade spirit stones, and a pair of mid-grade bone-healing salves. The third pouch, which had belonged to the scarred leader, contained one hundred and fifty low-grade spirit stones, eighteen mid-grade spirit stones, two mid-grade earth-attribute array flags, and a folded piece of coarse parchment.
In total, the three pouches provided three hundred and fifty low-grade spirit stones and forty-five mid-grade spirit stones. To an ordinary mortal family, this was an unimaginable fortune, but to Fang Lin, the most valuable items were the mid-grade stones and the folded parchment.
He carefully unfolded the paper, inspecting it under the dim light of his soul force. It was a crude, hand-drawn map of the southern ridges, marked with the positions of the River Sword Sect patrols, checkpoint locations, and several narrow bypass routes. Fang Lin's gaze traced a narrow line that wound northward through the rugged peaks, bypassing the major command camps of the River Sword Sect. It was a direct, albeit difficult, mountain path leading back toward the northern border. He folded the map, tucking it into his belt.
Then, his gaze fell on the shattered broadsword fragments and the broken jade amulet. He picked them up, directing his focus inward.
The Ancient Spatial Furnace floated in his spiritual sea. The female child Dark Flame Spirit sat cross-legged inside, surrounded by the high-grade spirit stones he had looted from Heishui. With a silent thought, Fang Lin channeled a thread of his soul force to open a small spatial bridge. The iron fragments and the cracked jade vanished from his hand, appearing directly inside the furnace chamber.
The Dark Flame Spirit opened her eyes, a fiery spark dancing in her pupils. She directed a stream of dark, purplish flame from the furnace walls, wrapping the fragments in intense, quiet heat.
The iron broadsword fragments melted in an instant, their impurities vaporizing. The green jade, which carried a remnant trace of defensive spiritual formations, dissolved into a thick, luminous liquid. Under the guide of the flame spirit, the molten iron and the liquid jade merged, their essences combining into a tiny, dense bead.
After a few minutes of quiet refinement, the flames subsided, leaving a single, heavy pellet resting on the furnace floor. It was a small bead of refined spirit iron, its surface carrying a dull, green-grey metallic luster. The spiritual energy of the broken jade had been completely integrated, stabilizing its structure. Fang Lin withdrew his focus, a faint nod of satisfaction crossing his face. The Spatial Furnace was functioning perfectly, and the Dark Flame Spirit was gradually restoring her strength.
---
At dawn, the mist in the valley began to shift, turning from a dense shroud to a thin, grey veil.
The camp woke quietly. Auntie Mei gathered some dry wood to boil water, while Hu Zi helped prepare some simple flatbread.
Er Ya sat near the edge of the alcove, her eyes wide as she looked out at the cliffs. She was no longer sleeping, her small face carrying a touch of color after a night of rest. She pulled her faded wool coat tighter around her shoulders, looking at the tall pine trees.
"Big Brother Lin," Er Ya whispered, stepping closer to Fang Lin. "Are we going to climb those big mountains today?"
Fang Lin looked at the young girl, his pale face softening slightly. "Yes, Er Ya. We are going north. The road is steep, but we will cross it safely."
"It looks very cold up there," she said, looking at the white fog.
"The carriage has blankets," Fang Lin replied. "Stay close to Auntie Mei, and do not look out of the window if you hear shouting."
Er Ya nodded seriously, her small fingers clutching the edge of her sleeve as she walked back to Auntie Mei's side.
Beside them, Xiao Chuan sat on a wooden crate, his eyes closed as he maintained his breathing cycle. His chest rose and fell in a steady, disciplined rhythm. Fang Lin watched him for a moment, noticing a slight tremor in the boy's shoulders.
"Do not force the descent," Fang Lin said, his low voice cutting through the quiet. "Let the moisture settle in your chest naturally. The Deep-Spring Water Body requires yielding, not resistance. If you force the Qi, you will restrict the flow."
Xiao Chuan opened his eyes, nodding quickly. He adjusted his posture, relaxing his shoulders as he let the breath flow out. "I understand, Big Brother Lin. I can feel the warmth in my chest now, but it feels like it wants to escape."
"Keep it contained within your pathways," Fang Lin instructed. "Do not let it reach your skin. While we are in these mountains, you must look like an ordinary mortal child."
Uncle Zhang walked over from the horses, wiping his hands on a rough cloth. His eyes were grave. "Lin Er, the horses are ready. The driver is nervous, but I told him we are taking the old bypass roads to avoid the patrols."
Fang Lin reached into his sleeve, pulling out the green-grey pellet of refined spirit iron. He held it out to the blacksmith. "Uncle Zhang, take this."
Uncle Zhang looked at the small bead resting in Fang Lin's palm. He picked it up, his calloused, soot-stained fingers tracing the smooth, dense surface. As a master blacksmith, he recognized the absolute purity of the metal in an instant. The iron was so dense that it felt twice as heavy as ordinary steel, and a faint, cool moisture radiated from its surface.
"This is refined iron," Uncle Zhang whispered. "But there are no hammer marks. The grain is completely smooth. I have never seen iron this pure."
"It is a piece of refined spirit iron," Fang Lin explained. "Keep it hidden in your tool bag. When we find a quiet place, you can use it to forge a new hammer or a tool. It will not break, even under pressure."
Uncle Zhang's chest rose in a deep breath, his calloused hand tightening around the pellet. He simply nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude. "I will keep it safe, Lin Er. Thank you."
"Let us move," Fang Lin directed. "The patrols will be active by midmorning."
---
The carriage rolled out of the stone alcove, its wooden wheels clattering against the damp rocks as they entered the steep mountain pass. The road was narrow and winding, flanked by sheer cliffs. High above, the sun was a pale disc behind the heavy clouds. The mist was thick, wrapping the towering pine trees in a quiet, white obscurity.
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was tense. Auntie Mei sat near the rear, her arm wrapped around Er Ya, who sat quietly, her eyes fixed on the floorboards. Hu Zi watched the narrow road, while Xiao Chuan remained focused on his breathing cycle.
Fang Lin sat in the corner, his eyes closed. Internally, his parallel paths were silent, but the ache had completely vanished. The green vitality of the Nether Life Spirit Qi had finished its work. His Qi capacity was restored. He could channel his Late Spirit Foundation energy without risk, though he kept it suppressed.
High in the grey clouds, a sharp, metallic hum echoed through the gorge. Fang Lin did not open his eyes, but his Peak-Solid Soul sensed the fluctuation. A patrol of the River Sword Sect—three Spirit Foundation cultivators—was flying on their swords high above, their spiritual sense sweeping the paths.
Suddenly, the carriage slowed. The mortal driver's voice rose from the front, trembling with fear. "Masters... there is a barrier ahead."
Through the wooden slats, Fang Lin saw a narrow stone bridge crossing a deep mountain stream. Blocking the bridge was a temporary barricade of ironwood logs. Three River Sword Sect disciples stood near the barrier, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. A large mirror rested on a stone pedestal beside them, its surface glowing with a sweeping blue light.
It was a local checkpoint, designed to scan refugees moving north.
"All carriage passengers, step out!" a guard shouted. "We are searching for a fugitive faking a mortal guise! No one passes without a scan of their meridians!"
Inside the carriage, Uncle Zhang's hand went to his hammer. Auntie Mei drew Er Ya closer, the young girl shivering slightly. Hu Zi shrank back, his face turning pale.
Fang Lin remained calm. His hand rested near the Night Burial Sword. He could execute them in a breath, but the mirror was active, and any sudden explosion of spiritual energy would alert the flying patrols. He needed a distraction.
Suddenly, from deep in the pine forest a mile to the east, a brilliant, blinding streak of crimson and green sword Qi shot into the sky. The Qi was explosive and hot, carrying the heat of fire and the force of green bamboo. It cut through the canopy with a whistling roar, shearing the tops off several pine trees. A loud explosion followed, sending a wave of hot wind sweeping through the valley.
The three guards at the bridge froze, their heads turning toward the explosion.
"A cultivator!" the leader of the guards yelled. "That is the crimson-green Qi of a Green Bamboo Sect cultivator! They must be coordinating with the frost fugitive! Move, capture them and claim the reward!"
Without waiting to check the carriage, the three River Sword Sect disciples leaped onto their flying swords, racing toward the site of the explosion.
However, one stray scout remained behind. He was a rat-faced youth, his eyes greedy. "You mortals, wait here. I must verify your papers before I follow." He stepped toward the carriage door.
Fang Lin's gaze was cold. Through the window, his Peak-Solid Soul confirmed that the other guards had already disappeared, and no flying patrols were currently overhead. There were no witnesses.
Fang Lin did not draw his sword. He released a single, subtle thread of frost Qi from his finger. The cold energy was quiet, carrying no loud roar, passing through the floorboards like a silent draft.
The moment the scout's boot touched the wooden step of the carriage, the frost Qi wrapped around his ankles. Before the scout could scream or release a warning talisman, the absolute cold froze his meridians and vocal cords. A layer of white frost crept up his throat, turning his face rigid. His eyes rolled back, his consciousness slipping into a cold void as his body collapsed silently.
Fang Lin's soul force caught the falling scout, guiding him gently into the thick bushes beside the road, completely out of sight.
"Move," Fang Lin whispered to the driver.
The driver, who had been hiding behind his seat, did not see what had happened. He only knew that the path was clear. With trembling hands, he snapped the reins, and the horses lunged forward, drawing the carriage across the bridge.
---
The carriage rolled onward throughout the day, leaving the pass behind. By the afternoon of the third day, the mountains began to flatten, replaced by rolling hills. They stopped at a small, quiet market town where mortal traders gathered to sell charcoal and grain.
Fang Lin stepped down from the carriage, his face calm, his body fully recovered. He approached the mortal driver, who was leaning against the carriage wheel, shivering.
Fang Lin reached into his pocket, pulling out a small leather pouch containing five low-grade spirit stones and thirty silver coins. He placed the bag in the driver's hand.
"Take this," Fang Lin said, his voice quiet but steady. "Drive the carriage to the next town. Leave it there, take the horses, and return to the county capital by the main road. Forget you ever saw us."
The driver looked inside the pouch, his eyes turning wide at the sight of the spirit stones. A mortal could live comfortably for years on such a sum. He bowed low, his hands trembling as he clutched the pouch. "Thank you, master... thank you! I have never seen you. I carried only coal to the southern town. I swear it!"
He scrambled onto his seat, turned the carriage, and drove away without looking back.
Uncle Zhang stood beside Fang Lin, his forge hammer resting in his belt. He looked up at the dark, gathering clouds and then at the dense tree line. "Lin Er, the road ahead looks rough. If we go into the forest, we will have to walk in the dark. Should we find an inn or keep moving?"
"We keep moving," Fang Lin replied, looking at the dark pine forest. "The forest offers better cover than the main roads. I have a route planned. We will find shelter soon."
Uncle Zhang nodded, trusting the youth's guidance implicitly. He turned back, helping Auntie Mei and guiding the children into the forest shelter, while Fang Lin led the way.
Er Ya walked beside Auntie Mei, her eyes bright as she looked at the red autumn leaves that carpeted the forest floor. She picked up a small, dry leaf, showing it to Hu Zi with a quiet smile. The fear that had shadowed her face during the checkpoint crossing had faded, replaced by the simple relief of being out of the carriage.
---
By midnight of the fourth day, the group had reached a quiet, dark valley flanked by low obsidian ridges. The air was cold, the grey mist wrapping the pine trunks in a quiet shroud.
Fang Lin stopped in a small clearing surrounded by ancient cypress trees. The spatial lines in the air hummed softly, indicating that they had crossed the one hundred miles threshold. The coordinates of the Rivercloud Demon Sealing Ruins were close enough for the spatial bridge to connect.
Fang Lin stood in the center of the clearing, his cotton robes rustling in the wind. He closed his eyes, releasing his divine sense in a wide, silent wave.
A few hundred meters away, a silent figure was perched in the upper branches of a tall pine, blending seamlessly with the dark needles. The cold mountain wind stirred the hem of her deep-grey cloak, revealing a brief glimpse of the crimson-and-white robes beneath, while her hand rested lightly on the hilt of the Crimson Bamboo Sword at her waist. She remained absolutely still, her eyes fixed on the clearing below.
As Fang Lin's eyes opened, his gaze settled directly on the dark branch.
"You can descend," Fang Lin said, his voice calm and clear. "We are leaving this region."
The branch rustled softly. A figure descended from the canopy, her grey cloak shifting to reveal the pristine red-and-white robes beneath. Feng Jiu'er landed silently in the center of the clearing, her sharp, proud eyes looking at Fang Lin with a mix of surprise and silent intensity.
"You knew I was there," she said, her voice quiet.
"I knew," Fang Lin replied. "You helped us bypass the pass checkpoint. I owe you a debt. Also, how did you find me?"
Feng Jiu'er did not speak of the debt nor did she answer how she had found him. She looked at Uncle Zhang, Auntie Mei, and the children who were standing near the trees, then turned her gaze back to Fang Lin. "The River Sword Sect patrols have locked the northern passes. The Heavenly Sword Lake scouts are searching every road. You cannot cross the border on foot."
"We are not crossing on foot," Fang Lin said quietly. He reached into his sleeve, pulling out the ancient, bronze-rimmed key token of the Demon Sealing Ruins. The metal was cold, etched with intricate runes that hummed with a faint, spatial resonance.
Feng Jiu'er's eyes narrowed as she felt the space around them warp slightly. "What is that token? That spatial energy..."
"The key to the Demon Sealing Ruins," Fang Lin explained, his dark eyes looking at her steadily. "The major sects will search the Green Bamboo Sect once they realize Heishui is dead and that you were spotted near the border. It is no longer safe for you to return. Come with us."
Feng Jiu'er froze, her hand tightening slightly on the hilt of her Crimson Bamboo Sword. She stared at the ancient token, shocked by his words, then looked at Fang Lin's calm, pale face. She knew he was right. Her Grandfather Feng could protect himself within the sect, but her presence near the border checkpoint would bring retributive searches from the Heavenly Sword Lake.
"Where does it lead?" she asked, her voice dropping.
"To a safe place," Fang Lin replied. "A place where no major sect on this continent can reach us."
Feng Jiu'er looked at him for a long moment. She saw the absolute composure in his eyes, the same quiet strength that had faced the legacy disciples inside the ruins. She sheathed her sword with a soft click, her proud shoulders slumping slightly in a quiet gesture of trust.
"I will come," she said.
Fang Lin nodded. He turned to Uncle Zhang and Auntie Mei. "Stand close."
Uncle Zhang led Auntie Mei and the children to Fang Lin's side. Xiao Chuan stood near Fang Lin's shoulder, his eyes wide with anticipation, while Er Ya held Auntie Mei's hand tightly. Feng Jiu'er stepped into the circle, her red robes brushing against Fang Lin's dark cotton robes.
Fang Lin raised the bronze-rimmed key token. He did not channel active Qi, but released a sharp, concentrated pulse of his Peak-Solid Soul force directly into the runes taught by the Dark Flame Spirit the last time they entered.
The token flared with a brilliant, blinding silver light.
The spatial lines in the clearing warped, the air twisting into a silent, dark vortex that enveloped the group. There was no explosion, no sound, and no release of Qi.
In a fraction of a second, the clearing was empty. The silver light vanished, leaving only the soft rustle of the pine branches in the cold wind. The mortal carriage road, the mountain passes, and the regional bounty hunt were left behind, disappearing into the quiet obscurity of the forest night.
---
A cool, clean breeze carrying the scent of ancient stone and blooming lotus flowers swept through the air.
Fang Lin opened his eyes.
They were standing in a grand, paved courtyard built of dark obsidian slabs. Surrounding the courtyard were high, silent stone walls etched with ancient runes that hummed with a transcendent, spatial energy. The sky above was not the grey clouds of the southern ridges, but a quiet, starry expanse.
In the center of the courtyard, a small stone pool filled with clear, green water reflected the stars.
Uncle Zhang looked at the towering stone walls, his forge hammer slipping slightly in his grip as he stared in absolute awe. "Lin Er... where... what is this place?"
Auntie Mei gasped, drawing Er Ya and Hu Zi closer to her sides. Er Ya looked at the grand, silent pillars, her face filled with wonder. "Big Brother Lin, is this a palace?"
Feng Jiu'er stood beside Fang Lin, her hand resting on the hilt of her sheathed sword, her sharp eyes scanning the massive, ancient structures. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, her breath catching as she felt the absolute purity of the spiritual energy that filled the courtyard. It was far denser than the Green Bamboo Sect's main peaks, carrying a quiet, transcendent weight.
"The Trial Legacy Palace," Feng Jiu'er whispered, her eyes turning to Fang Lin. "You... you own this place."
Fang Lin did not answer.
From the obscurity of the obsidian corridor, a figure slowly materialized. It was the elderly mansion spirit, dressed in a faded grey robe, his face carrying a quiet, knowing smile as he bowed slightly to Fang Lin.
"Welcome back, Little Lin," the mansion spirit said, his voice echoing softly in the courtyard. "I see you have brought guests to the Obsidian Courtyard."
Fang Lin looked at the spirit, then at the quiet garden. "Yes, senior, they are my friends and family. We will stay here for a long time. Please prepare the rooms."
"Alright," the spirit replied, bowing again before vanishing back into the obscurity of the corridor.
Fang Lin turned to his companions, his pale face calm. "We are safe here. No one can follow us. Rest. Tomorrow, we begin."
He turned toward Xiao Chuan. "You do not need to hide your cultivation anymore."
Xiao Chuan nodded, his eyes bright. "Yes, Big Brother Lin."
Feng Jiu'er looked at the grand, silent halls, her Crimson Bamboo Sword resting quiet at her side. She let out a long, slow breath, the pursuit finally lifting from her shoulders as the silence of the ancient mansion enveloped them.
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