The cold in the room wasn't just in the air anymore. It was in his bones.
Lin Tian sat cross-legged on the thin meditation mat, his breathing a slow, measured rhythm. He focused on the flow of qi through his meridians, a gentle circulation meant to soothe, not strengthen. The system's numbers hung in the periphery of his vision like a ghostly verdict.
[Sect Trace Suppression: 41% (Stable)]
Stable. The word felt like a lie. Every breath he took, every beat of his heart, the number seemed to tremble. It was a dam holding back a frozen lake, and he could feel the ice cracking.
He pushed a little more qi into the containment pattern around his wrist, the one he'd pieced together from library fragments and desperate intuition. The spiritual energy coiled, a warm band trying to smother the cold sigil burned under his skin. For a moment, the pressure eased.
Then the dam broke.
