By the time Jiang Muchen returned to the Servants' Courtyard, dusk had already drowned the sky in ember-red light.
The ten-person barrack was empty—at this hour, the errand boys were either still scattered around finishing chores, or crowded in the dining hall fighting over bowls of nearly oil-less gruel. But the room wasn't quiet. The air held the leftover residue of people's emotions: envy, suspicion… and a thin layer of obsequious flattery trying its hardest to hide desperation.
He set the bundle of Chiyang wood against the wall and sat down on his cot.
The door creaked open.
Not Lu Hanshan.
Zhao Xiaoliu slipped inside—the hunched, sharp-tongued one who always bragged about having the "best intel." He carried a bowl of steaming spiritual rice porridge. The grains were plump, glowing faintly with a golden sheen. Definitely not something produced in the servants' kitchen.
"Brother Jiang, you're back?" Zhao Xiaoliu grinned, leaning in as he offered the bowl. "Ran into Steward Li at the mess hall. He insisted on giving me this 'Golden-Silk Spirit Rice Porridge,' said it's for the disciples who contributed today. I don't deserve that! So I figured… it must be meant for you."
Sweet words—sharp, probing eyes.
Jiang Muchen didn't take the bowl. He simply lifted his gaze.
Insight Art flowed quietly.
Heartbeat: twenty percent faster than usual.
Breath: carrying traces of Calming Essence Powder—he'd taken a mind-steadying pill.
Sleeve: fresh ink stains—marks from quick-note talismans.
He wasn't here to show goodwill. He was nervous—and recording everything.
"For Steward Li?" Jiang asked flatly. "I have no dealings with him."
"Oh, well, not yet." Zhao Xiaoliu chuckled awkwardly and set the bowl on Jiang's wooden chest. "But who knows what the future holds, right? Brother Jiang, you're in Elder Huoyun's good graces now. Earthfire Courtyard is overflowing with benefits! Just a little favor from you could feed us for half a year."
He leaned closer, whispering like a mosquito:
"To be honest, three different groups questioned me about you today. Some want you to carry materials to Earthfire Courtyard. Some want to know what Elder Huoyun needs most right now. And some…" His gaze flickered. "Want to know what your relationship with that brute Lu Hanshan really is."
Jiang Muchen finally looked at him.
One look—Zhao Xiaoliu froze as though sliced open and laid bare.
"Senior Zhao is very well-informed," Jiang said calmly. "But Elder Huoyun's preferences? I'm just someone who hauls wood. How would I know? And Senior Lu and I merely took the same assignment."
He stood and pushed open the window. A gust of evening wind rushed in, sweeping out the suffocating air.
"As for the porridge," Jiang added, not looking back, "go ahead and drink it. I'm not hungry."
Zhao Xiaoliu's expression twitched. He forced out a laugh, snatched the bowl, and backed away.
"Then… I won't be polite. Brother Jiang, if you ever need information or errands run, just say the word!"
He fled.
Jiang stayed by the window, watching him disappear into the dim courtyard—golden light flickering faintly in his eyes.
The flattery was real. But the fear under it was much stronger.
And the ink on his sleeve likely recorded far more than gossip.
He was feeding someone higher up.
But who?
A faint, nervous footstep brushed the southeastern wall. Weak spiritual fluctuations. Scattered breathing.
The skinny youth from the Nine Provinces Trading House—the one he saw earlier at Earthfire Courtyard.
Already here.
Jiang didn't move. He retrieved a cloth and wiped the slender jade flute hidden under his bed, its cool cyan surface shimmering in the dark.
Three breaths later—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three knocks on the window lattice.
"Junior Brother Jiang?" A soft, polished voice—trained in negotiation. "About earlier at Earthfire Courtyard—thank you for helping me. I've come to express my gratitude."
"Door's open," Jiang said.
The door eased open, and the skinny youth slipped inside, closing it behind him. He wore plain gray now, but the Treasure-Gathering jade pendant at his waist revealed his identity.
"I am Wang Duobao, external manager of the Nine Provinces Trading House stationed at Red Dust Pavilion." He bowed, smiling earnestly. "If not for you earlier, I'd have lost face before Elder Huoyun."
Jiang looked directly at him.
Insight Art surged.
Heart rate: high from professional tension.
Pupils: contracted—calculating.
Lungs: faint energy from a Breath-Suppressing Pill—he was hiding his true cultivation.
Core emotion: greed, wrapped in a desperate need to prove himself.
A hungry hyena pretending to be harmless.
"Manager Wang, you exaggerate," Jiang said, setting the flute across his knees. "I only repeated something I read."
"You deserve all the credit! Truly!" Wang Duobao stepped closer, pulling a small cloth pouch from his coat and laying it on the cot. "A small token—fifty low-grade spirit stones. A gesture of friendship."
The faint glow confirmed the amount.
Jiang didn't touch it.
"Manager Wang," he asked, "today you were trying to use information about Flame-Heart Grass to approach Elder Huoyun, yes?"
Wang Duobao's smile stiffened.
"Well… yes. Our Trading House lives off connections. If I establish a supply line with Elder Huoyun, it benefits both sides."
"Too bad your intel was incomplete."
Wang Duobao froze.
"Well— the Flame Abyss Core Realm is dangerous. Accurate intel is hard to—"
"It's not hard," Jiang interrupted. "Your intel was deliberately scrubbed."
Wang Duobao's pupils shrank violently.
Jiang continued calmly:
"Earth-fire tides retreat three hours before the full moon—that part is true.
But Notes on the Southern Volcanoes records a geomagnetic disruption occurring every thirty-six years in the southeast fissure of the Flame Abyss Core."
He paused.
"This year is the thirty-sixth."
"If you enter at the usual time, you'll meet a flood. Below Foundation Establishment? Certain death."
Wang Duobao stumbled back, hitting the door.
"H-how did you…?"
"There's more than one book in the Scripture Pavilion," Jiang said, rising. "Manager Wang, whoever gave you that intel either wanted you dead… or didn't care if you were."
Silence pressed down.
Cold sweat slid down Wang Duobao's temples. After several breaths, he suddenly bowed hard.
"Junior Brother Jiang—please save me!"
This bow was heavier than Lu Hanshan's kneel.
Lu begged for a future.
Wang Duobao begged for his life.
Jiang helped him up.
"No need for that. Since you came to me, you must've sensed something was wrong."
Wang Duobao hesitated.
"The intel came from one of our stewards. He said he bought it from a harvesting team returning from the Prismatic Blossom Expanse. They found traces of a Seven-Color Lotus and are recruiting for a second dive…"
Prismatic Blossom Expanse.
Seven-Color Lotus.
Azure-Misty Medicine Valley.
Threads snapped together.
In his fate outline, the middle arc of Volume One required entering Azure-Misty Valley to obtain ingredients for the Nine-Turn Soul-Returning Pill. One essential ingredient—
The Seven-Color Lotus Heart.
Too convenient.
Or perhaps not convenient at all.
But the Causal Pull of the Ten-Thousand-Spirits Resonance Art.
White Gui's remnant soul had warned him: this cultivation method dragged him into networks of fate.
"Manager Wang," Jiang suddenly asked, "has that steward been in contact with the Ghost-Weave Sect… or anyone from the Abyssal Demon Cavern?"
Wang Duobao jolted violently.
"H-how did—"
The courtyard exploded with hurried footsteps.
Not one person—five. Heavy steps, hostile spiritual pressure.
Coming straight toward this room.
Wang Duobao turned white.
"The steward's men! They know I came to you!"
Jiang stayed calm.
He had sensed them almost an incense stick ago.
"Manager Wang," Jiang whispered, "if you want to live, listen. Leave through the back window. Go to Earthfire Courtyard. Find Lu Hanshan. Tell him I sent you. Elder Huoyun's iron token will protect you for now."
"But you—"
"I have my own method." Jiang pushed the window open. "Go."
Wang Duobao clenched his teeth and vanished into the night.
Almost at the same moment—
BANG!
The front door burst open.
Five masked thugs stormed in—gray-clad, murderous. Their leader carried the aura of Qi-Refining Seventh Layer, eyes cold and vicious.
"Where's Wang Duobao?"
Jiang sat calmly on his cot, fingers brushing the jade flute.
"And who's asking?"
"Quit stalling!" the leader snapped, spiritual pressure flaring. "Hand him over, and maybe we'll let you walk out alive!"
Their cultivation was higher than his. But their foundations were hollow—propped up by pills.
Jiang rose slowly and lifted the jade flute.
"Gentlemen," he said softly, "it's late. Disturbing someone's rest is impolite."
The flute sang.
Not a melody—just long, clear tones that rippled through the cramped room like cold water flowing through overheated stone.
All five thugs flinched.
The notes slipped into their ears, cooling their rage, stripping away their killing intent. Even their spiritual energy flickered.
Why fight a mere servant?
A ridiculous thought bloomed inside their minds.
The Ten-Thousand-Spirits Resonance Art, channeled through jade—scattering murderous intent.
"Witchcraft?!" the leader snarled, biting his tongue to stay awake. "Get him! Break him!"
They charged.
The flute's cry sharpened—like a crane splitting the night air.
A pale blue wave burst outward.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Three thugs slammed into an invisible barrier and flew back.
Two more froze, eyes vacant.
The leader resisted—but half a beat too slow.
Enough.
Jiang moved.
Not a formal technique—just the force-transmission principle he had copied from watching Lu Hanshan split wood earlier: power rooted in the ground, guided through waist and hips.
He slid like a fish through water, appearing at the leader's flank. The flute's tail struck under the ribs—
"Gah!"
Half the man's body went numb.
Jiang leaned in, whispering:
"Tell your steward this—Wang Duobao is under my protection.
If he reaches again…"
A thread of Resonance Qi slipped from Jiang's fingertip into the man's meridians.
The thug convulsed, face twisting in fear. It wasn't an attack—just a terrifying sensation, as if his emotions, thoughts, and spiritual vein were being exposed to someone else's hand.
"Scram."
They fled as if chased by demons.
Silence returned.
Jiang walked to the window, watching their figures vanish into the night, his fingers brushing the warm body of the jade flute.
It hummed faintly in response.
Across the courtyard, behind another window, Zhao Xiaoliu lowered his spying eyes—face pale, hands trembling so violently he almost dropped his pen.
And high atop distant Jade-Sword Peak, Lin Yueyao opened her eyes mid-meditation, turning toward the Servants' Courtyard.
"…Him again.
Such strange fluctuations."
She hesitated, lifted a messaging talisman—then put it down.
"I'll watch a little longer."
Night thickened.
Jiang closed the window, blew out the oil lamp, and sat cross-legged in darkness.
The jade flute warmed in his arms as the golden characters of the Resonance Art revolved slowly in his mind.
Wang Duobao.
Prismatic Blossom Expanse.
Ghost-Weave Sect.
Azure-Misty Medicine Valley…
A vast, unseen net was taking shape.
And he stood at its center.
Sometimes, the best way to protect someone… is to make them a piece the entire board depends on.