Icy stream water soaked through his thin clothes, the bone-chilling cold wrenching Xiao Qi from deep unconsciousness. He coughed violently several times, spitting out mouthfuls of muddy, fishy-tasting water, then opened his eyes in bewilderment. Daylight had fully broken, yet the scene before him made him instantly curl up.
Gone were the familiar carved bed curtains, gone his mother's gentle calls. In their place stood jagged, grotesque rocks, the gurgling of the cold stream, and in the distant sky, a tinge of unsettling dark crimson that had not yet fully dissipated—the direction of Xu Lan Mountain Manor. The horror and brutality of last night surged back into his heart like a tidal wave: his father's resolute back, his mother's bloodstained white robes, towering flames, the ferocious faces of the demonic cultivators... Fragmented memories crashed violently against his tender heart.
Instinctively, he reached for his chest. The warm, smooth jade pendant was still there, pressed tightly against his skin, emitting a faint yet unwavering warmth, as if silently comforting him. He then felt behind his back—the black iron skillet remained securely tied, its cold touch oddly providing a sense of reality.
"Dad... Mom..." he murmured, his voice hoarse and dry. Large teardrops finally fell uncontrollably, striking the pebbles beneath him and spreading into small wet patches. But he still remembered his mother's last words—"Run! Live well!"
A powerful will to survive overwhelmed the immense sorrow. Xiao Qi struggled to his feet, his body aching and cold, his stomach growling fiercely with hunger. He discerned the direction and instinctively stumbled away from that dark crimson sky.
He dared not take the main roads, keeping only to the edges of rarely traveled mountains and forests, fearing those black-robed demonic cultivators would pursue him. When thirsty, he cupped his hands for mountain spring water; when hungry, he could only search for wild fruits or tender grass roots that seemed edible. Too young and with limited discernment, he ate bitter-tasting berries several times, causing severe abdominal cramps. Only the occasional flow of cool energy from the jade pendant at his chest barely alleviated the discomfort.
The skillet now became his sole "possession." Occasionally finding mushrooms or bird eggs, he tried to kindle a fire with dry branches, attempting to fry them as his mother had, but always ended up with soot-covered cheeks and rarely succeeded in lighting the fire. More often than not, he swallowed them raw in a disheveled fashion.
Thus he wandered for days, sleeping under the stars, exposed to the elements, constantly fearful. Xiao Qi's originally plump cheeks rapidly thinned, his lips chapped, his clothes ragged. His shoes had long worn through, revealing bloody, blistered toes. He felt he could endure no longer; each time he closed his eyes, he seemed to see his parents' figures and hear their calls.
One afternoon, fleeing a black bear drinking at the stream, Xiao Qi plunged headlong into an ancient forest that appeared unusually dense and shrouded in mist. The moment he stepped inside, he sensed something was wrong.
The trees here were abnormally tall, their branches and leaves blotting out the sky, the light suddenly dimming. The air carried a strange scent, sweet yet putrid, that when inhaled caused slight dizziness and blurred vision. Faint purple mist drifted among the oddly shaped shrubs and deep green moss.
Poisonous miasma! Though young, Xiao Qi had heard the elders in the manor speak of natural poisonous miasma in deep mountains and ancient forests—inhaling too much could lead to a fatal poisoning. Terrified, he turned to retreat, but the path behind was blocked by tangled vines and dense shrubs. The surroundings grew blurred and indistinguishable in the purple haze; he had lost his direction!
Covering his mouth and nose, he tried to find a way out, but the deeper he went, the thicker the purple mist became. The cloying odor seeped everywhere; his head grew dizzier, his vision blurred, his limbs gradually weak and limp. The warmth from the jade pendant at his chest seemed also eroded by this eerie miasma, becoming intermittent.
"Can't fall here..." He bit his tongue, trying to use pain to stay conscious, but to little effect. Finally, on a slope covered with slippery moss, his foot slipped, and he tumbled down, crashing heavily against the roots of an ancient tree speckled with eerie purple spots, completely losing consciousness.
Thick purplish-black miasma converged like a living entity toward his small body, attempting to enter his mouth and nose, corroding his vitality. The exposed skin began to take on an unnatural bluish-purple hue, his breathing grew faint and rapid.
At this critical juncture between life and death, the jade pendant at his chest, seemingly provoked by the extreme toxicity, suddenly erupted with unprecedented scalding heat! No longer a gentle warmth, but searing like a branding iron! A far purer and more torrential cool energy surged violently from the pendant—no longer a trickle of nourishment, but a bursting flood forcibly charging into his nearly stagnant meridians!
"Ugh—" The unconscious Xiao Qi let out a pained moan, his body convulsing violently. The cool energy rampaged through him, clashing fiercely with the miasma poison he had inhaled, the tearing sensation even exceeding the pain of the poison itself.
The latent power within the Xu family bloodline, under this extreme external pressure and the pendant's forced stimulation, was unexpectedly ignited—a mere sliver! A tug-of-war between purifying force and virulent miasma unfolded within his body.
Meridians were torn apart inch by inch, yet barely held together under the scouring of the cool energy. His small body became a battlefield; his skin alternately bluish-purple, then emitting faint white light. The skillet on his back, amidst this energy turmoil, seemed to emit an extremely faint, almost imperceptible hum. Where its bottom touched the ground, the toxic moss attempting to creep over withered silently in a small circle.
After an unknowable length of time, the internal struggle gradually subsided. The torrential cool energy, having dispelled most of the miasma poison, seemed exhausted, becoming docile again, flowing gently to repair the damaged meridians and subtly improved his constitution. The bluish-purple tint faded from his skin, his breathing grew steady and deep.
When Xiao Qi woke again, he found himself still beneath the ancient tree; the purple mist in the forest seemed somewhat thinner. He felt weak, but the lethal dizziness and suffocation were gone. Peering inward (an inexplicable instinct after near-death experience), he could vaguely "see" an extremely faint yet exceptionally tenuous stream of energy flowing slowly within.
He had survived.
Struggling to sit up, he leaned against the ancient tree, panting. He looked down at the jade pendant on his chest; it had regained its usual warmth, though its luster seemed slightly dimmer. Clutching it tightly, his heart filled with gratitude for his narrow escape and an indescribable sensation—he seemed... somewhat different.
Just then, faint voices and signs of human activity sounded in the distance. Startled, fearing pursuit by Shadow Snake Pavilion, Xiao Qi held his breath, curled up, and hid himself using the dense shrubs and dim light, anxiously gazing toward the direction of the sounds.