Zhen’s gaze focused on Ning Xue’s face. The color in her cheeks was returning rapidly, the frost that had bitten at her skin already fading. His blood shouldn’t have done that. Unless… Was it her roots? Her physique?
And her qi… It wasn’t just calming—it was healing. It formed a balanced loop—his blood was drawn, yet her qi seemed to replenish him at the same time.
The cold energy flowed smoothly through his meridians, refining itself as it mixed with his own qi. It was unnerving how natural it felt.
That feeling made his chest tighten. He didn’t know whether to feel reassured or alarmed.
While it was working, Zhen felt the potency of the cold qi. With nine shallow exhalations followed by one deep inhalation, the Hundred Stars Refining Method started circulating as he felt traces of the starlight qi and cold qi mixing, and the energy was potent.
He quickly gathered his thoughts and focused on forming the ninth star in his outer acupoint.
He didn’t know if it was because of the cold qi, the starlight qi, or the fact that he had already opened the ninth star—but the process was unnervingly smooth. Almost too easy.
Traces of the previous star lingered in the acupoint, faint threads of energy curling at the edges. The qi gathered at the center, a soft pulse of light flickering in time with his breath.
With each rotation through the other stars, the illusory form of the ninth star took shape without resistance—as if his qi was not just accepting the foreign energy, but inviting it in. It flowed together too smoothly, almost like it had been designed to fit this way from the beginning.
That’s… fast. Zhen frowned. That wasn’t normal.
After solidifying the ninth star, he changed the direction of the qi outward from his dantian, guiding it toward the formation of the tenth star.
While circulating the qi within his acupoints, Zhen noticed that the flow was smoother than before. Not a major shift, but it flowed more naturally along hidden curves, better fitting the contours of the path. Small, subtle improvements that hadn’t been there before.
It must have been the fight.
He had been pushed further than he had in days. The edge of death. The pressure had forced his body to adapt, his technique to adjust, aligning the flow of qi to his personal physique.
Maybe that’s why most cultivators are so eager for conflict. Growth through violence…
His lips curled faintly, experiencing the rush to start fighting again.
Then he focused on the other improvements.
His qi merged with the cold energy more fluidly than it should have. It was like their energies were resonating at the same frequency—perfectly aligned.
That’s not right. Qi wasn’t supposed to work like that. His own cultivation technique was forged from a different technique and his own qi have different properties. It should have rejected any foreign qi or at least resisted it—but instead, it accepted Ning Xue’s cold qi like it had always belonged there.
With his current resources, he would have struggled to advance to mid-rank foundation establishment with 81 acupoints opened. But now with this cold qi… it felt within reach. Too within reach.
Her qi… The idea sank deep in his chest, leaving behind an uneasy weight. Was this because of her roots?
The possibility alone was enough to frighten him — it explained why people were trying to capture her through such subtle means.
After a stick of incense worth of time, Ning Xue stopped drinking. All the cold qi had dissipated, leaving the air crisp but not biting.
Zhen opened his eyes to find her watching him, her expression unreadable. Her cheeks were no longer pale, a soft pink hue having returned to her skin.
“Are you feeling better?”
Ning Xue nodded slowly. “Yes.”
He looked down at his hand, where the cut had already closed.
Zhen sighed inwardly. What exactly are you, Xue girl?
He didn't ask about her qi, and thankfully the girl didn't start sharing her secrets.
He stood, brushing the dirt from his robes. The auto-repair formation in the fabric hummed to life, mending loose fibers and reweaving tears. His gaze drifted back to Ning Xue, assessing her state.
“Let’s take a look around,” he said. “And take everything with us.”
The camp was barren except for the remnants of the fight. It only took ten minutes to sweep it clean.
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Materials for the Serpent's Warding Formation. A Ninth Stage Black Mamba Fang—partially coated in diluted snake venom.
Two small bottles with dark green and violet liquid — most probably they're Luo Heng’s poison.
His eyes narrowed. “Not much here.”
“Considering you used the other fang to blow up Luo Heng, you’re lucky there’s anything left,” Ning Xue said dryly.
That piece alone was probably worth a small fortune. And he had used it like a simple bomb.
Then he picked the biggest haul of the fight. A spatial storage pouch.
He turned the pouch over in his hand, frowning slightly as he peered inside. Only darkness stared back at him. But it was nighttime—maybe it was just too dark to see?
“It’s not a bag. You have to activate the formation with your qi.” Ning Xue's amused voice drifted from the side.
"I know… I was checking the formation."
He pushed a thin thread of qi into the formation inscribed on the leather pouch.
Zhen felt the connection immediately — and he could sense the contents in the small space of the pouch.
Bone fragments and a fine white powder – Necromantic products.
A few gold and silver coins. And Zhao Shi's disciple badge.
Zhen closed the pouch quickly, not willing to touch those yet.
No spirit stones. Not surprising. Most cultivators only carried a few for emergencies; the rest were invested directly into cultivation.
He inserted his hand inside and felt his fingers close around the gold coin. The sensation wasn’t much different from holding any other object. Then he pulled his hand out—and there it was, the coin gleaming in his palm.
A slow grin crept across his face. This… This is the greatest invention of these people.
After having fun with the spatial pouch, Zhen shoved all the extra materials inside it.
Ning Xue stepped forward, walking toward Zhao Shi’s corpse. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword. With a sharp tug, she pulled it free, and Zhao Shi’s frozen chest shattered into pieces.
Zhen grimaced at the sight, his jaw tightening as the fragments of ice and flesh scattered across the ground.
With a smooth flick, blood and bits of flesh slid off the sword and splattered onto the dirt.
Her movements were precise, practiced—too smooth to be anything but the result of countless repetitions.
Then, just as Zhen’s gaze focused on the sword, it vanished in a flash.
"One of the soulbound treasures from my clan," Ning Xue said, her tone light as if it required no further explanation.
Zhen nodded as if it made perfect sense for a weapon to disappear into thin air. He mentally filed away the term Soulbound for future research.
Then his gaze drifted toward the dull white sword half-buried in Zhao Shi icy fragments while the stiff, lifeless hand still clutched the handle.
Zhen approached it slowly, scuffing the dirt. His eyes narrowed. The green tint swirling faintly along the blade’s edge made his skin crawl.
He crouched and picked up a stick, prodding Zhao Shi’s hand. No response. His throat tightened.
No cursed qi backlash… Yet.
Jaw tightening, he gripped Zhao Shi’s stiff fingers and peeled them away from the hilt. Cold skin met his touch.
Peeling the hand away from the hilt, Zhen’s gaze shifted toward the sword. His hand hesitated mid-air before his fingers closed around the hilt.
A chill pulsed through his palm. Then, a faint tug — the sword pulling his qi.
His inner qi flared in response, cutting off the flow instantly. Without further examination, he slid the sword into his pouch. No point in playing with cursed green qi.
"GRRRAAAUUUHHH!" An animal roar tore through the night silence.
"Time to go," Zhen said.
Zhen picked a random direction away from the sound of the animal roar and started walking. Thankfully, his cultivation meant that sleep wasn’t necessary.
After an hour of walking, they found a hunter's path. It narrowed as dawn approached, the sky above streaked with soft gray and pale gold.
A faint sound filtered through the trees — a low, rhythmic swoosh. It grew louder with each step, a steady rush of movement over stone. Zhen’s ears sharpened, recognizing it a moment before Ning Xue spoke.
“Water,” she said quietly.
They pushed through the underbrush, branches tugging at their robes. The sound sharpened — crisp, flowing, edged with the occasional soft splash of shifting rocks. A moment later, the trees parted to reveal a river cutting through the landscape. The water was clear, sunlight catching faint glints of gold and silver beneath the surface.
“We should rest here for a while,” Zhen said.
The water was crisp and clear, running over smooth stones. Zhen knelt at the edge, dipping his hands into the water. The cold stung his fingertips.
He splashed his face, the chill jolting him awake. Ning Xue crouched beside him, cupping her hands to draw water to her lips. A strand of wet hair clung to her cheek. She brushed it back with a slight frown.
“It might be better to take a bath,” Ning Xue tugged at her sleeve. The edges of her robe were darkened with dried blood and dirt. She pinched the fabric between her fingers, her nose wrinkling.
Zhen’s mouth twitched. His gaze slid toward her, lingering for a moment before he looked back at the water. “You’re comfortable bathing here?”
Ning Xue’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Why? Would Senior Brother peek?”
Zhen’s brows twitched downward. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
Her smile widened, the corners of her mouth lifting as if she had already won something.
“And no bath,” Zhen added firmly. His tone was sharp enough to cut stone. He wasn’t about to let things devolve into some ridiculous bathing scene.
His joints cracked faintly as he straightened. He turned toward the river, eyes narrowing slightly.
“We should travel upstream,” he said. “There might be a village or town nearby.”
They walked in comfortable silence for another hour. The river’s flow was steady and constant, the sound blending with the rustling of the trees. Zhen’s senses remained sharp, scanning the path ahead even as his thoughts drifted back to the breakthrough.
Suddenly — a sharp cry pierced the morning air.
“—Is that a rooster?” Ning Xue’s head turned toward the sound.
Zhen stilled. A distant crowing echoed from beyond a cluster of trees. His eyes sharpened.
“Sounds like it,” he said.
They moved toward the sound, leaving the river behind as they stepped onto a well-worn dirt path. The treeline thinned, and soon a set of town gates come into view.
