The gale of the Blackwind Rift was like a blunt knife, scraping repeatedly against exposed skin. Lin Yi stood at the edge of the rift entrance. The seal of the “Yin-condensing Grass” on his right arm transmitted waves of bone-piercing cold, interweaving with the frigid wind surging from the rift’s depths, carrying the scent of rust and decay. His left hand pressed unconsciously against his ribs—there, the bones broken by Shi Yong had been crudely set by Mo Chen, and now, with each breath, they sent sharp, stabbing pains. Within the rift’s unique spiritual energy environment, that contract rune was pulsing at a dangerous frequency. It wasn’t pain, but a deeper, hollow chill as if the marrow were being drained, occasionally flaring into a searing burn without warning, like a red-hot wire moving beneath the skin. True Person Xuan Yin hovered three zhang above the rift entrance. His Taoist robe remained utterly still in the fierce wind, only the hem occasionally fluttering, stirring a trace of clear, cold pine fragrance. That scent should have brought tranquility, but now, mixed with the rift’s fetid wind, it formed a strange, oppressive weight. Behind the True Person were over a dozen conscripted trial-takers. Shi Meng stood at the far right of the group, the position farthest from True Person Xuan Yin. This man, who usually stood like an iron pagoda, as if his chest could burst through the heavens, now had his back slightly hunched. Both hands gripped a rough iron rod tightly, his knuckles white with strain. He wasn’t looking at Lin Yi, nor at anyone else. He just stared fixedly at the black rock beneath his feet, as if it were carved with some life-or-death secret text. This was his habit when thinking, an almost instinctive rhythm. But now, that rhythm carried a suppressed probing—Shi Meng’s state was off. Three days ago, when Mo Chen took him away, Shi Meng had still been on the outskirts of the Bone-Tempering Platform, worried but with a gaze of pure anxiety. Now, that gaze was evasive, like a beast that had been fitted with reins yet refused to be tamed. The voice wasn’t loud, yet it clearly pierced the howling gale, drilling into everyone’s eardrums. It wasn’t booming, but a more precise kind of penetration, like ice water trickling down the spine. “The Blackwind Rift,” the True Person slowly began, his gaze level ahead as if reciting some established codex. “One of the sect’s forbidden grounds, a place where opportunity and death coexist. This conscription is not for a trial, but for ‘cleansing’.” The wind seemed to lessen, or rather, was pressed down by some heavier, more oppressive force. “Deep within the rift, the ‘Bone-Eroding Iron Ant’ colony is in abnormal turmoil, threatening the safety of the outer mining tunnels,” True Person Xuan Yin’s tone was utterly flat, each word like a carefully polished counterweight. “Your task: penetrate the ant nest’s core area, deploy ‘Spirit-Suppressing Powder’ to quell the ant tide. Those who bring back ten pairs of Iron Ant King mandibles may offset the responsibility of this conscription and receive an additional three hundred contribution points.” Spirit-Suppressing Powder? That substance had a powerful sedative effect on low-level demonic beasts, but deployment required approaching the nest’s core. And Iron Ant King mandibles—those could only be obtained by killing the queen’s guards. The task sounded reasonable, yet it mixed “cleansing” with “collection,” giving the executors great… room for maneuver. “There are only three rules.” True Person Xuan Yin finally lowered his gaze, sweeping over the faces below—some fearful, some numb, some forcing composure. His line of sight lingered on Lin Yi for half a breath, then shifted away as if nothing had happened, finally settling on Shi Meng. “First, after entering the rift, life and death are your own responsibility. Rely on your own abilities. The sect will not dispatch elders for protection.” “Second, the mission time limit is three days. Those who do not return within three days will be considered perished.” The True Person’s voice suddenly lowered slightly, yet became even clearer, like a thin blade grazing the ear: He saw Shi Meng’s body tense violently, veins bulging on the back of the hand gripping the iron rod. But the next second, the man forcibly suppressed that surge of force, burying his head even lower. Lin Yi repeated these four words in his mind. His gaze did not leave Shi Meng, but the corner of his eye locked Lin Yi didn't rush to push forward. He stood where he was, waiting until most of the crowd had begun to move before slowly taking a step. His pace was steady, but with every footfall, the stabbing pain beneath his ribs intensified by a fraction, and the sigil in his palm transmitted a brief, searing heat. Calculating the distance to Shi Meng. Calculating the positions of the supervising disciples. Calculating the fluctuation frequency of the barrier at the chasm entrance. The moment he stepped into the chasm, the light abruptly dimmed. Not the dark of night, but a deeper, thicker gloom, as if soaked in ink. Only a sliver of pallid sky light remained from the crack overhead. The rock walls on either side soared high, black and gleaming, densely covered with ferocious, wind-scoured gullies carved by perennial gales. No longer just the scent of blood and wind, but a mixture of damp moss, the acrid tang of oxidized metal, and… a faint, cloyingly sweet, nauseating odor of decay. He forced himself to take a deep breath, sensing how the spiritual energy within the chasm differed from the outside—more chaotic, more frenzied, like a boiling cauldron of thick soup laced with poison. And the sigil in his palm, within this "cauldron of soup," was growing increasingly active, increasingly… ravenous. The procession wound its way downward along a barely discernible path. The moss on the rock walls emitted an eerie, dark green phosphorescence, faintly illuminating the rugged, uneven ground underfoot. Loose stones were everywhere; people slipped frequently, emitting short, sharp gasps and curses. That back remained stiff, every step falling heavily, as if trying to stamp some emotion deep into the earth. The iron rod dragged at his side, its tip scraping against the rock, producing a grating *scrape-scrape* sound. Ahead, the path widened slightly at a bend, where the rock wall recessed inward, forming a small, relatively level area. A supervising disciple up ahead urged, "Move quickly! No stopping!" Lin Yi quickened his pace, nearly pressing against Shi Meng's back. "Shi Meng," he said in a lowered voice, speaking slowly, enunciating each word clearly. But Shi Meng didn't turn around. Instead, he sped up, trying to put distance between them. Lin Yi didn't let him succeed. He sidestepped past a protruding rock, closing in again. His voice dropped even lower, yet carried a sharpness that brooked no evasion. "What are you hiding from." Shi Meng's steps faltered. He stepped on a loose stone, his body swaying. The iron rod clanged loudly against the rock wall, stirring a dull echo in the narrow passage. Shi Meng violently steadied himself, growling without turning his head, "...Stop following me." The voice was hoarse, parched, like sandpaper grating over sheet metal. "Why." Lin Yi didn't retreat; he pressed forward instead. His gaze was locked on the back of Shi Meng's neck—there, the muscles were taut as a lump of iron, the blood vessels beneath the skin faintly pulsing in the dark green phosphorescence. "What did Xuan Yin Zhen Ren tell you." The entire procession was still moving forward. The supervising disciple's shout came from ahead: "What's the holdup! Move!" That face, usually flushed and full of rough-hewn candor, was now frighteningly pale. The eye sockets were sunken, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. His lips were dry and cracked, bitten by his own teeth into several bloody marks. His eyes met Lin Yi's for an instant. Within them churned something exceedingly complex—agony, fear, struggle, and a trace of… near-despairing entreaty. The next second, Shi Meng violently twisted his head away, avoiding Lin Yi's gaze. His Adam's apple bobbed fiercely several times. Words were forced through gritted teeth: "...Nothing. Just a mission." "A mission?" Lin Yi's voice turned cold. "What mission requires you to not dare look at me?" The iron rod in his grip emitted a groaning sound, as if straining under pressure. "Lin Zi…" His voice began to tremble. "I'm begging you… don't ask. Just walk forward, complete the mission, get out alive… that's all." "Get out alive?" Lin Yi advanced another half-step. The distance between them was so close now they could feel the warmth of each other's breath. He stared into Shi Meng's evasive eyes, enunciating each word deliberately: "Shi Meng, look at me. Tell me, does the 'mission' Xuan Yin Zhen Ren gave you also include ensuring I 'don't make it out'?" In that instant, Lin Yi saw the answer in his eyes—not the panic of being exposed, Shi Meng trembled all over, as if struck by a whip. He suddenly raised his head and took one last look at Lin Yi—in his eyes, pain seemed on the verge of overflowing, but deep within, something was forcibly suppressed, turning into a nearly numb determination. “Go.” His voice was hoarse. He turned and charged forward without looking back, the iron rod scraping against the rock wall, leaving a glaring trail of sparks. Lin Yi stood where he was, watching Shi Meng’s retreating figure disappear into the shadows of the corner. Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain shot through the rune in his palm. The pain was so intense it nearly forced a groan from his throat. He lowered his head and opened his left hand—the dark red rune on his palm was now faintly glowing, with wisps of black mist seeping from its edges. The black mist reacted with the frenzied spiritual energy permeating the air in the chasm, emitting a faint *sizzling* sound, like cold water dripping into boiling oil. Lin Yi slowly clenched his fist, nails digging deep into his palm, using the sharper pain to suppress the throbbing of the rune. He raised his head and looked into the deep, unfathomable darkness ahead. Xuan Yin Zhen Ren’s kill order had now become specific to exploiting the most fragile part of human nature—family ties. This was no simple secret realm exploration, but a meticulously designed “cleanup.” The demonic beasts were a facade, the mission was a facade. The true killing trap lay behind the blades forced into the hands of his teammates. And he, Lin Yi, was the only prey in this trap who remained clear-headed. He took a deep breath, the chasm’s turbid air flooding his lungs, bringing a sharp, stinging sensation. He took a step forward, following the team, his gaze fixed on the increasingly distant yet increasingly rigid figure ahead. Now, it was time for him, the prey, to rewrite the rules of this hunt. --- Lin Yi leaned against the outermost rock wall. The wound on his left arm had begun bleeding again after the intense fight, the fabric sticking to his flesh, every breath pulling at the pain. The “Yin Ning Grass” seal on his right arm emitted a bone-chilling coldness, mingling with the icy wind rising from the depths of the chasm—a wind that carried the scent of rust and decay—making his teeth clench. This was not the searing pain of battle, but something subtler, like a pulse throbbing in sync with the rhythmic dripping sound deep within the cave. *Drip. Drip. Drip.* Each drop felt like a hammer striking his nerve endings. Yet, the scene from moments ago flashed vividly in his mind—Shi Meng’s sweeping strike that sent three Bone-Corroding Iron Ants flying, the *crack* of shattered carapaces mixed with the foul stench of splattering fluid. But just as the iron rod was about to smash the fourth ant—the one lunging at Lin Yi’s neck—the strike veered half an inch off course. Shi Meng’s heavy panting paused noticeably at that moment. Then, he turned his head away, roaring “Watch out!” but never once looked at Lin Yi. Lin Yi opened his eyes, his gaze piercing through the dim light inside the cave. A few phosphorescent stones embedded in crevices emitted a faint green glow, barely outlining the figures. Over a dozen trial-takers lay scattered on the ground—some already snoring, others clutching injured legs and groaning softly. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and the acrid odor of the iron ants’ acidic fluid corroding the rock. Shi Meng sat with his back to everyone, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, like a boulder soaked through by rain. The thick iron rod lay across his knees, his hands gripping the shaft, knuckles white from excessive force. Even from a distance, Lin Yi could see the taut, rigid lines of the muscles in his neck. Lin Yi repeated silently in his heart. This wasn’t exhaustion after a fight. It was something else—something like having a rope around your throat but being forced to keep breathing. Movement pulled at his wound, sending a tearing pain through his left arm. He sucked in a cold breath but didn’t stop. His footsteps were light, barely making a sound on the gravel and slippery moss. But the cave was too quiet—so quiet that even breathing felt intrusive. A few trial-takers who hadn’t yet fallen asleep lifted their heads. Their eyes darted over like startled insects, then quickly retreated. No one spoke. In a place like this, those who meddled died the fastest. Shi Meng’s body noticeably stiffened. His fingers tightened around the rod, knuckles emitting a faint *creak*. “Shi Meng He whipped his head around, eyes bulging as if about to split open, bloodshot pupils roiling with pain, fear, and a kind of near-despairing struggle. He opened his mouth, his lips trembling, but no complete sound emerged. "Lin Zi..." The two words squeezed out, hoarse like sandpaper grating over rust. Lin Yi didn’t look away. He stared into Shi Meng’s eyes, capturing every flicker of emotion. "Say it." His voice grew even lower, low enough that only the two of them could hear. "Otherwise, we’ll both die here. Die for nothing." From the other end of the cave came the dream-muttering of some trial-taker, indistinct. In the distance, a faint roar of a demon beast, weakened by layers of rock walls, turned into a dull echo. Time passed in the dripping water, each second tightening another loop around Shi Meng’s taut nerves. The iron rod he had been gripping tightly clattered to the ground, stirring a brief echo in the silent cave. A few sleeping trial-takers were startled, mumbling drowsily before sinking back into exhausted sleep. From between his fingers leaked a suppressed, shattered gasp. Not crying, but the sound of something heavier shattering in the chest cavity. "He... they took my mother." Shi Meng’s voice squeezed out from between his fingers, each word carrying a blood-flecked, sticky quality. "My mother... consumption. Coughing for six months. No money for medicine. I took a menial job with the sect, earning twelve copper coins a day... not enough. Not nearly enough." "Three days ago, Master Xuanyin... sent someone." Shi Meng’s hands slid from his face, bracing on his knees, the veins on their backs bulging. "They said my mother was 'invited' to the outer sect's medicine hut for 'restful recuperation.' Said... said as long as I obeyed, she could have the best medicine, the best room." He lifted his head, his face streaked with tears, mixed with sweat and dust, looking especially ferocious under the green light. "How did they want me to obey?" Shi Meng’s voice suddenly rose, then he fiercely pressed it back down, turning it into a hoarse whisper. "They wanted me... in the secret realm... to 'deal with' you. Lin Zi, they want your life!" The last few words were almost roared, but the volume remained low, like the final roar of a trapped beast in an iron cage. Or perhaps, Lin Yi couldn’t hear them anymore. All his attention was focused on that twisted face before him, torn apart by pain and guilt. His heart thumped heavily in his chest once, then sank, sinking into a deep, icy pool. So it wasn't a "maybe," not a "guess." It was a net already woven, waiting only for him to step into it. And the weaver of that net was even using the last bit of warmth around him as rope. Lin Yi felt the contract rune on his palm begin to burn. Not a dull ache, but a scorching. A cold, violent aura seeped from the rune, crawling up the meridians of his arm like countless tiny black ice needles swimming in his blood vessels. He clenched his teeth, using his willpower to firmly suppress that restlessness. The "Yin Ning Cao" seal on his right arm transmitted an even more piercing chill, barely neutralizing that burning heat. "Did you agree?" Lin Yi asked, his voice so calm it surprised even himself. Shi Meng violently shook his head, shaking it as if to throw it off. "I didn't! I... I wanted to fight them right then and there! But my mother... Lin Zi, my mother is still in their hands! She coughs all night, can't sleep, she's so thin she's just skin and bones... I..." He choked, unable to continue, covering his face with his hands again, shoulders trembling violently. Looking at this reckless man who, during the Bone-Tempering Platform trial, had dared to defy a senior disciple two levels above him because he couldn't stand others bullying the weak. Looking at this Shi Meng who, in the mine tunnels, would stuff the half of a coarse pancake he'd saved into the hands of a starving, shivering menial boy. And the wolf pack held the lamb's softest underbelly. "So what do you plan to do?" Lin Yi asked, his tone devoid of emotion. "Kill me, in exchange for your mother's life?" "I can't do it!" Shi Meng jerked his head up, bloodshot eyes fixed on Lin Yi. "I tried... just now, fighting the iron ants, I tried. Your back was right in front of my rod. I just had to aim a little off, use a bit more force... But I couldn't! Lin "Listen," he said, his voice soft yet carrying an undeniable force. "We're getting out of here alive. Together." "And then," Lin Yi continued, enunciating each word deliberately, "we'll go get your mother." Shi Meng's eyes widened. His mouth fell open, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. A few seconds later, a light, almost desperate, kindled deep in his eyes—faint, but real. "That's my business," Lin Yi cut him off, withdrawing his hand. "You only need to do one thing—from now on, don't let anyone see that you know about this. Including me." Shi Meng nodded vigorously, his head bobbing fast and heavy as if he might break his neck. "I understand! I understand! Brother Lin, I..." Before he could finish, his hand was already reaching into his tunic, trembling as he pulled something out. A thin, crude sliver of wood, roughly whittled from pine and left unpolished. Its edges had been worn smooth and rounded by constant handling. On the front, a clumsy knife had carved the character for "Shi" in crooked strokes. The back bore a few simple, seemingly meaningless patterns. The wooden talisman was tied with a faded red cord, the knot clumsy but sturdy. Its touch was warm. Not the natural warmth of wood, but the kind of heat that comes from long-term wear against the skin, body-warmed. The red cord still carried a faint trace of soapberry scent, starkly out of place amidst the cave's stench of blood and damp chill, yet piercingly clear as it reached his nose. It was the imprint of a mother, washing clothes under a dim oil lamp, coughing, her fingers chapped and cracked. "This talisman..." Shi Meng's voice grew hoarse again. He sniffed hard. "My mother went to the village shrine at the foot of the mountain last year to get it. She said it was a protective charm, could ward off evil... I know it's useless, cultivators don't believe in this stuff. But... but it's the only thing she could give me." "Brother Lin, you take it. If... if I go mad later, if they control me, if I attack you... use this to hit me. Hit me hard." He stared fixedly at Lin Yi, his eyes holding a plea that bordered on reverence. "This talisman carries my mother's presence... I'll recognize it. Just one moment, one moment is all I need to clear my head. Please... promise me." The rough wooden slice dug into his palm, its negligible warmth burning into the depths of his skin like an ember. He looked down at the crooked "Shi" character, at the worn, faded patterns on the red cord. Shi Meng let out a long, trembling sigh. That breath carried too much—the exhaustion of a burden lifted, the narrow escape from a hopeless situation, and a deeper fear he himself wasn't even aware of. He slumped back against the cave wall, closed his eyes, and tears squeezed from the corners, tracing paths down his grimy cheeks. Lin Yi tucked the talisman into his tunic, placing it against his chest. The rough wood pressed against his skin through the fabric, its warmth strangely neutralizing the cold, searing pain emanating from the contract rune. He leaned back against the wall again and closed his eyes. Elder Xuan Yin's kill order. Shi Meng's mother held hostage. Blackwind Rift Valley. Corrosive Iron Ants. And this... protective charm. He was no longer that "useless waste," kept in the dark, passively taking the blows. He now knew the chessboard existed, knew the opponent's moves, and even... held a perhaps insignificant token that might just tilt the game. The price was the seal on his right arm continuously draining his body heat. The price was the contract rune growing more unstable from his emotional turmoil, like a timed explosive buried within him. The price was he now had to shoulder the safety of Shi Meng's mother, tying the life of that old woman he'd never met, the one coughing up blood, to his own already dangerously fragile, leaky boat.