At the end of the Shen hour, the wind whipped up the yellow soil and slammed it against the awning of the tea stall, the sound like countless hands slapping against cotton and linen. The earthy smell mixed with the bitter taste of cheap tea, and Yue Tingzhou rotated the coarse ceramic teacup three times before putting it down. His fingertips were tinged a faint blue from the lingering energy, having just tried to circulate a breath of true qi to warm his hand. The wound on his forearm, hidden beneath the blood-soaked bandage from yesterday's escapade in the secret vault, was still raw. The wound, aggravated by the forced circulation of his third-level true qi, caused a dull, stabbing pain. Across from him, Zhu Hanli held a forged iron short spear, her fingertips barely touching the rough surface of the millet cake, a shard clinging to her lips. Her gaze suddenly fixed on something at the end of the post road, and the half-eaten cake stopped mid-air, her jaw clenched. A grey-clad old man, clutching his abdomen, stumbled towards them, his shoes scraping against the yellow soil, each step leaving a bloody indentation. The blood-stained grey cloth left a long trail on the yellow soil, and the spittle he coughed up floated in the wind, carrying a sickeningly sweet metallic scent that instantly overwhelmed the tea aroma. He staggered and collided with the corner of the tea stall, the hard wood striking his wound, causing him to gasp in pain. He clutched the wooden leg of the tea stall, the blood dripping from his fingers into the soil, his eyes fixed on the copper镖牌 hanging from their waists. The 万鏡纹 on the牌牌 glinted in the sunlight. He trembled, trying to speak, but instead, a mouthful of blood gurgled out. Yue Tingzhou instantly pressed his fingertips onto the鲛皮-wrapped handle of the hidden blade at his waist, the rough texture scraping against his fingertips, his knuckles turning white. He glanced at the other three customers at the tea stall: a cloth merchant, a traveling monk, and a woman selling mountain goods, all engrossed in their own activities. No one was looking their way. He subtly nodded to Zhu Hanli. Zhu Hanli picked up another bowl of cold tea from the table and handed it to him. The bowl had a chipped edge, the rough ceramic surface leaving a white mark on her fingertips. Her voice was lowered to a level only they could hear, using the clipped tone understood by those who ran errands for the 万鏡镖局: "Passing through with a镖, which road are you taking?" The old man trembled as he took the bowl, blood dripping from his fingers into the tea, turning it a murky brown. He coughed again, his voice a raspy whisper like a broken bellows: "Cold Pool镖, the red post was the old one." Zhu Hanli's fingertips tightened around the rim of the bowl, and a piece of the rough ceramic chipped off without her noticing. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. "Cold Pool" was the name of the mountain where her mother died, and the "old red post" was a secret code understood only by the former accountants who handled marriage contracts at the Zhu family. This man was one of the survivors they had been searching for over the past three years. "I... I was the one who registered the marriage contracts and handled the seals..." The old man was about to finish his sentence when the sound of horses' hooves echoed from the end of the post road, like a hammer blow to the heart. The crisp sound of iron hooves on the cobblestones grew louder, mixed with the gruff shouts of the pursuers: "Search! That old ghost won't go far. Catch him alive and you'll get a hundred silver!" Yue Tingzhou immediately stood up, supporting the old man's arm with his left hand, his fingertips precisely pressing on the 寸关 point on his wrist. Although his pulse was faint, it was steady, confirming that he could still walk. His right foot subtly wiped away the blood that had dripped on the edge of the table, grinding it into the soil, leaving no trace. Zhu Hanli quickly tore off a piece of the black-edged镖旗 from her waist and pressed it against the old man's wound to stop the bleeding. She then stepped in front of him, raising her voice to the tea stall owner: "The bill is for the 万鏡镖局." She turned and helped the old man towards the dense forest at the roadside. The cold, damp leaves of the oak trees brushed against her cheek, leaving a faint red streak. The musty smell of decaying leaves mixed with the fresh scent of pine needles. As soon as they had hidden behind a massive, three-person 岳停舟 turned his head to look at 祝寒梨. She was looking down, her fingertips quickly manipulating the beads of the small silver abacus in her palm. The brass beads clicked softly, and her fingertips made a quick southwest gesture – there was an abandoned mountain shrine in the hollow, a former outpost of the Wan Jing镖局 ten years ago, a place unknown to outsiders. The silver beads on the abacus continued to turn, and the sound of rustling leaves suddenly changed direction, moving towards the ancient pine tree. The wet, cold leaves clung to his boots. 岳停舟 moved his foot, and his ankle was stiff and painful. The musty smell of decaying leaves mixed with the scent of pine resin, which he inhaled. He clenched the knuckles of the hidden blade at his waist, his fingers turning white. The spiritual power of the third level of the 通脉境 was blocked by his old wound. A direct confrontation was not the best option. The three pursuers in dark-colored劲装 had already reached three steps in front of the tree. Their boots were stained with fresh black blood, and the frost-hawk emblem on their waistbands gleamed with a cold, icy light in the shade. The person in the lead suddenly drew his sword, and the wind of the blade swept past, stinging his cheek with a sharp pain. "Who dares to rob the 霜隼卫's镖!" 岳停舟 shouted and flashed out, his elbow hitting the waist of the person in the lead. The hard edge of the dark iron劲装 armor made his forearm numb. The person groaned and fell backward, his sword clattering on the decaying leaves, the sound startling a flock of crows perched on the branches, and their flapping wings sent pine needles fluttering down. "Wan Jing镖局's dogs, all of them!" The leader of the pursuers roared, swinging his sword horizontally. The snake venom on the blade emitted a faint blue light as it brushed past 岳停舟's nose. 岳停舟 dodged sideways, catching the spine of the knife with his fingertips and twisting. The精钢 sword, made of fine steel, came off with a sound and was nailed to the side of a pine tree. The blade vibrated for three breaths before stopping. The third pursuer retreated half a step and pulled out a signal arrow wrapped in sulfur, placing it on the bow. He flicked a lighter, and sparks flew, igniting the wick. The pungent smell of sulfur made him cough. "岳镖头 is protecting someone, I'll cover him!" 祝寒梨 stood in front of the surviving账房, holding a short gun to block the incoming short blade of the other person. She swept the butt of the gun at the person's knee, and a sharp cracking sound echoed, and the person fell to the ground, groaning in pain. 岳停舟 jumped forward, slapping the bow out of the archer's hand while simultaneously a venomous short blade from the archer's waist sliced across his left arm. The cold, sharp pain surged up along the meridians, and numbness quickly spread across half of his shoulder. The signal arrow fell into the decaying leaves, the sparks were extinguished by the damp soil, and a faint white smoke rose. The sounds of boots suddenly stopped, leaving only the sound of the wind blowing through the pine branches. She was as agile as a hunting hawk, disarming the remaining person in three moves, her steel boots pressing on the person's throat, her grip firm and unwavering. The surviving账房 leaned against the tree trunk, coughing uncontrollably, blood foam spilling from his mouth. He tremblingly reached into his sleeve and pulled out a stack of crumpled桑皮 paper. When no one was paying attention, he stuffed it into 祝寒梨's sleeve. The rough texture of the paper brushed against her wrist, still warm from the person's chest, stained with dried blood, and it rubbed against her skin, causing a slight pain. 岳停舟 raised his hand and pressed down on the acupuncture points and vital points of the three people, dragging the bodies into a hollow tree cavity behind the ancient pine tree and covering the opening with thick decaying leaves. He pulled out a vial of antidote from his pocket and poured it on the wound. The spicy powder stung his eyebrows, causing them to twitch involuntarily. He opened the waistband of the pursuers and saw that the tracking symbol on one of them was glowing with a bright red light, and a faint fluctuation of spiritual power was transmitting in the direction of the symbol. "According to the tracking symbol, a large group of pursuers will arrive within half an hour." He pressed his hand on the bleeding wound on his left arm, the blood had been coagulated by the powder, but the numbness hadn't subsided. He silently performed the 静潭诀, but the spiritual energy of the third level of the 通脉境 was blocked like a frozen river The surviving accountant leaned against the leg of the offering table, coughing for a long time. He coughed up blood that splattered on his dull trousers, and only after catching his breath did he speak. Zhu Hanli took out the remaining fragment from the sleeve, the yellowish-brown mulberry paper was rough and abrasive against the fingertips, half of the page was stained with dark brown blood, and the remaining crimson official seal still had the oily sheen of old ink, mixed with a faint metallic scent that filled the nostrils. "I was the accountant at the marriage registration office, a branch of the Tianming Book," the old man's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper on wood, and his thin fingers trembled as he traced the hidden patterns on the edge of the fragment. "The elders of various sects secretly paid money to obtain high-matching marriage slots, and this seal register is the evidence. I've kept it hidden for ten years. I heard that the young master of the Zhu family is investigating old cases, and I'm risking my life to hand it over to you." Yue Tingzhou scanned the seals page by page, his fingertips pausing on the signatures of "Xuanjian Sect Head" and "Qingwei Cave Elder." He turned the rough earthenware bowl filled with hot water at his feet three times before speaking, his voice flat, like a pronouncement: "According to the records, these seventeen seals correspond to the leaders of thirteen sects, which completely matches the list of names obtained from the spirit mirror. The marriage seals are indeed linked to the list of 'life-borrowing' vouchers." As he spoke, the numbness in his left arm surged along his meridians, and he silently performed the Jingtan technique again to suppress it. The qi stagnation was even more severe, the poison was not completely cleared, and at most, he could only mobilize thirty percent of his spiritual energy. He didn't mention this, only pressing his fingers on the bandage covering the wound. Zhu Hanli rattled the abacus three times, calculating the remaining time until the thirty-five-day deadline. When her fingertips turned to the last page of the fragment, she suddenly stiffened. A bead popped out of the yellow abacus and clattered onto the bluestone slab, the echo reverberating in the empty temple for a moment before fading. In the lower left corner of the page was a crimson private seal, missing a corner, with the three characters "Su Wanjing" in small seal script—it was a seal she had seen since she was a child. During festivals, her mother gave her lucky money in red envelopes, and the crimson ink always rubbed off on the corners, staining them red and impossible to wipe off. The surviving accountant glanced at the seal, and his face instantly turned as white as snow on a mountaintop. His lips trembled as he was about to speak, but his head tilted, and he bumped against the leg of the offering table. A muffled sound was followed by unconsciousness again, and the remaining half of his sentence remained stuck in his throat. Yue Tingzhou leaned over to take a look. He had seen this seal when he was checking the old bills of the Zhu family thirty years ago, but he didn't ask any further questions. He simply took out a "Frost Falcon" token from his pocket and weighed it in his hand. The cold, hard iron token pressed against his palm, causing him pain. "According to the law, the tracking rune has been triggered for almost half an hour. The people of Huo Qingya will search the ravine in another fifteen minutes at most." Zhu Hanli stuffed the fragment into a waterproof interlayer in the镖囊 and pressed it firmly. Her fingertips were still cold, and her words were certain, like beads on an abacus: "The people of the southwestern Yi region, Shama Ashi, can identify traces of old paper, and even bloodstains from ten years ago can restore the characters underneath. We will take the secret passage around the back mountain and go to the southwestern region, disguising ourselves as escaped refugees. This fragment is a valuable commodity that can topple the thirteen sects. It must not fall into the hands of the pursuers." The wind blew in through the broken door of the temple, causing the flames to flicker. The words were spoken with certainty, effectively paving the way for them to obtain the Tianming Book's master copy by three-tenths. The risk of the Yue and Zhu families being listed as rebellious sects was at least reduced by three percent. The three of them extinguished the fire, the sparks sputtering and dying in the damp soil. They wrapped themselves in thick cotton blankets and helped the unconscious surviving accountant towards the door. As they pushed open the dilapidated temple door, the smell of burning pine branches drifted from the entrance of the ravine. Four or five streaks of bright yellow light flickered, causing eye pain, and the sound of hooves mixed with rough shouts came on the wind. The mane of the