The sharp, inward-facing barbs of the iron shackles scraped against his wrists with each pulse, causing a throbbing pain that clenched Yue Tingzhou's jaw. He was brutally thrown into the cell, his spine slamming against the damp stone wall with a dull thud. The rush of blood in his throat was swallowed down, leaving only the metallic taste of rust lingering on his tongue. He slid down against the wall, which was covered in slimy moss, and the chill that seeped through his thin prison clothes penetrated his bones. But this bone-chilling cold was nothing compared to the crushing weight in his heart – the public trial at the Henglu Hall was to begin in less than an hour. At that time, the name "Yue Tingzhou" would be completely erased from the sect's registers and official records, and he would become a "traitor" who could be hunted down at will, with no protection whatsoever. Outside the cell, the rhythmic sound of footsteps echoed like a pendulum. Each fifteen minutes, the sound of leather boots scraping against the stone slabs resonated in the corridor, growing louder and then fading away, leaving a silence in its wake. Yue Tingzhou closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, trying to separate the searing pain spreading through his limbs – the true fire backlash from the melting of the Iron Law seal was burning along his meridian channels, leaving his dantian empty. He forced himself to focus. The brief hesitation in the Right Enforcer's voice as he announced the final judgment, the momentary dilation of his pupils, was like a cold, piercing shard that lodged itself in his present judgment. Master Shen... had he truly turned against Xie Wuchen? The sound of footsteps faded again, disappearing into the depths of the corridor. Yue Tingzhou opened his eyes. In the darkness, only the water stains in the corner reflected the faint light from the oil lamp outside the cell door. He reached out with his right hand, feeling for the edge of the shackles. His fingertips brushed against the inner side of the iron ring – due to years of wear, a thin, paper-like gap had formed there. He pressed his fingernail against the edge of the gap and slowly and steadily scraped. The rusty iron filings fell like snowflakes into the water in the corner, making a faint "hissing" sound, creating a dark ripple. Time flowed in the silence. He heard the sound of distant drums – it was the third watch of the night. In two more hours, when dawn broke, he would be escorted out of the hall and officially become a person without status. At that time, any sect disciple could legally take his life, and the Henglu Hall would not intervene. The scraping rhythm suddenly stopped. Footsteps sounded again outside the cell. But this time it was different – not the regular rhythm of leather boots, but two footsteps, light and heavy, the latter accompanied by a faint "click" of metal knee pads. Yue Tingzhou immediately stopped and hid his fingertips, which were covered in rust, in his sleeve, and sat still. The light from the oil lamp flickered on the bars of the cell door. Two figures stood outside. One was the guard, and the other – "Open the door." It was the Right Enforcer's voice. The chains rattled, and the cell door was pushed open. The Right Enforcer walked in alone, and the guard remained outside, closing the door behind him. The light from the oil lamp was blocked by his wide official robes, making the cell even darker. The Right Enforcer stopped three steps in front of Yue Tingzhou, and remained silent, reaching into his sleeve. It was a jade tablet. The jade tablet was pure white, reflecting a soft glow in the dim light. The Right Enforcer gently placed the jade tablet on the damp ground, his movements slow, ensuring that his fingertips did not touch any moss or water. After the jade tablet was placed, he raised his eyes and looked at Yue Tingzhou. "Before you leave, the hall customarily gives you something," the Right Enforcer said in a flat tone. "This is an excerpt from the 'Henglu,' and since you are being stripped of your nobility, you should memorize the sections on the 'Disposal of Traitors' so that you don't... die without knowing why." Yue Tingzhou looked down at the jade tablet. The surface of the jade tablet was smooth, with no visible markings. But in the faint light, he could see faint golden patterns flowing within the tablet – a coded message that could only be read with a specific technique. He raised his hand, which was locked in the shackles, and his fingertips touched the jade tablet. It was cold. Not the coolness of jade, but a bone-chilling cold that shot through his meridians. Yue Tingzhou's fingers The chains clanked as they were lowered, locking him securely. The footsteps gradually faded, and the cell fell silent once more. Yue Tingzhou leaned against the wall, slowly opening his palm. The jade tablet emitted a faint glow in the darkness, the chill having seeped into his skin, numbing his palm. He stared at the golden patterns swirling within the tablet, his breath catching in his chest. "Mist shrouds the third watch, the old locust tree on East Street." That was seven years ago, when he first joined the Heng Law Enforcement Agency, and it was the first clandestine route that Shen Litchuan had shown him. At the end of East Street stood a hundred-year-old locust tree, and beneath it was an abandoned cemetery. A hidden passage within the cemetery's offering table led directly to the outskirts of the city, to a wild burial ground. Only three people in the entire agency knew about this route. The right-hand enforcer was telling him – Shen Litchuan was still alive, and he was still operating in secret. This jade tablet was the contact token. Yue Tingzhou pressed the jade tablet against his chest, the chill seeping through his prison clothes, tightening his chest. He closed his eyes and began to regulate his breathing, drawing the remaining true fire from his dantian towards his palm, trying to neutralize the chill of the jade tablet. The true fire and the chill clashed, causing a tearing pain in his meridians. He broke out in a cold sweat, which trickled down his temples and onto the moss. Time slowly passed. The drumbeat sounded again – it was four o'clock in the morning. The sound of hurried footsteps came from outside the cell, more than one person. The chains rattled, and the cell door was roughly pushed open. Two戟卫 (戟卫, spear guards) entered, carrying new shackles – not made of玄铁 (Xuan Iron), but of ordinary 生铁 (raw iron), crude and heavy. "Get up," the lead戟卫 said in a cold voice, "the time has come." Yue Tingzhou opened his eyes and quietly tucked the jade tablet inside the lining of his prison clothes. He stood up, leaning against the wall, and the wound on his ankle was pulled, causing a tearing pain. The two戟卫 approached, removing his Xuan Iron shackles and replacing them with the new ones. The rough edges of the iron scraped against his bruises, causing him pain, but he clenched his teeth and made no sound. The new shackles were locked. The戟卫 flanked him on either side. "Go," the戟卫 said. He was led out of the cell and into a corridor. The oil lamps cast flickering shadows on the walls, and the sounds of rustling could be heard from the other cells – the other prisoners were watching in the darkness. At the end of the corridor was a heavy wooden door, and beyond it, the sound of a noisy crowd buzzed like a tide. The戟卫 pushed open the wooden door. The morning light flooded in, stinging Yue Tingzhou's eyes. He saw that hundreds of people had gathered in the square in front of the main hall – observers from various sects and factions, junior disciples of the Heng Law Enforcement Agency, and various informants mingled in the crowd. Everyone was staring at him, their gazes like needles piercing his back. He was led onto a stone platform. A stone table had been set up on the platform, and on it lay a short sword without a blade – a demotion sword. The blade was dark, and the handle was engraved with a獬豸 (Xie Zhi, a mythical creature) totem, but the eyes of the totem had been gouged out, leaving two empty sockets. Standing next to the stone table was an old man in a black robe, holding a roll of silk – the "Record of Demotion." The戟卫 pressed Yue Tingzhou to his knees in front of the stone table. The old man in the black robe unrolled the silk and began to read. His voice was old and monotonous, reciting the rights that were being stripped from him: he could no longer call himself a secret agent of the Heng Law Enforcement Agency, he could no longer possess the iron law badge, he could no longer receive protection from any sect, and he could no longer enter any immortal sects or Taoist schools. With each sentence, a murmur arose from the crowd, like wind blowing through a wheat field. Yue Tingzhou looked down at the stone ground. Rainwater from last night was collected in the cracks in the stone, reflecting the broken morning light. He saw his own reflection – his prison clothes were tattered, his face pale, the shackles leaving deep marks on his wrists. Suddenly, a shadow appeared next to his reflection. It was Zhu Hanli. She stood at the very front of the crowd, the fur of "The mark has been branded," the old man in the black robe said, retracting the jade seal. His voice remained flat. "From this point forward, you have no connection to the Heng律司, nor to any sect in the world." Silence descended upon the crowd below. Then, whispers arose again, louder this time, like boiling water. Yue Tingzhou, held up by the javelin guards, turned to face the crowd. He saw countless faces – some indifferent, some mocking, some pitying, some excited. He searched the crowd for Zhu Hanli, but she was no longer there. The white fox fur cloak had disappeared. The guards pushed him down from the bluestone platform, through the crowd. The people on either side automatically parted, their gazes following him like he was a walking corpse. Yue Tingzhou lowered his head, staring at his own toes – the iron shackles dragged across the bluestone slabs, making a harsh scraping sound, each step leaving a faint white mark on the stone. As he reached the edge of the plaza, a shout came from behind him. "Yue Tingzhou!" He stopped and turned around. It was the Right Attendant. He stood on the bluestone platform, holding a wooden box. The lid of the box was open, revealing his melted iron律纹章 – now a twisted lump of bronze, with traces of quenching stone still clinging to the surface. The Right Attendant handed the wooden box to the javelin guard beside him, who took it and walked to the fire pit in the center of the plaza, and threw the entire box into the fire. The flames leaped up, engulfing the wooden box. Rolling black smoke, mixed with the acrid smell of melting metal, drifted in the wind. A gasp arose from the crowd below, some covering their noses, others taking a half-step back. Yue Tingzhou looked at the black smoke, feeling the chill of the jade slip in his palm, so cold that his fingers were numb. The Right Attendant's voice cut through the noise, clear and distinct: "Heng律司 iron律 – those who rebel, whose纹章 is melted, are removed from the registry and will never be re-recorded." With those words, he turned and left the bluestone platform, disappearing into the shadows of the main hall. The guard pushed Yue Tingzhou forward. "Go." He was pushed out of the plaza and onto the long street outside the main hall. The morning mist had not yet cleared, and the street was deserted. Only a few early-rising vendors were pushing carts, the leaves on the carts dripping with dew, leaving winding trails of water on the bluestone. Yue Tingzhou stopped and looked back. The bronze gates of the Heng律司 main hall were slowly closing. The last sliver of light visible through the crack in the doors disappeared with a dull thud. The massive gates were closed, the copper nails forming the pattern of the饕餮 on the doors glinted coldly in the morning light, like countless eyes watching him. It was over. He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, causing a sharp pain in his chest. He took a step, the iron shackles dragging across the stone, the sound echoing in the empty street. After ten steps, a hurried sound of footsteps came from behind him. "Wait!" Yue Tingzhou stopped, without turning around. The footsteps drew closer, stopping three feet behind him. It was the voice of a young man, panting: "Yue, Yue大人... no, Yue先生..." Yue Tingzhou turned around. It was a young man in the uniform of a Heng律司 auxiliary, about fifteen or sixteen years old, with a pale face, clutching an oil paper package tightly in his hand. The young man thrust the oil paper package into his hand, his fingers cold and trembling. "Someone... someone asked me to give this to you..." the young man said in a hushed voice, his eyes darting around, "They said... they said it's an old thing, that you might need it." After saying that, he turned and ran, his footsteps quickly disappearing into the mist. Yue Tingzhou looked down at the oil paper package in his hand. The package was small, tied with a hemp rope, and the surface was stained with oil, emitting a smell of cooked food – it was a baked cake. He untied the hemp rope and opened the oil paper. Inside were three baked cakes, still warm. Beneath the baked cakes was a small piece of neatly folded silk. Yue Tingzhou took out the silk and unfolded it. A line of handwriting was written on it in charcoal: "Old man at Dong Street, at the third hour of the night watch. Bring the cake." The handwriting was 横, represents "sky." Vertical, represents "earth." This was a basic cipher that Master Shen Lichi had taught him in his early years, used to transmit battlefield intelligence. However, the fragment of the Iron Law seal that the right-hand officer had placed in his hand—its edges were sharp enough to cut skin, and its freshly broken surface reflected the flickering light of the oil lamp outside the cell—was marked with three groups of twisted runes using an extremely fine needle. When he stroked those indentations with his fingertips, he could feel the roughness left by the metal being forcibly etched. It wasn't the basic cipher. 岳停舟's fingertips traced the runes, and memories flooded back as if a dam had broken. The bitter aroma of pine ash mixed with the coolness of ice seemed to linger on his nostrils, even overpowering the musty, earthy smell of the cell. Master Shen Lichi's study, a snowy night, the crackling embers in the charcoal basin spitting out sparks. His master held his hand and wrote the double-encrypted rules on the宣纸, his warm palm pressed against his cool palm: "Feign compliance, strike from the shadows. The first layer is bait, the second layer is the blade." More and more scratches appeared on the wall. Horizontal and vertical lines intertwined, forming a rudimentary grid. 岳停舟 filled in the runes from the fragment into the corresponding positions, his knuckles turning white from the effort, his knuckles protruding like they were about to pierce his skin. The first layer of information quickly emerged: Cloud Peak Palace, three layers of guards, changing shifts. This intelligence was valuable, but not enough to reverse the situation. He felt a tightness in his chest, as if something had sunk. The sound of the guard's footsteps grew closer. The sound of leather boots on the damp stone floor came from far away, each step accompanied by the sound of water. 岳停舟 stopped moving and put the fragment under his tongue. The metallic tang of rust permeated his mouth, mixing with saliva and creating a metallic astringency. He lowered his head, feigning sleep, and adjusted his breathing to the shallow, rapid breaths of a wounded person—inhaling with a slight rasp in his throat, exhaling short and quickly, his shoulder blades trembling slightly with each breath. The sound of the boots lingered outside the cell door for three breaths. A narrow shadow fell from the gap in the bars, landing on the puddle at the foot of his bed, shattering the faint light on the water's surface. The edge of the shadow wavered slightly, indicating that someone outside was listening intently. The shadow moved away. The sound of footsteps receded again, this time dragging longer, the sound of the soles of the boots rubbing against the stone, as if hesitating whether to turn back. 岳停舟 spat out the fragment, his tongue numbed for a moment by the astringency of rust. He continued to scratch, the edges of his fingernails already burning. What was the second layer of the encryption key? Master Shen Lichi's habit was to—a sudden memory crashed into his mind, bringing with it the chill of that snowy night. That snowy night, after explaining the encryption rules, his master got up and opened the window. The cold wind blew in with snowflakes, the charcoal fire flickered, and a few snowflakes fell on the宣纸, instantly turning into dark, wet spots. "停舟, look." Master Shen Lichi pointed to the dark mountains outside the window, his exhaled breath disappearing into the cold air, "People only see the torches on the main road, thinking that the army must pass through here. But the real trick is always hidden in the invisible waterway." Waterway. 岳停舟's fingers froze in mid-air, his fingernails filled with stone powder. He suddenly looked down at an insignificant annotation in the first layer of information: "North side, old irrigation canal, dry position three feet." At the time, he thought this was just a description of the terrain. But now—he quickly rearranged these few words, his fingertips虚划 on the wall, using "waterway" as an offset, and did a secondary mapping on the grid. Stone powder sifted down from the scratches, like fine snow. The scratches on the wall came alive. They twisted, extended, and connected to form completely new patterns, seeming to have life in the dim light. A hidden path unfolded before 岳停舟's eyes: the north side of Cloud Peak Palace, an irrigation canal abandoned more than thirty years ago. The entrance was buried under the rubble washed away by mountain floods, but the core structure was intact. The canal led directly to the second-floor storage area of the palace, bypassing all the main guards. Next to the guard shift time, a small line of text appeared: "At the hour of the boar, there is a thirty Fragments, when transmitted, are a risk. 岳停舟 clenched his fists, his fingernails digging deep into the calluses on the palms of his hands, the pain sharp and intense. The anger hadn't disappeared, but it had transformed – from the coldness of being abandoned by his sect, to a complex understanding of his mentor's desperate gamble, like a burning iron ball rolling inside his chest. 沈砺川 was betting, betting that he would understand, betting that even after losing everything, he would still hold that hidden blade. The sound of footsteps came again. This time, it was faster, the rhythm of the leather boots on the ground dense like drumbeats. 岳停舟 wiped the markings on the wall with the soles of his feet. The rough canvas of his shoes rubbed against the stone, making a soft, rustling sound. The moss and moisture blurred the marks, making them indistinct and unrecognizable. He stuffed the fragment into a tear in the lining of his prison uniform, placing it against his chest. The coolness of the metal gradually warmed from his body temperature, like a heart starting to beat again, bumping against his ribs with each pulse. The sound of chains rattling outside his cell door echoed in the hallway. It wasn't an informant. The metallic scraping of a key being inserted into the lock was unusually clear, with a rusty, hesitant sound, followed by the sharp creaking of the door hinges – the hinges were dry, making the movement difficult. 岳停舟 looked up and saw a stranger guard sticking his head in. The man had a scar that ran diagonally from his eyebrow to his mouth, like a centipede in the dim light, but his eyes were calm, like a deep pool, without a ripple. The guard lowered his voice, speaking quickly, his breath condensing into white mist in the humid air: "祝娘子 is waiting for you outside the city walls at the yizhuang. Take the item you just received. Now, go to the west side drainage outlet." Before the words were finished, he had already withdrawn from the doorway, the sound of the chain being reattached light as a sigh. 祝寒梨 stepped out of the shadows. Moonlight shone on her face, her complexion whiter than the moonlight. Dewdrops clung to her shoulders, and strands of wet hair stuck to her cheeks. She held a cloth bag in her arms, wrapped tightly, held close to her chest. 岳停舟 didn't ask, "How did you get in?" He watched her walk to the offering table and place the cloth bag on the dusty surface. Her fingertips were trembling. A subtle tremor. But she didn't hide it. "I memorized the map that 沈师 gave me," 岳停舟 said, taking the fragment of the iron律纹章 from his pocket and placing it on the edge of the table. The sharp edges of the fragment glinted in the moonlight. "The abandoned water conduit on the north side of the Cloud Peak Palace. The entrance is behind the dried waterfall, with guards changing shifts every two hours, with a half-hour gap during the change." 祝寒梨 didn't speak. She untied the cloth bag and revealed a ledger. The ledger was old, with a deep blue hard cover, the corners worn. Four characters were written in ink on the cover: 万镜总账. The handwriting was bold and elegant, the style of 祝万山, 祝寒梨's father. She opened the ledger. The paper was brittle and yellowed, and rustling sounds of dust fell as it was turned. Moonlight shone on the pages, and the old ink seemed to come alive, twisting in the pale light. "癸未年腊月," her voice was hoarse, like sandpaper on stone, "Twelve灵枢 were transported to Cloud Peak Mountain. Recipient...谢." The last character, she barely uttered it. 岳停舟 walked to the offering table. He lowered his head and looked at the line of characters. The ledger used镖行 code, but he understood it – 沈砺川 had taught him. Each character was like a nail, hammered into his eyes one by one. 灵枢. Not coffins. In the江湖, "灵枢" specifically refers to something: a container used to hold the living's meridians. Usually made of jade or special wood, with a spirit-gathering array engraved inside, which can slowly extract a person's true energy, destiny, and even soul, and seal it inside. Twelve. "These灵枢," 岳停舟 said, his voice calm, surprising even himself, "were they later embedded in the '命转轮' at the core of the palace?" 祝寒梨 looked up sharply. Her eyes shone brightly in the darkness, like two burnt-out embers. "How do you know about the He looked at her. The moonlight shone on her face, highlighting the tense lines of her jaw and the faint moisture in her eyes. But she didn't cry. Her fists were clenched, her fingernails digging into her palms. The blue veins on the back of her hands bulged, like the patterns left by rivers flowing over rocks. He remembered the last sentence in Shen Li's encrypted message: "Master Yue may not be aware, but the records will not lie." "Master Yue may not be aware." Four words, so light. So trivial. Like a joke. "The year your father escorted the shipment," Yue Tingzhou said, "it was the year of the Guiwei, thirteen years ago. At that time, the 'Ten Commandments' had just appeared in the martial arts world, and no one knew about the 'Life-Borrowing Token'. Master Xie publicly stated that this shipment of 'Spirit Cores' was intended to 'preserve the martial arts inheritance of dying masters'." A shiver ran through Zhu Hanli's shoulders. "The escort agency's rule is not to ask about the origin of the goods, only to ensure safe delivery," she murmured, as if reciting a family motto. "The 'Wan Mirror Escort Bureau'... has never asked too many questions." "But eventually, it will always be noticed," Yue Tingzhou's voice was flat. "In the past thirteen years, those who had their essence drained have appeared one after another. Their meridians withered, their true energy reversed, and their deaths were gruesome. Rumors began to spread in the martial arts world that the 'Ten Commandments' marriage contract would absorb a person's cultivation. Your father, who managed the 'Wan Mirror Intelligence Network', must have heard of this." He paused. "But he didn't speak out." Zhu Hanli closed her eyes. She heard the voice of her aunt, Zhu Jianlin, echoing in the quiet of many nights: "Hanli, some shipments... once accepted, cannot be returned. Returning will bring doom to the entire escort agency, hundreds of people." She had always thought her aunt was talking about the risks. Now she understood. Her aunt was talking about guilt. "Master Xie sent people to the escort agency today," Zhu Hanli opened her eyes, her voice steadier, but colder. "He sent a message to my aunt, saying that if the 'Zhu Family' still wants to establish itself in the martial arts world, they must hand me over to him. He said that he could ignore the matter of the records." Yue Tingzhou's pupils constricted slightly. "What did your aunt say?" "My aunt neither agreed nor refused," Zhu Hanli's fingertips brushed over the brittle yellow pages of the records. "She said she would wait for my decision." The oil lamp suddenly burst. With a "crack," the flame soared and then subsided, and the light and shadows flickered in the room. Yue Tingzhou saw the expression on Zhu Hanli's face - it wasn't anger, nor was it fear. It was a deeper, almost desperate clarity. "If I were to choose the escort agency," she said softly, "I would have already tied you up and sent you to Yun Ding Mountain." "You didn't." "Because it would be useless," she raised her eyes, looking directly at him. "Master Xie will not let go of the 'Zhu Family'. The records are a bargaining chip in his hands, but evidence in mine. He can use this to extort your aunt today, and tomorrow he can use it to destroy the entire 'Wan Mirror Clan'. The only way out..." She didn't finish her sentence. Yue Tingzhou finished for her: "The only way out is to dismantle the 'Life-Borrowing Wheel' and reveal the 'Mother Scroll' to the public. Let the entire martial arts world see what Master Xie is doing, and see whose lives are contained within those 'Spirit Cores'. At that time, no one will care what the 'Zhu Family' transported thirteen years ago, but they will care about how many people Master Xie has killed with those things." Zhu Hanli nodded. The movement was slight, but significant. "That's why I choose you," she said. Three words. Three light words, falling in the silent cemetery, like three massive boulders crashing down. Yue Tingzhou's breathing faltered for a moment. He looked at her. In the moonlight, her face was as pale as paper, but her eyes were shining brightly. There was no usual swagger and boldness of a martial arts practitioner in her eyes, only a calmness born of a decision to risk everything. A calmness of knowing she was walking a path to her own destruction, but no longer hesitating. He remembered “The secret passage that Master Shen provided leads directly from the second layer to the interlayer between the second and third layers,” Yue Tingzhou traced a thin line with his finger. “Entering from here allows you to bypass the restraints on the second layer. However, there are patrol puppets in the interlayer, passing by every half hour. We need to cross the interlayer between two patrols and open the hidden door on the third layer.” “How do you open the hidden door?” “It requires two keys,” Yue Tingzhou took out another item from his sleeve – a palm-sized copper plaque, engraved with intricate cloud patterns. “This is the Yun Ding Order given by Master Shen, which can unlock the first lock. The second lock…” He looked at Zhu Hanli. “Requires the flagpole of the Zhu family’s banner. Master Shen said that when your father transported the Lingzhu into the mountains, Xie Wuchen gave him a specially made flagpole as a token of trust. That thing was later modified into the key for the second lock.” Zhu Hanli’s breathing hitched. She slowly straightened up, reaching into her sleeve. After a moment of searching, she pulled out a three-inch-long copper tube. One end of the tube had an interface for inserting the flagpole, and the other end was engraved with a small “Zhu” character. “It’s my father’s heirloom,” her voice was hoarse. “My aunt said that he clutched this tightly before he died.” Yue Tingzhou took the copper tube. It felt cool and heavy in his hand. He examined it carefully in the moonlight and indeed found extremely fine array patterns engraved on the inner wall of the copper tube. They were not decorations, but the teeth of a key. “Three days from now,” he placed the copper tube and the Yun Ding Order side by side on the map. “We will meet at the confluence of the dry waterfalls. I will break through the guards on the first layer, and you will open the hidden door. After entering…” “I will retrieve the main scroll, and you will dismantle the turning wheel,” Zhu Hanli echoed. “The division of labor is the same as before.” “But this time, there is no way back,” Yue Tingzhou looked at her. “Once we enter, Xie Wuchen will immediately detect it. People from Huo Qingya will surround the underground palace within a quarter of an hour. We will have at most one incense stick of time.” “One incense stick is enough.” “It might be a death sentence.” Zhu Hanli smiled. It was a faint smile, almost not a smile at all, just a slight upward twitch of the corners of her mouth. But Yue Tingzhou saw the light in her eyes – not despair, not heroism, but a kind of almost fanatical determination. “My father transported twelve coffins into the mountains,” she said softly. “I must at least retrieve the people inside.” Yue Tingzhou was silent. He picked up a fragment of the iron law emblem from the edge of the table. The sharp edge cut into his fingertips, and blood beads emerged, shining black in the moonlight. He pulled it apart with force – *Snap*. The fragment broke into two halves. One half was larger, the other smaller. He handed the larger piece to Zhu Hanli. “Then let’s both be outlaws.” Zhu Hanli took the fragment. Her fingertips brushed against the rough calluses on his palm, a warm and fleeting sensation. She looked down at the half-piece of iron in the palm of her hand, still bearing the scorch marks from when it was melted, and Yue Tingzhou’s blood. She clenched it tightly. The edge of the fragment cut into her palm, a sharp and real pain. “Okay,” she said. “Together.” The two words took root and blossomed. The air in the room suddenly changed. It was no longer stagnant, but a taut, charged stillness. Like a bowstring drawn tight, like a storm about to break. Yue Tingzhou put away the map and the copper tube, and Zhu Hanli closed the ledger and tucked it back into the cloth. Just then – The cry of an owl came from outside the window. It was piercing, short, and repeated three times. Zhu Hanli’s expression changed. “A lookout. They’ve found this place.” Yue Tingzhou had already moved to the window. He looked out through the gap in the window, and in the moonlight, he could vaguely see several dark figures moving in the wild grass. They were not fast, but steady, moving in a fan shape to encircle the manor. “At least six people,” he said softly. “People from Huo Qingya. They are wearing night clothes, but the boots are official style.” The night wind brushed against his cheek, carrying the chill of early winter. The sound of hurried footsteps came from behind, growing closer. He quickened his pace, his true energy surging through his damaged meridians, causing a pain that felt like a knife scraping against his flesh. But he didn't stop. The half-piece of the Iron Law emblem fragment in his palm pressed against his skin, reminding him that what he held was not just a key, but also a shackle. From this day forward, he was no longer Yue Tingzhou, the secret agent of the Heng Law Enforcement Agency, nor was he a righteous disciple sheltered by his sect. He was a vagrant. He was a rebel wanted by the entire martial world. He was a fugitive who had to achieve a victory that would overturn everything in order to clear his name, and also to clear the evidence of the crimes of his allied family. A patch of trees appeared ahead. He darted into them, using the trees for cover, and veered north. The footsteps behind him were slightly further away, but he hadn't lost them. Huo Qingya's people were well-trained, like a persistent infection. He needed more speed. A more decisive route. A plan that left no room for retreat. Three days from now, at the dry waterfall. At the Cloud Peak Underground Palace. Twelve spiritual organs. A desperate gamble. The Heavenly Mandate Scroll. Each word was like a stone, forming a path leading to a cliff. He and Zhu Hanli were already standing on the edge of the cliff; the next step was to leap. Either he would be shattered into pieces. Or, in the midst of the fall, he would tear open this world that devours people. The night falcon called again. This time, it was very close, almost directly overhead. Yue Tingzhou looked up and saw a black bird perched on a withered branch, its head tilted as it looked at him, its eyes gleaming with an eerie red light in the moonlight. It wasn't a night falcon. It was a puppet bird. Xie Wuchen's informant. He raised his hand, and a half-piece of the Iron Law emblem fragment flew out, precisely hitting the puppet bird's eye socket. The bird stiffened, fell from the branch, and crashed to the ground, making a crisp metallic sound. But it was already too late. Further away, more red dots appeared in the darkness. Like the eyes of a pack of hungry wolves. Yue Tingzhou turned and ran into the depths of the dense forest. Behind him, the pack of wolves began to chase. He had nothing with him except a local map, a half-piece of a fragment, and an appointment three days from now. Only a heart that must win. The wind howled. Like a funeral dirge, and like a charge.