The stone gate slammed shut, severing the last trace of mountain wind and every sound from the outside world. Inside the Discipline Hall, light was pinned to the walls by several ever-burning lamps, stretching out long and rigid shadows like prisoners under torture. The air was thick with a sticky mixture of sandalwood and the smell of aged paper scrolls, but beneath it lurked something colder and harder—like raw iron, or the damp earth accumulated deep in a cellar for years, boring straight into the lungs. The two Discipline Hall disciples released their grip. Lin Yi staggered a step, his right arm hanging limp, the pain in his ribs sending darkness swimming across his vision. He clenched his jaw and braced his weight on his left foot. His knees trembled, faintly, uncontrollably. Cold sweat crawled down his spine. "Sit." The voice came from behind the stone table, hoarse, like sandpaper scraping stone. The stone chair was freezing, piercing straight through his thin disciple's robes into his flesh. Lin Yi sat down slowly, careful not to let his injured right arm touch anything. He raised his head. Two men sat behind the long stone table. On the left was an old man, his face withered, his eyelids drooping, but the light slipping through the cracks of his eyes was needle-sharp. His right hand rested on the table, index and middle fingers tapping the surface in turn—tap, tap, tap. The rhythm was monotonous, yet each strike fell into the gap between heartbeats. On the right was a man of about thirty, his face pale and beardless, his expression as bland as a handful of ash. An animal-skin register lay open before him, and he held a slender brush in his hand, the tip suspended in the air, untouched by ink. "Name." The old man spoke. "Lin Yi." His voice was hoarse, but his enunciation clear. "In today's Bone-Tempering Platform trial, you fought Shi Yong. What was the origin of the force you used at the end?" The question struck directly, allowing no room for evasion. Lin Yi's fingertips tapped lightly against his knee. It was a habit when he thought, but now he had to restrain it—the interrogator's eyes were too keen. He drew a breath, the stabbing in his ribs making it shudder. "This disciple... does not know the specifics." He spoke, keeping his pace very slow. Every word passed through his mind first. "It seems to be a family heirloom, a fragment of black jade, worn since childhood." Lin Yi lowered his eyes, staring at his left hand resting on his leg. "Today on the platform, driven to desperation by Shi Yong, on the verge of life and death, it suddenly grew burning hot. Then that force... surged out uncontrollably." Tap. The old man's finger stopped on the table. "Where is the jade fragment?" "After the force erupted," Lin Yi raised his head, meeting the other's gaze, "it crumbled to dust." The young interrogator's brush tip moved, scratching a mark on the animal-skin register. The sound of the nib scraping against hide was very light, but in the deathly still room it was like a blade scraping bone. "What heretical art have you cultivated?" the old man asked again. "It was not a heretical art." Lin Yi shook his head, the motion pulling at his rib injury. He stifled a groan, a bead of sweat rolling from his temple. "This disciple has never actively cultivated anything. That force... was beyond my control." "Beyond your control?" The young interrogator spoke for the first time, his voice flat and without inflection. "At the third layer of Qi Refinement, you unleashed force enough to grievously wound someone at the fifth layer of Body Tempering, and you call that loss of control?" The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees further. Lin Yi could feel the fabric of his back soaked through with cold sweat, clinging wetly to his skin. The faint crackling of lamp oil burning beside his ear magnified, along with that distinctive, slightly bitter, scorched smell. He stared into the young interrogator's eyes. There was nothing in them, only a cold, detached scrutiny. "This disciple does not know." He repeated, mixing in a trace of bewilderment and grievance at just the right measure. "Had I not been driven to the edge of the platform, with Shi Yong's fist already at my face, this disciple would never have..." He stopped, drawing a deep breath that intensified the agony in his ribs. "This disciple would never have used something he himself did not understand." Silence. The old man's turbid eyes fixed on him, and his "This disciple would also like to know." He spoke, his voice pressing down on a fire, the flame controlled just enough not to burn through reason, "If the sect trial exists only for the strong to advance, why such an 'arrangement'?" The old man's finger, tapping the table, stopped. "You question the fairness of the drawing?" "This disciple does not dare." Lin Yi lowered his head, but his tone did not soften. "Only... before Shi Yong stepped onto the stage, Senior Brother Xiao Han spoke to him in low voices below the platform. This disciple was too far to hear clearly, but he saw Senior Brother Xiao Han smile." He raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the two interrogators' faces. "He smiled... very coldly." When these words landed, the air in the room congealed for a moment. The young interrogator's brush stopped completely. He looked up, exchanging a glance with the old man. That glance was brief, but Lin Yi caught it—it was not surprise, but something deeper, like confirmation, like revulsion. Revulsion at internal sect strife. And weariness. "Xiao Han." The old man repeated the name, his voice even hoarser, "You mean, he manipulated the trial, seeking to use the rules to remove you?" "This disciple has no evidence." Lin Yi replied immediately, his tone softening, but his words clear, "Only what I saw with my own eyes, what I heard with my own ears. If I had not been forced to the edge of the platform, to the brink of life and death, how would the power of that relic have erupted out of control?" He paused, letting those words sink into the air. "This disciple is willing to accept punishment for using an unknown power without authorization. But the unfairness of the trial, and that someone sought to use the rules to destroy me—these are also facts." Having spoken, he lowered his head, his shoulders rising and falling slightly with his breath. The numbness in his right arm was spreading upward; below the elbow, there was already no sensation at all. The pain in his ribs came in waves, like a dull knife stirring inside. He clenched his jaw, not letting a moan escape. Time stretched out. The halo of the ever-burning lamp flickered on the stone walls, and the shadows twisted with it. The scent of sandalwood mixed with the bloody aura emanating from his body, forming a sickeningly sweet cloyingness. The young interrogator's fingers moved unconsciously across the register, making a faint scratching sound. The old man remained motionless, his turbid eyes fixed on Lin Yi, as if assessing a corpse. Finally. The young interrogator closed the register. "This matter, the Discipline Hall will investigate." He spoke, his voice still flat, "But the source of your power is unknown, its nature strange. You have already violated the third article of sect discipline—one must not cultivate or use unapproved alien forces or heretical arts." Lin Yi's heart sank slightly. "According to the law," the old man continued, his finger tapping the table one last time, "your cultivation should be abolished, and you should be expelled from the mountain." Abolish his cultivation. These four words stabbed into Lin Yi's ears like an ice awl. But he did not move, not even his expression changing. He was waiting—waiting for that "but." "But—" the young interrogator indeed spoke, "given that there are indeed suspicious points in the trial process, and that the circumstances you described of 'relic triggering' and 'forced self-defense' still leave some room for argument." He stood up and walked to the cabinet beside the stone table, opening a drawer. A light metallic scrape. Lin Yi's gaze followed. The young interrogator took something from the drawer—a dull, lusterless metal ring, about two fingers wide, its surface bearing no pattern, save for an extremely fine, almost invisible groove around its edge. A restraint ring. Lin Yi's breath caught for an instant. "This object is called the 'Spirit-Lock Ring.'" The young interrogator placed the metal ring on the stone table with a soft *click*, "After wearing it, it will establish a connection with your dantian, monitoring your spiritual energy fluctuations and location. If you attempt to flee, or use spiritual power exceeding the third layer of Qi Refinement—" He paused. "It will directly detonate your dantian." The air in the room froze completely. Lin Yi stared at that metal ring. Its surface reflected the ever-burning lamp with a matte finish, like a piece of polished dead iron. He could feel a faint stinging from the contract rune deep in his dantian, as if resonating, as if warning. "This is... punishment?" He heard his own voice, dry as sandpaper. "No." The old Blackwind Cave. A place of dread that outer disciples spoke of with pale faces. The Bone-Eroding Wolves were demonic beasts no lower than the fourth layer of Qi Refinement, and their alpha was nearly at the sixth layer. Worse, they never hunted alone—when they moved, they moved in packs of dozens. And they wanted him, a grievously wounded third-layer Qi Refinement cultivator, to go there alone? This was no mission. This was a death sentence. "If the mission is completed," the young interrogator added, his tone still flat, "punishment may be reduced at discretion. If you fail, or attempt to flee—" He looked at the restraint ring. "The ring will detonate." Silence fell again, but this time it carried weight, pressing down on Lin Yi until he could barely breathe. He stared at the black dot on the map, his mind racing through everything he knew: Blackwind Cave, Bone-Eroding Wolves, the alpha's fangs, five days. And the restraint ring. This was an open trap. Whether he completed the mission or not, he could die there. If he fled, the ring would kill him. If he went, the wolves would kill him. The only path to survival was to find a sliver of gap in that dead end. "Your disciple..." Lin Yi spoke, his voice hoarse, "accepts the order." He raised his uninjured left hand and reached for the metal ring on the stone table. The moment his fingertips touched its surface, a bone-piercing chill shot up his fingers and raced straight into his arm. The metal was cold and hard, like gripping a block of ice. The young interrogator watched him and said one last thing. "Remember," his voice was light, but every word was clear, "only if you live can you speak." Lin Yi's fingers closed around the restraint ring. The chill of the metal seeped into his palm. The cold from the stone walls crept up his spine like fine needles. Lin Yi sat alone on the stone chair. The cloth at his back, soaked through with cold sweat, clung to his skin with another kind of clammy chill. He stared at the empty stone table across from him, his fingers tapping unconsciously against his knee—tap, tap, tap—a steady rhythm, as if measuring time. The sound of the door hinge turning was dry and grating. The two interrogators returned. The older one walked in front, an additional roll of yellowed beast-hide parchment in his hand. The younger one followed behind, his gaze lingering on Lin Yi's face for an instant before moving away. The air was thick as iron. The older interrogator sat down behind the stone table and unrolled the parchment. Its edges were worn badly, gleaming with an aged luster. He did not speak immediately but instead traced the surface slowly with his withered fingers, as if confirming something. Lin Yi's heartbeat sank. His muscles coiled in readiness. "Lin Yi." The older man's voice was even hoarser than before, like sandpaper scraping stone, "Your statement has undergone preliminary verification by the Discipline Hall." A pause. The young interrogator shifted slightly, his gaze falling on the shadows of the wall. His fingers curled inside his sleeve. "Regarding the abnormality in the trial lottery, and the discrepancy between Shi Yong's registered strength and his actual strength..." The older interrogator raised his cloudy eyes, "There are indeed suspicious points. The Oversight Hall has retrieved the jade slip records of the lottery from that day and discovered traces of artificial interference in the residual spiritual energy trajectories." Lin Yi's breath caught for an instant. "But—" The older man's tone turned abruptly cold, "This does not fully explain the source and nature of the power within your body. The claim that a 'family heirloom was accidentally triggered' lacks concrete evidence. The remnant jade is destroyed, leaving no proof." The temperature in the room dropped several more degrees. The lamp wick burst with a tiny spark. "The Discipline Hall's judgment is as follows." The older interrogator's voice became mechanical and icy, each word striking the air like a rivet. "One, you used an unknown power without authorization, violating Article Three of the sect's 'Prohibited Power Usage Regulations.' Two, the trial rules were indeed subject to artificial interference; this matter will be investigated as a separate case. Three, in light of your severe injuries and the extenuating circumstances, you will not be sentenced to crippling your cultivation or expulsion from the sect for the time being." Lin Yi's fingers stopped. His nails bit into flesh. "But—" The older interrogator withdrew something from his sleeve and placed it on the beast-hide parchment. It was a dull, lusterless metal ring. About two fingers wide, with no patterns on its surface, only a matte gray sheen under the light. It lay on the Lin Yi's throat tightened. He swallowed, and the dry pain spread from his windpipe all the way to his chest. "What mission." His voice was steadier than he'd expected. The older interrogator pushed the beast-hide parchment across. Vermilion ink outlined the contours of a mountain range, with one location circled and annotated in small characters beside it. Lin Yi's gaze fell upon those words. Blackwind Cave. Ice formed in his veins. "The periphery of Blackwind Ridge. Recently, the 'Bone-Eroding Wolf Packs' have been abnormally active, having already killed three herb-gathering disciples." The older interrogator's finger tapped the red circle. "Your mission: within five days, penetrate the outer region of Blackwind Cave, exterminate the wolf packs, and bring back at least ten 'Wolf King Fangs' as proof." A numb, stabbing pain shot through Lin Yi's right arm. The ruined limb hung at his side like a piece of wood that didn't belong to him. Blackwind Cave. The ferocious place spoken of in private among outer sect disciples. The yin wind inside never dissipated, capable of eroding bone and dispersing soul. Ordinary mid-stage Qi Refinement disciples wouldn't dare venture deep even in groups, let alone alone. And he had to bring back ten Wolf King Fangs? Bone-Eroding Wolves were pack-dwelling demonic beasts. The Wolf King was at least equivalent to the sixth layer of Qi Refinement, and it would certainly be guarded by its pack. This was a mission. It was also a death sentence. "Disciple..." Lin Yi raised his uninjured left hand, his fingertips trembling slightly. "Has suffered severe injuries, and his right arm is ruined. Such a mission, I fear..." "This is your only choice." The younger interrogator cut him off. For the first time, his gaze truly settled on Lin Yi's face, and something flashed in those eyes, too quick to catch. "Or, you may refuse right now. The Discipline Hall will treat it as 'resisting law enforcement,' cripple your cultivation on the spot, and expel you from the sect." He paused, lowering his voice somewhat. "In your current condition, how many days would you survive after being cast out of the mountain gate?" Lin Yi's fist clenched tight. His nails bit into his palm. The room was so quiet he could hear the faint crackling of the lamp oil burning. The scent of sandalwood mingled with the musty odor of aged scrolls, and beneath it all, that metallic, rust-like coldness grew stronger. He stared at the restraint ring. The gray metal surface reflected the flickering lamplight, like some living thing breathing slowly. "Disciple..." Lin Yi heard his own voice coming from somewhere very far away. "Accepts the order." The older interrogator nodded, his face utterly without expression. He picked up the restraint ring and walked over to Lin Yi. When the metal ring touched the skin of his left wrist, it was cold as ice. *Click.* A soft sound. The ring automatically contracted, fitting seamlessly around his wrist bone. Then, the matte gray surface began to flow, to fade, until it vanished completely, leaving only a faint gray mark like a birthmark. But Lin Yi could feel it. A strand of cold, slender yet incomparably resilient spiritual energy probed from within the ring, silently piercing his skin, traveling upward along his meridians, and finally connecting to his dantian. The contract rune sent another stab of pain. This time, clearer. "Remember." The younger interrogator stood by the door, his back to the light, his figure stretched into a thin, elongated shadow. "Five days. Ten Wolf King Fangs. One less, and it counts as mission failure." He turned and pushed open the heavy stone door. Light from the corridor outside leaked in, making Lin Yi squint. "There have been unusual movements at Blackwind Cave recently." The younger interrogator's voice drifted from the light, flat yet carrying some unfathomable undertone. "Possibly related to certain 'old matters.'" He paused. "Take care of yourself." The door closed behind him. Lin Yi was hauled out of the interrogation room by two Discipline Hall disciples gripping his arms. Every few steps along the corridor walls, an ever-burning lamp was embedded, their dim yellow halos casting swaying shadows at his feet. The restraint ring on his left wrist was heavy. That strand of cold spiritual energy connecting to his dantian was like a thorn nailed into his flesh. They passed through a narrow side corridor, the air thick with dust and the smell of damp wood. From ahead came faint sounds of commotion—the supplies office, where outer sect disciples collected their rations. The disciple leading the way stopped at a corner pillar. "Wait here," one of The Law Enforcement Hall disciple leaning against the wall yawned and turned to look toward the supplies office. In that instant. The young supervisory disciple in the shadows moved. He drifted over like a falling leaf, his body positioning itself to block the Law Enforcement Hall disciple's line of sight. His lips barely moved, his voice pressed to the lowest whisper, like a breeze brushing past the ear: "Fire." Lin Yi's pupils contracted slightly. "Sunflame stone powder." The young disciple's speech was rapid, each word like a nail driven home. "Bone-corroding wolves fear fire, especially fire containing sunflame stone powder. Their dens are mostly in shaded rock crevices, but the wolf king..." He paused, his breath slightly unsteady. "Someone recently spotted it prowling near the entrance of Black Wind Cave. Its fur has a silver sheen. Something's wrong." Lin Yi's fingertips curled at his side. "Also." The young disciple's voice dropped even lower, almost reduced to breath alone. "Xiao Han's people may also 'take an interest' in your mission." With that, he pulled a small leather pouch from his robes, along with a neatly folded coarse cloth towel, and with extreme speed stuffed them under Lin Yi's arm into his chest. The pouch was rough; he could feel the outline of hard biscuits inside. The towel was dry, carrying a faint warmth from sun-drying. Lin Yi did not look down. He merely inclined his head slightly, his lips moving. "Thank you." The young disciple had already retreated two steps, raising his voice to speak at a normal volume: "This lamp is fine, still enough oil." He turned and walked away down the corridor. His blue-gray back quickly disappeared around the corner. The Law Enforcement Hall disciple leaning against the wall turned his head back and glanced at Lin Yi: "What are you spacing out for? Let's go." The other disciple returned from the supplies office, a much smaller cloth bag in hand, and casually tossed it to Lin Yi. "Your rations. Three coarse grain biscuits, one flask of water." His tone was impatient. "Hurry up, we still need to escort you to the mountain gate." Lin Yi caught the bag with his left hand. It was very light. He held the leather pouch and towel against his chest and followed the two disciples through the increasingly dark corridor. Footsteps echoed between the stone walls, like some kind of countdown pendulum. The restraint ring on his left wrist remained silently cold. They finally stopped before an unremarkable side door. The door was made of heavy ironwood, its edges already cracked, the hinges badly rusted. One disciple pushed it open. Outside was an overgrown path, winding toward the distance. Further still were continuous mountain shadows, shrouded in gray-black mist. The mist moved very slowly, like some living creature breathing. "Over there, that's Black Wind Ridge." The disciple pointed toward where the mist was thickest. "The cave is deep inside. Find it yourself." He paused and added: "Five days. Remember." The door slammed shut behind him. The sound of ironwood striking the frame was muffled and final. Lin Yi stood alone on the path. His right arm hung down, his left wrist heavy. The leather pouch and towel pressed against his chest, transmitting their insignificant warmth. Further away, the shadow of Black Wind Ridge loomed in and out of the gray mist, like a crouching beast. He raised his left hand and looked at the pale gray mark on his wrist. The restraint ring was silent. The stabbing pain in his dantian was also silent. Five days. Ten wolf king fangs. Or, death. He drew a deep breath—his rib wound tearing with pain—then stepped forward onto that overgrown path. Grass blades Lin Yi stopped on a slope of scattered rocks. He knelt on one knee, using his left hand to push aside a damp stone. In the soil were clear claw marks, three toes, the front ends deeply sunk. More than one. Beside the claw marks were scattered clumps of dark silver fur, gleaming with a metallic luster in the dim light. Silver-tinged fur. He rubbed the fur between his fingers; the texture was hard, like fine iron wire. The contract rune in his dantian transmitted a faint tremor, as if pulled by something. The gray mark on his left wrist grew slightly warm, the cold thread connecting to his dantian distinctly present. He raised his head. The wall of fog at the top of the slope drifted slowly, occasionally revealing a corner of a pitch-black cave mouth. Black Wind Cave. Wolf howls came from behind the fog wall, low and carrying the hoarse reverberation of throats rubbing together. More than one. The sounds collided among the rocks, impossible to distinguish near from far. Lin Yi slowly rose. The fierce pain Lin Yi drew a deep breath. The fog poured into his lungs, carrying the sweet stench of rot and the faint tang of blood. He set his foot forward and continued upward. Loose stones rolled beneath his soles, making small, furtive sounds, like whispers of betrayal. Every step tugged at his cracked ribs. Sweat slid from his temples, mingling with the blood and grime on his face, dripping into his collar. The slope grew steeper. The fog grew thicker, wrapping around him like cold, wet gauze. His vision was compressed to within a few paces, yet his ears became strangely sharp—the moan of wind through stone crevices, the dull flow of a distant stream, and... some faint, scratching sound of claws against rock. To the left front. Lin Yi stopped, the dead branch held before him. He knew it was useless. The sound ceased. The fog drifted slowly. Nothing could be seen. But the feeling of being watched pricked the back of his neck like needles. He turned his gaze slowly, sweeping the corner of his eye over the jumbled rocks to his left. Several massive black boulders were piled together, dark red moss growing in the gaps between them, looking like congealed blood in the fog. Deep in a crevice, two points of ghostly green light flashed and vanished. Lin Yi's spine went rigid as a plank. He maintained his posture of slow advance, yet his muscles were already tensed to their limit. The fingers of his right hand curled unconsciously—still without sensation, but the residual numb, stinging aftermath of using the rune's power was now unusually clear. He could not run. Fleeing would trigger a predator's instinct. He continued upward, his pace unchanged, though his left hand gripped the dead branch so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. The two points of ghostly green did not reappear. But the scratching sounded again, this time from the right rear, closer. It was accompanied by a low, rumbling growl from deep in the throat. The stench of blood in the air abruptly grew stronger, mixed with the particular rot of a carnivore's mouth. More than one. They were testing him, surrounding him. Lin Yi's heart hammered heavily in his chest. Every beat pulled at his cracked ribs, pain forcing his jaw shut tight. But he did not quicken his pace. Instead, he slowed further. His eyes swept rapidly over the terrain around him—a slope of jumbled rocks, tilted, covered in loose stones, unfavorable for a wolf pack to charge. But equally unfavorable for his escape. Ten paces ahead, there was a flat boulder half as tall as a man, pressed close to the cliff face. He could put his back to it. He adjusted his direction, edging toward the boulder. His steps were steady, the sound of the dead branch tapping the ground deliberately softened. The growl from the right rear followed, the distance closing. Five paces. Three paces. Lin Yi suddenly accelerated, charging toward the boulder! Almost simultaneously, a gray shadow burst from the fog to his right rear! It was incredibly fast—only a blurred outline and two points of ghostly green were visible. Lin Yi dodged sharply to the left. The gray shadow brushed past his right shoulder, claws scraping across rock, sending up a spray of sparks. A gust of foul wind hit his face. He staggered to the boulder, pressed his back against the stone wall, turned, and held the dead branch before him. The gray shadow landed and turned. It was an Eroding Bone Wolf. Larger than an ordinary wild wolf by a full circle, its shoulder reached his waist. Its fur was a mix of gray and black, its muscles knotted and twisted. Its ghostly green eyes fixed on Lin Yi with deadly intensity. Its open maw dripped with saliva, its yellowed fangs tipped with dark red blood-crust. It did not immediately pounce. Instead, it lowered its forelegs, a threatening growl rolling from its throat. Lin Yi leaned against the boulder, gasping for breath. His right shoulder burned with pain—that last strike had torn through his clothes and left three bloody gashes. Not deep, but blood seeped out, quickly cooling in the damp, cold air. The wolf stared at him, its ghostly green eyes like two will-o'-the-wisps in the fog. Then it lifted its head and let out a short howl. Before the sound faded, two more gray shadows slowly emerged from the fog to the left and right. Three wolves fanned out and closed in. Their steps were steady, their eyes ice-cold—clearly experienced hunters. Lin Yi's throat went dry. His left hand tightened on the dead branch; his right hung limp and useless. The leather pouch and cloth bundle in his bosom pressed against The bundle burst open in midair, scattering dried provisions, a waterskin, and fire strikers in a clatter. The wolf on the left flinched at the sudden objects, instinctively turning its head away. For a brief moment, a gap opened in their encirclement. Lin Yi did not dash for the gap. Instead, he stepped forward, sweeping the dead branch to force back the wolf that had just steadied itself before him, while his body twisted sharply right—charging toward the wolf on the far right. Of the three, it stood farthest out, its position most exposed. The right-hand wolf clearly hadn't expected its prey to charge *toward* it. It froze. That single heartbeat of hesitation was enough. Lin Yi was already upon it, driving the dead branch at its eye. The wolf jerked its head aside; the branch scraped past its ear, tearing free a tuft of gray fur. Lin Yi dropped low, rolling beneath the wolf's belly! Gravel ground against his wounds, pain blackening his vision. But he bit down and surged upright, sprinting downhill without looking back—not toward the grassy path, but toward a steeper slope of jumbled rocks at his flank. Behind him came furious howls and the scrabbling rush of claws. All three wolves gave chase. Lin Yi leaped and tumbled through the broken stone. Every landing felt like a blade thrust between his ribs. His right arm flailed wildly with each stride, tearing at his injuries, cold sweat soaking through his clothes. But he dared not stop. His lungs wheezed like a ruptured bellows; every breath carried the taste of blood. He plunged down a steep descent and emerged into a relatively flat depression choked with withered mugwort grown to half a man's height. Without hesitation, he plunged in. The mugwort scraped against him in dense rustling, temporarily concealing his form. The howls behind drew closer, but within the tall grass, their pace slowed noticeably—the growth hindered both their sight and their charge. Lin Yi wove through the grass in serpentine patterns, constantly changing direction. The mugwort's bitter, pungent scent masked the blood-smell on his body. He ran until he could no longer guess how long. Gradually, the howling behind faded into distant, broken whimpers of frustration. Still he did not stop, pressing forward until the mugwort thinned and a dark stand of fir trees rose before him. At the wood's edge, a natural hollow formed by a rockfall offered shelter—not large, but enough for one man. Lin Yi stumbled into the hollow and collapsed against the cold stone wall. Agony, suffocation, and vertigo crashed over him together. He gasped with soundless, gaping breaths, darkness swimming across his vision. His right arm hung at his side; his left hand pressed desperately against his ribs, fingertips feeling the warm blood seeping from the claw-gashes. Outside, wind moaned through gaps in the fir wood. Distant howls still drifted on the air, but faint now. He had survived his first encounter. The cost: all his supplies lost, a fresh wound to his right shoulder, his strength pushed to its absolute limit. Lin Yi leaned against the stone, eyes closed, waiting for the darkness to recede. Sweat dripped from his jaw, darkening the coarse cloth of his collar. The leather pouch in his breast was still there; so was the cloth bundle. He fumbled it open, drew out the packet of Qi-replenishing fruit, and tipped one into his mouth. The dry flesh dissolved. That faint thread of sweetness and spiritual energy was like a single drop falling onto parched desert—instantly swallowed by pain and exhaustion. But it was still a drop. He held the fruit against his palate, slowly regulating his breath. Each inhalation came carefully, avoiding strain to his rib-wound. The contract rune in his dantian had quieted; the gray mark on his left wrist no longer burned. That cold thread still pressed against his dantian, silent, yet ready to become a garrote at any moment. The young disciple's intelligence surfaced again in his mind. Fire. Sunblaze stone powder. He needed fire. More critically, he needed Sunblaze stone powder—the dust of a low-grade fire-attribute ore, mediocre against ordinary beasts but suppressive to yin-attribute creatures. Bone-Erosion Wolves, dwelling year-round in Blackwind Ridge's corrupted darkness, accumulated yin energy within their bodies. They feared fire, especially Sunblaze flame. But he had none. His supply bundle was lost; his fire strikers gone. In this wilderness, where would he find Sunblaze stone? Lin Yi opened his eyes, gazing outward. Dusk had fully descended. The fir wood had become a blur of black shadows. Mist drifted through the trees like silent tides. Far off, toward Blackwind Cave