The alleyway was narrow, like a wind-dried throat, and the rough texture of the brick walls chafed against Yue Tingzhou's back. The energy emanating from Huo Qingya's sword flowed in from both ends, not like a stream, but like a glacial river. The aged moss in the brick seams instantly frosted over, and fine ice crystals formed in the air, sprinkling down and hitting his shoulders with a chilling sensation. Yue Tingzhou pressed the ledger he had just snatched from the vault against his ribs – the leather cover, the dark, embossed pattern of the Wan Jing鏢局's emblem, pressed painfully against his palm, almost embedding itself into his flesh. His right hand hung at his side, his fingertips tingling with a needle-like numbness. It wasn't from the cold. It was because Huo Qingya's "Frost Falcon Technique" exerted immense pressure, his mid-level cultivation like an inverted iceberg looming above the alley, even his breath forming white mist, which, when inhaled, felt like icy shards scraping his lungs. Four shadowy figures crouched behind the eaves of the buildings on either side, the taut strings of crossbows emitting a sound that could be heard even thirty paces away – those were the standard-issue broken-breath crossbows of the Heng律司's field operatives, designed to target the Qihai (energy sea) of internal martial arts practitioners; the pungent smell of oil on the crossbow mechanisms drifted in the cold wind. On his left side, half a step away, was Zhu Hanli, her shoulder blades slightly arched, like a taut shortbow, the lines of her taut muscles visible beneath her coarse clothing. She wasn't looking at Huo Qingya, her gaze fixed on the half-collapsed moon gate at the eastern end of the alley – it was the only opening, but two people stood in the doorway, dressed in black, with daggers at their waists; the silver emblems of the Frost Falcon Guard on the handles of their daggers gleamed coldly in the twilight, reflecting the emotionless expressions on their faces. "Yue Tingzhou," Huo Qingya's voice drifted from the western end of the alley, not loud, but each word striking the brick and stone, with the harsh intonation characteristic of the northern dialect. "Leave the ledger, and you can go. Xie Zongshi said this is the last favor." Yue Tingzhou didn't respond. He pulled the ledger from under his ribs, the leather cover brushing against his coarse clothing, making a rasping sound like sandpaper on wood. The ledger was not thick, about thirty pages, but tucked inside was a folded piece of hard paper – he had glimpsed the corner of the paper revealing a crimson seal, the private seal of the Wan Jing鏢局's headquarters, with the handwritten signature and endorsement of his father, Zhu Wanshan. The edges of the paper were already worn and frayed. The gears were in place. He tossed the ledger to Zhu Hanli. The movement was light, like handing over a letter. The ledger arced through the air, the leather cover flashing a dull yellow in the twilight. Zhu Hanli instinctively reached out to catch it – the moment her fingertips touched the cover, a chilling sensation spread, and Yue Tingzhou moved. Not a charge, but a turn. His right foot twisted on the slippery moss, the sound of crushed ice crystals echoing faintly, and his entire body spun half a circle, his back completely exposed to Huo Qingya, his coarse clothing scraping against the brick wall, sending dust scattering. His left hand, with his fingers extended like a sword, darted forward towards his own chest – the three vital points of the Dantian (lower abdomen): the Shan Zhong (heart center), the Ju Que (greater emptiness), and the Qihai (energy sea). "Heng律司 · Lock Pulse Technique." The wind from his fingers tore through his clothing, piercing his skin, and a sharp, stinging pain spread from his fingertips as the acupuncture points were forcibly opened. It wasn't a seal, but a forceful opening of the meridian channels, forcing the normally slow-flowing internal energy to surge like a flood. He heard a faint "crackling" sound within his body, like dry twigs snapping in a fire, starting from deep within his chest and resonating down to his Dantian. The stagnant water that had been dormant in his Qihai for many years suddenly boiled, a surge of scorching heat erupted from his Dantian, burning his lower abdomen. "Go!" This was a shout directed at Zhu Hanli. It was short, hoarse, and the taste of blood and iron filled his throat as he spoke. Zhu Hanli's arm, holding the ledger, froze in mid-air. She saw Yue Tingzhou's clothing fluttering without wind, bulging with rippling protrusions. She also heard the "click" of the crossbow mechanism as the trigger was fully engaged, and the metallic tremor of the spring tensioning to its limit. Four crossbow bolts, tipped with pale blue energy, shot down from the eaves. The whistling sound as they sliced through the air was like tearing silk, and the trails of ice-cold energy they left behind were visible. The bolts sealed off every direction, leaving no room to dodge. Yue Tingzhou exhaled. It wasn't a breath, but a rush of scalding blood. The blood vapor, released from his mouth, carried the warmth of his body temperature, but it quickly cooled in the frigid air, condensing into a red frost that drifted down, leaving tiny red dots on the mossy surface. At the same time, his right hand, pressed against his lower abdomen, suddenly thrust forward— It wasn't pushing air. It was pushing the surge of internal energy that had gone wild in his dantian. Boom! A golden wave of energy erupted from his palm, and wherever it passed, the stone paving of the alleyway melted like wax, collapsing and revealing the dark earth beneath. The smell of scorched soil mixed with stone dust filled the air, a pungent odor like burnt leather, mixed with the metallic scent of blood, making it difficult to breathe. The crossbow bolts struck the energy wave, and the blue energy on their tips sputtered and died, the steel shafts twisting and turning red, then softening like mud before falling to the ground with dull thuds, landing on the molten stone. The energy wave continued its momentum, heading straight for Huo Qingya at the west end of the alley. Huo Qingya finally drew his sword. The sound of the blade sliding out of its scabbard was a clear, resonant hum. There was no flash of light, only a wave of intense cold, and the white ice trail left by the blade as it moved was long and persistent, refracting the dim light of twilight. He gripped the sword with both hands, the leather wrapping on the hilt tightening around his palms, and with a downward point followed by an upward sweep— "Frost Falcon·Reverse Flow." The wave of cold collided with the golden energy. There was no loud explosion, only a grating "hissing" sound, like a red-hot piece of iron being dropped into ice water, and a cloud of white steam quickly filled half the alley. The two forces clashed and tore at each other in the center of the alley, the golden and white energies intertwining to form a distorted barrier. The shockwaves from the clashing energies shook the brick walls on either side, causing small pieces of debris to rain down on Yue Tingzhou's shoulders, the dull pain felt through his clothes. Cracks began to appear in the brick walls, spreading like spiderwebs, emitting faint cracking sounds. He gritted his teeth, his gums bleeding, the metallic taste of iron filling his mouth. The fireball in his dantian had swelled to its limit. If he pressed further, the meridians would be completely burned through. The scorching sensation had already spread from his dantian to his chest, and each breath felt like inhaling flames. But he couldn't relent—Huo Qingya's sword was still advancing, the wave of cold slowly eroding the golden energy, closing the distance from three zhang to two zhang, then to one zhang. The bone-chilling cold was already reaching his face, making his skin tighten. The Frost Falcon guards on the roof raised their crossbows again, the black silhouettes of the crossbows clearly visible in the twilight. Yue Tingzhou closed his eyes. He focused his inner vision. Deep within his dantian, the pool of stagnant energy had vanished, replaced by a volcano in eruption. The energy, like molten rock, surged along the channels opened by the acupuncture point, rushing towards every part of his body. With each acupoint it passed, it burned through a layer of defense, bringing a tearing pain. The pain was no longer just pain, but a pure burning sensation, spreading from the marrow of his bones, blurring his consciousness. But he saw it—the bottleneck. The barrier to achieving transformation, like a semi-transparent membrane, lay at the boundary between his dantian and the meridians throughout his body. The membrane was covered with fine cracks—the hidden injuries he had accumulated through seven years of cultivation, and also the only weakness. The cracks trembled slightly under the impact of the golden energy. Yue Tingzhou focused all his remaining clarity. He rammed it. Not with internal energy, but with his life. He focused all his awareness, all his will, all his remaining strength, into a single needle, The vision was terrifyingly clear. He could see the flicker of shock in Huo Qingya's pupils, the subtle tremor of the frost guard's finger on the trigger, and the worry that he couldn't quite hide in the eyes of Zhu Hanli, standing thirty steps away by the entrance to the Moon Gate, the shadows of her eyelashes falling on her cheeks in the twilight. He could also see the palm of his own hand, spread open – the crimson meridians beneath the skin pulsed faintly like living things, the burning pain had subsided, replaced by a feeling of fullness, a surging power flowing through the meridians. Yue Tingzhou opened his eyes. The vision was initially blurry, as if through a veil soaked in oil. Moonlight streamed through a hole in the stable roof, casting pale streaks on the ground, the edges swaying slightly in the wind. He tried to move his fingers, and a tingling numbness ran through his knuckles, followed by a searing pain that shot up his arm – the residual internal energy in his meridians was like molten iron, burning through layer after layer of flesh with every passage. A wave of sickly sweetness rose in his throat. "Don't move," Zhu Hanli's voice came from his right, close by, with the chill of the night wind. Yue Tingzhou turned his head. She was sitting on a pile of hay, her face hidden in the shadows, only the small silver abacus in her fingertips occasionally reflecting a faint glimmer of light. She wasn't looking at him, her gaze fixed on something outside the broken window, her fingers unconsciously moving the beads on the bottom row – *da, da, da*, a reversed rhythm, crisp and persistent. "You've been unconscious for almost two hours," she said. "Doctor Lu has given you acupuncture to temporarily stop the spread of the burns in your three main meridians. But the seven secondary meridians..." she paused, "he said they're like a collapsed sinkhole in a mountain road after a heavy rain." Yue Tingzhou took a deep breath. The air still carried the faint bitterness of burnt paper, mixed with the acrid stench of aged manure and fermentation in the stable, filling his nostrils and lingering in the back of his throat. He tried to circulate his internal energy, and as soon as he moved his dantian, he heard a faint "crackling" sound in his ears – the sound of the damaged meridians being flushed by the internal energy, a near-breaking groan. He stopped. "Can you move?" Zhu Hanli asked. This time, she turned her face, and the moonlight just grazed her cheek, illuminating the dark shadows in her eyes. Yue Tingzhou used his left hand to prop himself up and slowly sat up. This simple movement caused cold sweat to bead on his forehead, trickling down to his temple and into his collar, a chilling sensation. He looked down at his right hand – the skin on the palm of his hand revealed a layer of abnormal crimson, like a red-hot branding iron wrapped in thin skin, and with each pulse, that layer of crimson pulsed brighter and dimmer. "You can move a short distance," he said, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper against iron. "Circulating your energy... every time you complete a full cycle of the Eight Brocades, the burns deepen." Zhu Hanli was silent for a moment. She put away her abacus and stood up, walking to the feed trough and scooping up a handful of stagnant water. The water was cold, with a muddy smell, and she walked back, pressing her wet palm onto Yue Tingzhou's right wrist. A chilling coldness instantly penetrated his skin. Yue Tingzhou tensed, but didn't pull his hand away. The coldness seeped into his meridians, temporarily suppressing the searing pain of the burns, like pouring ice water on a scorching iron. He heard a faint, almost sighing exhalation from his own throat. "How long can you hold out?" Zhu Hanli asked, her hand still on his wrist, her fingertips slightly pale from the pressure. "If you ignore the consequences and force yourself to circulate your energy to reach the 'power' of a nearly complete Qi condensation," Yue Tingzhou felt the turbulent internal energy within him being temporarily restrained by the cold, "probably just a cup of tea. You can briefly suppress a mid-level Qi condensation stage opponent." "And then?" "The meridians will completely rupture, and your cultivation will be ruined," he said calmly, as if describing someone else's injuries, "whether you can survive or not depends on luck." Zhu Hanli's hand trembled. She withdrew her hand, her palm pale from the water, fine lines appearing on her skin. She stared at those lines for a few seconds, then looked up. "That's enough," 岳停舟 remained silent. He leaned against the dirt wall, slowly adjusting his breathing, each inhalation bringing a searing pain deep within his chest. The moonlight shifted, illuminating the back of his right hand, where a layer of reddish-gold appeared, stark against the dimness, like magma about to break through the skin. "Doctor Lu has gone to create a false trail," 祝寒梨 continued. "He's using a special powder to mimic the residue left after a 'Mirror Pivot' print, mixed with a bit of the burnt smell from your internal energy. It will look like it was left during a hasty transfer." She looked at him. "沙玛阿诗 went with him. 那日苏 is scouting ahead. They will meet in two hours." "And then what?" 岳停舟 asked. "Then we go to the River God Shrine," 祝寒梨 said. "You'll be the bait, and I'll get what I need—of course, there's nothing there. The real purpose is to lure 霍青崖 out, when he's at his most relaxed..." She didn't finish, but 岳停舟 understood. The stakes were riding on that short period of time. The stable was quiet again. In the distance, a dog barked, close by, no more than two blocks away. 岳停舟 listened to the sound, feeling the细密的刺痛 that radiated from the damaged meridians within his body. He remembered the phrase in the sect's secret order: "If necessary, one can sacrifice cultivation to save a life," and he also remembered the color of the vermillion seal on the marriage contract. "Did you hear it, right?" 祝寒梨 suddenly whispered, "You can hear things when you're unconscious." 岳停舟's eyelashes trembled. "When I'm talking, your fingers have moved," she said, squatting down to look him in the eyes. "You know how much risk there is in this plan. You know that if we fail, neither of us will survive." "I know," 岳停舟 said. "Then why..." 祝寒梨 stopped. She saw 岳停舟 raise his left hand and slowly press it against the layer of reddish-gold on the back of his right hand. His fingers were trembling, not from pain, but from the violent collision of internal energy beneath his skin, like a trapped beast trying to break free. "Because it's the only way," 岳停舟 said, his voice soft but firm, like cold steel. "The bait has taken the hook. If we don't pull the hook out, the wound will never heal." 祝寒梨 stared at him for a long time. Moonlight shone from behind her, casting deep shadows on her face. She suddenly reached into her arms and pulled out a small silver abacus, placing it in the palm of 岳停舟's left hand. The beads were cool, with a faint warmth left from her body temperature. "Take it," she said. "If... if it really comes to that, break it. There's a protective charm left by my aunt inside, which can block a peak-level external energy attack." She paused. "Only one chance." 岳停舟 clenched the abacus. The beads pressed against his palm, the edges scraping against his skin, leaving a faint tingling sensation. He nodded. Another dog barked in the distance. This time, it was closer. 祝寒梨 stood up and walked to the broken window, looking out into the night. The darkness was as thick as ink, with only a few scattered lights flickering in the distance, like the eyes of wild animals. She turned back and looked at 岳停舟 one last time. "Two hours," she said. "I want you to be able to stand up when I come back." Then she climbed out the window and disappeared into the darkness. 岳停舟 leaned against the dirt wall, slowly clenching his left hand. The beads of the abacus rolled in his palm, making a faint "tick" sound. He closed his eyes and began to adjust his breathing, slowly and carefully, trying to push the violent internal energy back into his dantian. Every inch he pushed, the meridians sent a tearing pain. The细密的"噼啪" sound grew louder. He opened his right hand, palm up, and the moonlight shone on his skin, revealing the faint reddish-gold纹路 underneath. It wasn't the glorious mark of initial qi condensation; it was the residue of meridians that had been burned. He mobilized his internal energy, trying to let a wisp of it rise from his dantian, along the Ren meridian, up to the膻中 point, and then to the天突 point. Just as it reached the It was an old injury, a remnant from a raid many years ago. On rainy days, the old man's knee would swell, the skin underneath turning purple and blue with bruises, forcing him to walk with a cane, each step labored. Yue Tingzhou had once asked why he didn't seek a complete cure. At the time, Shen Licao was sitting at his desk, writing documents, and didn't even look up. "Some injuries," the old man said, "can be healed superficially, but the 'essence' cannot be repaired." "Essence?" "Martial artists cultivate 'essence,'" Shen Licao put down his pen, pointing to his own knee. "Meridians can be reconnected, bones can be reset, but when the 'essence' is broken—that unwavering spirit, that ability to give everything—it can never be restored." He looked at Yue Tingzhou, his gaze deep like a well, "You're too young to understand. When you do, it will be too late." Yue Tingzhou didn't understand at the time. Now he understood. He looked down at his own hand. There were calluses from years of gripping a knife, and his knuckles were slightly pale from the tightness he had just exerted. This hand could still grip a knife, still execute techniques, still protect those he wanted to protect. But what about the "essence"? Was that unwavering spirit, that ability to give everything, already burned away during his forced breakthrough? The sound of footsteps came from outside the stable. This time, it was light and steady, barely making a sound on the dry grass. Yue Tingzhou immediately calmed his breathing, suppressed the surging energy, and his face returned to its composure. Only the right hand, hanging at his side, twitched unconsciously at the fingertips. The curtain was drawn back. Lu Jianwei entered. She held a small oil lamp, its dim light illuminating her tired features. She walked to Yue Tingzhou, knelt down, placed the lamp on the ground, and then reached out to take his pulse. Yue Tingzhou didn't flinch. Lu Jianwei's fingers were cold, pressing against his wrist, feeling like three fine needles piercing his skin. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing, and her breathing gradually deepened. After half a cup of tea, she released her hand, opened her eyes, and her gaze swept over Yue Tingzhou's face like a knife. "You're lying to her," Lu Jianwei said, her voice low. Yue Tingzhou didn't speak. "The burn isn't three percent, it's forty-seven percent," Lu Jianwei stared at him. "In your hand, the Hand Yangming Large Intestine meridian is torn in six places, the Hand Shaoyang Three Burning meridians are torn in five places, and the Hand Sun Small Intestine meridian is the worst—the entire meridian's lining is like paper that has been scorched by fire, and it will break if you touch it. The Foot Three Yin meridians are not much better; the tear in the Foot Taiyin Spleen meridian has already spread to the connection point with the internal organs. If it burns any further, your spleen will be ruined." With each sentence she spoke, Yue Tingzhou's face turned paler. "And," Lu Jianwei continued, "the energy in your dantian is now extremely unstable, like a pot of boiling oil, ready to explode at any moment. If it explodes, it will shatter your dantian and ruin your cultivation. If it's severe, the energy will surge back into your heart and meridians, causing instant death." She leaned forward, the light from the oil lamp dancing in her eyes, "Yue Tingzhou, what are you after?" Yue Tingzhou remained silent for a long time. "Justice," he said. Lu Jianwei smiled, a short, mocking sound. "Justice? At the cost of your life?" "At the cost of my life, for a chance," Yue Tingzhou corrected her. "A chance to expose Xie Wuchen, a chance to reveal the truth of the Heavenly Mandate." He paused, "Doctor Lu, you've been a physician for many years, you must have seen a lot of 'justice,' right?" The mockery on Lu Jianwei's face faded slightly. "I have," she said. "I've seen a mother kneeling outside a pharmacy, begging for a single dose of medicine for her child, her forehead bleeding from hitting the ground. I've seen a wandering cultivator sell himself into a sect as a test subject for a spirit mirror, only to have his meridians completely severed three months later and thrown out. And I've also seen..." she took a breath, "I've also seen my mother. When she died, she That wasn't pain; it was ice. An extreme, bone-chilling ice that traveled down the needle, entering the meridians and spreading downwards. Wherever it passed, the burning pain seemed to freeze, becoming temporarily numb. But behind the ice was a deeper pain—as if someone were using an ice pick to carve open a wound, prying away chunks of frozen flesh. Lu Jianwei quickly removed the needles. Twelve silver needles were inserted into twelve acupuncture points on his hands and feet. With each needle, a faint wisp of internal energy flowed from her fingertips, cool and gentle, like the water of a mountain stream, gently buffering and soothing the scorched meridians. Yue Tingzhou gritted his teeth, his temple veins bulging, and cold sweat soaked his clothes. With the last needle removed, a mouthful of blood welled up in his throat. It was black, viscous, and mixed with tiny flecks of gold and red. Lu Jianwei immediately removed the needles and pressed her fingers on his chest, sealing several acupuncture points. The blood was forced back, and Yue Tingzhou coughed violently, his body convulsing with each cough. Lu Jianwei supported his shoulders and released him after he finished coughing. "It's stabilized for now," she said, her voice tired. "I've forcibly sealed the most dangerous cracks in your meridians with 'Ice Soul Needles' and used internal energy to guide the internal energy that was already beginning to erode your organs back to your dantian. But this is like drinking poison to quench your thirst—the effect of the Ice Soul Needles will last at most twelve hours. When that time is up, the cold poison in your meridians will clash with the burned internal energy, and then..." She didn't finish her sentence. Yue Tingzhou wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "What will happen then?" "At best, your meridians will be severed; at worst, your body will explode and you will die," Lu Jianwei said, staring at him. "So, twelve..."