The chill of the cold pool still clung to his marrow, pricking like needles. Lin Yi gripped the newly issued wooden tablet from the Steward's Hall, his knuckles white. The three mu of Scarlet Flame Grass on the back mountain wilted under the noonday sun, their leaf edges curled and scorched—this was wrong. Scarlet Flame Grass should stand proud in the heat, not look so withered and dying. He tried to recall what Mo Chen had said about "breathing"—not with mouth and nose, but with his pores, with his dantian, to "inhale and exhale" the thin yet omnipresent spiritual energy around him. The hoe fell at the root of weeds along the field ridge. Soil turned over, carrying the faint fishiness of humus. The serrated edges of Scarlet Flame Grass leaves scraped across the back of his hand, leaving fine red marks, as if countless small knives had lightly grazed him. Lin Yi stopped, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the hoe handle. Deep in his dantian, that faint bit of spiritual power was like dying embers. He slowed his breathing, using his consciousness to "touch" it. At first there was only a subtle coolness, crawling slowly along the patterns of his meridians. His pores opened, trying to capture the drifting particles of spiritual energy in the air. The dormant contract rune deep in his dantian suddenly trembled lightly. Lin Yi's breath caught for an instant. No—this wasn't what Teacher Mo had described as "resonance." That tremor wasn't a response; it was awakening. The dim patterns on the rune's surface suddenly burned hot, like red-hot iron brands pressed against the inner wall of his dantian. He clenched his teeth, trying to sever the connection between his consciousness and his spiritual power. The rune's trembling intensified. With him at the center, the surrounding air began to distort. The thin spiritual energy in the Scarlet Flame Grass field seemed stirred by an invisible hand, rippling in disorder. Several plants near the field ridge moved without wind, their edges flushing with an abnormal dark red. He forcibly reined in his consciousness, pressing his spiritual power deep into his dantian. But the rune was like a beast startled from sleep, greedily devouring that meager spiritual power, then releasing even hotter, even more chaotic fluctuations. His fingertips began to tremble; the hoe handle slipped in his palm. The first spark sprayed from the tip of the nearest Scarlet Flame Grass plant. An orange-red dot traced a brief arc through the air, landing on dry leaves. The smell of burning exploded instantly. The second, the third... the entire field of Scarlet Flame Grass seemed ignited by the same fuse, their tips simultaneously spraying dense sparks. The hissing sounded like a rainstorm; the scorched stench grew thick enough to choke. The grass stems began to twist, their originally straight stalks writhing like living vines, lashing wildly through the air. One Scarlet Flame Grass stem whipped the ground with a dull *thwack*. Dirt flew. Lin Yi swung his hoe to block. Another stem coiled toward his ankle, its serrated leaf edges biting deep into his coarse cloth trouser leg. He yanked hard; the fabric tore, leaving several bleeding scratches on his calf. Sparks fell on the pile of dry weeds beside the field ridge. Flames *whooshed* half a foot high, greedily licking at the dry leaves. A wave of heat struck his face; Lin Yi's cheeks burned. He had to control the fire—but more Scarlet Flame Grass was running wild, vine-like stems whipping at him from all directions, cutting off his retreat. The rune at his dantian kept burning hot, like a red-hot iron ball rolling through his abdomen. Each tremor stirred disorder in the spiritual energy of the entire field. Lin Yi bit through his tongue, using pain to force himself to concentrate. He swung the hoe, splitting a stem coiling toward his neck; grass juice splashed onto his face, carrying a stinging, pungent burn. The weed pile was fully ablaze now, black smoke billowing upward. The sound of something cutting through the air came from afar—someone was coming. Lin Yi's heart hammered. He had to control the situation immediately, or else... Water mist spread, temporarily suppressing the flames. The smell of burning mixed with damp earth. Su Qingwan's figure appeared at the other end of the field ridge, her hands forming seals, pale blue water vapor circling around her. Her hair was blown loose by the wind, sticking to her sweat-dampened temples. "Junior Brother Lin?" Her voice carried urgent breathlessness, "What happened!" Lin Yi had no time to explain. The burning pain from the trembling rune had already spread to his chest cavity. A metallic taste rose in his throat. He held his breath, focusing all his consciousness on his dantian, trying to use sheer willpower to 'press' the frenzied rune back into dormancy. Sweat dripped from his chin, soaking into dark circles on the dirt. The outermost few Crimson Flame Grasses gradually stopped spraying sparks, their wildly dancing stems slowly drooping. But the center of the field still roiled—the area closest to Lin Yi, where the rune's influence ran deepest. Seven or eight stalks of Crimson Flame Grass were tangled together like a burning, writhing thicket of red thorns. "No good," Su Qingwan's voice came from beyond the mist. "The spiritual energy in the center is too chaotic. My water element can't suppress it!" That cluster of red thorns was expanding. The stems twisted around each other with creaking, crushing sounds. The sparks spraying from their tips had merged into a single sheet, like a small fountain. Heat waves distorted the air, making everything in his vision shimmer. He needed anything that could divert attention, anything to keep Su Qingwan from probing deeper into his 'earth vein' explanation. Lin Yi's gaze swept across the field ridge, suddenly fixing on a small collapsed depression by the field's edge—formed by earlier irrigation water erosion, its edges still fresh with damp soil. He staggered to his feet and rushed toward the depression. The hoe struck deep into the loose soil at its edge, and he pried with all his strength. A large chunk of earth crumbled away, widening the hole. At the same time, he secretly guided the faintest wisp of spiritual energy from his dantian, the only portion not yet contaminated by the rune, into the bottom of the pit. "Here!" Lin Yi shouted, his voice hoarse with exertion. "The earth vein node is leaking from here!" In that instant, Lin Yi seized the opportunity and slammed all his willpower into the depths of his dantian. Not suppression, but 'envelopment'—like wrapping a red-hot iron block with a wet cloth. The rune trembled violently, and the pain of its resistance made his vision go dark. But he did not let go. The writhing of that red thicket suddenly stalled for a moment. Su Qingwan seized the opening. Her hand seals changed again. Pale blue water vapor condensed into several slender streams, wrapping around the thicket like chains. Water and fire-attribute spiritual energy clashed fiercely, making the white mist billow even more violently. A continuous sizzling sound filled the air. The rune in his dantian finally sank back into temporary dormancy, but its residual heat still seared him. He felt as if all his strength had been drained. The arm pressed against the dirt trembled slightly. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, and a ringing buzz filled his eardrums. "Hold steady..." Su Qingwan's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Almost..." Two gray figures descended from the sky, landing on the field ridge. Dust flew up. They wore gray robes with silver thread embroidered at the cuffs—surveillance disciples. The older one had a cold, stern face, his eyes sweeping over the ravaged spirit field like a hawk's. The younger one held a palm-sized bronze compass in his hand. At this moment, its face was pointed toward the spirit field, emitting a low, continuous humming sound. The needle trembled slightly between several markings, like a hound that had caught the scent of blood. The senior disciple spoke sharply, each word falling like an icicle driven into the ground: "What caused such spiritual energy fluctuation?" Su Qingwan dispersed the water mist and stood in place, her hands hanging at her sides. Her breathing was still somewhat rapid, but her expression had regained its calm. Lin Yi braced himself on his knees and stood up, his legs so weak he could barely keep his balance. He swallowed, his throat dry and painful. He glanced at the collapsed depression he had just enlarged, then at the thicket that was still faintly smoking. When the detection waves from the Spirit-Suppressing Compass swept over him, the rune in his dantian responded with a dull ache and restlessness. Like being pricked with a needle. "Answering Senior Brother," Lin Yi spoke, deliberately letting his voice carry the tremor of lingering panic, "this disciple was careless during irrigation and may have... may have disturbed a shallow earth vein node." The younger surveillance disciple stepped forward, and the humming of the Spirit-Suppressing Compass in his hand shifted slightly in pitch. He crouched down, suspending the compass above the pit. The bronze face reflected the noon sunlight, cold and dazzling. The needle's trem His gaze lingered on Lin Yi's face. It was the kind of look that cut like a blade, trying to slice through skin and flesh to see what lay beneath. Lin Yi forced himself to remain calm, even letting his eyes show just the right amount of fear and regret—the emotions a menial disciple who had botched his task ought to feel. The younger disciple stood up and shook his head. "The spiritual energy disturbance is settling. The source... does indeed point to a gevein leak." He turned to the older disciple. "But the intensity is abnormal. It doesn't seem like something ordinary irrigation could trigger." He walked over to the thorn bush that had mostly subsided but was still faintly smoking, nudging the charred grass stems with his toe. Then he turned to look at Lin Yi. "Improper operation caused a disturbance." His voice had returned to its earlier coldness. "Considering this is your first offense and no serious harm was done, you will receive a demerit and have twenty contribution points deducted for this month." "If there is another unexplained spiritual energy fluctuation," the older disciple said, his tone hardening, "you will be severely punished." With a sweep of his sleeve, he turned and left. The younger disciple put away the spirit-calming compass, gave the spirit field one final glance, and followed. The two gray figures rose into the air and soon disappeared beyond the distant mountain ridges. But the bronze compass's faint hum seemed to cling to the air. Lin Yi stood in place until the sound had completely faded, then slowly exhaled the breath he had held for too long. Cold sweat had soaked through the back of his clothes, and when the wind blew, it pressed against his skin with an icy chill. His legs went weak, and he nearly fell to his knees. Su Qingwan had walked up beside him at some point. Her fingers were cool but steady. "It's all right," she said softly. Then she let go and walked toward the collapsed pit. Lin Yi watched her crouch down and pinch the soil at the pit's edge between her fingers. Her movements were slow, careful. Then she looked up at the pit's rim—where several exposed sections of older soil layers showed a color and texture clearly different from the freshly collapsed surface dirt. Her expression was complicated, but there was no accusation, no probing, only a calm, almost knowing look. She dusted the dirt from her hands and stood up. "That pit," Su Qingwan suddenly said, her voice so light it was almost a murmur to herself, "doesn't look like it just collapsed." But she did not press further. She simply walked to the ridge of the field, picked up the cloth bag she had left there, took out a few intact samples of Crimson Flame Grass, and then held the entire bag out to him. "Gevein instability is common," Su Qingwan said, her eyes resting on Lin Yi's face. "But... be more careful with your 'irrigation' next time." "If you're short on contribution points, I know of a few gathering tasks in the back mountains. The risk is lower." With that, she turned and left. Her pace was unhurried, and she soon vanished into the wooded path at the end of the ridge. Lin Yi stood there, holding the bag that still carried the warmth of her palm. He opened it and glanced inside—besides the few samples of Crimson Flame Grass, there were also two oil-paper-wrapped steamed buns at the bottom, already cold. Then he raised his head and looked at the spirit field, now restored to stillness but left in utter disarray. Charred grass stems. Upturned soil. The pit still faintly steaming with moisture. In the distance, between the mountain ridges of the sect, the gray silhouettes of other patrol disciples could be vaguely seen, like moving, silent punctuation marks. Deep in his eardrums, deep in his dantian, in every gap between breaths—the low hum would not stop. The rough fabric chafed against his palm. He knew that from today onward, something was different. He was no longer the ordinary menial disciple who could hide in the shadows and experiment in silence. His name had been recorded. His spiritual energy fluctuations had been marked as "abnormal." And all of this was simply because of one careful attempt at "breathing." The net of Heavenly Dao rules—it was woven so tightly. So close. He bent down and picked up the hoe from the ground. The wooden handle was still stained with charred grass juice and mud. He needed to clear this field, needed to fill the upturned soil back in, needed to gather the burned grass stems—the steward's hall would inspect this follow-up work as well. Lin Yi walked to a surviving stalk of Crimson Flame Grass by the field's edge, one that had miraculously remained largely undamaged in the chaos. At its tip In the center of the field, the Crimson Flame Grass still danced wildly. Vines lashed through the air with dull *thwack—thwack* sounds, like whips striking taut drumheads. Sparks constantly sprayed from the gaps between the leaves, falling onto the damp soil with *hisses* of white smoke. The air carried a mixture of scorched bitterness and moisture, wet and choking. Lin Yi's hoe split a vine sweeping toward his waist. The grass stem was tough, numbing his tiger's mouth with the impact. In his dantian, the contract rune burned like a piece of red-hot iron, scorching his internal organs into spasms. He had to divert half his focus to suppress it, the other half to deal with the chaos before him. "Don't hack at them hard!" Su Qingwan's voice came from the other side of the water mist, carrying urgent breathlessness. "They're agitated by the chaotic spiritual energy, like frightened snakes... Try to soothe the earth veins!" Lin Yi gritted his teeth. The earth veins were fine. The problem was the "branding iron" in his belly. But he couldn't say that. He took a deep breath—choked halfway, thick smoke rolling down his throat. He bent double coughing, and through blurred vision saw Su Qingwan's hand seals forming even faster. Pale blue water vapor poured from her fingertips, transforming into slender streams that nimbly wound toward the madly dancing Crimson Flame Grass stems, trying to bind them and press them back into the soil. Fine sweat beaded her forehead, her face somewhat pale. Controlling water currents for precise binding consumed far more than large-area irrigation. Lin Yi wiped his eyes, forcing himself to calm. Mo Chen had said that "breathing" was resonance, not opposition. The current situation was that the contract rune had developed some kind ofan uncontrolled resonance with the spiritual energy of the Crimson Flame Grass field. Opposition would only intensify the resonance. He stopped swinging his hoe, even relaxing his tensed muscles. There, the burning rune pulsed madly with the disorder of external spiritual energy. It was like a restless heart, each beat radiating invisible ripples outward. Lin Yi no longer tried to suppress it—that would only make the "heart" beat harder. He tried to "listen." Using that perception of "absence" and "obsession" forced out of him during those three days in the Abyss Chamber. Beneath the Crimson Flame Grass's frenzy, beyond the agitated instinct, what else was there? Restlessness. A restless anxiety of being crudely stirred by unfamiliar power, with nowhere to settle. And... a trace of extremely faint greed for fire spiritual power. Crimson Flame Grass was naturally fire-affine, and the fluctuations emanating from the contract rune seemed to carry the "scent" of some higher-order, purer fire-attribute energy—even if only a trace, enough to drive these low-grade spiritual plants to madness. He no longer suppressed the rune. Instead, he guided his pitifully meager spiritual power to carefully wrap around the rune's burning core, then—imitated its fluctuations. Let his own spiritual power's "breathing" rhythm slowly approach the rune's chaotic pulse. Difficult at first, like steadying a leaf in raging waves. Tearing pain came from his dantian, metallic sweetness rising in his throat. But he stabilized it. Gradually, the rune's pulse seemed... to slow slightly. But in the field, the most violent Crimson Flame Grass plants clearly reduced their lashing amplitude. The spraying of sparks grew sparse as well. "It's working!" Su Qingwan keenly perceived the change. She looked toward Lin Yi, surprise flashing in her eyes, but her hands never stopped. The water current bindings grew more precise, coordinating with the gradually calming fluctuations on Lin Yi's side. Between the two, no verbal communication passed, yet a crude and dangerous tacit understanding formed. One trying to "soothe" the source from within, the other controlling the situation from without. Two gray figures shot like thrown spears from the distant mountain ridges, landing steadily on the field ridge. They landed without sound, only stirring a circle of fine dust. Gray robes, silver chain patterns embroidered on the cuffs. Supervision disciples. The leader was about thirty, his face stern, his gaze sweeping over the devastated spiritual field like a hawk's before finally settling on Lin Yi and Su Qingwan. Beside him was a younger disciple, holding something in his hands. The compass edge was carved with densely packed runes fine as mosquito legs. At its center was no needle, but a suspended, constantly trembling black crystal. At this moment, the black crystal emitted a faint, unsettling dark blue glow, while the compass itself produced a low, continuous *buzzing* sound, like venomous bees trapped in a metal shell. Lin Yi's heart The older disciplinary disciple didn't look at the Spirit-Quelling Plate. He fixed his eyes on Lin Yi and spoke, his voice not loud but carrying the weight of mountain stone: "Why did you cause such a spiritual-energy disturbance?" Each word was like a small hammer, striking Lin Yi's taut nerves. The younger disciple was already holding the Spirit-Quelling Plate, slowly rotating it. The plate's *buzzing* shifted subtly with the movement, the black crystal's light flickering uncertainly, as if searching, as if locking onto something. Lin Yi's throat burned with dryness. He had to answer immediately. A reasonable answer, one that could explain everything before them. Su Qingwan was right beside him. Her testimony was crucial, yet Lin Yi had no idea what she would say. Could that fragiletacit understanding between them withstand the cold interrogation of the disciplinary disciples? The scorched grass blades. The upturned wet mud. The vines still twitching slightly. And, at the edge of the field ridge, that small pit whose edges had partially collapsed from the earlier irrigation water. Not large, not deep, but the soil was fresh. In a flash of lightning and flint, Lin Yi spoke. He deliberately let his voice carry the lingering tremor of panic, even let his body shake slightly—this wasn't entirely feigned. "R-Replying to Senior Brother," he lowered his head, avoiding the disciplinary disciple's sharp gaze, "this disciple was careless while irrigating. The water flow collapsed the field ridge. Perhaps... perhaps it disturbed a shallow earth-vein node." "The earth-vein spiritual energy leaked, and these Blazeflame Grasses couldn't withstand it, so... so they went berserk..." The younger disciplinary disciple's Spirit-Quelling Plate was already aimed at that small pit. The plate's *buzzing* suddenly grew urgent. The black crystal flashed bright for an instant, pointing toward the collapsed spot. But the light flickered unsteadily, failing to lock on firmly. The older disciple's brows furrowed slightly. He turned to Su Qingwan: "Junior Sister Su, what are you doing here?" His gaze swept back and forth between Su Qingwan and Lin Yi, carrying scrutiny. Su Qingwan had already withdrawn her hand seal. The water vapor around her dispersed. Her face was still somewhat pale, but her expression had returned to its usual calm. Hearing the question, she slightly inclined her body and performed a courtesy. "Replying to Senior Brother," her voice was gentle, yet her enunciation was exceptionally clear, "I came to the rear mountain to collect Blazeflame Grass samples for preparing medicinal powder. I happened to be passing nearby when I sensed abnormal earth-energy gushing and spiritual plants growing restless. Fearing calamity, I stepped in to assist Junior Brother Lin, attempting to stabilize the situation." She paused, her gaze calmly meeting the older disciple's: "This place lies near the mountain's shady slope. The earth veins have never been particularly stable. During past irrigations, there have occasionally been minor spiritual ripples as well. Only... never as intense as today." In her words, she both explained the possibility of Lin Yi "disturbing the earth vein" (the veins were inherently unstable) and established the legitimacy of her own intervention (preventing disaster). She also subtly provided corroboration for Lin Yi's account (similar situations had occurred before). Her tone was peaceful, neither servile nor overbearing, yet every sentence landed on a crucial point. The older disciple stared at her for two seconds, then turned back to Lin Yi. The Spirit-Quelling Plate was still *buzzing*. The younger disciple said in a low voice: "Senior Brother, the residual disturbance... does indeed have the chaotic characteristics of earth-vein leakage, matching the spiritual-energy spectrum of frenzied spiritual plants by seventy or eighty percent. But..." He hesitated, "I keep sensing there's also an extremely faint trace of something else... very obscure, impossible to grasp." As he spoke, he unconsciously raised the Spirit-Quelling Plate slightly higher. The range the plate swept across drew nearer to Lin Yi. That *buzzing* seemed to drill directly into his brain, into his dantian. The contract runes were vibrating madly, waves of scorching heat assaulting his will, bringing violent dizziness and nausea. His vision darkened; he could barely remain standing. No... he absolutely couldn't let it sweep over him... He fiercely pinched his own thigh. The sharp pain allowed him to barely maintain a thread of clarity. He lowered his head, hunched his shoulders tighter, playing the role of the "panic-stricken, self-aware-of-his-crime" menial disciple to the extreme. The older disciple narrowed his eyes, looking at the spiritual field that was in disarray but had basically calmed, then at the pale, trembling, head-bowed That death-knell buzzing finally faded into the distance. But the air itself seemed still haunted by the cold texture of that bronze compass, by the stinging sensation of being probed and scanned by something unseen. Lin Yi remained frozen in place. Several breaths passed before he slowly, with extreme difficulty, exhaled the turbid air that had been trapped in his chest. The breath brought with it a metallic sweetness from his throat. He coughed violently, bending double, hands braced against his knees to keep himself from collapsing. Cold sweat had soaked through his entire body. When the wind hit, it cut to the bone. The contract rune in his dantian finally subsided, but the burning afterpain and overwhelming weakness swept through him like a tide. His vision swam with darkness. His ears rang. Lin Yi forced himself upright and looked at her. She stood a few paces away, not approaching, simply watching him in silence. Her gaze was complex—concerned, probing, questioning—but above all, possessed of a certain knowing calm. She didn't seem to fully believe the "earth meridian" explanation, yet she had chosen to cooperate, and she hadn't pressed him on the spot. "It's over," she said softly, more as a statement of fact than comfort. Lin Yi tugged at the corner of his mouth. He tried to speak, but found his throat too parched to produce any coherent sound.