The late blossoms on the old pear tree rustled as they fell, each petal seeming to be pulled by an invisible thread, plummeting straight into the soil. Zhu Hanli had just tightened the cloth bandage on Yue Tingzhou’s shoulder. Her fingers hadn’t yet left the knot when the wind from the foot of the mountain suddenly ceased. It wasn’t a natural stillness—it was the kind of stillness that felt as if something had seized the wind by the throat. Pear blossom petals hung suspended in mid-air, as if waiting for a command, and even the distant roar of the pine forest vanished completely. Footsteps exploded from the mountain path. Not from one person. From a group. The dull thuds of boot soles striking the stone steps mixed with heavy, ragged breathing, surging up from the base of the mountain like a tide, causing the ground to tremble faintly. Yue Tingzhou’s hand pressed against his sword hilt. His shoulder injury slowed his movement by half a beat, the scabbard scraping against the copper buckle of his belt with a faint *click*. But his gaze had already swept toward the source of the sound—three hundred paces, at most three hundred paces. Through the gaps in the pine needles, he could already glimpse the jostling figures. “Don’t move,” Zhu Hanli whispered. Her silver abacus, at some unknown moment, had been inverted in her left hand, the cool sandalwood frame pressing into her palm. Her right hand rested on the short gun at the small of her back, the rough sharkskin-wrapped grip grating against her fingertips. The tree shadows swayed. It was Lu Jianwei who burst out. She ran with her medicine chest on her back, her hair disheveled, a few strands plastered to the side of her neck with sweat. Her cheek was scratched by a branch, tiny beads of blood seeping out, starkly vivid against her pale skin. Yet what she held in her hand was gripped with a deathly tightness—a palm-sized fragment of a spirit mirror, emitting a piercing, pale blue light. The light writhed like a living thing, casting her face a ghastly white, even dyeing her pupils with a layer of eerie blue. “Run—” She panted, almost unable to form a complete sentence, her throat making a sound like a broken bellows. She shoved the spirit mirror fragment into Yue Tingzhou’s arms. “The whole Jianghu… is spreading…” Yue Tingzhou took the fragment. The moment his fingertip touched the mirror’s surface, a familiar chill crawled up his arm, like countless tiny ice needles piercing his skin. It was the unique sensation of a Destiny Book spirit mirror, like touching the ice of a deep winter river. The mirror’s surface did not reflect his face; only lines of text scrolled upwards—pale blue luminous characters dancing on the inky black mirror base, every stroke as sharp as if carved by a knife: **[Yue Clan Sect Announcement: The traitorous disciple Yue Tingzhou (courtesy name Zhige) has privately colluded with the Marriage List, manipulated matches, and sought illicit profits. The evidence is conclusive. As of this day, he is expelled from the sect, his lineage record expunged. His life or death is of no concern.]** **[Henglu Division Wanted Order: Suspect Yue Tingzhou is implicated in the forgery of Destiny Marriage Contracts, acceptance of bribes, and disruption of Jianghu order. Bounty: one hundred thousand taels, dead or alive. For those providing leads, a reward of one thousand taels of silver.]** **[Marriage List Transaction Records (Forged): On the seventh day of the third month, Yue Tingzhou accepted five thousand taels of silver from a Jiangnan silk merchant, matching the merchant’s daughter to a northern aristocratic family; on the second day of the fourth month, accepted a pair of jadeite pieces from a Sichuan salt merchant, altering his son’s fate…]** The text continued to scroll down, dense and packed, like a swarm of gnawing ants. Yue Tingzhou’s breath stopped. It wasn’t anger; it was a coldness as if ice water had been poured over him from head to toe, chilling him from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. His shoulder injury ached, a sharp, stabbing pain chiseling at his bones with each throb, but it couldn’t surpass the pain of the thorn suddenly driven into his heart—the Yue Clan’s expulsion announcement used a cinnabar seal. That garish smear of crimson, spreading on the mirror’s surface, was the Great Sect Seal, usable only by the Clan Head. Once stamped, he was no longer a member of the Yue family. His Adam’s apple bobbed, "The Destiny Book Spirit Mirror... pushed to the entire network." Lu Jianwei swallowed, her dry throat making a gulp sound. She pointed down the mountain, her fingertip trembling slightly. "Starting half an hour ago, all Spirit Mirrors have been flashing blue light. Opening them reveals these announcements. Now, every rogue cultivator in the jianghu with any cultivation level has a Spirit Mirror fragment..." She didn't continue. Because the shouts and battle cries from below had already surged up, like a brass gong being hammered right beside their ears. "Yue Tingzhou is over there—!" "One hundred thousand taels! Don't let him escape!" "And that woman from the escort bureau, capture them both for the reward!" The voices crashed against the hillside like waves, shaking the pear tree branches and leaves, causing petals to fall like a rainstorm, pummeling their shoulders and hair. The smell of sulfur mixed with the stench of sweat drifted up on the wind, acrid and choking—someone had brought thunderfire bombs. Yue Tingzhou stuffed the Spirit Mirror fragment into his chest, the cold mirror surface pressing against his skin, his left hand gripping his sword scabbard. His shoulder injury made his left arm still tremble, muscles twitching uncontrollably, but his right hand was already steady, fingers clenching until his knuckles turned white. Zhu Hanli suddenly grabbed his wrist. Her fingers were scorching hot, so hot that Yue Tingzhou was momentarily stunned. The heat burned straight through his skin, a stark contrast to his own icy body temperature. "Medical clinic." She only said two words, her voice pressed very low, her gaze sweeping toward Lu Jianwei, sharp as the tip of a dart. "Qingzhu Town. Your place. Any secret passages?" "Yes." Lu Jianwei nodded, the strap of her medicine chest biting into her shoulder, the coarse hemp fabric grinding painfully. "But the town right now... is full of rogue cultivators looking at the bounty notice." "Then we fight our way through." Zhu Hanli released Yue Tingzhou's wrist, pulling out the silver abacus she held upside down from her chest. She didn't move the beads, just held the abacus horizontally before her, fingers lightly brushing across the beads—seven beads simultaneously lit up with a soft silvery light, warm yet carrying a sharp, cutting quality. It was the "Light-Splitting Array" used by the Wan Mirror Escort Bureau only for transporting the heaviest, most valuable cargos. It could briefly distort light and create illusions. Each use consumed thirty percent of one's internal energy. Yue Tingzhou glanced at her. He wanted to say "You don't need to do this," wanted to say "It's not too late to distance yourself now," wanted to say "The Zhu family will be implicated." But the words stuck in his throat, like a wad of wet cotton blocking it, because Zhu Hanli had already turned around, her back to him, facing the tide of people surging up the mountain, her clothes flapping loudly in the wind. Her back was very straight, like a dart banner thrust into the earth, unshaken by the wind. "Go," she said. The three of them charged down the hillside. The pear grove was dense, the crisscrossing branches whipping their faces with a burning pain, leaving fine blood trails. Yue Tingzhou ran last, his shoulder injury slowing his pace. Every step landing felt like needles stabbing his bones, the pain making him grit his teeth. The shouts and battle cries behind grew closer and closer; he could even hear the creaking sound of someone drawing a bowstring—the distinctive friction sound of an ox-tendon bowstring being pulled taut— The arrows came. Not one, but three. The arrowheads carried a faint green light, tracing three ghostly green trails through the dim forest—poisoned arrows, coated with paralyzing toxin. Yue Tingzhou tried to dodge sideways, but his left leg suddenly gave way, his knee hitting the ground, sharp stones grinding painfully. The poison had spread from his shoulder wound; a numb itching sensation crawled over half his body like countless ants, as if something writhed beneath his skin. A hand reached from the side, yanking him violently backward. Zhu Hanli's silver abacus swept out horizontally. The seven silvery-glowing beads flew free from the frame, drawing seven arcs through the air with faint whistling sounds. The beads collided with the arrow shafts, producing crisp clinks of metal on metal, sparks flying. All three arrows veered off course, embedding themselves in a nearby tree trunk, the fletching still vibrating with a hum that shook loose several leaves. "Don't stop!" Lu Jianwei shouted from ahead, her voice hoarse. She had already burst out of the pear grove. Ahead was the bluestone-paved road of Qingzhu Town, She grabbed a handful of grayish-white powder and flung it into the air. The powder scattered on the wind, turning into an acrid white mist that invaded nostrils and throats, triggering violent coughing fits. It was mugwort ash mixed with rosemary—a common defensive smoke used by itinerant physicians in the jianghu, carrying a bitter herbal scent and a sharp, dusty sensation. The white fog engulfed half the street, mingling coughs and curses into chaos, figures stumbling within the haze. "This way!" Lu Jianwei pulled the two into a narrow alley. The walls towered high, slick with moss, making footing treacherous. At the alley's end stood an unremarkable wooden door, a faded signboard nailed to it: **[Lu's Clinic]**. In the lower right corner of the sign was a tiny carved mark—three overlapping mugwort leaves, a secret signal among traveling physicians meaning "shelter here." The grooves were filled with years of accumulated dust. Lu Jianwei pushed the door open. The smell of medicine hit them, so thick it was suffocating. Not the fresh scent of herbs, but a heavy, oppressive odor mixed with blood, festering sores, and the stale air of long-term sickness, like a damp cloth pressed over the mouth and nose. The clinic was small—just a consultation table, two medicine cabinets, and dried herbs piled on the floor that crunched underfoot with a "rustling" crispness. The rear window was boarded up, but light seeping through the cracks revealed another alley outside, dim and gloomy. She turned and bolted the door. The moment the door closed, footsteps pounded into the alley's entrance outside—chaotic, heavy. Someone slammed against the door with a dull *thud*, making the wood groan under the strain. Dust shook loose from the doorframe, sifting down. Lu Jianwei pulled an iron rod from beneath a medicine cabinet—cold and heavy—and slid it horizontally through the bolt. The metal scraped against wood with a grating screech. "It won't hold long," she gasped, sliding down to sit with her back against the medicine cabinet, her coarse cloth clothes rubbing against the wood. "All the exits from town are sealed by the Book of Destiny's people... They've set up barricades, checking every spirit mirror." Yue Tingzhou steadied himself against the consultation table. The table edge dug into the small of his back, rough splinters catching on the fabric. The numbness and itch from his shoulder wound had spread to his chest, like a net tightening around his lungs. He had to exert all his strength to keep his breathing steady, each inhale carrying a faint tremor. He pulled the two spirit mirror fragments from his robe and placed them side-by-side on the table. Their pale blue glow cast the wooden surface into a small, icy pond, light and shadow rippling over the still-damp grain. "The rumors are forged," he began, his voice raspy from the toxin, throat dry as sandpaper. "But the push notification is real—a network-wide broadcast from a Book of Destiny spirit mirror. Only the master server at Cloud Summit Palace could do that." Zhu Hanli walked over to him. She didn't look at the mirrors, but at Yue Tingzhou's face. His complexion was frighteningly pale, sweat beading at his temples, fine droplets tracing down his sideburns. Yet his eyes held the same calm intensity as when he was dissecting a case, like he was examining a corpse. Deep within his pupils, the blue light of the spirit mirror reflected. "Evidence?" she asked, her voice soft yet piercing the silence like a needle. Yue Tingzhou picked up the fragment showing the forged transaction records, pressing his fingertip to the center of the mirror's surface. He closed his eyes, stirring the remaining thirty percent of his internal energy in his dantian—like forcing stagnant water to move. *Still Pond Art*, the mental technique required of all Shadow Agents in the Department of Order and Law, could reflect the subtlest fluctuations in a spirit mirror's data flow, like still water mirroring the moon. As his internal energy flowed through his meridians, it brought a needle-like stabbing pain, agitating the toxin in his shoulder wound. A pale blue light seeped from his fingertip into the mirror's surface, like water soaking into sand. The text on the mirror suddenly came alive. No longer rigid lines of records, they transformed into countless tiny points of light, like a swarm of startled fireflies dancing deep within the mirror, flickering on and off. Between the points of light stretched extremely fine threads—the paths of data flow, interwoven like a spider's web. Yue Tingzhou's brow furrowed, deep creases forming between his eyebrows. He searched for flaws among the points of light—forged transaction records could never be perfect. There would always be logical gaps, temporal misalignments, or mismatched sig "Here." Yue Tingzhou's voice grew even hoarser, like a cracked gong. "There should have been a proprietary runic imprint here—the Spirit Mirror server stamps a unique runic brand deep within the data stream when pushing each piece of information, used to trace its origin. But this brand... it's been artificially erased. Wiped clean, leaving only this indentation." "Erased?" Lu Jianwei scrambled up from the floor, her knee banging against the corner of a medicine cabinet. She sucked in a sharp breath of pain. "Who could erase a brand from the Book of Destiny server?" "Those who operate it." As Yue Tingzhou finished speaking, another shard of Spirit Mirror on the consultation table suddenly began to flicker violently. Not with a pale blue light, but a blood-red one—the shard displaying the preliminary review order for the Reverse Ranking. A new line of characters surfaced on its mirror-like surface. The Still Pool Art circulated within his meridians, like icy spring water seeping into parched, cracked earth, bringing a faint sting and coolness. Spiritual energy rose from his dantian, ascending along the Governor Vessel meridian. At the Fengfu acupoint, it encountered a blockage—a hidden injury left behind by the Frost Falcon's claw poison. Every attempt to break through felt like a blunt knife scraping bone. Fine beads of sweat broke out on his temples, sliding down his sideburns and dripping onto the collar of his robe at the collarbone, blooming into small, damp, dark patches. Yet his breathing remained as steady as a mountain stream, the rhythm of his chest's rise and fall utterly unchanged. "Zhi Ge." Zhu Hanli's voice came from behind him, pressed low, almost drowned out by the continuous pounding at the door. She didn't touch him, merely stood beside the consultation table, the soles of her shoes grinding the scattered medicinal dregs on the floor, producing a faint, rustling sound. The Myriad Mirrors Splintering Blade rested on the brass medicine grinder within easy reach. The blade reflected the blue light spilling from the Spirit Mirror shards, like a frozen crescent moon, its cold gleam shifting. She watched Yue Tingzhou's hand pressed against the mirror surface, saw his knuckles turn white from the strain, the edges of his fingernails bloodless from the pressure. She also saw the dark golden brand on the inside of his wrist—the mark of a Hidden Agent of the Bureau of Order and Law. It was faintly glowing now, radiating a scorching heat beneath the skin. "Evidence trail." Yue Tingzhou opened his eyes. Deep within his pupils, faint golden patterns swirled like hidden inscriptions at the bottom of a pool. "Spirit Mirror pushes have a fixed frequency. Forged transaction records... would require access to the computational core of the Book of Destiny's master scroll to break through the conventional frequency limits and achieve synchronization across the entire network." The spiritual energy he was channeling into his fingertips suddenly surged. The mirror surface erupted in a blinding flash of blue light, instantly illuminating the entire dim clinic. The shadows of the medicine cabinets on the walls stretched and twisted, like countless hands poised to pounce. Countless runes poured forth from the shard, weaving together mid-air into a flowing river, emitting a sustained, low-frequency hum. It was the encrypted transmission trail—rows of pale blue data streams cascaded down like waterfalls, each etched with timestamps, access nodes, verification codes. The points of light flickered like fireflies on a summer night. The air filled with the dense sound of fluttering wings, as if millions of cicadas were buzzing in unison. The noise vibrated against eardrums, making even the teeth ache faintly. Lu Jianwei covered her ears, cold sweat seeping between her fingers. "That sound will carry outside—" "It already has." Zhu Hanli stared at the data streams, the trajectories of the runes reflected in her pupils, the blue light dancing in her eyes. "Huo Qingya's Frost Falcons have been circling the roof, waiting for us to use spiritual energy for a fix. They must have this room locked down by now." Her words had barely left her lips when another heavy impact struck the door! *Bang—!* Wood splinters flew like snowflakes, pattering down onto the dust-covered floor. A hideous crack split open from the center of the door, letting in the flickering red light of torches from outside, slicing the interior into alternating fragments of light and shadow. The hoarse roars of the rogue cultivators wormed their way through the crack, mingled with the stench of blood and sweat: “Yue Tingzhou! Come out and face your death!” “The hundred thousand tael bounty—I’m taking it!” “Burn this clinic down! Punish the whole town! No one gets away!” Yue Tingzhou seemed not to hear. His gaze was locked on the thirty-seventh line of the data stream—there, a segment of verification code was arranged abnormally. Normal transmission trajectories followed the nested structure of the “Three Talents and Four Symbols,” interlocking ring by ring, but this segment had one extra layer of nesting, like an extra stitch sewn into a garment, a subtle stitch that disrupted the overall weave. “The flaw is here.” His voice was terrifyingly calm. His left hand suddenly lifted, his index finger tracing a line in the air, the fingertip stirring a faint current. A pale golden spiritual energy thread shot from his fingertip, fine as a hair yet sharp as a needle, piercing precisely into that abnormal data stream. The runes began to violently reorganize. Those blue light points trembled as if plucked by an invisible hand, peeling apart and reattaching, rearranging into a new pattern—it was a forged template of transaction records, bearing marriage registry numbers, match percentages, bribe silver amounts, each entry crafted flawlessly, enough to pass for genuine. Except for the mark in the corner. A character: Xuan. It wasn’t carved; it was a redundancy naturally generated by the calculation logic—like the unique pause a calligrapher leaves at the final stroke’s conclusion, impossible to imitate or erase. This “Xuan” character began its stroke at a seven-degree oblique angle, its sharpness restrained; at the end, there was an almost invisible hooked return, subtle as a hair yet carrying an undeniable downward wrist pressure. Yue Tingzhou’s breath hitched for half a beat. He recognized this handwriting. Three years ago, in the archives of the Henglu Division’s main office, a cold stone room reeking of mildew from aged case files. He had been ordered to retrieve a confidential volume of an old case and saw the same mark in the vermillion verification column on the volume’s back cover. At the time, the white-haired, elderly archivist had tapped that character with a withered finger and whispered, his voice echoing off the stone walls: “This is Chief Envoy Xie’s personal seal marking the confidentiality level. Seeing this seal is like seeing the man himself.” Xie Wuchen. “A proprietary rune.” Zhu Hanli’s voice severed the memory like a knife cutting a thread. She stepped forward, her boot toe kicking aside a few wood splinters. Her finger pointed at that Xuan character mark, her fingertip mere inches from the flowing data. The data stream trembled slightly under her finger, like a living thing sensing a threat, the blue light flickering uneasily. “The rumors were forged by him.” She turned to look at Yue Tingzhou; her eyes held no doubt, only icy confirmation, her pupils reflecting his pale face in their depths. “The source point is at Cloud Summit Heavenly Palace—the master volume server must connect to the Celestial Mandate Book’s main hub to synchronize the push to all Spirit Mirrors across the entire Jianghu.” Huo Qingya’s voice pierced in from outside the door, cold as an undercurrent beneath ice, each word carrying frost: “Young Master of the Zhu Family, are you going to bury the entire Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Agency with him?” Zhu Hanli did not turn. She still held Yue Tingzhou, one hand pressed to the back of his neck, shielding his entire body in her embrace. Her body warmth came through the fabric, scaldingly warm, that familiar cold pear blossom fragrance wrapped in warmth, driving away the chill seeping from his shoulders. Her voice rose, clear as a blade leaving its sheath, splitting a gap through the chaotic pounding on the door: “The Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Agency has stood its banner for a hundred years, not by trimming its sails to the wind. Today, I, Zhu Hanli, lay my words here—whoever moves against Yue Tingzhou moves against my three hundred Zhu Family escorts. If you want the bounty, count my head in as well.” The rogue cultivators looked at each other, a wave of suppressed inhalations rising from the crowd. The scar-faced man’s ghost-head saber hung even lower, its tip scraping against the ground with a fine, grating sound. A hundred thousand taels of gold was certainly tempting, but three hundred Zhu Family escorts—that was solid, tangible Jianghu power. To truly incur a death feud, the account wouldn’t balance. A stir rippled through the crowd; someone shuffled back half a step, boot soles scraping over grit on the ground with a soft rustle. In that instant. Lu Jianwei moved. She darted out from behind the medicine cabinet The flagstone floor cracked open a fissure two fingers wide, the damp smell of mold mingling with the bitter fragrance of aged mugwort rising up, like stale blood. She crouched down, fingers digging into the crack, and heaved with all her might—the entire slab flipped over, revealing steep stone steps descending downward, darkness gaping like a silent mouth. "Go!" Lu Jianwei dove in first, her figure swallowed by the darkness. Before she disappeared completely, she glanced back, a faint glimmer of light from the night pearl in her hand. Zhu Hanli gave Yue Tingzhou a shove. The force was not light; he stumbled onto the first step, the slippery moss making his boot soles skid. The excruciating pain from his shoulder wound exploded, plunging his vision into darkness for an instant. He gritted his teeth, his left hand gripping the stone wall desperately, fingertips registering the cold, rough texture. She followed, her Ten Thousand Mirrors Splitting Light Blade sweeping backhand—seven silver blade shadows slashed toward the pursuing rogue cultivators—not to kill, but to seal the path. Blade qi severed the roof beams; wood and stone collapsed with a thunderous crash, broken wood and dust raining down like a storm, completely blocking the secret passage entrance. Utter darkness engulfed them. The steps were steep, each one uncomfortably high and hard. The stone walls were treacherously slick, groundwater seeping out and dripping through cracks, making a monotonous *drip, drip* sound in the silence. Yue Tingzhou leaned against the wall as he descended, each step sinking into ankle-deep accumulated water. The icy, filthy water soaked through his boots and socks, a bone-chilling cold creeping up his calves. The sounds of the collapse behind them gradually faded, leaving only the breathing of the three and the sound of their footsteps splashing through water echoing in the narrow tunnel, amplified by the stone walls, sounding unnervingly heavy. "The secret passage leads to Black Wind Forest outside the town," Lu Jianwei's voice rang out ahead, carrying a hollow echo. The halo of the night pearl swayed in the darkness. "My master dug it back in the day, as a precaution against marauding soldiers." "Huo Qingya will pursue," Yue Tingzhou said. His voice sounded particularly calm in the dark, as if stating a case file fact, but the dry itch in his throat from the spreading toxin made him clear his throat involuntarily. "Frost Falcon's sense of smell can track for three *li*. They won't wait for the smoke to clear." "So we can't stop," Zhu Hanli's voice came from behind him, close, carrying the dampness of panting breath. They walked for roughly the time it takes an incense stick to burn. The air in the tunnel grew increasingly stifling, carrying the scent of earth and rotting vegetation. The tunnel began to slope upward, the water underfoot shallowing into slippery mud. At the far end, a faint sliver of natural light, mixed with the clean bitterness of pine needles and decaying leaves, filtered in. Lu Jianwei stopped, reached up, and pushed aside a wooden plank overgrown with vines. Damp soil and broken leaves rustled down. Black Wind Forest. Groves of black pines stood like silent sentinels, their canopies blotting out the sky, only letting through scattered patches of light that cast fragmented shadows on the forest floor. The forest was quiet, so quiet one could hear the soft sound of falling pine needles and the drum-like pounding of their own hearts in their chests. In the distance came faint shouts and the distinctive hum of spirit mirror signals—the direction of Green Bamboo Town. Yue Tingzhou leaned against the rough bark of a pine tree, catching his breath, the bark digging into his back. The numbness and itch at his shoulder wound had turned into a burning sting; the toxin was spreading along his meridians toward his heart channel. He looked down at his left hand—his fingertips were beginning to turn bluish, the blood color under his nails fading rapidly. Twelve hours. Zhu Hanli's silver needle technique could only suppress it for that long. "The rune clue," Zhu Hanli extended her hand, palm up. A fresh scrape at the base of her thumb was oozing beads of blood. "Let me see." Yue Tingzhou fished out the spirit mirror fragment from his robe. The metal edges still held the warmth of his body. A pale blue halo lit up in the dim forest, illuminating the grime and exhaustion on the three faces. On the fragment's surface floated that line of mysterious character runes—Xie Wuchen's exclusive mark, like a venomous serpent coiled at the bottom of the forged transaction record. Yue Tingzhou traced the runes with his fingertip. Beneath the cool touch, the spiritual power of the Still Pool Art slowly seeped in, triggering a hidden traceback Yue Tingzhou took the water skin but didn’t drink. The rough texture of the leather surface ground against his palm. He stared at the countdown floating above the star chart—pale red numbers hovered over the phantom image of the Cloud Peak Heavenly Palace, ticking away second by second. Each tick felt like a needle prick to his eyeballs. **[Preliminary Reversal List Countdown: 11 days, 23 hours, 47 minutes]** "Twelve days," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "If we don’t obtain the original scroll and find the original record of the 'Life-Borrowing Ticket' algorithm within twelve days, the Yue and Zhu families will be officially listed on the Reversal List. All disciples will lose their cultivation qualifications, and a century of foundation... will be wiped clean." The woods grew even quieter. Wind swept through the pine branches, making a rustling sound like distant surging waves, carrying the thicker scent of pine resin and damp earth. A crow startled from the canopy, its black wings beating the air with a flapping sound before disappearing deep into the dense forest. Zhu Hanli suddenly reached out and grasped Yue Tingzhou's wrist. Her palm was warm, carrying the thin calluses from years of holding a saber, rubbing against the skin of his wrist. She didn’t speak, just squeezed hard—so hard her knuckles turned white—then released. The gesture was brief, fleeting like an illusion, but Yue Tingzhou felt it—she was telling him she was still there. The lingering touch and warmth on his wrist bone were more substantial than any words. Lu Jianwei walked to the edge of the woods, pushed aside a clump of thorny shrubs, and the crisp sound of snapping dry twigs was especially sharp in the silence. A slip of paper was nailed to a tree trunk. The paper was fine Snow Wave stationery, glowing cold white under the dim light, but the characters were written in blood—dark red verging on black, the edges already dried and wrinkled. The handwriting was as neat as engraving, each stroke carrying icy mockery: **"Welcome to the Cloud Peak Heavenly Palace to die."** There was no signature at the end, only a simply sketched "Xuan" character pattern—identical to the rune on the spirit mirror fragment, its sharp strokes and turns revealing the writer’s certainty. Xie Wuchen. Yue Tingzhou stared at the note, his pupils contracting slightly. He reached out, his fingertip touching the paper. Beneath the cool, slick texture was the rough grain of the tree bark. He tore it off; the paper made a faint tearing sound at his fingertips, the blood characters smearing into a stain that smudged onto his thumb, carrying a rusty, metallic scent. He crumpled the torn paper into a ball, clenching it tightly in his palm, the wad pressing into his flesh. "He knew we’d come," Lu Jianwei said, her voice tense. "It’s a trap, set in motion the moment we got the fragment." "It always has been," Yue Tingzhou released his grip, letting the paper ball fall to the ground. He lifted his foot and stomped it fiercely into the damp soil, his boot sole grinding it with a faint, gritty sound. "From the rumors, to the bounty order, to the Reversal List countdown—all of it was to force us into the Cloud Peak Heavenly Palace. He’s laid a net there, waiting for us to walk right in." "So we’re still going?" Lu Jianwei asked, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of her medicine chest. Yue Tingzhou turned to look at Zhu Hanli. She was looking back at him. The dappled light filtering through the trees shifted across her face, illuminating the layer of resolve in her eyes—it wasn’t impulse, nor was it stubbornness; it was a calculated determination. She was the young master of a security bureau; she understood weighing costs, had run the abacus beads in her mind countless times. And now, she chose to stake her chips on him, on this seemingly hopeless path. "We go," Yue Tingzhou said, his voice not loud, but each word was spoken with firmness. "Because it’s the only way. The original scroll is in the Heavenly Palace, the evidence is in the Heavenly Palace, the key to overturning the case is in the Heavenly Palace." He paused, his voice dropping even lower, as if speaking to himself, or perhaps a promise to her: "Within twelve days, I will get the original scroll. I’ll clear your name, and the Zhu family’s name." Zhu Hanli smiled. A very faint smile, the corner of her mouth lifting just a little, but the light in her eyes was sharp and clear, like a saber blade reflecting snow. She didn’t reply, just pulled out that Yue Tingzhou took the pill, tipped his head back, and swallowed. The pill dissolved in his throat, a scorching, pungent stream of energy rushing violently toward his limbs and bones, temporarily suppressing the heart-piercing pain in his shoulder. He flexed his left hand; the bluish-black color on his fingertips had faded somewhat, but the stiffness in his joints remained. "Which way?" Zhu Hanli put away her abacus, the silver pieces sliding into her bosom with a soft clatter. "Not the main road." Yue Tingzhou pointed northeast, his finger tracing through the dim forest light. "Over Blackwind Ridge, across Heartbreak Cliff, then sneak in via the abandoned plank path on the back mountain of Cloudtop Heavenly Palace. That path was opened by herb gatherers a century ago. Few know of it; it's not even marked on maps, but..." "But what?" "But the plank path has fallen into disrepair. The wood has long since rotted, and below it is a bottomless chasm with winds sharp as blades." Yue Tingzhou said, his gaze steady. "And besides, Xie Wuchen is meticulous. He must know about that path too. Even if he doesn't, Huo Qingya's Spirit Mirror tracking will force us toward it." Zhu Hanli fell silent for a moment, her fingers unconsciously stroking the anti-slip cord wrapped around her saber hilt. She raised her head, looking toward the direction of Cloudtop Heavenly Palace. From here, all that could be seen were continuous black mountain shadows and heavy, leaden clouds, but everyone knew—that palace lay behind those clouds, like a dormant giant beast, its maw open, waiting for them to walk down its throat. "Then let him know." She said, her voice not loud, yet carrying a resolve that cut off retreat. "We'll walk our path. He'll lay his trap. Let's see who miscalculates first, whose blade dulls first." Yue Tingzhou followed, his steps falling on the thick layer of pine needles, soft and soundless. Lu Jianwei brought up the rear, fishing out a handful of dried mugwort from his medicine chest. He lit it with a firestarter and tossed it at the fork in the road three *zhang* behind them. A wisp of bluish smoke curled up, carrying the pungent scent that repelled insects and miasma, yet also serving as a conspicuous marker. He dusted off his hands.