Inside the gray-tiled room, the oil lamp burned like a solitary bean of light.

  Yun Che sat alone on the edge of the bed, unmoving for a long time. The cold sensation seeping from the dark-yellow hide scroll in his hand mingled with the faint yet lingering metallic scent of blood at the tip of his nose, sending his thoughts into turmoil.

  Zhang Hu was gone—carrying resolve and unknown risks, swallowed by the vast night. The only person in the menial courtyard he could exchange a few words with, the one who once shared a single roasted sweet potato with him, had severed all ties with the Frost Profound Sect in such a brutal fashion, right before his eyes.

  “Is this hide scroll… the root of the disaster?”

  Yun Che lowered his gaze to the twisted dark-red lines etched upon it. His fingertips could feel the extraordinary resilience of its material. What truly unsettled him was that when he attempted to perceive it with his unique ability to see, he could faintly sense a condensed yet deeply concealed strand of icy spiritual power sealed within the scroll. Its intensity surpassed anything he had ever encountered—hundreds of times purer and denser than even the heartwater of the Cold Nether Pool. And deep within that power lurked a sharp, dangerous aura, like a slumbering beast.

  He did not know what it was, but instinct told him this was no ordinary object—and certainly not something an outer disciple like Liu De should have possessed. Zhang Hu was right. This was precisely the source that had invited death.

  “No traces can be left.”

  Yun Che’s gaze hardened as he suppressed the turmoil in his heart. He swiftly wrapped the hide scroll in oilcloth and hid it behind a loosened brick at the corner of the wall. Then he began to clean himself—changing out of the dust-stained gray robe, carefully washing his hands of any possible grime, restoring everything to the appearance of an ordinary return from labor.

  After finishing, he extinguished the oil lamp and sat cross-legged on the bed. In the darkness, he did not immediately take out the stone bead. Instead, he first steadied his breathing. The life-and-death struggle from earlier that day, Zhang Hu’s bloodied face, the cold, heavy corpse… the images still battered his mind. He knew that entering the void—where absolute focus was required—while burdened with such distractions would be unwise.

  He needed to calm his mind. More importantly… he needed to strengthen his ability to protect himself.

  The Micro Pull he had used earlier to disrupt Liu De’s attack had been remarkably effective, but it was costly and dangerously unstable. That made him realize that his unique ability required not just power, but precise control and reliable execution.

  As night deepened and moonlight once again filled the window lattice, Yun Che’s state of mind became like an ancient well, barely stirred. He took out the gray-white stone bead and placed it in his palm beneath the moonlight.

  Focus.

  Descend.

  A milky-white void—boundless and silent.

  This time, Yun Che did not immediately begin the monotonous breathing practice. His goal was clear: to train Micro Pull.

  With a thought, he locked his intent onto a faint speck of light floating in the void, no larger than a grain of dust. He mobilized the strange power within him—infused with void light motes—concentrating it at his fingertips (his mental fingertips), attempting to touch and nudge it.

  Failure.

  The light speck did not move at all; the power dispersed midway through the attempt.

  Unfazed, he adjusted his breathing, focused his mind, and tried again. Once. Twice. Ten times… After dozens of failures, at one particular moment, the tiny speck trembled—ever so slightly—before returning to stillness.

  Success!

  Though infinitesimal, it invigorated Yun Che. He immediately stopped and began anew, no longer pursuing consecutive successes, but instead seeking to understand the subtle differences in power flow and mental focus behind each success and failure.

  “It must be that wherever the mind goes, power follows,”

  he recalled the hair-thin precision from when he disrupted Liu De.

  “Otherwise, in a life-or-death moment, even the slightest deviation would spell doom.”

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  Time was abundant within the void. He practiced tirelessly, expanding his targets from dust-sized light specks to slightly larger glimmers, then to simulating the movement of a small region of nothingness. His success rate slowly improved—from once in a hundred attempts, to one or two out of ten. Each successful manipulation deepened his understanding of his own unique power.

  After an unknown duration, when the familiar mental fatigue set in, Yun Che stopped. He consumed a small fragment of Cold Whisker Vine carried in by his intent—its faint spiritual energy preserved under the void’s rules—and began his routine breathing practice, guiding the thin strand of cold energy to merge with the void light motes, nourishing both body and spirit.

  When the tearing sensation arrived and he returned to reality, the night outside was still deep. Yun Che did not rest. By starlight from the window, he extended his right index finger toward a withered leaf on the floor beside the bed.

  Focus.

  Intent gathered.

  Power mobilized.

  The edge of the leaf curled upward—barely perceptible—and held for a single breath before slowly falling back.

  A glimmer flashed through Yun Che’s eyes.

  His control had made a visible step forward. This was not merely technical improvement, but a deeper understanding of a power fundamentally different from traditional Xu Spirit cultivation.

  In the days that followed, Yun Che’s life settled into a rhythm that was calm on the surface yet taut beneath. He grew increasingly taciturn, nearly invisible among the menial workers. By day, he meticulously completed every assigned task, while quietly listening for rumors and changes—Liu De’s disappearance did cause some disturbance, but it was quickly suppressed by the overseer as a case of “leaving the mountain without permission,” with no further investigation. This eased Yun Che slightly, but he dared not truly relax.

  Night belonged entirely to the stone bead and the void.

  Using tenfold time, he cultivated relentlessly—breathing to accumulate light motes and strengthen his body, and painstakingly refining Micro Pull as a means of self-preservation. He gradually realized that his cultivation differed from the Qi Condensation stage described in manuals. Instead of forming unified qi or spiritual power in the dantian, his void-infused power dispersed into his limbs and bones, fusing more deeply with his physical body.

  He did not know whether this was good or bad, but he could clearly feel his body improving day by day—strength, speed, endurance, senses, even the rate at which wounds healed.

  One night, deep past midnight.

  Yun Che had just returned from another void session. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he did not immediately begin the next cycle, but quietly sensed the power surging within him—several times denser than when he had first embarked on this path.

  A thought arose.

  “My path of cultivation is different. I have no Qi Condensation method… but does it also have a boundary? A threshold?”

  He recalled miscellaneous records mentioning that each breakthrough required a catalyst, or an impact upon a bottleneck once enough power had accumulated.

  Calming himself, he attempted to actively guide the dispersed power within his body toward the dantian at his core. This was no technique—only an experiment born of understanding.

  At first, the power flowed smoothly. But as more and more energy gathered near the dantian, an invisible yet formidable resistance appeared—as though an extremely tough membrane sealed it shut, rejecting any true entry or consolidation. The harder he pushed, the stronger the rebound, accompanied by swelling pain in his meridians and rapid mental exhaustion.

  After roughly an hour, Yun Che began to sweat and was forced to stop. Much of his power had been consumed by the attempt; his body felt weak, and a dull, hollow ache lingered in his dantian.

  “So there is a threshold…”

  he panted, feeling little disappointment—only confirmation.

  “It seems that for my accumulated power to undergo a qualitative change and enter a new level, I must break through a barrier. The question is how… and what the catalyst will be.”

  He was not anxious. With the stone bead, he lacked neither time nor patience. If power was insufficient, he would continue accumulating it. If the catalyst had not arrived, he would wait and search.

  Just as he was steadying his breath and preparing to drink a bit of Cold Nether Pool water to recover, his expression suddenly shifted. His keen hearing caught a set of footsteps approaching the courtyard—light, purposeful, and distinctly unlike those of a menial.

  Moments later, a cold, unquestionable voice sounded outside the door:

  “Yun Che. Come out.”

  Yun Che’s heart tightened.

  That voice… was familiar.

  He quickly suppressed the surging blood and qi, concealed the stone bead close to his body, adjusted his gray robe, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  Under the cold moonlight stood a young man in the dark-blue robe of an inner disciple of the Frost Profound Sect, hands clasped behind his back, his expression indifferent. He was handsome, yet his brows carried the aloofness of one long accustomed to authority. A faint chill seemed to surround him, lowering the temperature of the air itself.

  Yun Che’s pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.

  He recognized him.

  This was the Zhang-surnamed guiding disciple who had once ridden sword light to bring him from his family to the Frost Profound Sect—and later, after Yun Che fell from a cliff, had helped his father find him.

  Yun Che remembered clearly: back then, this Senior Brother Zhang still wore the white robe of an outer disciple. Only a few months had passed, yet he now donned the dark-blue robe of an inner disciple—his cultivation and status clearly advanced.

  Senior Brother Zhang’s gaze lingered on Yun Che’s face, as if attempting to pierce through his calm exterior. His voice remained cold and flat.

  “Come with me. Elder Sun wants to see you.”

  Yun Che finally understands—

  The true barrier often lies within oneself.

  the gaze of the sect’s higher echelons quietly falls upon him.

  with secrets unresolved and no breakthrough yet achieved,

  summoned directly by an inner disciple—

  or prepare in silence for the worst?