Deep within the forest, far from the reach of rumors and blood-soaked paths, silence ruled the cave once more.

  Mingzhi sat cross-legged on the stone floor, his back straight, palms resting lightly on his knees. Earth Qi flowed around him in slow, heavy currents, invisible yet oppressive, pressing against his skin like a living weight. Even after the removal of the spirit sources, the density here remained far above anything the outer forest could offer.

  It wouldn’t last.

  He knew that.

  But while it did, he intended to take everything he could from it.

  Rou sat several paces away, mirroring his posture. Her breathing was steady, measured—no longer shallow with fear, but deep with focus. Thin strands of Qi gathered around her, subtle yet controlled, responding cleanly to her intent.

  She had improved.

  Not explosively. Not recklessly.

  But correctly.

  Mingzhi sensed it even with his attention turned inward. Her Qi circulation was smoother than before, her reactions more efficient. The chaos of panic that once accompanied danger was gone, replaced by quiet decisiveness.

  Good, he thought.

  He closed his eyes fully.

  Earth Qi surged.

  It pressed inward, heavy and patient, testing the limits of his meridians. His Perfect Seed rotated slowly, drawing the energy in, refining it layer by layer. Pain flared in his injured shoulder, a dull ache spreading through his chest, but he ignored it, guiding the Qi with practiced precision.

  No haste.

  No force.

  The Spirit observed silently, offering no corrections. Mingzhi didn’t need them now.

  Time passed.

  Outside the cave, the forest remained still—unaware that, far away, chaos was already spreading.

  They ran until their legs stopped obeying.

  Not once did the lackeys dare look back.

  Branches tore at their robes, roots tripped them, lungs burned with every breath, but fear drove them forward harder than any whip. Their thoughts were a blur—roars, tremors, that impossible pressure pressing down on their backs.

  Only when the sect’s outer gates finally came into view did one of them stumble, collapsing face-first into the dirt.

  The other followed soon after.

  Between them, barely conscious, was Wang Hu.

  His body was limp, blood soaking through hastily wrapped bandages. One arm hung at an unnatural angle, his breathing ragged and uneven. Every jolt during the mad dash back had drawn weak groans from his throat, but he never truly woke.

  They didn’t stop.

  Dragging him between them, half-carrying, half-hauling, they burst through the gates.

  Shouts erupted instantly.

  “Someone’s hurt!”

  “Isn’t that Wang Hu?!”

  “Get a doctor—now!”

  Word spread like wildfire.

  By the time Wang Hu was laid onto a bed in his residence, servants and disciples crowded outside, whispering in frantic tones. A sect physician arrived breathless, sleeves already rolled up, and shut the doors behind him.

  Minutes stretched.

  Then longer.

  Inside, the doctor worked in grim silence, probing meridians, feeding stabilizing Qi, shaking his head more than once.

  Finally, the doors opened.

  Wang Long arrived at the same moment, his expression thunderous, aura flaring unconsciously as he pushed past the gathered disciples.

  “How bad?” he demanded.

  The doctor wiped sweat from his brow. “He’ll live. But his injuries are severe. Broken bones, internal damage. He’ll need several months to recover fully.”

  Wang Long’s relief lasted exactly one breath.

  Then fury surged.

  He turned on the lackeys, eyes blazing. “What the hell happened?”

  They shrank back instinctively.

  One of them swallowed hard. “Young Master… we… we went after Mingzhi.”

  Wang Long’s lips curled. “And?”

  “He—he can’t be this strong,” Wang Long continued coldly. “Don’t tell me he did this to my brother.”

  “No!” the lackey blurted out. “It wasn’t him!”

  “Then speak,” Wang Long snapped. “Before I tear your tongue out.”

  “We went to Titan’s Spine,” another said quickly.

  The room went dead silent.

  Wang Long’s expression changed instantly. “What?”

  “We only went to the edge,” the lackey hurried on. “But Mingzhi escaped deeper. Young Master Hu… he chased after him in anger.”

  Wang Long’s face darkened. “Titan’s Spine? Are you idiots? Don’t you know what lives there?”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “We tried to stop him!” the lackey protested. “We warned him! When we heard the beast’s roar, we begged him to flee—but he wouldn’t listen!”

  Wang Long’s gaze sharpened, scanning them. “And you?”

  “We ran,” one admitted, voice trembling. “We had no choice. The pressure was unbearable.”

  “Of course you ran,” Wang Long sneered. “You look unharmed. I’ll deal with you later.”

  The lackey hurried to continue, desperate. “Then—then we heard a loud boom. Something flew past us.”

  “…Flew?” Wang Long repeated.

  “At first, we thought it was debris,” the lackey said. “Then we realized—it was Young Master Hu. He was unconscious. We treated him as best we could and ran back immediately.”

  Wang Long’s jaw clenched. “And Mingzhi?”

  The lackeys exchanged glances.

  “He ran deeper into Titan’s Spine,” one said firmly. “Based on the destruction we saw afterward… he’s one hundred percent dead.”

  Silence hung heavy.

  Then Wang Long laughed.

  A sharp, humorless sound.

  “So that trash got off easy,” he said. “Dying without me laying a hand on him.”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Wang Long turned just as it opened.

  Qingyu stood there, her expression pale, eyes darting briefly to the bed before returning to Wang Long.

  “I heard someone was injured,” she said carefully. “What happened?”

  Wang Long’s tone shifted instantly, becoming measured. “Wang Hu went on a mission near Titan’s Spine. Encountered a Tier Two beast.”

  Qingyu sucked in a sharp breath. “Titan’s Spine?”

  “Yes,” Wang Long said. “He was careless.”

  “I… I won’t disturb him,” Qingyu said quickly, stepping back. “I hope he recovers.”

  She turned and left without another word.

  But her steps were unsteady.

  As she walked through the corridor, her thoughts spiraled.

  Titan’s Spine?

  Why would Wang Hu go there?

  No—why would he go there now?

  Her fingers curled into her sleeves.

  It can’t be after Mingzhi… right?

  That would be too reckless. Even for him.

  Yet—

  Her chest tightened.

  Even Wang Hu barely survived.

  If it was Mingzhi…

  No. She shook her head fiercely.

  He’s smarter than that.

  He wouldn’t charge into Titan’s Spine blindly.

  He has to be fine.

  …Right?

  Her vision blurred as tears gathered unbidden.

  “Mingzhi,” she whispered under her breath, biting down hard. “You have to come back alive.”

  She wiped her eyes quickly, shoulders trembling.

  “If you dare die,” she muttered, voice breaking, “I’ll kill you myself.”

  And with that threat—half prayer, half desperation—she hurried away, unaware that far beyond the forest, beneath layers of stone and silence, Mingzhi continued to breathe steadily, cultivating without knowing just how far his absence had already rippled.

  One days passed in quiet cultivation.

  The cave’s Earth Qi thinned steadily as the last traces of the spirit sources dispersed, but it was enough. Mingzhi’s body stabilized, fractures mended under steady circulation, and the constant ache in his chest dulled to a manageable throb. His shoulder still protested when he moved it too sharply, but it no longer felt as though it might tear itself apart.

  Good enough.

  Rou finished her cycle and exhaled slowly, opening her eyes. “We should go back.”

  “Yes,” Mingzhi agreed, rising carefully. “Before people start noticing we’re missing.”

  They packed quickly. Nothing remained in the cave that would draw attention—no excess Qi, no obvious disturbances. When they stepped back into the forest, it looked no different than it had before.

  As they walked, Mingzhi spoke inwardly.

  “Spirit. About the herb from the mission—can I plant it? Or multiply it somehow?”

  The Spirit responded without hesitation. “Spiritual herbs produce seeds naturally as they mature. The higher the quality, the fewer the seeds.”

  “…And jade-quality?” Mingzhi asked.

  “None,” the Spirit replied flatly. “Perfect purity leaves no excess. You cannot propagate it through seed.”

  “So the only way is cutting it?” Mingzhi asked.

  “Yes. Dividing the root or stem and replanting,” the Spirit said. “But quality will drop immediately. If the environment is inferior, it may not survive at all. It is risky.”

  Mingzhi nodded slightly. “I see. Then we’ll take the seed before handing it in.”

  From beside him, Rou glanced over. “Mingzhi?”

  “After we get back,” he said quietly, “if anyone asks about what happened—just say we were lucky.”

  Rou snorted softly. “That’s not even a lie. We were lucky to be alive.”

  “Yes,” Mingzhi said, lips curling faintly. “Exactly.”

  The Spirit muttered, “Humans always label improbability as luck. It saves them from thinking too deeply.”

  The sect gates came into view by evening.

  Even before they passed through, Mingzhi felt it—the tension in the air, the restless buzz of voices. Groups of disciples stood clustered together, whispering urgently. Speculating, gossipping, spreading rumors about what happened to Wang Hu.

  They entered the mission hall.

  Inside, the familiar deacon sat behind the counter, his back to them, speaking animatedly to another official.

  “I’m telling you,” the deacon said, lowering his voice. “Wang Hu went after another disciple. The one who took the Liu family mission last week.”

  The other deacon frowned. “That lucky kid?”

  “Yes! Him. Didn’t return yet.”

  “…That’s bad luck,” the second muttered. “Tier Two beast territory isn’t a joke.”

  “I warned him,” the first deacon sighed. “Luck doesn’t come twice. With his strength…”

  Mingzhi cleared his throat politely.

  “Excuse me. I came back from a mission.”

  The deacon turned—still mid-sentence.

  “So I’m sure he must be de—”

  He saw Mingzhi.

  The chair screeched violently as the deacon fell backward with a yelp, landing flat on the floor.

  “YOU—” he croaked. “YOU’RE ALIVE?!”

  Mingzhi smiled sheepishly. “Hehe. I was lucky.”

  The Spirit commented dryly, “Your definition of luck is increasingly flexible.”

  The deacon scrambled up, staring as if Mingzhi were a ghost. “How did you survive?”

  “We ran,” Mingzhi said simply.

  “…Can I get some of your luck?” the deacon muttered weakly.

  He shook his head quickly, regaining composure, sitting back on his chair. “Well—getting home safe is good enough. That mission can be reopened. Finding the herb was optional anyway.”

  Mingzhi reached into his stash. “Oh. About that. Here’s the herb. Can we transfer the reward? I’m really tired.”

  Silence.

  Then—

  “AHH!”

  The deacon fell back again.

  “NO WAY,” he shouted from the floor. “You finished the mission?! That was Titan’s Spine!”

  Murmurs erupted across the hall.

  “T-Titan’s Spine?”

  “Wasn’t Wang Hu there too?”

  “Did they go together?”

  Mingzhi raised both hands. “Yes, we succeeded. But it was just—”

  “YEAH, YEAH,” the deacon cut in hastily, waving. “Just luck. I know. Here—take your points. Now get out of here.”

  He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Unless you want another mission. I still have a few very dangerous ones left.”

  “I’m fine,” Mingzhi said quickly.

  He and Rou left hurriedly.

  Behind them, the hall buzzed like a kicked hornet’s nest.

  As they walked back, Mingzhi felt eyes following them.

  The whispers didn’t fade — they multiplied.

  By nightfall, the entire outer sect knew.

  The knock came just as Mingzhi finished barring the door.

  He opened it.

  Wang Long stood outside.

  His smile was sharp and humorless.

  Mingzhi felt the pressure before he even saw him.

  The aura was sharp, familiar — and angry.

  “Haha,” Wang Long said. “The heavens are truly kind. I can make you pay myself.”

  Mingzhi tilted his head. “For what? Your brother’s missing brain?”

  Wang Long’s aura surged. “If it weren’t for you, my brother wouldn’t be in this state.”

  Mingzhi sighed. “It looks like short-sighted musclebrain syndrome runs in the family. If your brother jumped into a well, would you also blame me for it?”

  The Spirit observed calmly. “He is not here to negotiate.”

  Wang Long’s eyes burned. “The Sect Master protects you here. But from now on—watch your back. Accidents happen.”

  “I wish Wang Hu a swift recovery,” Mingzhi said evenly. “Though I suppose there’s no cure for stupidity.”

  Wang Long vanished in a blur of movement.

  Mingzhi had just closed the door when someone knocked again.

  This time, the presence wasn’t hostile — it was frantic.

  “…Busy day,” he muttered, opening it again.

  Qingyu stood there.

  The moment she saw him, she lunged forward, fists pounding uselessly against his chest.

  “You idiot!” she cried, tears streaming freely. “You promised! We said we’d do it together—why did you take such a huge risk?! Was that not enough that I lost dad?!”

  Mingzhi winced—not from pain, but guilt. He gently caught her wrists. “I’m okay. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  She shook her head furiously. “Wang Hu nearly died! Titan’s Spine—do you know what people are saying?!”

  “I didn’t think he’d follow me,” Mingzhi admitted softly. “But… it led to some advantages.”

  “Advantages?” Qingyu echoed weakly.

  Before she could continue—

  Knock.

  Mingzhi looked at the door. “…I swear.”

  Qingyu hurriedly pulled her hood up.

  He opened it.

  A sect disciple stood stiffly outside. “Disciple Xie Mingzhi?”

  “Yes.”

  “This letter… it’s from your home.”

  The disciple hesitated. “Something bad has happened.”

  The Spirit went still.

  Qingyu’s hand tightened.

  Mingzhi took the letter slowly.

  And the ripples of luck finally reached something that could not be laughed away.