Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Guixu, the bottomless valley in the sea, where all waters converge.

On the fifteenth day of the first month, when families across JiuZhou gather to celebrate, Guixu is shrouded in deathly silence. Above, not even a glimmer of starlight pierces the sky, let alone the full moon that should be hanging high.

The rainy season had been lingering for some time now, with dark clouds swirling daily and fierce winds bringing torrential rains. At times, the commotion was so intense that the barrier looked like a thin sheet of paper, trembling under the raging waves, barely holding together.

Today was worse than ever.

In a small clinic on the southern edge of the town, a dozen people huddled around a fire pit, seated in a circle, their eyes drooping from the warmth. Only a couple of them, using tongs to poke at the fire, engaged in sporadic conversation.

Suddenly, a grating sound echoed from the wooden steps outside the clinic.

Someone was coming.

"How peculiar. On such a night, someone still ventures out." The woman closest to the door, her hair neatly tied back, muttered in surprise.

The clinic's owner pondered for a moment before whispering, "It's her."

He stroked his graying beard and nodded toward a direction in town, indicating, "She's from Tian Du."

The others exchanged glances, each with a different expression.

For good reason, this person had become the talk of Guixu since her arrival.

Guixu wasn't large; from the eastern bridge to the western one, there were only about a thousand households, all familiar with each other. Occasionally, those who couldn't survive elsewhere would sneak in to escape their pursuers, but once here, they kept a low profile, never mentioning their past.

There was little to gossip about.

But "she" was different. Rumor had it that she was from the Wen family in Tian Du, and before her downfall, her fame was so great that even the soldiers escorting her wore celestial golden armor.

Such a spectacle was unprecedented.

The clinic's owner pushed the door open halfway, leaving the other half closed against the wind. Even then, the gusts made him squint. He raised his hand, letting his sleeve cover half his face as he looked at the unexpected visitor.

In the dead of winter, the figure outside wore a thick cotton coat, which made anyone look bulky, yet it only served to highlight the delicate, pale face beneath.

Almond eyes, peach cheeks, snow-white skin, and jet-black hair. Her features were naturally beautiful, vibrant and ethereal like a dewdrop, exuding an aura of purity.

Clearly, she was not someone nurtured by the desolate place that Guixu was.

Wen Hean didn't glance inside the clinic. She simply lowered her eyes and pressed a fragment of spirit stone into the clinic owner's hand, saying, "Get me three doses of hemostatic medicine."

Her voice was deliberately modulated, low and clear, making it hard to discern whether it was male or female, adding an air of mystery.

The clinic owner had already been stunned by her appearance. As an old man, he had no interest in her beauty. Instead, perhaps due to the rumors or his own intuition, he sensed a faint danger emanating from her.

So he asked no questions.

Taking the spirit stone, he weighed it in his hand, nodded, and slipped it into his sleeve. Without inviting her in, he returned to the medicine cabinet, gathered three packets of powdered herbs, wrapped them in a crumpled piece of paper, and passed them through the crack in the door.

With the medicine in hand, Wen Hean quickly left.

"Are people from Tian Du always like this?" the woman remarked, stretching her neck toward the window, "Why does she act like someone is chasing her?"

...

Indeed, Wen Hean felt someone following her, closing the distance. Since the afternoon, she had been aware of the pursuit.

Her cultivation was sealed, but her senses for danger remained intact.

The north wind howled, blowing her bangs aside as she hurried along. The path grew increasingly remote until she turned onto a trail leading up the mountain.

Sure enough, they followed.

The town sat on the southernmost edge of Guixu, close to the barrier, already sparsely populated. The mountain she entered was on the outskirts, and the only sounds were the fierce wind and the faint vibrations from the waves crashing against the barrier.

Not even wild beasts remained; the entire mountain lay hidden in darkness, like an inverted sealed jar.

Wen Hean clenched her sleeves, feeling her strength wane with every step. Sweat broke out on her forehead, evaporating in the cold wind, leaving her throat parched and her breathing labored.

These physical changes silently revealed her current frailty as a mortal.

In the past, she could have dealt with ten assailants with ease.

But today was different.

She sped up, the wind whistling in her ears, the sound of the sea growing louder. The black shadows of trees swept past her peripheral vision. Suddenly, the pursuers realized they had been exposed and leaped forward, rapidly closing the gap.

In mere moments, they were just a few steps away.

The disparity between cultivators and mortals was stark.

"You've found yourself a quiet place to die," said one of the three assassins, dressed in nightclothes with their faces covered, revealing only their eyes. The leader's voice was coarse and cold, "Saves us the trouble of cleaning up afterward."

Realizing she couldn't escape, Wen Hean stopped running, leaning against a century-old banyan tree, panting heavily. The cold weather quickly numbed her fingers against the rough bark, and her legs from knee to ankle lost all sensation.

After a moment, she chuckled softly, straightening up slightly, and lifted her gaze to meet theirs.

Some people, accustomed to power, can still command respect even in dire straits. Wen Hean was one of them.

The one who spoke narrowed his eyes dangerously, feeling a prickling sensation, as if needles were piercing his pores.

Assassins, by nature, feared delays.

In the next instant, he drew his sword, lunging forward, his blade slicing through the air, aiming directly at her neck.

When cultivators attack, they often lock their qi, making it nearly impossible for mortals to move, let alone escape. They can only stare wide-eyed, awaiting their fate.

And just as the long knife was about to fall, Wen Hean's stiff fingers suddenly gripped the tree trunk, exerting force and managing to shift her body half a circle at the last moment. The blade missed her throat and instead sliced into her left arm.

The cotton coat was torn into flying shreds, and blood gushed out from within.

It was like a futile attempt of a mantis trying to stop a cart. The thought flashed through the minds of the three assassins.

Unexpectedly, a change occurred in the next instant.

First, the dry leaves and broken branches under their feet made a crisp cracking sound, and the ground beneath them gave way like a brittle log under their weight, pulling them down. After a brief moment of shock, they quickly tried to leap upwards, but at that moment, a giant web of red threads appeared in mid-air, descending upon them.

"There's an ambush below," one of them shouted as they sank, his voice breaking with surprise. "How is this possible!"

They had completely broken what was beneath their feet, and the net from above pressed them straight down into the pit. The pit was not large but was dug deep, with sharpened wooden stakes on one side and jagged stones on the other, resembling rows of menacing fangs.

It was a trap!

Though they reacted swiftly, it was only enough to protect their heads and torsos with their spiritual energy. One of them had his hand pierced by a wooden stake, letting out an uncontrollable cry of pain, while the other two landed on the rocks, suffering fractures and abrasions on their elbows and knees.

Ignoring their injuries, their eyes widened as they looked up at the pit's edge.

The night was pitch black. Wen Hean, ignoring the blood flowing from her left arm, felt around nearby until she found an extinguished torch. She then took out a simple fire starter from her pocket, lit the torch, and held it up to illuminate the bottom of the pit.

"Look up," she said, revealing her clear, bone-chilling voice.

"Leader, we can't move." As soon as they fell into the pit, they immediately tried to use their spiritual energy to escape, but found they couldn't. They soon discovered the problem lay with the silver net pressing down on them. The net was like a fishing net, with fine and dense threads, and the red hue was not paint but a flowing power.

In that instant, the same memory flashed through the minds of the three at the bottom of the pit.

"She has been stripped of her cultivation, left helpless, now no different from a mortal. You don't need any weapons; a single strike will end her life."

"After completing the task, 300,000 spirit stones will be transferred to your names in Lingzhuang without fail."

All lies!

"No," the third one, who had remained silent, stared intently at the person standing above them. Cultivators could see farther and more clearly, and Wen Hean didn't hide herself. Holding the torch, her left arm still bleeding, but the blood did not seep into the ground; instead, it formed thin blood threads flowing into the net.

Another one realized, "This isn't a spiritual attack; it's an array formation."

The trap had been set long ago, and the blood served as the array's trigger.

They had been lured here intentionally.

If she had spiritual energy or cultivation, with her ability to thrive in Tian Du, how could she have endured that blow? How could she have wasted so much time with them?

They thought they had been cautious, following her from the afternoon until nightfall, but they were still caught off guard.

"Not bad eye."

As she lost more blood, Wen Hean's face turned increasingly pale, and a slight dizziness clouded her mind. She carefully examined the faces of the three in the pit, comparing them to the images in her memory, but found no match. "I haven't seen you before."

"Tell me. Who sent you?"

"Wen San, or Jiang Zhao?"

The three below glared darkly, remaining silent.

They weren't loyal servants of some great figure; they were mere mercenaries. Now that their mission had failed and they hadn't received payment, if confessing would save their lives, they would do so without hesitation.

But the problem was that they didn't know who was behind the mirror. When they met that person, they were even more concealed than when they came to kill.

Seeing their expressions, Wen Hean knew what was happening.

She made a decision.

No more wasting time.

The longer she waited, the more blood she would lose.

She took out the medicine prescribed at the clinic and a small black crystal bottle. The bottle was translucent, revealing a half-bottle of liquid inside that seemed ominously dangerous when shaken.

"It seems I won't get much from you. I'm disappointed."

Seeing her unscrew the bottle cap and tilt it towards them, one of them panicked and shouted, "I'll talk! It's Jiang Zhao, Jiang Zhao!"

Even though he shouted, it was clear he had no idea who Jiang Zhao was.

Despite this, hearing the name "Jiang Zhao" caused a shadow to pass over Wen Hean's eyes, making her expression colder, like ice cracking under pressure.

Her left arm was injured, but her right hand holding the bottle was steady as she tilted it without shaking.

Facing the unknown liquid, the three below activated their defenses, but the black droplets pierced through them effortlessly.

In the next moment.

It was as if molten iron was poured into their bones. Their eyes widened, and before they could scream, their limbs convulsed, and their skin seemed to crumple like paper, rapidly shriveling as they collapsed into the net.

"You're right," Wen Hean glanced at the foggy sky, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the packet of hemostatic medicine from the clinic, sprinkling the powder onto her left arm's wound. "This place is indeed secluded, suitable for burying bones."

Wen Hean couldn't afford the best medicine, but it did stop the bleeding, albeit with some irritation. As she applied the medicine, she closed her eyes, leaning against the tree roots, suppressing a pained hiss.

The cold wind howled as she carefully pulled the torn edges of her coat together. Once the bleeding stopped, she picked up the torch wedged between the tree branches and cautiously descended into the deep pit.

The three bodies at the bottom had been reduced to desiccated corpses, their bones grotesquely exposed. Wen Hean found the knife that had wounded her left arm and used its tip to search their bodies, quickly locating three waistplates. These were unique to Lingzhuang's waistplates, and although she had expected it, she still frowned, feeling her recent misfortune.

Lingzhuang's business spanned JiuZhou, and to protect their clients' wealth, each client must first press their waistplate against their cheek for automatic identification before withdrawing money.

But now, the people had turned into mere skulls, and there was no trace of any aura left.

Wen Hean sighed and tossed the three useless waistplates aside. She then prodded their clothes with the tip of her knife, eventually finding a jade pendant, an incense pouch, and a slender-necked medicine bottle.

The jade pendant was far from being clean or fine; its craftsmanship was questionable. The front side was unrecognizable in terms of design, while the back had a large chunk carved out. It was clearly not the work of a master but rather something a novice might have made to pass the time.

As for the incense pouch, its scent was overpowering, likely worn to mask the smell of blood when necessary.

Wen Hean weighed them in her hand, estimating that these two items would fetch no more than a few coins.

Even so, she tore a piece of cloth from one of the bodies and placed the jade pendant and incense pouch on it. Her gaze then fell upon the medicine bottle.

She shook the bottle, hearing the sound of pills clinking inside. There were only a few.

After a moment's consideration, she uncorked the bottle, and three or four round brown pills rolled out. They had no peculiar odor, and there were no labels on the bottle. Wen Hean couldn't determine the effects of the pills and didn't dare to use them recklessly.

She shifted her attention to the bottle itself.

This item wasn't bad; it could sell for five or six spirit stones at the Guixu Market. However, considering that the local residents wouldn't recognize such an ornamental item, and those fleeing for their lives wouldn't spend money on a mere bottle, she estimated it would probably fetch half that price.

There was no other way; she couldn't wait, as she desperately needed money.

Wen Hean never imagined she would be this poor one day.

She circled the area, ensuring there was nothing else left behind in the cave. Holding the faded spider webs, jade pendant, and incense pouch, she walked out of the crude trap. Upon reaching the surface, she let go, and the torch in her hand rolled down the slope.

Instantly, flames rose halfway up a person's height within the cave, growing more intense. The fire seemed to reach upward, casting a warm glow around Wen Hean's face—she was beautiful and not distant or cold. The firelight highlighted her clear eyes, giving her an almost gentle and harmless appearance.

If one ignored her previous series of fluid movements, this description would be particularly apt.

Wen Hean watched the fire for a moment, then wrapped herself tighter in her coat and turned to walk down the mountain, step by step, toward her "home."

Navigating the dark descent through the wilderness, she still found the time to take out the black glass bottle she used against the three assassins earlier, examining it in her palm.

Upon closer inspection, the bottle wasn't made of glass but had a glass-like luster. It was actually a type of immortal gold used by noble families.

Regardless of how the rumors about her spread in Guixu, the truth was that if someone thoroughly searched her now, the only thing that could prove her once "distinguished status" and connection to the formidable Wen family was this bottle.

Wen Hean shook the bottle, frowning. "Gone..."

There was only enough for one bottle, yet today marked the third wave of assassins she had encountered. Regardless of which force wanted her dead, without a definitive answer, they would certainly strike again. Her means of survival were nearly exhausted.

Her survival thus far was largely due to the unique geographical environment of Guixu, where some people couldn't openly request the Yin Official to intervene.

Even so, facing a horde of assassins with a crippled body was akin to dancing under the scythe of death, with negligible chances of success.

Without the contents of the bottle, the traps she used today would be useless. If another group of assassins came now, she would have to lead them to the Drowning Sea.

If it came to that, it would be a case of killing a thousand enemies while losing eight hundred of oneself.

Wen Hean sighed, her hands folded in her sleeves.

It was too cold, this body was too weak, and her former "lovers" and enemies were too persistent. All of this made her mood sour. She needed to think of something cheerful.

Tomorrow, she would wake up early to sell the jade bottle containing the medicine, along with the jade pendant and incense pouch. Life was hard, and every little bit counted.

The money from selling these items would be split; half saved, and the other half spent on medical supplies. Today, she received a cut on her arm, and merely applying a hemostatic ointment wasn't enough. If not treated promptly, it would fester and cause a high fever. Fortunately, she still had some medicine left from her previous purchase, which would suffice for tonight.

About half an hour later, Wen Hean emerged from a small path on the back mountain. Her steps were light, and despite wearing bulky clothing, she moved silently like a cat.

Her chosen "home" was in the far corner, with only three other households within a radius of a couple of miles. In fact, if someone died in their home, it could be weeks before anyone noticed.

Wen Hean didn't dare return immediately. She hid behind a cover several meters away and watched the small thatched hut swaying in the wind for about the length of an incense stick, ensuring there was no unusual activity before slowly pushing the door open.

Inside, the room was pitch-black and silent.

She bent down to find a candle in a small wooden cabinet, lit it for light, and boiled water to prepare her medicine. Once the water was ready, she forced herself to take a bone-chilling bath despite her drowsy state.

After tidying up, she drank the bitter medicine in one gulp and changed the dressing on her wound expressionlessly.

Finally, she extinguished the light and hastily crawled into her quilt.

The quilt was clean and soft, with a faint scent of herbs. However, it was too thin to withstand the extreme cold. As soon as she got into bed, she pulled the quilt over her head, but even so, she repeatedly woke up from the cold.

Every part of her body shivered uncontrollably.

In the middle of the night, Wen Hean suddenly sat up, her eyes lowered, her eyelashes cast shadows. The nearly extinguished candle faithfully illuminated her, revealing a distinct shadow in her transparent eye sockets, contrasting sharply with her otherwise clean and serene demeanor.

She took a deep breath, her mind filled with only two thoughts.

—Guixu could no longer be her refuge; she had to find a way out unless she was truly willing to lie down and die.

And—

—she must kill Jiang Zhao.