Chapter 37: Trial in the Ice Cave -

At the entrance of the Profound Ice Cave on the mist-shrouded back mountain, two disciples delivered their prisoner with the practiced efficiency of those who'd performed this duty before. They shoved Bai Shuo through the threshold with more force than strictly necessary, then immediately activated the barrier sealing the cave's mouth. In an instant, a layer of crystalline ice materialized across the opening, transforming it into an impenetrable wall of frozen opacity.

"Senior Brother Yi Fan, do you think she might actually freeze to death in there?" The question came from Chang Xu, the youngest among Piaomiao's Inner Sect Disciples, his voice carrying genuine concern despite the late hour.

Yi Fan, ever composed and measured in his responses, remained strategically silent.

"Ah, I genuinely hope she can endure the ordeal." Chang Xu continued speaking despite his senior brother's lack of engagement. "Whenever I went to the medicine hut to fetch herbs for my cultivation, Bai Shuo was always kind to me, never condescending despite my lower status. Honestly, I find it extremely hard to believe she would steal a Jade Slip with intentions to cultivate Spiritual Qi using forbidden demonic methods. It doesn't align with the person I've come to know."

"She admitted the crime herself, in front of the Sect Leader and numerous witnesses." Yi Fan's response emerged flat, pragmatic. "What good does your personal disbelief accomplish at this point?"

"Senior Brother!" Chang Xu's protest carried wounded reproach.

Yi Fan stared at the ice-sealed cave entrance for a prolonged moment, his expression unreadable. Then, moving with sudden decision, he produced a small bundle containing flint and firewood from his storage pouch. With a subtle flicker of spiritual light emanating from his palm, the items vanished from his hand—transported through the barrier to land inside the cave.

"Senior Brother?" Chang Xu's voice rose with surprise and dawning comprehension.

"Last time I suffered injuries during cultivation, she secretly slipped me a Spirit Pill without asking for payment or acknowledgment." Yi Fan coughed lightly, then turned away with studied indifference, as if the gesture meant nothing. "I'm simply settling a debt."

"Thank you, Senior Brothers!"

Bai Shuo's voice drifted through the icy barrier, distant yet unmistakably full of vigor and irrepressible spirit.

Chang Xu and Yi Fan exchanged glances before peering into the cave's dim interior. Chang Xu muttered with grudging admiration, "Look at her—so carefree and shameless even in these dire circumstances. Even if we were all to ascend to full immortality tomorrow, she'd probably still be living just fine, adapting to whatever came her way."

Yi Fan, however, offered no verbal agreement. Instead, he sighed inwardly with heavy knowledge.

The Profound Ice Cave represented a punishment so severe that even Inner Sect Disciples with substantially higher cultivation couldn't endure its depths for more than three days without suffering permanent damage. How could Bai Shuo—merely a half-immortal with minimal spiritual reserves—possibly survive? He could only harbor desperate hope that Junior Brother Chong Zhao would emerge from his intensive seclusion soon. Perhaps then, and only then, Bai Shuo might grasp a sliver of genuine hope for survival.

Inside the cave, Bai Shuo huddled behind a protective outcropping of rock, happily arranging her unexpected gift of firewood with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just received treasure.

The Profound Ice Cave was no ordinary prison. It represented a Secret Realm refined by Piaomiao's founding Grandmaster specifically to discipline Inner Sect Disciples who violated serious protocols. Below the Immortal Lord Realm, Spiritual Qi became completely unusable within its confines—the cave's unique properties suppressed all cultivation advantages. Though Bai Shuo barely qualified as a half-immortal, entering this cursed place put her in essentially the same position as a mortal stepping onto a frozen tundra in winter clothing made of paper. Turning into a literal icicle was only a matter of time, the outcome as certain as sunrise.

Fortunately, she had always proven generous with her small offerings to the Inner Sect Disciples over the years, sharing whatever medicinal benefits came her way. She'd worn a perpetually cheerful smile that cost nothing to maintain but earned considerable goodwill. Aside from the perpetually hostile disciples of Flowing Cloud Peak—who seemed to despise everyone on principle—most of the other Inner Sect brothers and sisters treated her with relative kindness when circumstances allowed.

"Who knew these Senior Brothers could harbor such warm hearts beneath their stern cultivation-focused exteriors?" Bai Shuo chuckled to herself, blowing warm breath onto her already numbing hands as she positioned herself to absorb maximum heat from the small fire. She glanced around at the jagged ice walls surrounding her on all sides, their surfaces reflecting her firelight in fragmented patterns, and began mentally reviewing the catastrophic night's events.

"That Zhe Sang wasn't nearly this cunning and manipulative back then, when we were all younger and less complicated. How did he transform into someone so devastatingly shrewd after just two years away from the sect? And an Immortal Lord's physique at that! What kind of extraordinary fortuitous encounter did he stumble upon to ascend to such an elevated Realm in relatively short time? Tsk..."

She smacked her own forehead in self-recrimination. "So stupid of me, falling into his trap so easily. At least I managed not to drag A-Zhao into this mess—that's the one thing I did right tonight. The paper puppet should have successfully delivered my message to Old Black by now. That ancient monster should have already left the island with Fan Yue if everything went according to plan."

Before being forcibly locked away in this frozen hell, Bai Shuo had managed to send her animated paper puppet to locate the old turtle, instructing it to seize this critical opportunity to escort Fan Yue safely away from Piaomiao. Though Zhe Sang had cast the Shadow-Tracking Curse on Fan Yue—binding the tree spirit's fate to his cruel whims—since he was now committed to competing against A-Zhao in three days' time, he would undoubtedly enter strict seclusion to cultivate and prepare. This narrow window represented the absolute best chance to spirit Fan Yue away to safety before the curse could be activated.

In the medicine hut on the outer island, the old turtle—previously submerged in the deep slumber that sustained his ancient existence—was abruptly jolted into wakefulness by the paper puppet's insistent tapping against his shell. The animated figure danced with frantic energy before his bleary eyes, and the old turtle instantly transformed into his wizened human form, his grizzled beard trembling with alarm.

"You're saying she actually attempted to steal the Mountain-Guarding Jade Slip?!" His voice rose to a near-shout. "And was caught red-handed by the Sect Leader himself?!"

The paper puppet nodded with such vigorous enthusiasm that it nearly tore itself apart at the folds.

"What?! She's been locked in the Profound Ice Cave on the back mountain?!" The old turtle's transformation into agitation was complete.

The paper puppet began an elaborate pantomime, raising its tiny hands to its face and miming the action of wiping away tears as though weeping inconsolably.

"No, absolutely not! I must go immediately to plead with the Sect Leader for mercy..."

The old turtle, leaning heavily on his gnarled cane, prepared to rush toward the inner island in a state of complete frenzy. But the little paper figure suddenly tugged at his robes with surprising strength for something made of folded parchment. The animated figure transformed itself into a small piece of wood, then snapped dramatically into two pieces with an audible crack before reverting to its paper form. It resumed its performance of pitiful whimpering.

"She wants me to get that little tree spirit off the island immediately?" The old turtle's ancient eyes widened with comprehension. "She's saying otherwise that child will die?"

The little paper figure nodded so vigorously its form blurred.

Though the old turtle couldn't immediately fathom why Piaomiao's leadership would trouble themselves over a mere tree spirit—such minor Yao rarely registered as threats worthy of sect attention—Bai Shuo had proven herself remarkably clever and perceptive over their years together. If she felt urgent enough to send the paper figure with this specific warning, then the little tree spirit's true identity must be far more unusual and dangerous than appearances suggested.

The old turtle immediately pivoted direction, his aged body moving with surprising speed as he dashed toward the small thatched hut positioned behind the medicine cottage. He shouted even as he pushed open the weathered door with force.

"Child! Wood spirit, where are you?!"

The hut met his urgent summons with eerie, oppressive silence. The little tree spirit who usually lounged around inside the cramped space—lost in contemplation of matters beyond a simple plant's understanding—was conspicuously, alarmingly absent.

"Uncle, are you genuinely going to permit Senior Brother and Junior Brother Chong Zhao to engage in direct combat?" Inside the inner hall, Er Yun's worried expression spoke volumes about her disapproval of Song Feng's decision.

"Now that your senior brother has also successfully ascended to the prestigious rank of Immortal Lord through his own efforts, he has proposed what appears to be a fair and honorable duel." Song Feng's voice carried the weight of leadership and resignation. "I cannot justifiably stop him without appearing to play favorites or undermine sect protocols."

"But Junior Brother A-Zhao's entry into the Phoenix Island of the Wutong Tree was specifically decreed by the Heavenly Palace itself!" Er Yun's protest grew more passionate. "How can we possibly change our designated participant at such a critically late moment?"

"How can you be so absolutely certain that A-Zhao will inevitably lose the upcoming duel?" Song Feng's question carried subtle challenge.

Er Yun hesitated, then reluctantly admitted the truth. "Junior Brother sustained serious injuries..."

"If his injuries haven't adequately healed by the time he emerges from his intensive seclusion in three days' time, then even if he formally represents Piaomiao at Phoenix Island, he likely won't stand out sufficiently or defeat the elite disciples dispatched by other major immortal sects." Song Feng's logic was ruthlessly practical as he fixed his niece with a penetrating glance. "We would simply be sending him to embarrassment and potential death."

"Uncle!" Er Yun's voice rose with frustrated desperation.

"Enough, Er Yun." Song Feng's tone brooked no further argument. "The Wutong Martial Banquet represents our only realistic chance for Piaomiao to reclaim its rightful place among the prestigious Three Mountains and Six Sects. We've fallen so far from our former glory. Whoever demonstrates the highest level of immortal power will represent Piaomiao at this critical juncture—that is the only fair approach, regardless of personal feelings or prior commitments."

Song Feng released a weary sigh that seemed to carry the accumulated exhaustion of decades. "Go rest and focus on recovering your own strength. You will stay completely out of this competition. That is my command as Sect Leader."

Er Yun stamped her foot with childish frustration before turning and departing the hall with barely concealed anger.

Outside the hall, positioned in shadows where he could observe without being observed, Zhe Sang's eyes gleamed with predatory satisfaction. A smug smile curved his lips as understanding crystallized. No wonder Er Yun had opposed the duel so vehemently—it turned out that precious Junior Brother was operating under the handicap of serious injuries. How delightfully convenient.

Inside the hall, Song Feng produced a light cough—a subtle signal. Zhe Sang immediately composed his expression into appropriate concern before knocking respectfully and entering when granted permission.

"Master."

Song Feng looked up with apparently genuine surprise. "Ah, Sang'er. The hour grows quite late—why aren't you resting and conserving your strength for the coming trials?"

"I came specifically to see you, Master, to express my concern." Zhe Sang's features arranged themselves into an expression of filial worry. "I heard from the junior disciples that evil spirits recently manifested on the island, not only brutally killing twelve Liuyun Disciples but also injuring you severely, Master. What manner of evil spirits could possibly breach our sect's supposedly impenetrable Heaven-Shaking Array? The protective formations should have prevented any such incursion."

Song Feng fell into contemplative silence before finally waving a dismissive hand. "Just some particularly malevolent beings coveting the concentrated Spiritual Qi that accumulates naturally in the East Sea region. Nothing more sinister than common greed. This time, Piaomiao survived the potentially catastrophic calamity thanks almost entirely to your Junior Brother Chong Zhao's quick thinking and powerful intervention."

Zhe Sang's expression stiffened momentarily—an involuntary reaction he couldn't quite suppress—but he recovered his composure with practiced skill. "Junior Brother truly represents a tremendous blessing to our sect. We're fortunate to have him."

Song Feng studied Zhe Sang with the penetrating gaze of someone who had observed human nature for centuries. Then he spoke with deliberate weight. "Sang'er, the duel scheduled for three days hence is specifically meant to select the most qualified representative for our sect's participation at the Phoenix Island of the Wutong Tree. However, you must understand that both of you represent the foundational pillars of Piaomiao's future. No matter who ultimately wins or loses this contest, the outcome must not be allowed to harm your fundamental brotherhood and mutual respect."

"Yes, Master. I understand completely." The words emerged with appropriate solemnity.

Suddenly, Song Feng raised his hand with fluid grace, and a jade slip materialized in his weathered palm as if summoned from the air itself. He extended it toward Zhe Sang with deliberate significance. "Sang'er, the Mountain-Suppressing Jade Slip contains the distilled immortal essence left behind by all past Sect Leaders across generations. Take it now and cultivate diligently during these three remaining days. You are my personal disciple, raised under my direct guidance. Though I openly value Chong Zhao's exceptional talents, in my heart I most fervently hope for you to represent Piaomiao at this critical juncture. You are, after all, my chosen successor."

Zhe Sang appeared genuinely taken aback, a flicker of complicated emotion crossing his carefully controlled features. Yet he deliberately didn't reach out to accept the offered jade slip. Instead, he cupped his hands in a gesture of profound respect. "Master, two years ago I suffered defeat at Junior Brother's hands—a loss I have neither forgotten nor fully processed. This time, I wish to defeat him fairly and honorably, through my own accumulated strength alone, without relying on advantages or shortcuts that would taint the victory."

The reasoning sounded noble, but darker truth lay beneath his principled refusal. He had achieved his rapid advancement under Fu Ling's expert but morally questionable guidance, even ascending all the way to the rank of Immortal Lord through her teachings. But those teachings had required him to practice cultivation methods derived from the Yao Race—techniques fundamentally incompatible with traditional immortal cultivation. The Mountain-Suppressing Jade Slip was thoroughly infused with pure immortal essence accumulated over generations. If he attempted to use it for cultivation now, the conflicting energies would inevitably expose his secret practice of demonic arts. The jade slip would reject him violently, or worse, reveal the corruption in his spiritual foundation for all to witness.

Song Feng held his gaze steadily for what felt like an eternity of evaluation before finally withdrawing the jade slip with a small nod of approval. He waved his hand in gentle dismissal. "It genuinely comforts this old Master's heart to hear you express such honorable intentions. The night deepens toward dawn. Your Junior Brother has demonstrated remarkable, even unprecedented progress in spiritual cultivation during these past years of dedicated practice. Though you've ascended to Immortal Lord status—an impressive achievement—victory over him cannot be assumed or taken for granted. Go now and meditate properly. Conserve your strength."

"Yes, Master." Zhe Sang offered a respectful nod and turned to depart.

"Sang'er." Just as Zhe Sang reached the doorway's threshold, Song Feng's voice arrested his movement. "The path of Immortal Dao is fundamentally arduous by its very nature, filled with trials and temptations. But you must always, always maintain your true heart—your original intention for pursuing cultivation. Never allow yourself to covet temporary ease or power and thereby forget the sacred mission of our immortal lineage. Some shortcuts lead only to destruction."

Zhe Sang paused mid-step, genuine confusion flickering across his features as he turned back with visible hesitation. "Why does Master offer such specific philosophical advice at this particular moment?"

Song Feng's smile carried unexpected kindness mixed with melancholy. "This Master grows increasingly old, and the weight of years presses heavily. I know not how much longer I can effectively watch over and protect Piaomiao's interests. Your Junior Brother, for all his exceptional talents, remains utterly devoted to personal cultivation with absolutely no mind whatsoever to inherit Piaomiao's complex legacy and political responsibilities. The burden of this mountain sect must eventually pass to you and Er Yun as the next generation of leadership. My own Heavenly Tribulation approaches with each passing year—should I fall suddenly during that trial, there may be no opportunity for final instructions or wisdom to pass between us."

"Master's immortal lifespan stretches long still—you speak of distant concerns." Hearing these unexpectedly morbid words, genuine concern finally surfaced on Zhe Sang's usually calculating features, breaking through his carefully maintained masks. After all, he had been raised by Song Feng from childhood, and some authentic filial affection persisted despite his other corruptions. "Even if the Lightning Tribulation manifests ahead of expected schedule, I will surely protect you through its trials with everything I possess."

"The Dao follows its own inexorable Karma, beyond any individual's control or intervention." Song Feng shook his head with weary acceptance. "Go now. Rest and prepare yourself."

"Yes, Master." Zhe Sang recognized the dismissal, offering no further argument. He bowed deeply to Song Feng with genuine respect before withdrawing from the hall.

Only when the sound of footsteps outside the hall had completely faded into the night's ambient sounds did Song Feng permit himself to release a soft, troubled sigh. "Old Black, I watched that child grow from infancy. I guided his first steps toward cultivation, celebrated his early achievements. How is it that I can no longer see him clearly now? When did he become this stranger wearing a familiar face?"

The ancient turtle shuffled out from his concealment behind the hall's ornate pillars, leaning heavily on his gnarled cane. His slit-like eyes, which had witnessed countless generations rise and fall, brimmed with the particular wisdom that comes only from living through centuries of human folly and ambition. "The Sect Leader already knows his true measure in your heart, even if you're reluctant to fully acknowledge it. Years ago, when he was still young and possibilities seemed endless, I clearly stated that Zhe Sang wasn't fit to inherit Piaomiao's legacy. You chose not to believe me then."

Had any other sect members witnessed the medicine-refining turtle's remarkably casual manner before Piaomiao's exalted Sect Leader—speaking to him almost as an equal rather than with the deference his position demanded—they would have been utterly astonished. The Medicine Pavilion held notoriously low status within Piaomiao's complex hierarchy. Even its keeper, the eccentric Old Black, normally lacked the credentials necessary to enter the restricted inner isles without explicit summons.

But Piaomiao Island possessed secrets and depths that most of its own disciples never discovered. Once, in ages past, it had been legitimately ranked among the prestigious Three Peaks and Six Sects before its gradual decline. The island retained hidden foundations and supports unknown to all but a select few. The island's true physical form was, in fact, this particular thousand-year-old cloud turtle—an entity of immense power and ancient wisdom.

A full millennium ago, Piaomiao's founding ancestor had discovered the cloud turtle in the Eastern Sea as it nearly perished during a catastrophically powerful Lightning Tribulation. In gratitude for the rescue that preserved its existence, the turtle had willingly transformed its own body into a habitable island for a thousand years, entering into symbiotic coexistence with Piaomiao's sect. The binding was total and irreversible. Thus constrained by this ancient vow, the cloud turtle could never leave the Eastern Sea region, forever confined to serve as the literal foundation of this island.

"You also claimed adamantly that my Senior Brother was fundamentally unfit to inherit Piaomiao's leadership." Song Feng's voice carried old pain alongside his pragmatic observation. "He took your assessment as a personal challenge to overcome, secluded himself in intensive cultivation for an entire century, and forcibly pushed his spiritual development to manifest an Immortal Lord's form through sheer stubborn determination. Were it not for that unnatural forcing of advancement beyond his natural capacity, his eventual Heavenly Tribulation wouldn't have proven so catastrophically severe as to breed the wicked thoughts and desperate actions that ultimately corrupted him."

The old turtle fixed him with a sidelong glance, utterly unperturbed by the implicit accusation. "This turtle never speaks idle speculation or empty warnings. When I judge someone unfit for leadership, that assessment is based on seeing the fundamental character of their spirit. Unfit means precisely that—unfit, regardless of how much power they might accumulate. Your tragically biased Master, blinded by favoritism toward his own biological son, chose to ignore my counsel completely. Had those two special children not arrived at Piaomiao when they did—Bai Shuo and Chong Zhao serving as unexpected variables in fate's equation—your corrupted Senior Brother would have already drained this island completely dry of spiritual essence by now, killing us all in his insatiable greed."

Song Feng found himself momentarily speechless, unable to refute the uncomfortable truth. Finally, he posed the question weighing most heavily on his mind. "Then tell me directly, without evasion—can these two newcomers genuinely reverse Piaomiao's declining fate? Can they restore what has been lost?"

Cloud turtles possessed legendary excellence in the art of divination, their extended lifespans granting perspective that shorter-lived beings could never achieve. For a full thousand years, Piaomiao had successfully avoided numerous potentially catastrophic calamities through careful adherence to the old turtle's prophetic guidance. Yet even such extraordinary foresight couldn't ultimately halt the sect's inexorable waning fortunes and gradual slide into relative obscurity. Three years ago, when Bai Shuo first arrived, her retention hadn't been solely Song He's momentary mercy toward a clever mortal—the old turtle had specifically claimed the girl for itself, sensing something significant.

"I don't know." The turtle fell uncharacteristically silent, an admission of limitation that clearly cost it something. "Their ultimate destinies are shrouded in impenetrable mist—layers upon layers of obscuring fog that resist all my attempts at divination. I cannot see their futures clearly at all."

"Not even Bai Shuo's fate?" Song Feng's exclamation carried genuine surprise. Three years prior, when Bai Shuo had been nothing more than an ordinary mortal with no evident cultivation potential, he had questioned why the ancient cloud turtle would personally intervene on behalf of someone possessing no apparent immortal affinity whatsoever.

"She bears absolutely no immortal fate in the traditional sense—her spiritual roots are laughably shallow." The old turtle shook its head with something resembling fondness. "All I could successfully divine through the obscuring layers was that this particular child possessed the capacity to somehow safeguard Piaomiao during its moment of greatest crisis. The specifics remained hidden, but that single certainty was sufficient. Otherwise, I would never have sent a vulnerable half-immortal like her to Fire-Ice Island to deal with your dangerously corrupted Senior Brother. That mission should have killed her, by all reasonable expectations."

That pivotal night, Bai Shuo had naturally assumed the crucial books and information available in the restricted library had been deliberately prepared for her access by Song Feng's careful planning. But there existed one being who understood her nature and needs better than Song Feng possibly could—Old Black, the ancient cloud turtle who had lived alongside her day and night, observing her with the patient attention of someone who had witnessed countless mortal lifespans pass. Though the turtle possessed formidable capability for divining futures and reading fate's complex threads, it fundamentally couldn't leave the island's physical boundaries. It could only sense with growing certainty that Piaomiao's great calamity was rapidly approaching, with Bai Shuo representing the sole unpredictable variable in an otherwise deterministic equation heading toward catastrophe.

Faced with an impossible choice between ensuring Piaomiao's collective safety and protecting Bai Shuo's individual fortune, it could only choose one path forward. The Heavenly Dao's inscrutable decree had at least granted Piaomiao this single thread of desperate hope to grasp.

As for the strange youth who had suddenly manifested—Fan Yue, the supposed tree spirit—the turtle deliberately hadn't informed the Sect Leader of its true suspicions. It sensed an absolutely immense power emanating from that deceptively fragile form, a depth of spiritual essence so vast that even its own thousand-year Dao Heart couldn't begin to fathom the true scope. Since Bai Shuo represented Piaomiao's prophesied hope for survival, the turtle had resolved to protect those in her immediate circle as much as circumstances and its own limitations allowed.

"What about Zhao'er specifically?" Song Feng pressed, unwilling to let the matter rest. "If Zhesang truly cannot inherit Piaomiao's future leadership as you've long insisted, can Chong Zhao shoulder its burden instead? Does he possess the necessary character and capacity?"

The cloud turtle fell into prolonged silence once again, ancient eyes distant with considerations spanning centuries. Finally, it waved a dismissive hand with visible irritation. "You're the Sect Leader, bearing that tremendous responsibility and authority. The succession decision ultimately rests with you alone—why continue asking me for validation you won't fully trust anyway?"

As it turned to shuffle away on its gnarled cane, its steps suddenly faltered. One final warning emerged, heavy with significance. "As for Wutong Island and this upcoming tournament... avoid sending anyone if you possibly can. Find an excuse, any excuse."

"Ancestor?" Song Feng felt genuine alarm—the turtle never spoke such direct warnings idly.

"After tonight's exertions, I'll be entering deep slumber to recover what I've expended." The turtle's voice carried resignation. "I had genuinely hoped to bid proper farewell to that girl before withdrawing, but it seems circumstances have denied me that small comfort. Though Bai Shuo brings protective fortune to Piaomiao's survival, this sect ultimately cannot keep her here permanently. After this immediate crisis passes, you must let her walk her own path freely. Forcing her to remain would only bring tragedy."

Before Song Feng could formulate further inquiries or protests, the turtle dissolved into an expanding wisp of smoke, its final words hanging in the air even as its physical form vanished completely from the hall.

To provide Song Feng with this crucial warning and counter his dangerous assumptions, the turtle had sacrificed a full century of its carefully accumulated lifespan to force a divination through layers of obscuring fate. The prophecy had pointed only to Bai Shuo as the one who could potentially reverse the Qiankun and restore balance. By successfully averting Piaomiao's prophesied disaster through its interventions, it now paid the steep price of century-long slumber. For the next hundred years of mortal time, Piaomiao's fortunes and crises would no longer concern it at all.

The hall settled into profound quiet. Song Feng's gaze drifted to the jade slips left behind by past ancestors—repositories of accumulated wisdom and power spanning generations—and released a sigh that seemed to emerge from his very soul.

The great Dao governing all Three Realms, the cyclical fortunes of immortal sects rising and falling like tides—how much longer could he personally endure bearing this weight?

He could only harbor desperate hope that Zhesang would somehow experience genuine repentance and return to his original pure intentions, and that Er Yun and Chong Zhao together could restore their mountain sect to its former glory before time ran out entirely.

Night deepened toward its darkest hours before dawn. The sea wind howled with increasing violence, chilling the island to its very bones. The two disciples assigned to guard the Profound Ice Cave rubbed their hands together vigorously, trying to generate warmth through friction.

Unnoticed by the distracted guards, a small sapling crept with agonizing slowness along the cave's frozen perimeter, moving under the convenient cover of darkness.

Suddenly, shadows seemed to shift in the peripheral vision—movement where there should be only stillness.

"Who's there?" Chang Xu tensed immediately, his training overriding his exhaustion as he shouted the challenge. He and Yi Fan rushed forward with weapons half-drawn, only to discover the suspicious movement was merely branches swaying in the persistent wind.

Yi Fan shot his junior brother a withering look of pure exasperation.

"With everything that's happened recently—the evil spirits, the theft, all this chaos—I'm just jumpy and seeing threats everywhere." Chang Xu muttered his sheepish defense.

As they turned back to resume their positions, Chang Xu's peripheral vision caught something impossible—a sapling definitely crawling near the cave's barrier, moving with clear intentional purpose.

"Senior Brother! A tree is moving! That's not natural wind—it's actually moving on its own!"

Yi Fan spun around with raised weapon, but the cave's mouth lay completely undisturbed, showing no signs of intrusion or unnatural activity. "This entire island is literally covered with trees—of course they move when wind hits them. What exactly are you yelling about now?"

Chang Xu blinked repeatedly, his tired eyes struggling to process what they'd witnessed. The sapling had completely vanished, leaving no trace of its presence. Rubbing his eyes with both hands, he released an awkward, embarrassed chuckle. "Must've imagined it. Too tired, seeing things that aren't there."

Yi Fan rolled his eyes with elaborate theatricality and deliberately ignored his junior brother's continued mutterings.

Inside the cave's frigid interior, the small fire had dwindled to barely glowing embers, its once-cheerful flames reduced to pathetic sparks. Bai Shuo rubbed her hands together with increasing desperation, her entire body wracked by violent shivers. "Why is this damned place so unbearably cold? I'm genuinely freezing to death here..."

She had harbored optimistic thoughts that with the gift of firewood from the kind senior brothers, she could reasonably hold out until Chong Zhao emerged from his seclusion in three days' time. But she hadn't anticipated—couldn't have predicted—that the Ice Cavern would prove far, far colder than even her pessimistic imagination had conceived possible. The limited firewood supply wouldn't last nearly long enough. Forget enduring three full days—at this rate of consumption and with this depth of cold, she might not even survive through a single day.

Bai Shuo hugged her knees tightly against her chest, drawing herself into the smallest possible ball as she tried desperately to position herself as close to the dying fire as physics would allow. But the Ice Cavern's supernatural cold penetrated everything, and after enduring a full night of emotional terror followed by physical punishment, she was utterly, completely exhausted. Her eyes fluttered closed despite her best efforts to maintain vigilance, consciousness slipping away as she drifted into a dazed half-sleep.

In the strange landscape of her dream, she seemed to find herself wandering through an ethereal peach grove where the blossoms were in impossibly full bloom—more beautiful than anything the mortal realm could produce. Beside a crystal-clear murmuring stream, someone lounged with elegant laziness against an ornate stone table. The mysterious figure wore flowing white robes that seemed to shift and move with their own subtle life, black hair cascading in loose, unbound waves. She appeared to have been drinking celestial wine, her melodious voice carrying the distinctive lilt of pleasant inebriation.

"Ah, Yue Mi, next month marks your grand birthday celebration—such an important occasion deserves proper festivities. This time, I'm begging you, please don't go emptying all the precious treasures from my palace vaults to fund your extravagant parties. Go make trouble and raid the other three palaces instead—they can afford your expensive tastes better than I can. My treasures... I still have great and urgent use for them..."

Thoughts:

The crisis deepens as Bai Shuo faces almost certain death in the Profound Ice Cave while multiple forces mobilize around her. The chapter reveals crucial backstory about Piaomiao Island's true nature—it's actually the physical form of an ancient thousand-year-old cloud turtle who can divine fate but has now entered century-long slumber after expending its lifespan to protect the sect. The old turtle's final warning about avoiding Wutong Island suggests dangers ahead that even its prophetic abilities fear. Meanwhile, Zhe Sang's manipulation of Song Feng continues as he refuses the Mountain-Suppressing Jade Slip to hide his practice of Yao Race cultivation methods learned from Fu Ling. The touching gestures of Inner Sect disciples Yi Fan and Chang Xu providing firewood show Bai Shuo's genuine connections despite her low status. Fan Yue's mysterious disappearance and apparent infiltration of the Ice Cave hints at powers far beyond a simple tree spirit. 

It ends with Bai Shuo's strange dream featuring a woman in white drinking wine and mentioning "Yue Mi"—suggesting Fan Yue's true identity may be connected to far more ancient and powerful beings than anyone suspects. The convergence of multiple plot threads creates mounting tension as the three-day deadline approaches.