Conspiracy & Breakthrough

Three days earlier, Han Yue crouched behind a boulder, her breath misting in the air. She had been tracking a patch of rare Snowbloom herbs when she heard it – a low, guttural growl that prickled the hairs on her neck.

Peering around the rock, she saw the demon wolf for the first time. It lay curled in a hollow between icy cliffs, its black fur matted with blood. One of its hind legs was twisted at an unnatural angle – a recent injury. Even wounded, its aura felt dangerous, dark qi swirling around it like smoke. Han Yue's instincts screamed at her to leave. But the Snowblooms glowed just ten paces beyond the beast, their petals shimmering like liquid silver. She needed them to brew healing elixirs. Silently, she activated her Phantom Veil Technique, masking her presence. Step by step, she edged toward the herbs, her eyes locked on the wolf. It didn't stir. Almost there. Her fingers brushed the nearest Snowbloom –

– and the wolf's eyes snapped open.

Red. Its eyes were red, burning with a hatred that felt almost human. Han Yue froze. The beast snarled, struggling to stand despite its broken leg. Dark qi pulsed from its wounds, knitting bones and muscle with unnatural speed. She lunged for the herbs, ripping three plants from the ground. The wolf lunged too, claws slicing the air where her head had been. Han Yue rolled sideways, triggering a wind talisman to boost her retreat. But the wolf was faster. It cornered her against the cliffs, fangs dripping. Han Yue gripped Glacial Rain, her mind racing. Fighting would waste energy and draw attention, but escape was impossible. Think. Adapt. As the wolf leapt, she threw a Frostbite Needle – not at the beast, but at the ice above its head. The needle struck, freezing a fragile overhang. The wolf's claws shattered the ice, triggering an avalanche of snow. Han Yue dove sideways as the cascade buried the wolf's injured leg. It howled, thrashing, and she fled – her heart pounding, the Snowblooms clutched to her chest. She didn't look back. But the wolf's final snarl followed her, a promise: This isn't over.

Now, in the present, as the healed – and far stronger – wolf circles her in the snow, Han Yue understands. Some beasts don't forget. Some hunts never end.

The demon wolf's claws tore through Han Yue's sleeve, spraying blood across the snow. She stumbled back, her vision blurring. "This can't go on," she thought.

With shaking hands, she swallowed the blood pill from the dark cultivator's stash. Fire erupted in her veins – her spiritual energy surged, but her ribs screamed in protest. The pill's power was a double-edged sword, burning her meridians to fuel temporary strength. Han Yue triggered her last fire blast talisman, aiming not at the wolf, but at the ground beneath it. The explosion shattered the ice, creating a pit. The beast fell, snarling, but its claws dug into the ledge.

"Now."

She threw her final wind talisman, directing the gust to hurl the wolf deeper into the pit. As it scrambled, she activated the broken array flag, stabbing it into the ice. The cracked formations flickered to life, weaving a fragile net of light over the pit – a temporary prison. Han Yue leapt high, triggering her last wing talisman. Ethereal ice wings carried her above the pit. The wolf howled, dark qi boiling as it prepared to leap.

She poured every shred of energy into Glacial Rain, the blade glowing a blinding blue. The Frozen Moon Slash she unleashed wasn't a crescent – it was a storm, a whirlwind of ice shards and sword qi.

The wolf's howl turned to a gurgle as the attack struck. When the ice settled, the beast lay motionless, its body pierced by a hundred frozen blades. Han Yue collapsed, her wings dissolving. The blood pill's energy faded, leaving her trembling and bloodied. Her meridians felt scorched, her fingers frostbitten from channelling too much ice qi. But she'd won.

Dragging herself to a nearby cave, she set the broken array flag at the entrance – its flickering light would warn of intruders. She applied Stone Sap to her ribs, the golden goo hardening into a makeshift cast. The remaining Moonfrost Lilies were chewed raw, their bitter juice numbing her pain.

As she bandaged her wounds, Han Yue stared at the demon wolf's corpse in the distance. Its dark qi had already melted the ice around it, leaving a charred black scar on the snow. "What was this realm doing to the beasts here?" she wondered.

But questions could wait. She curled into a ball, clutching Glacial Rain. Sleep came fitfully, her dreams filled with red eyes and crumbling ice.

When she woke, she'd be stronger. When she woke, she'd keep moving.

Survival wasn't a choice – it was the only path forward.

Han Yue smeared the last of the Whisperroot sap on her sleeves and activated her Phantom Veil. Her body blurred like mist as she crept towards the Blood Moon Sect's camp. The snow muffled her steps, but her heart pounded loud enough to betray her.

Halfway across the valley, a voice cut through the silence.

"Who's there?"

A skinny cultivator in blood-red robes stepped into her path. He was at the Qi Gathering 8th Realm. His sharp eyes scanned the empty snow – almost seeing her. Han Yue froze.

He sniffed the air. "I smell fear."

She didn't wait. A Frostbite Needle flew from her sleeve, aimed at his throat. He dodged, but the needle grazed his cheek, and ice immediately spread across his face.

"Bitch!" he roared, drawing a jagged dagger. He lunged, the blade coated in poison, but Han Yue vanished, using Glacial Phantom Steps and Frozen Veil Phantom Art to create two afterimages. His dagger sliced through air. Overcommitted to his attack, he barely had time to react before Han Yue struck. A Frozen Moon Slash tore towards his ribs. He blocked with a bone charm, but the force shattered it. Snarling, he triggered a blood talisman. His speed doubled, dark qi forming into claws around his hands. Han Yue had no choice. She activated her last speed talisman, darted behind him, and drove Glacial Rain through his back. He collapsed, choking on blood. Without hesitation, she yanked his storage bag and ran.

Hiding in a crevice, Han Yue's hands shook as she bandaged a cut on her arm. The fight had lasted only forty breaths, but it had drained her. She rummaged through the stolen storage bag. There were three mid-grade blood barrier talismans, useful but reeking of iron. Among the pills, she found five Blood Replenishment Pills, though their rotten smell warned of their side effects. Two Qi Poison Pills could sabotage an enemy's energy flow. In the herb pouch, seven Blackvein Mushrooms – effective against dark qi – rested beside three Crimson Lotus Pods, known for numbing pain.

One item caught her attention: a rusted key engraved with the words "North Vault". Alongside it lay a jade slip detailing "Realm Corruption Rituals". Her breath slowed as she scanned its contents.

"...corrupted qi alters beasts and terrain...

altar at the realm's heart anchors the

decay.."

The Blood Moon Sect wasn't just looting the realm-they were poisoning it. The demon wolf's unnatural mutation made sense now. She clenched the key. If the North Vault was connected to this, it might hold answers-or dangers.

She peered out of the crevice. The Blood Moon Sect hadn't noticed their missing member yet, but it was only a matter of time. The exit crack glowed ahead. Two hundred steps. No cover. She smeared blood from her wound on a rock to mislead scent-trackers and crawled forward, slow and silent. At the crack, she hesitated. Sunlight meant freedom. But the jade slip's warnings gnawed at her. If the realm's corruption spread, what horrors would follow?

Taking a breath, she stepped through.

Han Yue slipped out of the secret realm unnoticed, her Phantom Veil Technique blending her into the swirling mountain mist. The exit led her into a snowy forest, far from Ice Garden Valley's territory. As she moved cautiously through the trees, muffled voices reached her ears. A mile away, a group of disciples in jade-green robes gathered around a frozen stream. The Emerald Dawn Sect. Their leader, a tall man with a braided beard, examined a cracked formation stone with a grim expression.

"The corruption spreads faster than predicted," he muttered. "Tell the elders the realm's core is poisoned. We need seals, not swords."

Han Yue crouched behind a pine tree, gripping the Blood Moon cultivator's storage bag. These weren't enemies, but getting involved meant questions. Where did you go? What did you see? She had survived by staying silent, and she would remain that way. Carefully, she backed away, taking a looping path to avoid leaving tracks. She smeared the last of her Whisperroot sap on her sleeves to mask her scent, staying clear of fresh snow.

By nightfall, she reached a nameless village at the mountain's base. The innkeeper, a toothless old woman, asked no questions when Han Yue placed a low-grade spirit stone on the counter. In the privacy of her room, she checked her belongings. The rusted key, engraved with North Vault, remained cold in her palm. The jade slip described dark rituals but gave no clues about her cultivation. She had enough pills and herbs to last a week, though the dried meat strips were as unappetizing as ever. Without hesitation, she tossed the Blood Moon Sect's storage bag into the fireplace, watching the flames consume any lingering ties to the past.

A week later, Han Yue returned to Ice Garden Valley, blending into the crowd of disciples. The elders praised those who brought treasures, but she claimed nothing, earning only a quiet nod from her master, Bing Zhi. In the solitude of her room, she uncurled her fingers. The rusted key remained, hidden and secret.

Some doors were better left unopened.

Han Yue slipped back into Ice Garden Valley's daily rhythm like a shadow merging with dusk. Dawn found her in the sect's herb gardens, tending frostbitten Snowblooms and Iceleaf vines with hands still scarred from the secret realm. Around her, disciples whispered of treasures—glowing swords, rare manuals—but she had claimed nothing beyond blisters and a quiet reputation. Her days settled into a careful routine: mornings spent meditating in the glacial springs, channeling qi to soothe her scorched meridians; afternoons brewing weak healing teas for the infirmary, earning little more than bland nods from the elders; nights refining her Frozen Veil Phantom Art in the courtyard, pushing her afterimages to linger for five breaths instead of three. Beneath her floorboards, wrapped in silencing cloth, the rusted key lay untouched. She checked it daily, its cold weight a reminder of choices unmade.

Rumors seeped into the valley like poison. A merchant caravan was found near the northern border, its guards drained of blood. Scouts reported dark qi swirling in abandoned mines. A junior disciple vanished during night patrol, returning days later with frostbitten fingers and no memory of where he had been. Han Yue listened but said nothing. At the market, she quietly traded for extra Qi Gathering pills and a tarnished dagger—preparation, not paranoia.

Her master, Bing Zhi, observed her during sword drills, gaze sharp as winter. Once, she remarked, "Your steps are lighter, Han Yue. The realm tempered you." Han Yue bowed, hiding her hands, still prone to trembling. "Survival teaches efficiency, Master." Bing Zhi narrowed her eyes but did not press further.

One evening, while gathering firewood, Han Yue spotted a crow perched on a pine branch, its eyes glowing faintly red. She froze, muscles tensed, but the bird merely ruffled its feathers and took flight, scattering black plumes that dissolved into smoke. Blood Moon's spies. That night, she reforged her broken array flag into a crude alarm ward and buried it beneath her windowsill. Sleep came in fitful bursts.

In the sect archives, she searched for any mention of "North Vault." Dusty scrolls spoke of an ancient storage complex buried beneath the Iron Ridge Mountains, abandoned after a qi eruption a century ago. Legends whispered of treasures sealed away—some too dangerous, others too corrupting. She memorized the coordinates, burned the notes, and told no one.

Winter deepened. Spirit beasts grew restless, howling near the valley's edge. On the longest night, a scream shattered the silence. The eastern gate lay in ruins, claw marks scoring the ice. No bodies. No blood. Only a single black feather, crisp with frost. The elders blamed rogue demons. Han Yue knew better.

She doubled her training, channeling unease into discipline. Her Frozen Veil Phantom Art now conjured three afterimages instead of two. She brewed Frostfern tea to sharpen her senses and sewed hidden pockets into her robes for needles and talismans. The key remained buried, but its pull grew heavier with each passing day.

A week before the solstice, Master Bing Zhi summoned her. The elder's chamber smelled of pine and quiet tension. "A message from the Emerald Dawn Sect," she said, sliding a jade slip across the table. "They seek allies to cleanse a corruption in the northern wilds. You've been... quiet since your return. Do you wish to join?"

Han Yue's fingers brushed the slip. Dark qi swirled inside it, familiar and foul. "No, Master," she said, bowing low. "My skills are too humble for such work."

Bing Zhi sighed. "Prudence is wisdom. But not all storms can be outrun."

That night, Han Yue dreamt of red eyes and crumbling vaults. She woke to the faint hum of her alarm ward, a tremor in the earth—something buried stirring awake. In the distant mountains, a lone wolf howled. This time, the sound carried no ice. Only hunger.

Han Yue knelt at the base of the frozen waterfall, her breath crystallizing in the air. Months of quiet cultivation—grinding herbs into salves, meditating until her legs went numb—had led to this moment. The bottleneck between Qi Gathering and Foundation Establishment was a wall of ice, and she would shatter it.

For three days, she fasted, purging impurities while cycling ice spiritual energy through her meridians. The process burned, her qi condensing into a swirling vortex at her core. On the fourth night, memories surged—Yan Kai's death, the horrors of the secret realm, the demon wolf's red eyes. She let them freeze, then shattered them one by one. "I am Han Yue," she whispered, carving her identity into her soul.

When the breakthrough struck, frost climbed the waterfall, silencing its roar. Her bones crackled, muscles reforged in glacial fire. When the light faded, a crystalline core pulsed within her dantian—solid, cold, unyielding. Foundation Establishment had been achieved.

Her aura sharpened, like a blade sheathed in ice. Disciples instinctively stepped aside when she passed. Her senses expanded—she could hear snowflakes settling a mile away, smell iron in blood from three paces. The Frozen Veil Phantom Art now conjured seven afterimages, each lasting ten breaths. But her greatest gain was the evolution of her sword technique.

Her Frostfeather Sword Art fused with Phantom Veil, birthing a new technique—Veiled Frost Phoenix Strike. A single slash unleashed a phoenix-shaped wave of ice, trailing six afterimages that exploded on contact. The strike could bisect a boulder, freeze a river mid-flow—but it drained 30% of her qi, leaving her vulnerable for three breaths. A risk she would have to mitigate.

In their next sparring session, Master Bing Zhi tested her. A simple Feather Light Slash from Han Yue caused the ground beneath Bing Zhi's feet to ice over—a passive effect of her Foundation aura. The elder sheathed her sword, eyes narrowing. "Your foundation is… unusual," she remarked. "Not pure ice. There's a shadow to it."

Han Yue bowed, hiding her hands. The rusted key's influence? Blood Moon Sect's corruption? She didn't know.

"Unusual isn't weak," Bing Zhi added, almost gently. "But tread carefully, Han Yue. The higher you climb, the farther you have to fall."

She returned to her routines, now amplified by her new realm. A flick of her wrist froze entire patches of Snowblooms for easy harvesting. She could vanish for hours, even from elders' spiritual senses. Yet her vast qi reserves took days to replenish without pills. The sect buzzed with envy, but she ignored it. Let them whisper.

Survival mattered more than praise.

Yet in the quiet of night, she unearthed the rusted key. Its edges glinted faintly, reacting to her Foundation core. The "North Vault" called—a problem for tomorrow.

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