Today’s first update.

  The warmth of home formed an invisible barrier, shielding Yun Che—if only temporarily—from the cold stares, deliberate hardships, and bone-deep exhaustion he had endured during his month at the Xuanshuang Sect.

  Listening to his parents’ gentle concern, eating the hot meals his mother had prepared with her own hands, and watching the ease return to his father’s face, a comforting warmth spread through Yun Che’s chest. The tightly wound string in his heart finally loosened.

  “Second Brother, Che’er is a proper disciple of an immortal sect now!”

  “Sixth Brother, I was blind back then and spoke utter nonsense—please don’t take it to heart! You know me, my mouth’s foul but my heart’s not bad. In the end, wasn’t I just hoping the children would do well?”

  “Second Sister-in-law, my daughter’s been sulking for days since I didn’t arrange her marriage. She’s set her heart on Che’er! Don’t you think we should find a time to settle this matter?”

  “Second Brother, Fifth Uncle is old now. The Yun family’s future will rest on your branch. Of all the children, Che’er is the one I’ve always favored most. In my view, his prospects may not be any worse than Han’er’s.”

  At the birthday banquet, cups clinked and laughter filled the air. Every relative wore a smile—sincere, or at least convincingly so. Praise was poured out freely, as though it cost nothing.

  Some, emboldened by drink, even slammed the table in righteous indignation, vowing to rally the clan and reclaim the property Yun Chengshan had lost years ago.

  Yun Chengshan merely smiled and waved them off.

  He understood these relatives all too well—easy to offer flowers in bloom, but scarce when help was needed in the snow. More importantly, after his son’s turbulent brush with “immortal fate,” his own outlook had changed. Old grudges and gains no longer seemed worth clinging to.

  His only wish now was that his son could live safely within the sect and grow better with each passing day.

  The festivities lasted the entire day. By dusk, the guests finally dispersed.

  Yun Che gazed at the piles of gifts stacked in the courtyard, emotion stirring within him. The saying “when one attains the Dao, even the chickens and dogs rise with him” suddenly felt vividly real.

  He was merely a registered disciple—and yet everything had changed so drastically.

  That night, under the dim glow of an oil lamp, his parents held him close and asked in detail about life in the sect.

  For the first time in his life, Yun Che lied to them.

  He described hauling water as “physical tempering,” painted indifferent seniors as “strict but responsible instructors,” exaggerated his meager free time into “diligent study of introductory manuals,” and even fabricated encounters with “kind elders” who offered occasional guidance.

  He spoke vividly—so convincingly that even he almost believed it himself.

  Yun Chengshan and his wife listened with unbroken smiles, pride and hope shining brightly in their eyes.

  Seeing them so happy, the last trace of guilt in Yun Che’s heart quietly faded.

  For the sake of that light in their eyes—so they could stand tall—he would endure anything.

  “Ten years of menial labor?”

  “I’ll endure it.”

  “I will seize that sliver of true immortal fate.”

  He renewed his vow in silence.

  After two days spent accompanying his parents, savoring rare warmth and peace, Yun Che departed on the third morning.

  Escorted by his parents and nearly the entire village, he affixed the Swift Movement Talisman to his leg. Amidst envious sighs and admiring gazes, his figure blurred into a swift gray streak and vanished from Xitou Village.

  For a long while afterward, he could still hear the villagers’ chatter—and his parents’ lingering words of concern—echoing in his ears.

  The return journey was grim.

  Lead-gray clouds pressed low over the mountains, as if ready to collapse at any moment. The air was thick and damp, thunder rolling deep within the clouds, heavy mist coiling through the valleys.

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  Yun Che quickened his pace.

  By deep night, he finally returned to the Xuanshuang Sect. Exhausted, he dragged himself back to the cramped gray-robed dormitory. Zhang Hu’s snores still thundered as usual.

  Lying on the hard wooden bed, Yun Che tossed and turned, thinking of his parents’ smiling faces—and of the mysterious gray-white stone bead.

  Sleep refused to come.

  At midnight, the long-brewing storm finally broke.

  Thunder roared. Lightning tore through the sky. Rain slammed against the windows like hail, filling the room with an overwhelming clatter. A blinding flash lit the room stark white.

  Instinctively, Yun Che reached into his chest.

  After his return home, his mother had sewn a hidden inner pouch into his undergarment. The stone bead rested safely inside.

  Moved by some inexplicable impulse, he took it out and examined it by the intermittent flashes of lightning.

  Suddenly, his expression froze.

  He rubbed his eyes, leaned closer, and stared intently at the ancient cloud patterns etched into the bead.

  “Something’s wrong…”

  “I clearly remember—there were five cloud markings before I left.”

  “But now… there’s an extremely faint outline of another. A sixth?”

  His heart raced.

  Under the next lightning flash, he counted again and again. The new cloud pattern was incredibly faint, barely formed—but it was undeniably real.

  Before he could think further, an icy chill suddenly washed over him, snapping him from his thoughts.

  “Why did it suddenly get so cold?”

  The next instant, his pupils shrank violently.

  The room had become eerily unrecognizable.

  Dense white mist filled the air, rolling thickly and cold to the touch. The table, floor—even the coarse bedding—were soaked, as though submerged in water.

  Yet his own body remained dry.

  Except for the fabric over his chest pouch, faintly damp.

  Heart pounding, Yun Che turned to Zhang Hu—and felt his blood run cold.

  Zhang Hu lay completely encased in frost. His clothes clung wetly to his body, ice crystals coated his skin, white frost dusted his hair and brows. His eyes were shut tight, his face an alarming bluish-purple.

  His teeth chattered uncontrollably. His breathing was so weak it was barely perceptible.

  “Zhang Hu! Zhang Hu!”

  Yun Che leapt from the bed and shook him hard.

  No response.

  His body was icy stiff—like a corpse freezing mid-death.

  Panicked, Yun Che turned to rush outside for help—

  Then stopped.

  “Why…?”

  “Everything else is soaked. Even the bedding could be wrung dry.”

  “But I lay there, and only my chest was damp.”

  A realization struck him like lightning.

  His gaze snapped to the pouch over his chest.

  Without hesitation, he reached inside and pulled out the gray-white stone bead.

  The instant it left the pouch—

  Everything changed.

  Every droplet of water in the room began to tremble.

  One by one, droplets defied gravity—lifting from tables, floors, bedding—floating in midair.

  Even from Zhang Hu’s body, white mist surged forth, condensing into glittering beads of water that joined the swarm.

  Another bolt of lightning split the night.

  In that blinding instant, Yun Che saw it—

  Each floating droplet flashed with a faint crystalline glimmer, then transformed into countless slender streaks of light, shooting wildly toward the stone bead in his hand!

  “Not good!”

  Without thinking, Yun Che hurled the bead toward the corner and dropped into a crouch, clutching his head.

  Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!

  The bead struck the wall with a dull clatter.

  All the streaking droplets converged upon it like bees returning to a hive—colliding silently, vanishing without a trace, swallowed whole.

  The entire phenomenon lasted less than ten breaths.

  When Yun Che finally lifted his head, the room was calm once more.

  The mist had vanished. The floor and furniture were dry. Even the soaked bedding had returned to its former rough dryness.

  In the corner, the frost melted rapidly from Zhang Hu’s body. Color returned to his face, his breathing steadying. He muttered incoherently, rolled over—and continued sleeping, utterly unaware.

  Outside, the storm still raged, though the rain had softened. A faint glimmer of light appeared on the horizon.

  Yun Che’s heart still thundered in his chest.

  Carefully, he retrieved the stone bead.

  It felt cool, no different from before.

  But when he examined it in the growing light, his heart lurched again.

  The sixth cloud marking was now fully formed—identical to the other five.

  And beside it…

  A seventh cloud outline had faintly emerged.

  Seven cloud markings.

  For the first time, alongside curiosity and reliance, Yun Che felt fear toward the stone bead.

  If he hadn’t awakened in time—if he hadn’t noticed the dampness at his chest—Zhang Hu would have frozen to death in his sleep, drained dry.

  As for why he had been spared…

  Yun Che reasoned that his long-term consumption of water infused by the bead might have altered his body, or imbued him with its aura—rendering him no longer a target.

  Staring at the new markings, curiosity slowly overwhelmed fear.

  What did these clouds represent?

  Did absorbing moisture cause them to increase?

  Was there a limit?

  What was their true function?

  Questions swirled endlessly.

  For a moment, he was tempted to run into the storm and test it further.

  He forced the thought down.

  The disturbance indoors had already been dangerous. Outdoors, drawing rain from the heavens would invite disaster.

  “I must be even more careful…”

  He placed the bead back into the hidden pouch.

  Its secret was his only hope in this cold immortal sect.

  At dawn, the rain eased.

  Yun Che was preparing to head to the chores hall when—

  “W-water… I’m dying of thirst…”

  Zhang Hu’s hoarse groan came from behind.

  He stumbled out of bed, eyes half-closed, lunged for the kettle, and drank desperately—only to choke and cough violently.

  Yun Che watched him quietly, expression complex.

  “Drink slowly,” he said calmly.

  “Last night… the rain was heavy. The window wasn’t sealed well. The room got damp. You must’ve had a nightmare.”

  Zhang Hu tugged at his wrinkled, slightly cold clothes and scratched his head in confusion.

  “Yeah? I dreamed I fell into an ice pit… damn weather.”

  And true turning points in fate tend to occur in the quietest hours of the night.

  It is no longer merely an opportunity—but a double-edged blade that may turn on its wielder at any moment.

  He must learn control.

  is this bead a key to salvation,

  or a chain slowly tightening around his fate?