Jiang Chen had heard enough. Losing interest in the conversation, he turned and accelerated through the biting wind, flying straight toward the Rain Pavilion.

Just as he adjusted his trajectory, another disciple came tearing through the air from the opposite direction. The newcomer skidded to a halt before a figure sitting motionless by the water—a fisherman so still he resembled a sculpture carved from ice.

“Master!” the disciple cried out, his voice trembling with urgency.

The fisherman didn’t move his body, only shifting his eyes sideways. “What is it?”

“Master, it’s that lunatic Mo Sha!” the disciple stammered. “He stormed from the Rain Pavilion straight to Beast Mountain. He’s demanding a duel with Long Ao by name! No one can stop him!”

The fisherman curled his lip, a look of profound annoyance crossing his weathered face. “Juniors fighting amongst themselves… what does that have to do with me?”

The disciple’s expression stiffened. He lowered his voice, braving a reminder. “Master… before the Valley Master left for the Southern Light Banquet, he specifically asked you to manage Beast Mountain.”

“Tsk. Endless nuisances.” The fisherman scowled, his gaze lingering on his fishing line. “Always interrupting my peace and quiet.”

Although his tone was dripping with dissatisfaction, his figure vanished in the blink of an eye.

He moved so fast that the displacement of air lagged behind him. It took several breaths for the layer of snow that had accumulated on his shoulders to finally succumb to gravity, drifting down to the empty rock where he had just been sitting.

Minutes later, Jiang Chen approached the Black Lake.

Ahead, the nine-story Rain Pavilion rose majestically, a structure condensed entirely from flowing water.

The winter chill had frozen the surrounding tributaries into solid veins of ice, yet the Black Lake remained defiant. The dark waters here showed no sign of freezing; not a single snowflake could settle on its surface without melting instantly.

Splash!

As Jiang Chen drew closer, a strange churning sound erupted from the depths.

He looked down, his eyes widening.

The surface of the lake was boiling. Thousands of tails thrashed the water, shattering the reflection of the gray sky into a million shimmering shards.

Large silver carp leaped into the air. Grass carp, crucian carp—species he recognized and many he didn’t—surged from the depths. There were tens of thousands of them.

They moved with a hive-mind intelligence. At one moment, they charged forward in a spearhead formation; the next, they swirled in a perfect clockwise vortex.

They were following a rhythm, a hidden law.

More shockingly, every single fish bore a faint, glowing rune inscribed on its scales.

It was a sight that would make any mortal fisherman weep with desire, never wanting to leave. But the disciples of the Rain Pavilion barely glanced at it. To them, this was routine. Whenever the Mystic Tortoise or the Flying Serpent—the sect’s guardian beasts residing deep below—stirred, the disturbed Qi would automatically trigger the Ten-Thousand Fish Formation.

Jiang Chen hovered in mid-air, his Spiritual Sense sweeping out like a net. He tried to scan the runes, hoping to imprint their structure into his memory for later analysis.

He failed.

At first glance, the runes appeared identical. But upon closer inspection, they revealed a terrifying complexity. Layers upon layers of runic circuits were interlinked, shifting and flowing like the water itself. It was a profound application of the Dao of Water.

The ambient Water Qi in the area spiked, becoming thick and heavy.

Realizing he couldn’t brute-force the learning process, Jiang Chen pragmatically abandoned the attempt. I’ll study this properly later, he thought, continuing toward the pavilion entrance.

Once he landed, he retrieved Lin Yu’s Communication Talisman. The message was brief, asking him to wait.

While he waited, the atmosphere around the Rain Pavilion grew increasingly frantic. Disciples rushed past him, their faces flushed with excitement and shock.

“Did you hear?”

“I can’t believe it!”

They hurried inside, desperate to catch a glimpse of the drama. Jiang Chen watched them with mild curiosity, but as an outsider to this particular branch, he couldn’t simply barge in.

Fortunately, Lin Yu didn’t keep him waiting long.

She emerged from the entrance, bringing a touch of brightness to the gloomy day. She wore a plain-colored ruqun that accentuated her elegance, yet her bouncing step betrayed her lively, cute nature.

“You finally came,” Jiang Chen said, letting out a breath of white mist.

Lin Yu chuckled, her eyes crinkling into crescents. “Sorry! I ran into my father on the way out.”

Jiang Chen flipped his palm. Three hot roasted sweet potatoes appeared from his spatial storage, steam rising from their cracked skins.

“It’s chaotic inside,” he said, handing them over. “What happened?”

Lin Yu’s eyes lit up at the sight of the treat. She immediately cupped the warm potatoes in her hands, savoring the heat against her cold fingers.

“Shui Wuhen,” she whispered, leaning in as if sharing a state secret. “The number one ranked disciple of the Rain Pavilion? He got beaten up today. No—scratch that. He got absolutely thrashed.”

Jiang Chen raised an eyebrow. “Defeating Shui Wuhen? There can’t be many people in the sect capable of that.”

Lin Yu took a small bite of the sweet potato, her voice muffled by the food. “It was someone named Mo Sha.”

The name struck a chord. Jiang Chen recalled Mo Yu and Senior Brother Long mentioning him.

Mo Sha. A cultivator from the harsh Northern Desert, possessing a rare triple Spirit Root constitution: Wood, Fire, and Earth. Rumor had it he had cultivated the high-level [Blazing Fire Art] to perfection. Among all Foundation Establishment disciples in the Immortal Sect, he was a predator at the top of the food chain. Even the arrogant Long Ao was wary of him.

To think Shui Wuhen would become his prey.

Jiang Chen followed Lin Yu into the Rain Pavilion.

The first floor was a hive of activity. Water Spirit Root disciples and talisman apprentices were gathered in tight clusters, the air thick with indignation. The news of Shui Wuhen’s defeat had shattered their collective pride.

“That Mo Sha is utterly lawless!”

“Savages from the Northern Region. They have no manners, no decorum!”

“This isn’t over! We of the Rain Pavilion share glory and disgrace. An insult to one is an insult to all!”

“Exactly! If he dares to beat up Senior Brother Shui today, he’ll walk all over us tomorrow!”

The uproar was deafening, the atmosphere smoky with rage. It only began to subside when a Manager stepped out to restore order.

Jiang Chen scanned the crowd but didn’t see the victim.

“Come on,” Lin Yu waved, beckoning him toward the stairs. “My father is on the third floor.”

They ascended the stairs, which were sculpted from flowing water held in shape by arrays. When they reached the second floor, the source of the commotion became clear.

Shui Wuhen was there.

He was surrounded by a circle of elites—Huo Ling, Shi Yan, Zhao Feng, and Jian Chen were all present, along with high-ranking Rain Pavilion disciples. Their expressions were a mix of shock and fury.

Jiang Chen narrowed his eyes, analyzing the damage.

Shui Wuhen looked miserable.

His handsome, refined features were gone, replaced by a face swollen so badly it resembled a pig’s head. His robes were tattered, revealing burn marks scorched into his skin. But the worst damage wasn’t physical.

There was a lingering fear in Shui Wuhen’s eyes. A dull, hollow look.

Clearly, the battle with Mo Sha had left an indelible shadow on his psyche.

Interesting, Jiang Chen mused. This Mo Sha is ruthless.

However, Jiang Chen’s primary thought wasn’t sympathy, but calculation. By brutalizing Shui Wuhen like this, Mo Sha hadn’t just humiliated a rival; he had offended the entire Rain Pavilion. Judging by the angry glares of the talisman apprentices, Mo Sha had better hope he never needed a custom talisman, a spirit ward, or an enchantment again.

Offending the suppliers was bad for business.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen Shui Wuhen in such a sorry state,” Lin Yu whispered, a hint of schadenfreude in her tone.

“You don’t get along with him?” Jiang Chen asked quietly.

Lin Yu blinked her large, watery eyes. “How should I put it? I just feel… he’s very hypocritical.”

Jiang Chen nodded slightly, surprised by her perceptiveness.

He had felt the exact same way during his first meeting with Shui Wuhen. The man always wore a gentle, accommodating smile. He nodded politely to everyone.

But deep in his eyes, buried beneath the facade, was a profound indifference.

It was the look of a man who looked down on everyone he deemed inferior, hiding his arrogance behind a mask of benevolence.