Snap.

The slender [Greenwood Needle] broke in two. The spiritual light shimmering on its surface flickered once and extinguished, leaving behind a dull, lifeless piece of wood.

Jiang Chen tossed the debris into the waste bin and frowned. “Another failure.”

This was his third attempt.

He wiped his hands, acknowledging a harsh truth: there was a chasm of difference between mortal forging and true artifact refining.

Forging was physical. As long as he controlled the temperature, the materials, and the timing, the molds did the heavy lifting.

But artifact refining? Even for something as basic as a [Greenwood Needle]—the absolute lowest tier of Wood-attribute Spirit Artifacts—the variables were overwhelming.

Attempt one: The Crimson Flame was too intense. The materials incinerated instantly. Attempt two: He suppressed the fire but lost patience with the fusion process. The structure collapsed.

And now, attempt three. He had dialed in the temperature and timing, learning from his mistakes. But at the critical moment—the engraving of the runes—his force with the Green Jade Knife had been a hair too heavy.

The structure snapped.

Jiang Chen took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Brute-forcing this won’t work. I can’t just follow the steps mechanically. I need to master the underlying logic of Rune Engraving before I waste any more materials.”

He had the Detailed Explanation of Basic Spirit Patterns, but that manual focused on internal spirit channels, not external runes.

Runes were different. Crudely put, they were like drawing talismans on metal.

In deeper terms, they were anchors for the laws of Heaven and Earth, conduits that allowed a physical object to channel Spirit Qi. Some were symbols, some were geometric lines, some were complex pictorials. The more ancient and intricate the rune, the greater the power it could harness.

The [Greenwood Needle] required only one rune: the [Wind-Breaking Pattern]. It was arguably the simplest rune in existence.

Yet, Jiang Chen was flying blind. He had no technique, no foundation. Charging ahead was just throwing spirit stones into a furnace.

Worse, he had discovered a fatal flaw in his natural aptitude: he lacked a Metal Spirit Root.

Refining required an alloy of Green Wood Vine and Iron Ingot.

The vine was easy; his Wood Spirit Root allowed him to sense its grain and flow perfectly.

But the iron? He couldn’t sense the micro-structure of the metal. He couldn’t feel if the fusion was uniform. He was guessing, relying on trial and error rather than perception.

The needle that just snapped had been too brittle. That meant the iron content was too low, but he hadn’t felt it until it was too late.

Shaking his head, Jiang Chen cleaned up the scrap metal and wood. He picked up his empty bowl and walked up the stairs, disappointment weighing on his shoulders.

When he emerged from the basement, he was surprised to see the afternoon sun already dipping low. He had lost hours down there.

He stepped onto the balcony. The biting wind of the snowy season hit his face, cooling his overheated brain.

“I got arrogant,” he admitted to the empty air.

The easy success with the sickle had made him cocky. He thought he could breeze through artifact refining just as easily.

Reality had delivered a swift, stinging slap.

It made sense now why the apprentices at Fire Peak were predominantly Metal Spirit Root holders. If you couldn’t sense the metal at a microscopic level, the cost of learning was astronomical.

Jiang Chen had Wood and Fire. He could process the organic materials and provide the heat, but he was missing the bridge.

“If I can’t sense it, I need to control it through precise rune work.”

With a thought, a [Communication Talisman] appeared in his hand.

He didn’t activate it immediately. Instead, he studied it. He engaged his spiritual sense, scanning the ink lines on the paper.

Even this disposable, common talisman bore runes far more complex than the [Wind-Breaking Pattern] he was struggling with.

He injected a trace of Wood Qi. The talisman hummed, glowing with a soft light.

Two breaths later, a voice crackled through.

“Jiang Chen?”

“It’s me,” Jiang Chen said. “I’ve developed an interest in runes lately. I’m looking for some study materials.”

“Oh?” The voice on the other end brightened instantly. “Hehe, you came to the right person. I can recommend a few titles right now!”

On the other end of the connection, Lin Yu’s eyes danced with a triumphant light. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips—she finally had a chance to show off her expertise.

She rattled off a list of titles, her tone professional and eager.

“There’s Origins of the Script, which covers history and evolution. Then Compendium of Sect Runes, which has all the standard templates. And definitely Rune Novice’s Guide—it breaks down the stroke order and spiritual pressure techniques for novices.”

Although it was only three books, her selection was precise. She knew exactly what he needed.

“Where can I buy these?” Jiang Chen asked.

“Come to the Rain Pavilion,” Lin Yu said, a sly tone creeping into her voice. “I have copies right here.”

Jiang Chen glanced at the darkening sky. “It’s a bit late today…”

“Not late, not late!” Lin Yu interrupted quickly. “If you come now, you’ll catch the Myriad Fish Formation.”

“The… Myriad Fish Formation?”

“Yes,” Lin Yu explained, clearly enjoying his confusion. “The Rain Pavilion maintains absolute control over the Black Lake and its tributaries. We do this by engraving control runes onto tens of thousands of fish. When the formation activates, they swim in unison to channel the water spiritual energy.”

Jiang Chen raised an eyebrow. “Wait. You engrave runes on fish? What if an angler catches one?”

“So what?” Lin Yu sounded nonchalant. “Let them catch them. The most common mission in the Rain Pavilion is assigning junior scribes to find a fish and engrave a rune on it. We have an endless supply of cheap labor.”

Jiang Chen paused. It made perverse sense.

Junior scribes fought for those missions. It was easy work: find a fish, draw a rune, release it. You got 20 contribution points, two Low-grade Spirit Stones, and free practice. It was a win-win for the sect.

“The scale of that…” Jiang Chen hissed a breath of cold air. “Alright. I’m coming over.”

“Great! Let me know when you arrive.” Lin Yu cut the connection before he could change his mind.

Jiang Chen tucked the talisman away and looked up. The sky was a heavy, slate gray. The snow showed no sign of stopping.

It was a long flight to the Rain Pavilion. He likely wouldn’t be back until midnight.

He turned back into the stone house and headed for the kitchen. He needed to prep dinner first—roasting a few sweet potatoes to eat on the way.

A promise was a promise.

Thirty minutes later, twilight had officially set in.

Jiang Chen stepped onto the [Giant Leaf]. He infused it with Qi, and the artifact surged upward, cutting a path toward the Rain Pavilion.

The world below was silent and white. The winter chill kept most cultivators indoors.

As he flew past the boundaries of the Spirit Farm, the frozen tributaries of the Black Lake came into view.

And there, sitting by the icy bank, was a solitary figure.

Jiang Chen blinked. There was actually a fisherman out in this weather.

The man was covered in a thick layer of snow, resembling a snowman more than a cultivator. Yet, he sat on his fishing stool with the stability of a mountain, seemingly impervious to the cold.

Curiosity piqued, Jiang Chen lowered his altitude and drifted closer.

“Fellow Daoist!” he called out over the wind. “Caught anything?”

The snowy figure slowly lifted his head. His face was red from the cold, but his expression was fiercely proud.

“No!”

Jiang Chen was stunned. “You haven’t caught anything… and you’re proud of it?”

The angler grinned, his teeth chattering slightly but his spirit unbroken.

“Everyone else gave up hours ago. I’m the only one who persisted to the end!”