The amber glow of the Green Clover Pavilion's recovery chamber faded as Lin Feng's eyes fluttered open. His body still ached from the exhaustive forging process, but the deep, satisfying emptiness in his Qi sea had been partially filled by the restorative energies of the room. He sat up slowly, flexing his fingers, and felt the weight of the Frost-Scale Gauntlets in his spatial ring. Their presence was a cool comfort, a silent promise of the power he now commanded.
"Not bad for a first attempt," Elder Zhao's voice echoed in his mind, the tone grudgingly approving. "The fusion was imperfect in places—you rushed the cooling phase—but the material quality compensated for your amateur technique. You have a decent eye, I'll grant you that."
Lin Feng allowed himself a small smile. Coming from the ancient dragon soul, that was practically high praise. He flexed his hands, feeling the lingering cold energy from the gauntlets seeping into his meridians even from within the ring. "What about binding them properly? I read that high-level weapons need a deeper connection."
A contemplative silence followed. "They are not divine artifacts, merely mortal treasures," Elder Zhao finally replied. "But to truly unlock their potential, a blood binding would not go amiss. However, that can wait until you are somewhere private. The process is... messy, and I doubt the Pavilion management would appreciate the cleanup."
Nodding, Lin Feng rose to his feet, his legs still unsteady but improving. He gathered his few belongings and, after a moment's hesitation, left the recovery chamber key on the counter. Elder Kuo's token gleamed in his palm—he had promised discretion, and Lin Feng intended to honor that trust. For now.
The afternoon sun blinded him momentarily as he stepped out of the Pavilion's side entrance. The bustling streets of Silverfrost City were as crowded as ever, merchants hawking their wares, cultivators moving with purposeful strides, and carriages clattering over the cobblestones. To the north, barely visible through the maze of buildings, lay the Lin Estate—vast, imposing, and utterly foreign to him.
He needed to get back. The Coming of Age Ceremony was approaching, and he still had much preparation to do. With the gauntlets secured and his secret still relatively intact, he felt a flicker of something he hadn't experienced in a long time: cautious optimism.
His path took him through the city center, a broad plaza dominated by the statue of the founding emperor, sword raised against an ice dragon. The crowds were thick here, and Lin Feng moved with practiced ease through the press of bodies, his hood pulled low. He had almost reached the northern gate when a familiar, unwelcome presence fell in behind him.
"Well, well. Look what we have here."
The voice was smooth, dripping with false friendliness. Lin Feng's shoulders tensed, but he did not turn around. He recognized that voice—the heir of the Wang family, Wang Lin, the young master who had humiliated him countless times before his transformation.
"I don't have time for you, Wang Lin," Lin Feng said, his voice flat. "Move along."
A mocking laugh followed. "Still playing the aloof one, are we? Even after your father pulled you out of that brothel like a stray dog?" Wang Lin stepped into view, flanked by two burly guards.
His silk robes were immaculate, his hair slicked back, and his eyes held the cruel amusement of a cat playing with a mouse.
"I heard you went into the Green Clover Pavilion today. What, looking for pills to fix your worthless cultivation? Or perhaps some beauty potions to charm a wife who doesn't know she's being married to garbage?"
The guards laughed, their coarse voices echoing off the nearby buildings. Lin Feng noticed with a sinking feeling that the crowd had parted around them, creating an isolated circle. The Pavilion was behind him, but the main street was crowded, and no one would interfere in a dispute between young masters. That was the unwritten rule.
"I'm not interested in your games," Lin Feng said, taking a measured step backward. "Let me pass."
Wang Lin's smile widened. "Oh, I don't think so. You see, I've been watching you for a while now. You've been sneaking around, acting all mysterious. And then today, I felt a strange energy pulse from the Pavilion. Cold, powerful..." His eyes narrowed.
"What did you do in there, Lin Feng? What did you find?"
So the idiot had felt the residual energy from the forging. Lin Feng's mind raced. If Wang Lin was making the connection, others might too. He needed to shut this down quickly and quietly.
"I was recovering," he said evenly. "Is that a crime now? Your family may have influence, but even you can't arrest a man for resting."
"Resting?" Wang Lin sneered. "Don't lie to me. I've seen the way you've been acting lately—walking different, looking different. Like you think you're something special." He snapped his fingers, and the two guards closed in.
"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what you found in that Pavilion. And then you're going to get on your knees and apologize for the attitude you've been showing lately. Or..." He gestured grandly. "My friends here are going to help you remember your place."
The guards were both at the 4th Qi Refining Stage, their bodies thick with muscle and their hands crackling with unstable Qi.
Lin Feng assessed them in a heartbeat. He could take them—the gauntlets in his ring practically hummed with eagerness—but doing so would reveal his cultivation progress. And if Wang Lin reported that...
He had no choice. The secret was already compromised by the energy pulse. Perhaps a controlled release would be acceptable.
"I gave you a chance to walk away," Lin Feng said quietly. "You should have taken it."
Wang Lin laughed. "What are you going to do, cry on me?"
The first guard moved, his fist swinging with enough force to shatter stone. Lin Feng sidestepped, his body moving with a fluidity that surprised even him, and caught the man's wrist. A twist, a pivot, and the guard's own momentum sent him sprawling into his companion. Both went down in a tangle of limbs.
Wang Lin's smile vanished. "You—"
Lin Feng didn't give him time to finish. He surged forward, his palm striking the young master's chest with precisely measured force. Wang Lin flew backward, crashing into a water cart and sending a spray of icy water across the plaza. He scrambled to his feet, robes soaked and honor shattered, his face contorted with rage.
"Kill him!" he screamed. "Kill him now!"
The guards recovered, their eyes now murderous. They drew short swords, the steel gleaming with poison. The crowd scattered, screams echoing off the walls. Lin Feng cursed under his breath—this was escalating far beyond what he had intended.
He reached for the Frost-Scale Gauntlets, but before he could summon them, a cold presence surged in his mind. Elder Zhao's power, dormant since their initial contract, flickered to life.
"A mere distraction," the dragon soul said, his voice carrying an ancient, terrible calm. "Allow me."
Before Lin Feng could protest, a wave of frost Qi erupted from his body. It was not the gentle cold of his new gauntlets, but something older, deeper, and infinitely more deadly. The temperature plummeted. Frost crawled across the cobblestones in branching patterns. The guards' swords froze in their hands, the poison crystallizing and becoming harmless.
Wang Lin stumbled backward, his face pale with terror. A fine layer of frost had formed on his eyebrows, on his lips. Behind Lin Feng, he could swear he saw the shadow of something vast and ancient, a silhouette of scales and claws.
"Run," Lin Feng heard himself say, his voice carrying an echo that was not his own. "Before I lose control."
Wang Lin ran. His guards followed, abandoning their weapons, their courage shattered by a power they could not comprehend. The young master didn't stop until he was three streets away, and even then, he kept looking back, the cold in his bones refusing to fade.
Lin Feng stood alone in the center of the plaza, the wave of power receding as quickly as it had come. He swayed on his feet, the aftereffects of Elder Zhao's intervention hitting him like a physical blow. His meridians burned. Blood trickled from his nose. That brief release had cost him dearly.
"That was reckless," he gasped, clutching his side as pain lanced through his ribs. "You said you wouldn't interfere directly."
"And I said I would when necessary," Elder Zhao replied coolly. "That fool was about to expose you. The damage to your reputation from a public beating would have been nothing compared to the questions that would arise from your sudden cultivation level. I merely... accelerated the resolution."
"By nearly killing him?"
"By demonstrating consequences. He will not challenge you publicly again, not until he is certain of victory. And by then, you will be beyond his comprehension." There was a note of satisfaction in the dragon's voice. "Now stop complaining and move. You need rest and concealment. That little display will have drawn attention."
Grudgingly, Lin Feng had to admit the dragon had a point. The plaza was empty now, but windows were opening all along the street. He could feel eyes on him, curious and probing. He needed to disappear before someone important arrived to investigate.
He ran.
The sedan merchant's quarter was on the eastern edge of the city, near the merchant gates. Lin Feng found the establishment by following the smell of horses and the creak of wooden wheels. It was a sprawling compound, filled with carriages of various sizes and conditions, from shabby open carts to ornate, curtained sedans.
The merchant himself was a round, sweating man who looked Lin Feng up and down with evident disinterest. "Northern transport?" he repeated, wiping his forehead. "No one wants to go north this time of year. Too cold. Too dangerous. The mountain passes are treacherous, and the beast activity increases with the frost."
"I can pay," Lin Feng said, pulling out a pouch of gold coins. It was most of his remaining savings, but he had no choice.
The merchant's eyes widened at the sight of gold, but then he shook his head regretfully. "It's not about the money, sir. It's about safety. I've lost three wagons to mountain beasts in the last month alone. No amount of gold is worth the lives of my drivers."
Lin Feng's heart sank. He looked around the compound, seeing only a few other travelers waiting in the shade, their faces resigned. One group was loading a small cart with what looked like furs and dried goods, destination clearly southward. Another sat in the shade of a tarpaulin, drinking tea and laughing at some shared joke. None seemed inclined toward the north.
Then he saw it.
In the far corner of the compound, partially hidden under a oilcloth, was a carriage unlike any other. It was sleek, elegant, its wood dark as midnight and its wheels reinforced with bands of silver. The curtains were drawn, but even from a distance, Lin Feng could sense the array of protective formations etched into its frame. This was not a common traveler's vehicle.
An elegant knight walked into the compound, his armor gleaming despite the dust of the road. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to respect. In his hand, he carried a rolled parchment, which he proceeded to nail to the central notice board.
Lin Feg approached, his curiosity overriding his exhaustion. The knight was affixing a second parchment when he reached the board, and the words written upon it made his heart skip.
WANTED: Experienced guards for transport to Northern Domain. Dangerous passage through Frostpeak Mountains. Generous compensation. Inquire within.
"I've already got one applicant," the knight said, not looking up as he smoothed the parchment. "He looks like he hasn't slept in a week and is dressed in rags. What about you? You look almost as bad."
Lin Feng looked down at himself. His robes were torn from the confrontation, stained with blood and dirt, and his face was gaunt from exhaustion. He must have been quite a sight.
"I can fight," he said simply.
The knight laughed—a loud, barking sound that echoed off the nearby wagons.
"Half the city can fight. Can you fight well enough to survive the Frostpeak Mountains? To protect the cargo against ice wolves, frost bears, and the occasional rogue cultivator who thinks robbery is a viable career path?" He finally turned to look at Lin Feng, his eyes sweeping over the younger man with open skepticism.
"Look at you. You're barely standing. I've seen corpses with more vitality than you."
Lin Feng considered his options. If he couldn't get a carriage, he would have to walk, and walking through the mountains alone with his current injuries and the attention he had attracted was suicidal. He needed this transport.
He released a thin thread of his Qi, letting it cascade outward in a controlled wave. The knight's eyes widened as he felt it—mid-6th Stage Qi Refining, steady and controlled despite the injuries that should have disrupted it.
"Interesting," the knight murmured, his earlier amusement fading. "You're injured, yes. But your Qi is stable. That's not easy to achieve." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Where did you learn to control yourself like that?"
"Life," Lin Feng said. "And necessity."
The knight studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. You're in. We depart in one hour. Report to the third wagon." He turned to leave, then paused. "Name's Garrett. Captain Garrett, if you're formal. And you are?"
"Lin," Lin Feng said after a moment's hesitation. "Just Lin."
"Very mysterious, Just Lin." Garrett grinned. "I like it. Don't disappoint me."
The hour passed quickly. Lin Feng used the time to eat some simple provisions and meditate, restoring what little Qi he could without drawing attention. Around him, the compound came alive with activity as more guards arrived.
There were ten in total, a mix of mercenaries, wandering cultivators, and a few who, like Lin, seemed to be private individuals seeking passage. They were a rough lot, their faces weathered and their eyes sharp with experience.
They looked at Lin Feng with the same skepticism Garrett had shown, but none challenged him. His calm, unbroken demeanor seemed to ward off the worst of their curiosity.
The wagons were hitched to sturdy mountain horses, their breath misting in the cooling air. There were three in total: a supply wagon in front, loaded with crates and provisions; the elegant, dark carriage in the center, its curtains still drawn; and a rear wagon carrying spare supplies and any additional passengers.
Garrett mounted his horse and raised a hand. "Move out!"
The wheels began to turn.
Inside the dark carriage, Lin Feng sat in a meditative pose, his eyes closed, his breath slow and measured. The motion of the wagon was gentle, rhythmic, and he used it to center himself as he delved deeper into his recovery.
His injuries from the confrontation with Wang Lin's guards were mostly superficial—the real damage had come from Elder Zhao's power release.
The dragon soul's energy, powerful as it was, had briefly overloaded his meridians, leaving them raw and trembling. It would take days of careful cultivation to fully recover.
But there was something else he needed to address.
"Elder Zhao," he said quietly, opening his eyes. "Can I bind the gauntlets now? If I do it properly, I should be able to hide them when I reach home. No one will suspect a thing."
The dragon soul's presence stirred in his mind. "You could," Elder Zhao acknowledged.
"But I would advise against it. The binding process requires focus and energy you currently lack. Moreover, it will create a spiritual signature that more perceptive cultivators might detect. Better to wait until you are safely within your own territory."
Lin Feng frowned. "That could be another three days. What if something happens between now and then?"
"Then you use what you have," Elder Zhao said bluntly. "The gauntlets are not your only weapon. You have your cultivation, your wits, and, when absolutely necessary, my power. Do not become dependent on a single tool."
There was a long pause. Lin Feng could feel the ancient presence watching him, evaluating him with those cold, immortal eyes.
"However," Elder Zhao continued, his tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial, "I have a proposition for you. A trade, of sorts."
Lin Feng's eyes narrowed. "What kind of proposition?"
"A technique," Elder Zhao said. "One that, if mastered, will carry you far beyond the mortal realm. To the immortal level, even. In exchange, I ask only a small service."
The words hung in the air. Immortal level. The goal that every cultivator dreamed of but few ever approached. Lin Feng's heart hammered in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm.
"What kind of service?"
"Monster cores," Elder Zhao replied. "Strong ones. You will encounter many on your journey north, and even more in the trials to come. I want you to collect them—not for yourself, but for me. Store them in your ring, and I will use them to gradually restore my strength."
Lin Feng considered this. It was not an unreasonable request. Monster cores were valuable, yes, but not so rare that their absence would be noticed. And if Elder Zhao grew stronger, so did he.
"What kind of technique?" he asked.
A sensation like a smile crossed his mind. "The Dragon God Claw Technique."
A flood of information surged through Lin Feng's consciousness—diagrams, principles, cultivation methods. His eyes widened as he absorbed it. This was not a Qi technique, nor was it a martial art in the traditional sense. It was a body cultivation method, one that used physical strength and spiritual resonance in equal measure.
"The technique has eleven stages," Elder Zhao explained as Lin Feng's mind raced through the information.
"Each stage unlocks greater physical power and resilience. But it is not like normal cultivation, where advancement comes from accumulating Qi. This technique requires you to strengthen your body directly—to push your flesh and bones to their limits and beyond. Only when your body is strong enough will the next stage reveal itself."
Lin Feng absorbed this, his mind already planning how he could integrate this training into his existing regimen. The gauntlets would be useful for this, he realized. Their weight and resistance could serve as training tools.
"There is one more thing," Elder Zhao added.
"The technique is not just power—it is a legacy. When you have mastered all eleven stages, you will be able to manifest the Dragon God Claw in combat. A weapon of pure spiritual and physical force, capable of tearing through defenses that would stop ordinary techniques."
"A weapon," Lin Feng repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I think I'm going to enjoy this."
In the elegant carriage at the center of the convoy, a different scene unfolded.
The interior was a study in refined luxury—silk cushions, inlaid wood, and small warming brazels that kept the chill at bay. Seated at a low table, her posture perfect despite the rocking of the wagon, was a young woman whose beauty was partially obscured by a thin veil of white silk.
Her robes were pink and white, the colors soft against her pale complexion. Her hair was pinned up in an elaborate style, held in place by jeweled pins that caught the light from the brazels. Only her eyes were visible—large, dark, and carrying an expression of quiet melancholy.
She was speaking softly to her maid, a young woman in simpler blue robes who sat across from her.
"Do you think we will find it, Princess?" the maid asked, her voice carrying a note of worry. "The Frost Lily is so rare, and the Northern Domain is so dangerous."
"We will find it," the veiled princess replied, her voice calm and assured. "The Frost Lily only grows in the coldest regions of the Yan Dynasty, and the Northern Domain is the coldest. It is simply a matter of searching."
"And your condition?" the maid pressed gently. "The Pure Yin Physique is getting worse, isn't it?"
The princess's hand moved to her chest, pressing against the silk of her robes. Beneath the fabric, a constant, gnawing cold had taken root in her bones. It was not the comfortable cold of winter, but a hungry emptiness that seemed to drain the warmth from her very soul.
"The Frost Lily will help," she said. "Its essence can stabilize the Pure Yin Physique, balance the internal cold. Without it..." She did not finish the sentence.
The maid was quiet for a moment. Then, tentatively, she said, "I heard that the Young Master of the Lin family has a coming-of-age ceremony soon. Perhaps the Lin family could help. They are powerful in the Northern Domain, are they not?"
A flicker of something—amusement? resignation?—crossed the princess's visible eyes. "You are speaking of Lin Feng, I assume. My sister Xia Ling's betrothed."
"Yes, Princess. The Second Princess, Xiaoyu."
Xiaoyu shook her head slowly. "I have heard the stories. That he is a wastrel, a fool, a man who squandered his family's fortune on brothels and pleasure. That his cultivation is weak and his prospects dim." She paused. "If those stories are true, then the Lin family will be of no use to us. And if they are false..." Another pause. "Well. That would be an interesting development, would it not?"
"Does Princess Xia Ling know?" the maid asked. "About the Frost Lily? About your journey?"
"No," Xiaoyu said firmly. "She has her own concerns—the betrothal, the court politics, the endless parade of suitors who see only the princess and not the woman. I will not burden her with my troubles." Her hand pressed more firmly against her chest. "Besides, this is my battle to fight. The cold that threatens me is mine alone."
The maid looked unconvinced but said nothing more. Outside the carriage, the landscape was changing. The last buildings of Silverfrost City had fallen behind, replaced by rolling hills and sparse forest. The air grew colder, sharper. They were entering the foothills of the Frostpeak Mountains.
In the rear wagon, Lin Feng completed his meditation and opened his eyes. The information Elder Zhao had given him was still settling into his mind, a new framework for understanding his own potential. He flexed his hands, feeling the phantom weight of the Dragon God Claw Technique waiting to be awakened.
"We are approaching the mountains," Garrett's voice called from outside. "Eyes sharp, people. The first beast patrols will be appearing soon."
Lin Feng leaned back against the wagon's side, his thoughts turning to home. Three days, he estimated. Three days until he reached the Lin Estate. Three days until he could properly bind the gauntlets and begin his true training.
But first, there was the matter of the rivalry that had begun in the city center.
Wang Lin would not forget the humiliation he had suffered. That much was certain. The young master's pride had been shattered, his guards scattered, his authority mocked. He would want revenge—swift, brutal, and public.
But Lin Feng would not give him the satisfaction. By the time they met again, he would be stronger, better prepared, and ready. The rivalry would be settled on his terms, not Wang Lin's.
A cold smile crossed his face as the mountains loomed ahead, their peaks capped with eternal snow.
Meanwhile, back in Silverfrost City, the news was spreading like wildfire.
"A master blacksmith!" the whispers said. "A hidden master who can forge near-level-four weapons!"
The story had been embellished with each retelling. First, it was a mysterious figure who had left the Green Clover Pavilion radiating cold energy. Then, it was a legendary craftsman who had forged a treasure of unprecedented quality. Now, it was a master so skilled that he could create weapons worthy of the royal family.
The great families heard the rumors, and their interest was piqued.
The Wang family, fresh from their heir's humiliation, saw an opportunity. If they could find this master and secure his services, their military strength would double. The Lin family, already powerful, would be overshadowed.
The Zhou family, rivals to both, sent scouts to the Pavilion, seeking any clue to the master's identity.
The imperial court itself took notice. An anonymous petition appeared on the emperor's desk, suggesting that such a master should be recruited for the royal armory.
And in the Green Clover Pavilion, Elder Kuo and Master Borin exchanged knowing looks. They had promised discretion, but they had not promised silence forever. The cat was out of the bag, and soon, the entire city would be hunting for a ghost.
In the wagon moving north through the gathering dusk, Lin Feng was unaware of the storm he had left behind him. He was focused only on the road ahead—the mountains, the journey, and the power that awaited him at its end.