7: Chapter 7 Snow Grave

Old Grave Slope is northwest of Duansang Ravine, not too far from Niubei Hollow.

However, people rarely like to come to this area in daily life.

The mountain folk value the peace of the dead; they rarely walk the paths near graveyards even during the day, let alone on a rainy night.

Not to mention that white fire has often appeared on this slope recently; those who have seen it say the fire is not high, flickering against the grave mounds and grass roots, like someone lighting wet spirit money, or as if someone in the grave is blinking.

Jiang Xingchuan and Liu Zhaoquan did not take the main road.

The two circled past the water mill and followed the small path indicated by Shopkeeper Xie upward. The path was very narrow, with a slippery rock wall on one side and a grass-filled gully sinking downward on the other.

The shadow of the man ahead appeared in the fog from time to time, walking unhurriedly, as if he were truly just traveling at night.

Walking behind, Liu Zhaoquan said in a low voice, "How does it seem to me like he knows the way?"

Jiang Xingchuan did not look back.

"If he knows, he knows. Just keep following."

"Alright."

Liu Zhaoquan answered readily, but his hand quietly touched the Soul-Calming Talisman in his sleeve.

After walking another half a mile, the fog suddenly thinned.

They had arrived at Old Grave Slope.

The grave mounds in this area were uneven, with a mix of high and low, old tombstones and fresh earth. The rain had just stopped, and the grass between the graves was still wet. Occasionally, a bit of white fire would light up against the ground, only to vanish immediately, illuminating the tombstone faces in shades of green and white.

The man walked to the back of the slope and finally stopped.

He looked around first, confirmed no one was there, and then crouched down to lift a half-buried bluestone.

Beneath the stone, it was actually empty.

Liu Zhaoquan held his breath, instinctively wanting to edge closer, but was pressed down by Jiang Xingchuan.

"Don't move."

The two lay behind a collapsed tombstone, barely ten zhang away from the man.

The man reached under the stone and pulled out something.

It was a small, pitch-black box.

The box was only the size of a palm, with dark blue threads wrapped around its four corners. As soon as it was brought out, the white fires on the grave slope all flashed in unison.

Jiang Xingchuan's eyelids jumped.

At this moment, a piercing sound of tearing wind suddenly rang out in the night sky.

It was as if something had forcefully sliced open the night with a thin thread.

The man suddenly raised his head; his figure was no longer clumsy, and his back was no longer hunched. The whole person seemed to have been pulled out from the thick hemp clothes, standing straight.

With a flick of his hand, the black box opened a crack with a "pop," and a wisp of gray-white cold energy sprayed out from inside. It swirled along his shoulders and back, actually freezing half of the fog.

The next instant, the other side of the night sky also lit up.

It was a point of blue-white lamp light.

As soon as the lamp light appeared, all the white fires on the grave slope lowered, as if their heads had been pressed down.

"Zhou Boyan!"

The man's voice changed, becoming severely hoarse.

Someone descended into the fog, not quickly, nor from high up. But the moment his feet touched the grave slope, that point of blue-white lamp light shone forward half a foot, revealing an ancient long-handled lamp.

The lamp was bronze-colored with a thin handle, but the head did not look like an ordinary oil lamp; instead, it extended into three willow-like lamp prongs.

On top of each prong burned a bean of blue-white flame. The flames were not vigorous, but the light was chillingly cold. Wherever it shone, it was as if a layer of skin had been thinly peeled away.

Liu Zhaoquan had never seen this object, and his palms were instantly covered in sweat.

Jiang Xingchuan hadn't seen it either.

But he knew at a glance that this lamp was not the same type of thing as the talismans, medicines, and old artifacts that they, as Cultivator, had encountered.

Holding the lamp, Zhou Boyan stood in front of the grave slope as if he had come to visit a grave, yet his voice was flat: "You dare to come to Duansang Ridge; you have some nerve."

The man did not respond, raising his hand to strike out a smear of gray-white cold energy.

As the cold energy left his hand, a stretch of snow-white sharpness appeared in mid-air. The sharpness did not look like a blade or a sword, but more like a thread of ice water frozen to the extreme. It was so fast it was almost invisible, skimming the ground straight toward Zhou Boyan's throat.

Jiang Xingchuan felt his vision blur, and his back went completely numb.

It was too fast.

This was the first time he had seen a Foundation Establishment Cultivator take action.

He didn't understand how that person started the move at all; he only saw that cold gleam flash through the night like a living creature, reaching Zhou Boyan's front in the blink of an eye.

Zhou Boyan did not retreat.

He only moved the lamp in his hand forward by half an inch.

The lamp flames trembled, and the blue-white fires on the three willow prongs suddenly elongated together, like three thin willow silk threads lying across his front.

The cold gleam collided with them, producing a soft sound like tearing silk, then shattered inch by inch, falling onto the grass between the graves and freezing the grass black.

"This is the Zhou Family's Spring-Binding Bone-Illuminating Lantern?" The man smiled miserably, "Rumor has it the lamp has three willow flames, best at illuminating bones, fixing Qi, and binding the cycle of life and death."

Zhou Boyan did not reply, muttering something to himself.

Liu Zhaoquan's breathing stopped.

The fog on the grave slope seemed to be stirred open by the collision between the two, retreating to both sides.

The man's expression finally changed.

With a flick of his hand, a denser mass of cold energy surged from the black box earlier. This time, the cold energy did not go toward Zhou Boyan but instead wrapped around himself first.

The next moment, with several "crack" sounds under his feet, the mud and water between the graves actually frosted over, and he retreated rapidly using that thin layer of frost.

He retreated quickly, but Zhou Boyan chased even faster.

One lamp, one person, a patch of blue-white lamp flames—he forced the man from the north end of the grave slope to the south end.

As the man retreated, he attacked, tearing out streaks of gray-white cold gleam. When they landed on the tombstones, the stones shattered silently.

But the lamp in Zhou Boyan's hand seemed to specifically counter him; wherever the lamp flame shone, the cold gleam shortened by a section.

"He cultivates Winter." Liu Zhaoquan gritted his teeth, his voice pressed extremely low.

Jiang Xingchuan did not respond.

He only saw that when the man retreated to a broken tombstone, a very thin line of blood suddenly appeared on his neck.

Unknown when, Zhou Boyan had already left a mark by his neck.

The blood did not gush out immediately.

Not until the man took another step back did that line of blood burst open, and half his head was almost sliced off, hanging by only a bit of skin and flesh.

Liu Zhaoquan almost cried out in surprise, but was held down tightly by Jiang Xingchuan.

But what was even more hair-raising was that the man did not fall.

His knees went weak, and he knelt down, but his hands pressed tightly against that half-hanging head, forcing it back onto his neck. Gray-white cold energy churned at the severed end, as if he really intended to reattach his head.

Jiang Xingchuan's throat tightened.

Was this still a person?

Just as the two were watching in a daze, another figure suddenly darted out from the other side of the grave slope.

It was not someone from Zhou Boyan's side.

It was a thin, tall man in a short jacket, around thirty years old, with a sharp face and eyes full of greedy light. Jiang Xingchuan recognized him; it was Feng Erkui from the Feng Family at the bottom of the slope. He usually spoke the most with the Zhou Family, and the person was also very slick.

Feng Erkui had obviously been lurking nearby for quite a while.

He hadn't dared to move before, but seeing that the man's head was almost off and Zhou Boyan was being forced back half a step by another cold gleam, the greed in his eyes finally completely surfaced, and he pounced over with a knife.

"Still want to continue your life?!"

He slashed this knife fiercely at the man's neck.

When the blade touched the skin and flesh, it made a muffled sound, like cutting into frozen wood. There was blood, but not much, and that half-severed head did not actually break off.

Feng Erkui cursed and slashed twice more.

It still wouldn't cut cleanly.

He was so anxious his eyes turned red, and he simply threw out a fire talisman. The talisman exploded, and the flames rolled up, only burning off a section of broken hair by the man's ear, not even scorching a layer of skin.

Only then did Feng Erkui panic.

But panic was panic; the greed was still there.

He glanced down and happened to see a long, thin Dharma sword lying on the ground nearby. The sword body was pure white, with a thin layer of frost around the guard, obviously dropped by this man during the earlier spell battle.

Feng Erkui gritted his teeth, hurriedly pounced over to pick up the Dharma sword, and took out an ace-in-the-hole Artifact Controlling Talisman from his bosom, slapping it onto the hilt with a "pop."

As the talisman ignited, the Dharma sword vibrated with a hum.

Feng Erkui's hands were shaking violently, but he still hacked down fiercely.

This sword finally took effect.

That head, which had originally been hanging by a bit of skin and flesh, was forcefully sliced off by him, and bone shards even flew out.

Liu Zhaoquan watched until his palms felt cold.

Jiang Xingchuan, however, only felt his back grow colder.

Because the expression on Feng Erkui's face was not like fear, nor like hatred.

It was more like someone who had been starving for half a lifetime suddenly finding a piece of meat in a dead person's mouth.

He even stepped forward, wanting to rummage through the man's waist pouch.

The next moment, that head rolling on the ground suddenly opened its eyes.

Feng Erkui froze completely.

Before he could even scream, the hand of the headless man had already been raised, waving through the air.

A mass of gray-white energy brushed lightly across Feng Erkui's chest.

Feng Erkui's movements paused, and he looked down.

The clothes on his chest were still fine, but he felt as if a layer of him had been hollowed out, and the light in his eyes extinguished first. A breath later, the whole person fell to the ground with a "thump," mouth agape, never to rise again.

This scene was too fast—so fast that Jiang Xingchuan didn't even have time to exhale.

The man had lost his head, yet he still didn't die.

His hands scrambled blindly, actually feeling around on the ground for that head.

Upon finding it, he pressed it toward his neck.

Pressing it on, wrapped in gray-white cold energy, the head actually sank half an inch into the flesh.

But this time, Zhou Boyan had arrived.

That bronze long-handled lamp was raised high by him, and the lamp flames on the three willow prongs suddenly drooped together, like three green-white willow strips, falling straight to the man's neck.

Zhou Boyan just pressed the lamp down.

The blue-white fire threads intertwined, wrapped, and twisted.

That head, which had just been reattached by half an inch, could no longer be pressed back.

The severed surface was cut by the three wisps of lamp flames into countless extremely fine blue-white marks, as if someone had taken willow silk and wrapped it tightly around the neck in a circle.

The head and the body were clearly only a hair's breadth apart, but no matter how the man's hands pressed, pulled, or crawled forward, they could never be reattached.

"Spring-Binding Bone-Illuminating Lantern..." Liu Zhaoquan's lips turned white, as if he had finally remembered the name.

Jiang Xingchuan didn't hear clearly; he only saw the man crawl a few steps on the ground, dragging half his body, his hands still refusing to stop, continuing to reach for his own head.

While reaching, the mud beneath him slowly turned white.

It was snow.

One flake, two flakes, three or five flakes.

First falling on the tombstone, then on the tips of the grass. Two breaths later, the entire Old Grave Slope was truly snowing.

On a spring night, goose-feather snow flew over the graves.

The white fires extinguished in clusters and lit up in clusters, reflecting the headless man crawling on the ground, like a living person seeing winter in a dream.

Zhou Boyan stood in the snow, the lamp flames not swaying.

Behind him, at some point, another small celadon bottle appeared, its mouth facing downward, aimed directly at the clear white energy rising in the center of the grave slope.

That energy was much lighter than Jiang Yuhe's Grain Rain, and much colder than Jiang Xingchuan's Awakening of Insects.

It was simply clear.

So clear that it was as if it had washed all the snow and fire on this entire grave, leaving only a tiny, bright white speck in the very center.

Liu Zhaoquan's eyes went straight.

Jiang Xingchuan had been staring at the bottle in the center of the grave slope, and only turned his head to look at him after noticing the person beside him had stopped moving.

He saw Liu Zhaoquan sneaking away, walking behind Zhou Boyan, about to reach for the clear white energy emerging beneath the bottle.

"Zhaoquan." Jiang Xingchuan pulled him back.

Liu Zhaoquan turned his head to look at him.

"Didn't you hear it?" he asked softly.

"Hear what?"

"Behind the grave..." Liu Zhaoquan's throat moved, his voice even softer, "There really is the sound of spring. Besides, our family nowadays really needs someone to step up."

Jiang Xingchuan's heart exploded, and he reached out to pull him back.

But at this moment, Liu Zhaoquan's strength was terrifyingly great, actually throwing him off half a step. Without looking back, he seemed to be muttering to himself:

"This breath of energy has gone through the deaths of that Winter Cultivator and Feng Erkui. Let's gamble on it; if it succeeds, the Liu Family can raise its head again..."

Zhou Boyan seemed to still be staring at the clear energy in the bottle, not looking this way.

The headless man, however, finally stopped moving.

The snow fell heavier and heavier, so white it almost blinded the eyes.

Jiang Xingchuan could no longer care about anything else; he pounced forward and hugged Liu Zhaoquan's waist.

"You're crazy!"

Liu Zhaoquan did not struggle, only looking down at the mass of clear white energy rising from the middle of the grave, his lips turning blue.

Like someone starving to the extreme who had finally seen a meal.

"Just this one mouthful..." he said in a low voice.

Before Jiang Xingchuan could hear clearly, that wisp of clear energy in the middle of the grave suddenly folded gently and actually drifted toward Liu Zhaoquan's face.

Liu Zhaoquan opened his mouth and swallowed that breath of energy.

The moment he swallowed it, Jiang Xingchuan only felt the person in his arms suddenly become light.

Once that clear energy entered his body, Liu Zhaoquan felt as if he had been hollowed out by a layer.

Immediately after, white frost formed on his lips.

Starting from the broken hair by his ears, extending to his eyes and eyebrows, turning white bit by bit.

"Zhaoquan!"

Jiang Xingchuan reached out to pat his face, and it felt terrifyingly cold to the touch.

Liu Zhaoquan looked at him, seemingly wanting to say something, but when he opened his mouth, he only gasped out a breath of white air paler than snow. The next moment, his whole body slumped forward.

Jiang Xingchuan instinctively went to catch him but failed.

He tumbled into the snow without making a sound.

And the small celadon bottle in the center of the grave slope lit up completely at this moment.

Zhou Boyan finally turned his head and glanced this way.

With just that glance, the blood in Jiang Xingchuan's whole body turned cold.

He didn't know if Zhou Boyan had seen him or not.

Nor did he know if, having seen the events on this grave to this point, he was already a dead man.

He only knew that Liu Zhaoquan was already lying in the snow, motionless, the entire Old Grave Slope was as white as if the season had changed, and that breath of energy in the bottle was no longer the thin wisp it had been before.

It had taken shape.

Zhou Boyan raised his hand to collect the bottle, the lamp flames turned, and the headless corpse in the snow finally stiffened, no longer crawling forward.

Jiang Xingchuan's brain buzzed.

Run.

He couldn't care about anything else; he pounced over and tugged Liu Zhaoquan from the snow. The person was still warm, but his neck had already stiffened by half an inch. When he tugged again, the light from the lamp behind him suddenly shifted toward this side.

Jiang Xingchuan felt a chill on the back of his neck, and his soul almost exploded.

He let go abruptly, turned, and dove out of the tombstone forest.

The snow underfoot was thin, but the mud was deep.

As he ran, he was almost rolling as he escaped, his ears filled with the sound of wind and snow. Not until he rushed into the reed marsh at the bottom of the slope did that blue-white lamp light behind him stop shining over.

He leaned against a reed stalk and dry-heaved; his stomach was empty, and he couldn't throw anything up.

Zhou Wang in the paper was also not feeling well at this moment.

The things on the grave slope just now were too chaotic.

Xingchuan had been too close, and Zhou Wang, through that bit of Spring Observation, had seen everything in fragments—blue-white lamp flames, gray-white cold energy, the headless Cultivator, and the clear energy in the bottle.

But at the very moment that man truly died, the page of the clan history that had always been stuck together suddenly tore open a gap.

Zhou Wang instinctively looked, only to see two words slowly floating up in the split:

Recorded Demise.

Further down, a line of smaller characters appeared inch by inch:

Those who touch Karma shall die; one may record a single intent.

Before Zhou Wang could fully understand, the second line below spat out.

This time, it was not a complete Cultivation Technique.

Only half a fragment.

"Snow Burial Chant" fragment

"Severing Frost Edge" one form

As soon as the words appeared, Zhou Wang understood most of it.

The person who died on the grave just now, his path belonged to Winter.

It was a path in Winter that carried death.

That one form, Severing Frost Edge, was the cold gleam that had almost sliced open Zhou Boyan's throat earlier.

But Jiang Xingchuan and he had only "touched the cause of death."

But he didn't kill him, nor did he help kill him.

Therefore, what was recorded was only a fragment of a technique and one form of a skill.

As a thought moved in Zhou Wang's mind, a few words floated thinly onto that page:

Connection is shallow, hence fragmentary.

Further down, there was nothing.

Outside the reed marsh, the snow had already slowly lessened.

Jiang Xingchuan leaned against the reed stalk, taking a long time to stabilize his breathing. He looked back; only a mass of pale white fog remained on the side of Old Grave Slope, but the snow on the graves had not yet melted.

Liu Zhaoquan did not follow him out.

But he dared not go back to look for him.

The wind blew over the reed marsh, carrying a smell so cold it was sweet. Jiang Xingchuan stood in that smell for a long time before slowly taking out the Soul-Calming Talisman from his sleeve. The talisman paper was already wet, and it felt as cold as a layer of skin in his palm.

He suddenly remembered Liu Zhaoquan's appearance just now.

Like he had seen something he couldn't see.

Jiang Xingchuan stood for a while before gritting his teeth and walking in the direction of Niubei Hollow.

No matter what, he had to go back first.

Take his life back first.

Then tell the people in the clan what he had seen tonight.

And in the ancestral house, Jiang Yuhe had just finished collecting the third turn of Grain Rain.

When she opened her eyes, a layer of extremely faint white frost had appeared on the edge of that page of clan history under the lamp.

It was as if, across thousands of mountains and rivers, a breath of winter night snow had just blown out from the book.