The oily smoke from the burning Razorback carcass hung heavy in the night air, a greasy pall that stung the eyes and carried the cloying scent of charred meat and something far worse – a sweetish rot that clung to the back of the throat. Ye Chen watched the distant pyre's flickering glow from the gap in his rotten storehouse planking, the erratic dance of flames mirroring the cold turmoil within him. Lin Kuo's warning – *watch your back* – wasn't just about jealous cousins or vengeful elders. It was about the dark thing in the woods, the unnatural corruption that had seeped into the boar, and perhaps, into the very foundations of Qingyun City.
The small linen bundle containing the comfrey paste sat untouched on the chest, a stark, absurd counterpoint to the horror outside. Its earthy scent was lost beneath the pervasive stink of burning corruption. He hadn't used it. The faint bruising on his knuckles from striking Ye Hong had faded unnaturally fast, leaving only smooth, cold skin beneath the ingrained dirt. The jade's influence, he suspected, accelerating healing while leaching something vital in return. The hollow satiation after killing the boar lingered, a chilling void where exertion should have resided.
Sleep was impossible. The jade pulsed against his chest, a slow, glacial heartbeat that seemed to resonate with the distant, dying flames. It wasn't sleep he needed; it was answers. Answers the Ye family library, a repository of dusty scrolls and forgotten histories guarded by pedantic scholars loyal to the main bloodline, would never yield to an outcast like him. But Qingyun City had older, darker memories, whispered in tavern corners and scribbled in the coded ledgers of apothecaries who dealt in more than just healing herbs.
He moved with the silence of a shadow long accustomed to neglect. The guard patrols, unnerved by the tainted beast's breach, were more frequent but sloppier, their eyes scanning the treeline beyond the walls more than the darkened corners of their own compound. Ye Chen slipped past them like smoke, using the scent of the pyre itself as cover, his movements guided by an instinct honed during years of avoiding notice and, later, by the jade's unnerving sensory sharpening. He felt its chill intensify as he passed the smoldering pit, a thrum of… *recognition* vibrating through the bone.
The city streets beyond the Ye compound walls were quieter than usual, an edgy silence beneath the usual nocturnal murmur. News of the tainted beast, or perhaps whispers of the earlier upheaval at the Ye training ground, had spread. Shutters were bolted tighter. Lanterns burned brighter. The air tasted of fear, sharp and metallic.
His destination wasn't a grand archive, but a narrow, leaning building squeezed between a tanner's yard (reeking of urine and decay) and a closed-up potter's workshop. A faded sign, almost obscured by grime, depicted a cracked mortar and pestle: *Old Wen's Curios & Cures*. It was known, discreetly, as a place to find things other apothecaries wouldn't touch – rare, sometimes dangerous reagents, and more importantly, forbidden knowledge scrawled on crumbling vellum or whispered by desperate men.
The shop bell, a corroded brass thing, jangled discordantly as Ye Chen pushed the warped door open. The interior was a claustrophobic cave, shelves groaning under the weight of dusty jars containing unidentifiable pickled things, desiccated roots, and iridescent insect carapaces. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of decayed flowers, the sharp bite of volatile chemicals, and the underlying mustiness of old paper and despair.
Behind a scarred counter piled high with ledgers and strange instruments, Old Wen looked up. He was a desiccated husk of a man, skin like ancient parchment stretched over sharp bones, eyes like chips of obsidian buried deep in wrinkled sockets. One hand, gnarled as an old root, absently stroked the spine of a large, mangy black cat perched beside him. The cat's yellow eyes fixed on Ye Chen with unnerving intelligence.
"Ye boy," Wen rasped, his voice like dry leaves skittering on stone. He didn't sound surprised. Little seemed to surprise Old Wen. "Been a while. Still breathing, I see. Against considerable odds, if the whispers hold water." His obsidian eyes flickered over Ye Chen, lingering for a fraction too long on his chest, as if sensing the cold weight beneath the worn fabric. The cat's tail twitched.
Ye Chen said nothing. He placed a small, worn leather pouch on the counter. It contained the last of the meager silver coins salvaged from his father's effects, coins he'd hoarded for true desperation. This qualified.
Wen didn't touch the pouch. His gaze remained fixed, probing. "Tainted beast in the Ye compound," he stated flatly. "Big one. Razorback. Old Li bought it. You put it down." It wasn't a question.
Ye Chen met the old man's stare. "What do you know about it? The corruption."
A dry, rattling sound that might have been a laugh escaped Wen's thin lips. "Corruption? Boy, that's a polite word for what's seeping out of the Whispering Woods these days. Like pus from a wound that won't heal." He leaned forward, the scent of camphor and something vaguely fungal wafting from him. "It's not new. Just… bolder. Hungrier." His obsidian eyes flickered towards the pouch. "That won't buy answers. Only questions cost silver. Answers…" He tapped a bony finger against his temple. "...cost more."
Ye Chen didn't flinch. "What do you want?"
Wen's gaze slid past him, towards the shuttered window as if expecting unwelcome listeners. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, barely audible over the cat's low purr. "Heard whispers… older whispers. About things buried deep. Things that sleep… or *pretend* to sleep. The taint… it's a symptom. A calling card." He paused, his obsidian eyes locking onto Ye Chen's again, filled with a sudden, unnerving intensity. "There's an old place. West of the city, where the river bends sharp into the bluffs. Fishermen avoid it. Birds don't nest. Ground's sour. Used to be a shrine, long before Qingyun was a spark in some settler's eye. Dedicated to… something forgotten. Something *cold*." He paused, letting the implication hang. "Lately… lights. Strange lights, deep in the earth there. Cold lights. And the whispers… they say the stones bleed black frost."
Ye Chen's blood ran colder than the jade. *Cold lights. Black frost.* The image of the icy mist curling from his knuckles after killing the boar flashed in his mind. The pendant pulsed, a slow, resonant thrum against his ribs, not alarmed, but… *attentive*. Like a hound catching a familiar scent.
"What shrine?" Ye Chen pressed, his voice tight.
Wen leaned back, the intensity fading, replaced by his usual detached weariness. He waved a dismissive hand. "Gone. Crumbled. Just foundations and bad memories now. Called the Shrine of Endless Frost, in the really old scrolls. Nonsense name. Probably just a spring that froze funny." But his eyes, sharp and ancient, belied the dismissive tone. He slid the leather pouch towards himself with a skeletal finger. "That buys the location. And a warning." He fixed Ye Chen with a stare that held no warmth, only pragmatic caution. "Whatever you're carrying, boy… whatever bargain you struck in that Abyss… it's drawn attention. The deep woods are waking. And things that sleep cold… wake up *hungry*." He nodded towards the door. "Now go. Your kind of trouble is bad for business."
Ye Chen turned without another word. The jade pulsed steadily, a glacial metronome counting down to something inevitable. The comfrey paste, Lin Kuo's warning, the terrified maid – flickers of a fading world. Old Wen's words painted a far grimmer picture: a forgotten shrine, bleeding frost, and a hunger echoing the void within the jade. His vengeance against the Ye family was a personal fire. But the storm brewing from the Whispering Woods felt ancient, vast, and terrifyingly intimate. The Shrine of Endless Frost wasn't just a location; it felt like a destination. A threshold. And the icy heart beating against his own seemed to pull him relentlessly towards it. The tournament was a distraction. The true darkness was gathering its strength in the forgotten places, and he was inexplicably, dangerously, bound to its tide.