The wind and snow howled even harder as the three of them edged forward along the icy cliffs. Chen Wuya led the way, his right hand pressed against the pack at his waist, his knuckles faintly white. He remembered the outline of that ice wall gleaming with cold light—it should be just ahead.
Bai Zhi followed close behind him, one hand supporting her lower abdomen. The blue glow of the fetus-protecting talisman flickered in and out amid the blizzard. She said nothing, but her steps had grown far heavier than before. Mo Feng brought up the rear, an intricate compass in hand, the points of light on its screen constantly jumping.
"We're almost there," Chen Wuya said quietly.
The instant the words left his mouth, the scene before them changed abruptly. The continuous walls of ice vanished, replaced by countless upright ice mirrors stretching layer upon layer into the depths of the snowstorm. Each mirror was smooth as water, reflecting their blurred figures.
The three stopped.
The images in the mirrors suddenly sharpened. Chen Wuya saw himself standing in the center of the academy hall, surrounded by fellow students. They laughed in unison, fingers pointed straight at his face. Someone shouted, "Rotten wood cannot be carved," and the cries rose and fell all around him. His chest tightened, and breathing became difficult.
In another mirror, Bai Zhi saw the mountain gate of the Qingfeng Sect collapsed, her master lying in a pool of blood with the longsword in his hand broken in two. Her wrist trembled, and her flexible sword nearly slipped from her grasp.
Mo Feng stared at his reflection, only to see his family's mechanism tower collapse with a thunderous crash, flames soaring into the sky. Several familiar figures struggled in the blaze, crying desperately for help, their