The evening wind swept through the forest, stirring up fallen yellow leaves that rustled against the ground. Yet even that could not drown out the sound of chains dragging beneath the dark river.
The sound was rough and dull, like thousand-year-old rusted cold-iron links scraping slowly across bluestone—once, then again. It was neither hurried nor slow, yet each scrape struck precisely at the most tautly wound place in one's heart. The temperature throughout the forest suddenly plummeted. The lingering warmth of dusk vanished completely, replaced by a chill damp as the depths of an abyss, seeping thread by thread into flesh and bone.
The old man in black's spiritual power surged in an instant. The cold gleam on the short blade in his hand solidified to its utmost, its sharp edge splitting the thin mist around him. His gaze locked tightly onto the rushing dark river at his feet, his back taut and every nerve in his body on full alert. "Not a beast, nor abyssal demonic energy. It is the aura of a living person—extremely yin, extremely cold, carrying the lingering resonance of an ancient formation."
Having spent many years in the cultivation world, he had seen countless evil spirits, monsters, and demonic cultivators, yet he had never sensed such a bizarre aura. It was neither violent nor arrogant, devoid of the murderous savagery that devoured living beings and the rampant malice of evil qi. There was only a deathly coldness, like ice that had remained unmelted for eternity—silent, restrained, yet concealing a pressure capable of swallowing everything.
The swift river continued to surge onward, waves crashing against the rocks and scattering fine sprays of mist. Yet the black shadow reflected in the water did not move in the slightest.
It stood silently beneath the deep waters of the