Flying Immortal Ferry

At the third quarter of the Rat hour, beside Black Tooth Pool.

The moonlight had been swallowed by heavy leaden clouds, leaking only a bleak gray-white glow that barely traced the outlines of the jagged rocks around them. The hooting of night owls drifted from somewhere far away, sharp and grating.

The air was thick with the rank smell of water and rotting leaves. A deep pool, nearly deathly still, lay across the end of the ancient road, its surface without the slightest ripple.

At that moment, Xu Yuan stood beneath a half-withered old locust tree thirty zhang from the pool's edge, his figure merged with the shadows beneath its branches, his aura completely restrained.

He seemed to be waiting for something.

At the same time, he was not the only one waiting.

Around Black Tooth Pool, shadowy figures were scattered everywhere—several dozen, perhaps close to a hundred. Most pressed themselves against rocks or tree roots. Some hugged their knees alone in silence, while others gathered in twos and threes, keeping their conversations low.

There was absolutely no firelight. No one here dared draw attention to themselves. By the faint light of the sky, they could barely make out one another's outlines:

There were ragged refugees with gaunt faces; low-level Rogue Cultivators with flickering eyes and muddled auras; traveling peddlers carrying crude bundles, their faces weathered by wind and frost.

There were even a few people with cold, sinister auras and a faint scent of blood upon them—whether bandits or fugitives, none could tell.

"Pah, this damned place. Even the water stinks."

A suppressed complaint came from behind a large rock. It was a burly man with a face full of flesh and one missing ear. Wrapped in a filthy fur coat, he cradled a chipped longsword in his arms.