Chapter 74

Ting Shu thought he must be hallucinating.

Gu Tingshuang froze for a moment before following. Ning Shiting’s speed in the snow was no slower than his own. Their coordination flowed like water—seamless and instinctive. Ning Shiting swam ahead, clearing the way. Every hidden trap or hollow beneath the snow was smoothed out before Gu Tingshuang reached it, serving as a silent warning. Whenever the Jiaoren leapt out of the snow, he twisted through the air in graceful arcs—like a fish breaching the surface. If the cracks in the earth were too wide for him to cross alone, he would wait quietly for Gu Tingshuang to carry him over.

The closer they got to the source of the fragrance, the thicker the scent of bloodlust grew. They were not the only ones rushing toward the target. Hidden among the snow were countless other beasts—starving and half-mad after days of winter hunger. Under the cover of night, the lurking creatures began to reveal their twisted forms.

Knowing time was short, both Ning Shiting and Gu Tingshuang raced forward at full speed. Along the way, many beasts cast covetous eyes on the shining Jiaoren, drawn by the irresistible scent of fish. But every time one dared to approach, Gu Tingshuang would unleash a low, killing growl—declaring to the entire snowfield that this was his prey.

A frenzied yao bear, half-mad with hunger, lunged straight at Ning Shiting—only to have its throat torn out by Gu Tingshuang in one swift strike. Blood splattered across the snow. The bear’s corpse was flung aside, left for the scavengers. Behind the stunning Jiaoren trailed the towering figure of a bloodstained white wolf god—a strange, fearsome pair. It didn't take long for the other creatures to learn the unspoken rule: These two were untouchable.

The farther they went, the fewer living things remained around them. Gu Tingshuang glanced around. The snow under their feet had begun to crystallise into layers of deep blue ice—Nine-Layer Dark Blue Ice, a mark left behind by the Snow Yao.

He gave a low growl, warning Ning Shiting to be careful—but the Jiaoren quietly interrupted, “Ting Shu isn't here. He hasn't been frozen.”

“I see.”

Gu Tingshuang unleashed his spiritual sense. The entire world mapped itself into his mind—every contour of snow and stone laid bare. He extended his vision far beyond their reach, borrowing the sight of the tallest ancient cypress on the distant mountaintop.

Through those borrowed eyes, he spotted Ting Shu—and pinpointed his exact location. “To the Southeast.”

Gu Tingshuang abruptly retracted his spirit sense, channeling the information back into his own body—then passed it straight into Ning Shiting’s mind. The influx of scattered thoughts and sensations brought a wave of pain—sharp and all too familiar. It was the same ache he had felt the last time his spirit sense nearly failed to return—an ominous warning buried deep within his bones.

The two of them rushed toward the southeast at full speed.

For the first time, Gu Tingshuang saw the Snow Yao up close—closer than ever before. At first, he had mistaken it for a small mountain, a constant presence lingering on the edge of their vision. Only as they approached did he realise—that mountain was the Snow Yao itself.

The nearer they got, the colder the world became—bone-deep, suffocating. The Fire Dragon Saliva burning within them barely managed to stave off the freezing temperatures. Only when they exhaled could they truly feel how close this deathly chill pressed against them—an icy despair that could swallow everything.

Ning Shiting’s hoarse voice called out: “Ting Shu—”

His breath trembled in the frigid air, caught between hope and despair—uncertain whether his heart should break or rejoice.

But Ting Shu didn’t hear him.

On the snowfield, the twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy staggered forward in tight combat garb, his steps faltering. His body was drenched in blood—too much blood—his small frame flickering as if about to disappear entirely. He was trying to activate the power of the Ice Mayfly, the inherited skill that allowed him to hide his presence in the snow. But his strength was nearly depleted—he no longer had the energy to maintain the technique.

Blood and wounds covered him, breath hitching between cracked lips. Every inhale carried fragments of ice and blood—like countless blades slicing through his chest.

Ting Shu clutched his own throat, desperately trying to cough out the ice clogging his lungs—but his efforts were in vain.

The world around him was fading, darkening. His limbs grew heavier and heavier—until he could barely lift his head.

When he finally collapsed, tripped by a jagged stone jutting from the snow, he let out a small, faint laugh.

Finally... he could rest for a little while.

He tilted his head back—above him, the endless snow-filled sky stretched into the boundless night.

Ting Shu didn't feel cold. On the contrary, his body was burning hotter and hotter. It was as if he had returned to those distant years—so many snow-filled nights after his family had cast him out. The starry skies of countless snowy nights overlapped in his blurred vision, weaving themselves into the final chapter of his life.

A beginning with nothing to hold onto, an ending where everything was finally cast away.

But no matter how hard he tried to let go, he couldn't stop himself from thinking back to the snow-covered nights when he fled across Dongzhou. He was an Ice Plain Mayfly—on the night of his tenth birthday, he could have easily slipped away from the hands of those who captured him. But he didn't.

Because he had known all along—he would be sent out as bait. He had also heard the rumours—

That in the city of Dongzhou, there lived a Gongzi with the surname Ning.

They said he was a good man—he never killed those who surrendered. If the captives were elderly, weak, or women, he would offer them a little food and let them go. The luckier ones would even be settled down within Dongzhou under his care.

Being a captive of Ning Shiting... meant being bound in a prison lined with red fox fur from the snow mountains, with hot soup and a warm fire.

What he hadn't expected—what no one could have expected—was that he ended up receiving far more than that.

Ting Shu gasped for breath, his small hand instinctively groping at his chest.

The child’s entire body had been soaked through by the snow—his face pale and tinged with purple from the cold. But beneath his bloodstained clothes, tucked against his heart, was a small, delicate wooden box. Inside were three sticks of Soul Returning incense—the most willful gift he had ever begged for.

That afternoon, he had lingered at Ning Shiting's side for so long—asking, pleading for those three sticks—not because he truly wanted them. He had only been stalling, waiting for a single word to make him stay. In this vast, indifferent world, what he longed for was nothing more than that final flicker of warmth.

When he left Qing Wang’s Manor, he had hated Ning Shiting—just a little. If he didn't want him, then why did he ever pick him up in the first place? But now—at this final moment—that hatred had long since faded. All that was left was longing—longing for the one person who had ever appeared in his life as family—longing for the only warmth he had ever known.

The ancient, unchanging stars loomed above—silent and mysterious. The snowflakes swirling before his eyes began to shimmer, their edges tinged with flickering colors—like layered, shifting mirages.

Ting Shu thought he must be hallucinating.

That was the only explanation for why he could suddenly smell Ning Shiting’s scent in the air.

Then he heard it—a wolf’s howl—low, commanding, and full of challenge—echoing across the entire snowfield.

The next moment, he felt his body lighten—his clothes caught in the jaws of some beast, dragging him off the ground before he was flung violently through the air. He braced himself for the moment his fragile body would shatter against the ice—but instead, someone caught him.

"Ting Shu."

Ning Shiting caught Ting Shu in his arms and swiftly retreated in the opposite direction of the Snow Yao. As he hurried away, he frantically poured the remaining bottle of Fire Dragon Saliva, quickly smearing the liquid across Ting Shu’s body.

His voice was hoarse as he called Ting Shu’s name several times before the boy suddenly opened his eyes wide. "Gongzi?"

Ning Shiting lowered his voice. "Don't speak yet. Can you still move? The Lust Incense on your body was taken away. If you can still walk, head west from here. Yin Bing said there would be a white wolf to guide you. It will take you to the wolves' dwelling. I need to stay behind with Yin Bing and find a way to contain the Snow Yao."

Ting Shu, dizzy and disoriented, glanced back—only now realising what had just thrown him across the snowfield.

It was — an enormous, matchless, ancient white wolf.

What did Ning Shiting just call it?

The white wolf’s molten gold eyes shimmered like lava, its figure as swift as the wind. It stood where Ting Shu had been moments ago, calmly clutching a red sachet in its mouth. Its gaze remained fixed on the Snow Yao, waiting for it to draw near before moving again—teasing its prey, as if testing who would outlast the other.

In a flash of clarity, Ting Shu still didn't fully understand the wolf's identity, but he understood something else. Gripping Ning Shiting’s sleeve, he said, "That sachet... My Ge gave it to me before I left—he said it would protect me. Gongzi, I want to stay with you."

Ning Shiting shook his head resolutely. "You do what you’re told. If you don't, I truly won’t be able to get you back later. Obey. Go—wait for us at the Wolf God Temple."

Ting Shu froze at first, then his expression flickered—his eyes shimmering with disbelief and a flicker of joy. "I can still... return to Gongzi's side?"

"Go. I‘m leaving. When have I ever lied to you?"

Ning Shiting patted his head, placing the last of the Fire Dragon Saliva into his hands, and smiled at him. A second white wolf emerged from the snow, crouching beside Ting Shu and tugging gently at his sleeve—motioning for him to follow.

Ting Shu clenched his teeth, forcing himself to summon what little strength remained. He stumbled after the wolf, turning back with a choked cry—"Gongzi—be careful!"

Ning Shiting had already leapt back into the snow.

Just a moment earlier, the Snow Yao had been cun away from devouring Ting Shu—but it was Gu Tingshuang who had reached him first. Taking wolf form, Gu Tingshuang had seized the Yu Xiang from Ting Shu's body and lured the Snow Yao away, buying time for Ting Shu to reach the Wolf God Temple. But the journey was far from easy. The western path to the temple was blocked by a sheer cliff—impassable for either human or wolf. Ting Shu would need to follow the white wolf east, circling around the mountains to reach the temple from the other side.

Gu Tingshuang was facing the Snow Yao alone which was a far greater peril.

Ning Shiting had battled the Snow Yao in his past life. He knew the terror of its strength—mindless, instinct-driven, with devastating power. When its spiritual energy surged, it moved like an avalanche—leaving not a blade of grass in its wake. No spell or weapon could harm it. Even if shattered into dust by lightning or fire, the creature would simply reform—whole and unscathed. Even Ning Shiting's poisons were useless against it.

In his previous life, he had nearly perished fighting the Snow Yao—only surviving because he carried Bu Cangqiong's sealing talisman. Ten years ago, Bu Cangqiong had sealed the Snow Yao once—ten years later, it had fallen to Ning Shiting to finish the task.

But in this life, the Snow Yao had been unsealed. It had devoured the spiritual energy of Spirit Mountain, becoming far more formidable than the creature Ning Shiting had once faced. He had lived through that battle—but had watched Ting Shu die before his eyes.

This time, he had made it in time to save him. But he would never allow Gu Tingshuang to suffer the same fate.

Ning Shiting pursued Gu Tingshuang's fading silhouette.