Amidst the endless snow and wind, on an unfamiliar path in the Snow Ridge—

Zhang Xiu descended the mountain and found refuge in an abandoned village house. There, he mended his meridians and reconstructed his dantian, a white mist rising around him as he quietly opened his eyes.

Ignoring the relief of surviving a disaster, he touched his stomach, a bitter smile on his lips.

"Just a little more, and I would have been crippled. The sudden disappearance of the real master on Cold Peak Ridge might be related to these people."