Chapter Nine: Throbbing

The dormitory of the menial servants in the Aoki Sect was a vast communal sleeping hall. The mingled stench of sweat, damp straw, and stale air, after two days’ absence, invaded Lin Mo’s nostrils again, and to his surprise, brought a faint sense of familiarity—perhaps because it lacked the bone-chilling dampness of the mountain’s back shed, which seemed able to freeze a man to his very marrow.

Zhou Xiaoxiao tossed him back onto the hard wooden board bed. Though the gesture was hardly gentle, at least he avoided Lin Mo’s wounded back.

“Mo-ge, my ancestor, just lie here quietly! Stop causing trouble, will you? I’ll go get you something to eat!” His voice was almost pleading, before he turned and melted into the noisy crowd outside.

Lin Mo lay on the straw mat, his face pressed against the rough stalks. The wound on his back, suppressed by the forceful herb powder, had scabbed over, but every breath tugged at his muscles, sending waves of tearing pain.

The icy “stone” in his chest pulsed heavier and steadier, each beat like an invisible hammer pounding his organs, filling him with a deep sense of obstruction, as if his chest were stuffed with cotton soaked in ice water, making every breath a labor.

The swelling in his right arm seemed to ease, but it remained weak and numb at the fingertips. He closed his eyes, trying to escape the pain and oppression, sinking his consciousness into the darkness to sense the cold foreign object within him.

The Void Heaven Sutra...

Those three fierce ancient characters floated in the depths of Lin Mo’s mind. Yet the wild, destructive urge that had erupted last night when he tried to destroy the seedling now lay dormant, like a beast full and asleep, leaving only its heavy breathing and undeniable pressure. A faint warmth struggled at the cold core of the “stone,” weak but stubborn.

He tried, ever so gently, to “think”—warmth... heat...

The moment the thought arose, the “stone” in his chest gave a sudden twitch, and a sharper sense of obstruction surged forth, as if his throat were being squeezed shut, leaving him breathless and his vision reeling. That fragile warmth recoiled like a frightened fish, vanishing deep within the cold “stone.”

Still impossible! He could not guide this “stone” at all. It was as if a ferocious beast had recognized its master but refused to obey, activating only when he faced mortal peril or extreme emotional turmoil, and otherwise remained a cold, heavy cage, imprisoning him.

A growing sense of defeat, mixed with pain, wound around him like icy vines. He could only passively endure the heavy pulsation, suffering in darkness and agony.

He had no idea how long had passed when Zhou Xiaoxiao returned, carrying a chipped clay bowl. Without looking, Lin Mo knew it contained watery gruel topped by a layer of cold grease and a few wilted vegetable leaves. “Here, drink up! This is all that’s left in the kitchen!” Zhou set the bowl by Lin Mo’s side, then sat beside him on the bed, pulling out a cold, hard cornbread to chew on. His eyes drifted over Lin Mo’s wound and lingered on his pale face.

“Thanks.” Lin Mo’s voice was hoarse as he propped himself up with his left hand, struggling to sip the cold, oily gruel. With something in his stomach, the pain in his body eased, if only a little.

Zhou Xiaoxiao chewed his cornbread, speaking unclearly, “Wang the Flayer said your injury will keep you bedridden for at least ten days. Someone else is doing the herb garden work for now.” He paused, swallowed, then added offhandedly, “Oh, last night, the mountain gate’s protective formation seemed unstable. The lights flickered several times—made quite a stir. Didn’t you hear?”

Lin Mo’s eyes grew distant, his hand pausing on the bowl. Last night, he’d been consumed by the struggle against the foreign object and the pain, oblivious to the outside world. “No... I was in too much pain to notice,” he mumbled, lowering his gaze to continue drinking.

“Oh.” Zhou Xiaoxiao responded, not pressing further, though his gaze lingered on Lin Mo’s downcast face, a flicker of inscrutable light in his eyes. He finished his cornbread in a few bites, clapped his hands, and stood. “Alright, rest up. I still have to empty the night buckets—no one else will do it!” He hummed a tuneless song, swaggering away.

The hall fell silent once more. Other servants were either asleep or out working. Lin Mo finished the last mouthful of cold gruel, set the bowl aside, and lay down again. Zhou Xiaoxiao’s words left a ripple in his mind. The protective formation unstable? Though Aoki Sect was small, its mountain ward was core to its foundation, unlikely to malfunction...

He closed his eyes, refusing to dwell further. The pain and oppression in his chest consumed all his senses.

The next two days crawled by like congealed, rancid water—slow and stifling.

Most of the time, Lin Mo lay on his bed, like a corpse that only breathed. The wound on his back slowly scabbed, itching and aching. The “stone” in his chest pulsed ever more clearly, a heavy, silent reminder of the strange presence within him. That faint warmth still struggled at the icy core, flickering like a candle in the wind.

Zhou Xiaoxiao, as always, brought food daily—cold cornbread and watery soup, occasionally a handful of Red Sun grass roots to chew for warmth. Their conversations grew rare; Zhou Xiaoxiao seemed more silent, his usual joviality faded, replaced by frequent, sharp glances—scrutinizing Lin Mo with an unfamiliar sharpness, as if a blade scraping bone.

That evening, the sky was oppressively dark, layers of gray clouds pressed low over the mountain, threatening to fall. The air was muggy and still, the hall filled with the suffocating reek of sweat and cheap ointment.

Lin Mo lay on the straw mat, the itching and pain on his back gnawing at him like countless ants, making him restless. The “stone” in his chest pulsed faster than usual, the heavy sense of blockage like tangible sludge filling his chest, every breath a struggle. The swelling in his right arm returned with tingling fingertips.

Irritated, he shifted to relieve the discomfort, but the movement tugged his wounds, making him gasp in pain.

Then—

A deep, resonant hum—like the earth itself groaning—suddenly pierced the thick walls, stabbing into Lin Mo’s ears! The sound was not loud but carried an indescribable force and... coldness!

Lin Mo’s body froze instantly! An overwhelming sense of danger, cold and venomous, coiled around his heart and squeezed tight!

Almost at the same instant!

The “stone” in his chest erupted in violent tremors! A wave of icy, savage, primal terror exploded, like a slumbering ancient beast finally enraged!

“Ugh—!”

Lin Mo let out a short, suppressed cry! His body arched uncontrollably, like a shrimp thrown into boiling water! An unimaginable pain coursed through him—not from flesh, but deeper—from his bones, veins, every drop of blood, as if countless invisible, icy chains with barbs pierced and twisted, strangling him!

Cold! Colder than the mountain’s icy pools, filled with pure, destructive malice!

This cold did not come from outside, but from beneath—the very bed and the mountain itself! It was the ubiquitous power of the sect’s protective formation!

At this moment, the usually benign, invisible force of the formation became like a hound scenting impurity—baring its savage fangs! Countless sharp, intangible energies converged like piranhas drawn by blood, swarming from all directions and the earth’s depths to annihilate the cold “stone” within him!

Their target: the strange fragment from the Burial Immortal Abyss—the Void Heaven Sutra!

Boom—

Lin Mo’s mind was struck as if by a thousand thunders! The cold, crushing force of the formation collided with the fierce resistance of the Void Heaven Sutra fragment, unleashing a brutal battle within his fragile body! His flesh became the battlefield for these two terrifying powers!

The icy force stabbed and shredded his flesh and veins like billions of needles, trying to pulverize the “stone” and its host, purifying them completely!

Yet the fragment fought back with wild, domineering strength! Cold, heavy, and contemptuous of the mortal realm, it lashed out, tearing at the attacking formation power like an enraged beast in a cage! Each clash made Lin Mo’s body tremble violently, threatening to collapse at any moment!

“Hah... hah...” Lin Mo’s throat rasped painfully, his eyes bulging with agony, veins bursting and mouth flooding with blood. His muscles convulsed uncontrollably, his wound tearing open, hot blood mixing with cold sweat, soaking his clothes and straw mat!

Pain! Indescribable torment! Like being sliced by millions of icy blades, or torn apart by invisible force from within! The cold assault and wild resistance rampaged inside him, every second a torture in hell’s boiling oil! His consciousness rocked amid the storm of agony, a lone boat in a furious sea, on the verge of being shredded and obliterated!

The commotion startled several resting servants, who stared in horror at the corner where Lin Mo writhed like a vengeful spirit.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Is he... having a fit?”

“Quick... go get Steward Wang!”

Panic-stricken, they shouted but none dared approach, for Lin Mo looked too frightening—blood oozed from his orifices, his body twisted unnaturally, his throat emitting inhuman sounds.

Then—

“What the hell are you all yelling about!” An impatient shout came from the doorway, voice preceding the man. It was Steward Wang, belly protruding, brow furrowed as he entered, followed by Zhou Xiaoxiao carrying an empty bucket.

Wang’s gaze fell on the writhing figure in the corner, his brows knitting tight. “Lin Mo, you useless wretch, what nonsense are you up to now? Playing dead?” He clearly dismissed it as either injury or feigned illness.

Zhou Xiaoxiao’s eyes sharpened instantly! His bucket clattered to the floor as he shot forward like an arrow!

“Lin Mo!” Zhou Xiaoxiao rushed to the bed, his face changed at a glance at the twisted features and spreading blood. Ignoring the eerie cold and violent convulsions, he reached out, trying to steady Lin Mo’s shoulder!

Just as his hand was about to touch Lin Mo—

A furious, icy surge erupted from the “stone” in Lin Mo’s chest, as if enraged by outside interference! It slammed Zhou Xiaoxiao’s hand away, while Lin Mo’s body jerked upward as if struck by invisible force!

“Pff—!”

A mouthful of dark, viscous blood, cold as shards of ice, sprayed from Lin Mo’s lips in an arc, filling the air with bitter chill!

His body crashed back onto the bed, lifeless. Only the faintest rise and fall of his chest showed he was still alive.

Silence reigned in the dormitory.

Steward Wang stared dumbfounded at the blood and the motionless figure, mouth agape.

Zhou Xiaoxiao staggered back several steps, hand trembling, his fingertips stinging as if frostbitten. He fixed his gaze on the barely breathing figure, the round smile fading, replaced by an unprecedented gravity and suspicion. His eyes were piercing, as if trying to see through Lin Mo’s flesh to the monster hidden within.

Outside, the sky pressed heavy and gray, with not a breath of wind. The foul air of the servants’ hall, thick with mingled scents, spread in silence.