Chương 116: Chapter 17: Pawn

"You dare, junior? Apologize this instant, or I'll see your entire clan wiped out for such insolence!" Shan Xi's face fell, and she hurriedly bowed low, hands fluttering in panic.

"Senior, it's all this foolish junior's fault. Please spare me. The Ironwood Puppet Core is yours!" She bowed even lower, forehead nearly to the ground, honest terror etched across her features. Mo Jian felt like he'd just kicked a puppy. Still, he had a role to play.

"Hmph. I can't be bothered to strike every ant that crosses my path. Hurry and disappear from my sight, and I'll overlook your poor manners this once." He waved his hand imperiously, a thunderous scowl fixed on his face. Seeing her last hope, Shan Xi didn't hesitate. She spun around, pulled out a flute that expanded under her fingers, and leapt onto it. The instrument hummed as it carried her away in a streak of violet light that tore through the skies. Mo Jian watched her go, not sure whether to laugh or sigh.

Bai Ning, however, had no such confusion. From behind a nearby wall came the muffled sounds of giggling. She emerged, face flushed red, valiantly trying to suppress her laughter—but failed the moment she saw Mo Jian's exasperated expression. Immediately, she doubled over, laughing uncontrollably.

"Hahaha—oh, my sides, I can't—!" she gasped.

"The way she ran!" Feeling the heat rise to his ears, Mo Jian gave her a light swat on the back of the head.

"Stop making a fool of yourself. I already feel bad enough. For a Qi Condensation cultivator to even argue with a Core Formation expert takes great courage. I wish I hadn't needed to bully her like that." Bai Ning shrugged.

"It's the nature of the task, Master. Besides, I doubt it was half as terrifying for her as you think. I used to argue with you all the time back when I was in Qi Condensation, and I was never scared." He gave her a long, incredulous look.

"What?" Bai Ning asked defensively.

"Used to?" Mo Jian echoed. Bai Ning scowled.

"That's slander. I'm a proper, respectful disciple." Mo Jian scoffed but let the matter drop.

"We are master and disciple. That's different. Imagine if some random Core Formation cultivator targeted you—wouldn't you be scared then?" Bai Ning's expression darkened.

"I don't have to imagine," she said quietly. Mo Jian cursed his own carelessness. He really shouldn't have brought that up. But Bai Ning quickly shrugged it off.

"Besides, you're much nicer than that fiend, Chao Qinzi. I just can't see you as scary, Master." He hid his relief with a shake of his head.

"So what I'm hearing is that I've been too lax with you. Clearly, I need to increase the intensity of your training and punishments when we return home." Bai Ning turned and flashed him a serene smile—far too confident for someone supposedly terrified. That was how he knew he'd lost this round.

"Rest assured, Master," she said sweetly.

"I'm properly terrified." He chose not to respond—not because he'd lost to his disciple, as doubters might claim, but because he was reviewing the next task the Ming family had assigned him. …………………. Not all the tasks listed in the jade slip he was given were so simple or straightforward. Yet all of them carried the same distasteful air he was growing to resent.

After scaring off Shan Xi and stealing her Ironwood Puppet Core to prevent her from aiding Ming Chou, Mo Jian and Bai Ning flew to the far side of the island. There, they concealed themselves near a small mortal settlement. Mo Jian carefully layered an invisibility spell over the both of them, and they wore mundane masks besides, adding another layer of precaution. Thus hidden, they waited. Two early-stage Core Formation cultivators arrived soon after, meeting in the shadow of a half-collapsed shrine.

They exchanged hurried words—too faint for Mo Jian to hear, and too risky to try and eavesdrop on using his spiritual sense—and then a single object changed hands: a misshapen black box, which quickly disappeared into one man's robes. That man wore a wide straw hat and a long black cloak with the collar pulled up to his nose. Every line of his posture radiated furtiveness; he might as well have declared his guilt aloud.

They waited until the exchange concluded, then began following the straw-hatted man toward the island's edge. The task was simple enough: steal whatever the man had received. Normally, Mo Jian would have relied on his superior cultivation and simply taken it by force. But Bai Ning's presence complicated matters—she had no business being caught in a fight between two Core Formation cultivators. Moreover, any clash on Jadeflame Island would immediately draw the Ming family's guards.

Though Mo Jian was operating under their authority, this mission was meant to remain secret. So instead, he chose a subtler method. After a moment's thought, Mo Jian straightened his robes and removed his mask. From his sleeve, he drew out the Ming Family Medallion—his token of legitimacy, given to him for just this sort of purpose—and pinned it to his chest. Then he stepped boldly into the open, striding straight toward the stranger as though he owned the island itself.

Behind him, Bai Ning remained hidden, fingers tight around her bronze shield, just as he had instructed. The stranger reacted at once, qi stirring in alarm. Clearly, he hadn't expected to see anyone here. It was an isolated stretch of coast—what cultivator would linger near mortals? Yet when he sensed Mo Jian's unrestrained late-stage Core Formation cultivation, and saw the gleaming Ming Family insignia, his wariness faltered. He saluted, posture still poised for flight.

"Greetings, Elder of the Ming family. I am Yi Yin, here for the great auction beginning the day after tomorrow. I came seeking solitude. I hope I have not broken any island rules?" Mo Jian chuckled lightly and waved a hand in reassurance. He only hoped his acting was convincing—though, regrettably, he was becoming far too accustomed to playing the villain these days.

"Think nothing of it, Fellow Daoist. I was merely passing by when I noticed you here. As a guest of my Ming family, you are free to roam as you please." Yi Yin's shoulders eased slightly, though Mo Jian could still feel the tension rippling beneath the man's qi. Only a sliver of skin showed between the brim of his hat and the raised collar, but even that glimpse was peculiar—his eyes were entirely white, like polished jade. Was it blindness, or the side effect of some cultivation technique?

"The Ming family's hospitality is indeed as boundless as the rumors claim," Yi Yin said smoothly.

"I am humbled by the warmth of your welcome, and by the beauty of this island. Patriarch Ming Taishou has built a legacy that will surely endure a thousand years." Mo Jian returned the courtesy with an easy smile, though inwardly his suspicions solidified. If he was right, this task would be simpler than he'd first imagined. They exchanged another round of pleasantries, and when the silence between them began to stretch too long, Yi Yin shifted as though to depart.

"Wait a moment, Brother Yin," Mo Jian said.

"Truth be told, I approached you for another reason besides courtesy." Yi Yin froze mid-step. His qi sharpened to a razor edge, and Mo Jian could tell he was a breath away from attacking or escaping. Mo Jian raised both hands placatingly.

"Peace, Fellow Daoist. There's no need for alarm. Let me speak plainly. You were approached by someone acting on behalf of Patriarch Ming Taishou, and promised a generous reward for performing a small service, were you not?" He looked at Yi Yin as he said it, and knew he had hit the mark by the slight widening of his eyes.

"Ha, ha—no need to look so startled," Mo Jian said smoothly.

"As an elder of the Ming family, it's only natural I'd be informed. The item you just acquired is part of the Patriarch's plan. He sent me to collect it personally. How else would I know to find you here, in the middle of nowhere?" Yi Yin's expression turned skeptical.

"I was told to deliver this directly to Elder Ming Changge. Nowhere did it mention anyone collecting it midway."

"Friend," Mo Jian replied with practiced patience, adopting just the right hint of condescension, "The Ming family does not give trust lightly. Surely you didn't think we'd allow an outsider to approach one of our Grand Elders without confirmation? You've played your part admirably. Now, hand over the item, and you may claim your reward in peace." Yi Yin's expression darkened.

"Is this how the Ming family treats those who serve it? To be used and discarded like a tool? I take back my praise—your family's hospitality is poor indeed." Careful, Mo Jian warned himself. Almost there.

"Should I take that to mean," he asked mildly, "that you no longer wish to receive your auction reward, then?" Yi Yin faltered. His anger ebbed, replaced by grudging calculation. Every word Mo Jian spoke reinforced his claim—knowledge of the secret deal, of the promised reward. How could anyone outside the arrangement know such things? With a curse, Yi Yin pulled the misshapen black box from his robes and tossed it toward Mo Jian. Then, without another word, he launched into the air, vanishing into the clouds.

His voice carried faintly back on the wind: "I'll collect my reward, since my task is done. But do not expect me to look kindly on the Ming family again." Mo Jian rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I'm sure they'll soldier on regardless," he murmured. He turned the box over in his hands. It was hexagonal, carved from a black stone so dense his spiritual sense couldn't penetrate it. Seamless—no hinge, no lid, no aura of power leaking from within. A mystery by design. For a moment, curiosity tempted him to pry it open, but he restrained himself. Instead, he slipped it away and reviewed the entire encounter in silence.

He'd suspected it before, but now he was certain: Ming Taishou's goals were not what he'd been told. Otherwise, why send one agent to trade for an item and another to steal it back? Yi Yin's reaction said even more—he'd clearly believed himself the sole operative. Which meant the Ming patriarch had approached several cultivators separately, feeding each a different story. Whatever game the Ming family was playing, the truth would be revealed only at the end. The narrative has been taken without permission.

Report any sightings. The question that gnawed at Mo Jian was simple: Would that truth endanger him—or Bai Ning? Was this some elaborate snare, or merely the Ming family's secretive way of keeping its cards close? He couldn't tell. And that uncertainty unsettled him more than any enemy could. From the horizon, a streak of white light approached. Bai Ning descended gracefully, her flying handkerchief gleaming like molten silver beneath her feet.

She landed beside him, eyes following the path where Yi Yin had vanished.

"Master," she said thoughtfully, "I couldn't hear what you said—but that entire exchange looked… odd." Mo Jian let out a low breath, his expression troubled. The waves lapped softly at the rocky shore below, and the sea breeze carried the faint scent of salt and pine.

"Odd," he echoed, brushing some dust from his sleeve.

"That's one word for it." He didn't elaborate, and Bai Ning waited in silence, her gaze curious and patient. When he still said nothing, she sighed and crossed her arms.

"You're doing it again, Master."

"Doing what?"

"Looking into the distance forlornly and then brooding melancholically." That earned a quiet chuckle.

"You've spent too long with me; your vocabulary's improving." She ignored the jab, her attention drawn to the box in his hand.

"What next? Are we supposed to deliver it to someone?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

"The instructions our hosts so thoughtfully provided only said to steal the box and move on to the next task. No mention of what to do with it once I had it." He turned the object thoughtfully in his hands, studying its featureless surface. Bai Ning arched a slender eyebrow.

"That feels… even odder."

"Hmm." Mo Jian tucked the box into his storage pouch and looked toward the horizon.

"The man who gave it up believed he was working for the Ming family. So unless Ming Taishou truly wants to make an enemy of every cultivator he's enlisted, it shouldn't be something harmful. It might even be a test of character—whether we open it or not, and what that says about our trustworthiness. Or perhaps it's simply an empty box. The only thing clear is that there's more going on than we've been told." He sighed quietly.

"And that's what troubles me. Ming Taishou's reputation is well-earned—cunning, ruthless, but never careless. Whatever he's planning, he's keeping even his allies in the dark. The fewer who know, the greater the risk to those who do." Bai Ning was silent for a long while. Then, softly, she asked, "Do you think it's a trap?" Mo Jian's eyes flicked toward her. For an instant, she caught a glimmer of weariness in his gaze.

Bai Ning was not as naïve as she appeared—her cheerfulness was deliberate, a choice made in defiance of the world's cruelty.

"I think," he said at last, "that if it is a trap, it's one meant for someone far more important than us."

"That's not very comforting." He smiled faintly.

"Comfort rarely is." The wind shifted, carrying the distant cry of gulls. Mo Jian straightened and brushed his hands together, as if closing the matter.

"Come. We've lingered long enough. The Ming family expects results, not hesitation." Bai Ning hesitated, glancing once more toward the horizon.

"And if the next task is… odd too?" Mo Jian looked down at her, the edge of a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Then we'll do what cultivators always do when the heavens play tricks on them." She blinked.

"Which is?"

"Struggle against them." He rose into the air, his qi condensing into a sleek current of azure light that enveloped Bai Ning as well. Together, they vanished into the clouds, leaving only a faint shimmer in the sky—two figures hurtling toward whatever truth the Ming family had buried at the heart of Jadeflame Island. ………………………. The next day was much easier. Mo Jian's tasks numbered only a dozen, and aside from the hexagonal black box, none seemed particularly unusual at first glance.

He was ordered to transport an absurd quantity of spirit stones to a Ming family warehouse, sabotage a visiting sect from the northernmost of the Thousand Shattered Islands (he simply tweaked the formation around their residence so their sleep was plagued by restless daydreams, leaving them to depart with haunted expressions at dawn), and finally, deliver a message to a wandering Core Formation cultivator informing him he was no longer welcome on Jadeflame Island.

That last encounter had been tense—Mo Jian had braced for a fight—but the silver-haired man eventually stormed off, glaring and spitting venom in his direction. No matter how hard he tried, Mo Jian couldn't discern any clear pattern in the tasks assigned. Whatever the Ming family's true motives were, they were clearly going to great lengths to keep them shrouded in secrecy. At last, he reached the final task. The instructions were straightforward: infiltrate a facility and sabotage it.

Once completed, he would have fulfilled his obligations and could finally enjoy the auction, bidding on any item he desired. The jade slip also promised that if the item he won cost less than five hundred mid-grade spirit stones, the leftover spirit stones would be given to him as extra compensation. That both raised Mo Jian's suspicions and made him rub his hands with excitement. He was determined not to get entangled in whatever scheme was unfolding, but the prospect of such a reward was too tempting to ignore.

His plan was clear: complete this last task, collect the map he wanted, and leave as soon as the auction ended. The facility turned out to be a stone building nestled within a smaller complex adjacent to the main Ming family residence. It was largely deserted; a few low-ranking cultivators on patrol stopped him at the entrance, but when he produced the medallion bearing the Ming family insignia, they dropped to their knees immediately. After that, he and Bai Ning encountered no further obstacles.

The stone building itself was squat and unadorned, resembling a storage shed or a forgotten attic rather than anything of importance. The single door in the front wall was made from the same stone, blending seamlessly into the structure. Getting inside proved a bit tricky but not insurmountable. Mo Jian had to dismantle the formation guarding the door, but as a Core Formation cultivator, the static ward was no match for him—it was clearly meant to deter only casual snooping.

Within three minutes, the door yielded to his efforts. It opened with a grim, creaking groan—stone scraping on stone—and a heavy, grit-laden wind blew into their faces. Mo Jian waved it off irritably, while Bai Ning took a step further and activated a glowing barrier around herself, its light spilling from the small copper shield in her hand. They stepped in. Mo Jian wasn't sure what he had expected, but—"A storage pouch manufacturing hall?" he muttered, bewildered.

In the center of the floor, an unmistakable formation pulsed with gentle qi, and from the ceiling hung row upon row of square spirit beast hides, each one being refined by the array's slow, steady rhythm. The hall was otherwise empty, save for a few crates stacked against the far wall, likely used to store completed pouches. All in all, this was about the least significant facility he could imagine sabotaging. Bai Ning, however, seemed anything but disappointed.

She studied the floor's intricate formation with wide, fascinated eyes, tracing its etched lines before glancing up at the suspended hides.

"I never knew this was what it looked like from the inside," she said softly.

"Is the formation what controls the spatial effect and attaches it to the beast skins?" Mo Jian turned to her, surprised.

"I'm fairly certain the Greater Dharma Sect has a facility like this as well. You've never been inside it?" Bai Ning shook her head, looking sheepish.

"I tried to sneak in once. Father nearly had a heart attack. Apparently, it was dangerous and I could have 'blown myself up.' He never let me near it again." Typical. Mo Jian shook his head, sympathizing with the long-suffering Bai Zhou, then returned his attention to his disciple. Since there was clearly a gap in her education, as her master, it was only right that he filled it.

Slipping into his natural lecturing tone, he began, "The formation you're seeing is a spatial array from the pre-Shattering era—the only true spatial formation to survive that chaotic time. Unfortunately, the art of spatial manipulation was one of the many things lost, so we can't alter or improve it in any way. All we can do is use it as the ancients did—to craft pouches that expand the space within far beyond their physical size.

Compared to our crude methods, cultivators of the pre-Shattering era supposedly had storage rings and artifacts capable of holding living creatures in stasis." He paused to make sure Bai Ning was following. She was—her eyes shone with rapt attention—so he continued.

"That's not all. In that era, cultivators could create entire independent realms through spatial formations—pocket worlds, teleportation arrays, even transcontinental gates. All that knowledge is gone now. What few examples remain are guarded jealously and used sparingly. The only known teleportation array still in use belongs to the Imperial Court, and it activates once every hundred years. Only Nascent Soul cultivators can endure the crossing—the dimensional strain would tear anyone weaker apart.

That gate links our empire to another continent, our only remaining connection to them." Realizing he'd gone off on a tangent, Mo Jian cleared his throat and circled back.

"These days, there are cultivators who devote their entire lives to trying to unravel the secrets of this formation. If a faction could gain even a partial grasp of true spatial control, the advantage would be immense. But in the four thousand years since the Shattering, no one has come close. Spatial manipulation," he finished, "is the hardest of all paths to master." Bai Ning burst out the moment he fell silent.

"Master, does that mean that if someone did manage to fully understand spatial formations, they could—what—travel anywhere instantly? Or maybe even create their own realm?" Mo Jian smiled faintly at her enthusiasm.

"In theory, yes. In practice…" He spread his hands.

"They would need a mind capable of grasping the fabric of reality itself—and a cultivation deep enough to enforce their understanding upon it. Even in the pre-Shattering era, such individuals were rarities among rarities. Legends say Immortals could fold space like paper, traveling across continents in a single step or create their own worlds from whole cloth. But those days are long gone." Bai Ning's eyes shone with unguarded wonder.

"Still… imagine being able to do that. To build your own world, untouched by anyone else." Mo Jian looked at her—truly looked—and felt a familiar ache stir beneath his calm. As always, the core of Bai Ning's ambition and desire to reach the heavens had never wavered.

"Ambition is good," he said finally, his tone gentle.

"But some truths are better learned step by step. The heavens do not look kindly upon mortals who reach too high too fast." She pouted, folding her arms.

"That's just something cautious people say when they're afraid of failing." Mo Jian chuckled, shaking his head.

"And that's something reckless people say right before they do fail." That earned him an indignant glare. He waved it off, stepping closer to the array and kneeling to study the engravings. The qi here was steady—as it should be for such a facility.

"Enough lessons for now. Let's see what exactly we're meant to 'sabotage,' shall we?" Bai Ning crouched beside him, her curiosity rekindled.

"Do you think the Ming family's hiding something under this formation?"

"Highly unlikely," Mo Jian replied dryly.

"At this point, I think it's better to admit defeat and accept that we have no idea what they actually want. Guessing has only given me a headache." He traced his fingers along the glowing lines of the array, frowning slightly.

"The only reason we're still here is because there are so many people participating in the auction that whatever danger exists should be diluted—and because the promised reward is too good to ignore." Bai Ning nodded thoughtfully, then glanced up at the ceiling.

"Master, I know you said no more questions, but how do the hides fit in? If the formation does all the work, why do we need spirit beast hides for the storage pouches?" Mo Jian straightened absently, taking a moment to process the question. When he did, he also looked up—and a spark of inspiration flickered behind his eyes. That could work too… But first, his disciple.

"Strictly speaking," he said, "we don't. It's perfectly possible to make a storage pouch from ordinary cloth. The only advantage of using spirit beast hide is that it's tougher and naturally more conductive to qi. On common fabric, the formation would take nearly a year to finish a pouch, while with spirit beast hides, it can be done in a month at most. And if the beast is of higher rank—say, third or fourth—it could be completed in a day." He gestured lazily toward the hanging skins.

"Rank-one beasts are easy to raise, especially Earth Mole Rats. They feed on qi-infused soil and reproduce by the thousands. So a facility like this would also have a farm nearby to raise them and harvest their hides." Bai Ning's eyes widened, and her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Ew. You mean my storage pouch is made from dead rat skin?" Mo Jian laughed outright.

"No, but mine is. The Greater Dharma Sect prefers rank-one Luminous Spine Fish. That's why your pouch has that faint scaled texture, while mine's just plain brown. Not that it matters much—the formation's fixed, so one storage pouch is the same as another." His gaze drifted back to the ceiling, then settled on the racks of hides.

"Actually," he murmured, "your question gives me an idea." Bai Ning blinked.

"An idea for what?"

"For how to sabotage this place without wasting half a day dismantling a formation older than the empire itself." He rose, a grin tugging at his lips.

"If the array depends on these hides, we don't need to touch the formation." She tilted her head.

"You mean…?"

"Burn them," Mo Jian said simply.

"The array will stay intact, but the production will halt. No hides, no pouches. The damage will be temporary, but it'll take them weeks to recover—more than enough time for us to be far away." She stared at him, half impressed, half horrified.

"You're serious?"

"Completely." He offered a faint, amused smile.

"Sabotage doesn't always need grand explosions or complex spells, Bai Ning. Sometimes a little inconvenience does the trick just as well." Her lips twitched.

"You really are getting good at being devious, Master."

"I've had excellent reason to practice lately," he replied dryly. Then, he held up his hand and summoned a fireball on top of his palm. A single flick of his fingers, and the small fire leapt from his hand to the hides hanging from the ceiling. They caught at once. Blue fire crawled across the leather like quicksilver, devouring the treated material with frightening efficiency. Within moments, the blaze spread in a controlled wave—hot, bright, but contained.

The scent that rose was acrid—burnt qi-leather—and Bai Ning coughed.

"Ugh," she muttered, scrunching her nose.

"You could've warned me about the smell." Mo Jian smirked faintly, eyes still on the growing fire.

"Sabotage isn't supposed to be pleasant." He monitored the spread carefully, ensuring the flames didn't spread too much. Thankfully, this hall was made of stone, so the risk of the fire spreading was low. After a few seconds, it was done. They slipped out the way they'd come. Mo Jian reactivated the ward behind them with a casual gesture so it looked undisturbed from the outside. Nothing appeared amiss in the courtyard; the building sat as mute and unremarkable as before. As they walked away, Bai Ning glanced back.

A thin thread of smoke curled from one narrow window, then vanished on the breeze. She hurriedly turned her head as if she'd seen nothing. They melted into the stream of the city—two small figures lost among traders, disciples, and gossip—with no one the wiser.