Jun Ruoshui exhaled a shallow breath and took in the scene around him. He stood upon the surface of a frozen river, each footfall sending faint ripples through the crystalline ice. Though the sheet of ice was thick enough to support his weight, it shivered beneath him like a fragile glass floor. In the distance, a slender, timeworn bridge arched gracefully from the riverbank to a solitary pavilion nestled at the very heart of the waterway. Beyond the pavilion, shadowy clusters of ancient trees lined the banks, their dark silhouettes stark against the pale glow of the moon.
Aside from the bridge, pavilion, and twisted trees, nothing disturbed the stillness.
He extended a cautious step toward the pavilion, pressing down to test the ice's integrity. A sharp crack echoed beneath his boot, slicing through the silence. His pulse quickened. Every direction offered the same precarious footing. He recalled the system's earlier poetry, the first two lines merely painting a frosty backdrop, but the latter couplet—mentioning wine—lingered in his mind. Wine must be the pivotal clue.
Before anything else, he needed to reach solid ground.
Concentrating, Ruoshui invoked Phantom Step, an ethereal light swirling about his legs as his weight lifted. Like drifting mist, he glided across the fragile surface. Yet the skill's power was fleeting: a seven‑second window before it vanished, followed by a five‑second cooldown. He forced himself to maintain focus, recasting the ability repeatedly with each heartbeat. Running or bounding felt too perilous; a misstep would send him plunging into the icy depths.
Thus, he began his slow dance across the river's frozen expanse.
Inside the pavilion, a lone figure stood cloaked in white. The youth's robes billowed softly in an unseen wind, and his gaze was fixed upon the river as if lost in some distant reverie. Time appeared suspended for him; his stillness mirrored the pavilion's hushed tranquility.
Without warning, movement—sharp yet graceful—broke the calm. A figure in cyan robes emerged across the ice, each step so light that his footprints vanished almost as soon as they formed.
Could he be a celestial envoy, the white‑cloaked youth mused, or merely a mysterious traveler? His heart fluttered with both curiosity and apprehension.
At that very moment, Ruoshui's Phantom Step glowed anew, ascending to Level 2. The skill's cooldown shrank to three seconds, and its duration extended to ten. His passage became smoother, the prints he left behind nearly imperceptible. Relief washed over him—each step grew less fraught.
Drawing nearer, the skill advanced further, unlocking Level 3, Level 4, and finally Level 5 within just a few strides. Now, with a mere one‑second cooldown and thirty seconds of duration, the ability rendered him effectively weightless, even granting a subtle acceleration to his movement. Seizing the moment, he sprinted the final span and vaulted into the pavilion without hesitation.
He landed lightly upon the stone floor—only to freeze in place moments later. A sudden jolt of caution told him he might have rushed into a trap. He should have surveyed the interior first.
Before he could retreat, a holo‑projection flickered into existence at the corner of his vision. The system had activated, streaming a scene onto a translucent screen.
In that instant, he also noted the pavilion's simple furnishings: a single stone table flanked by three stone stools. Atop the table sat an exquisitely carved jade wine flask beside a matching cup—the wine, undeniably, the clue.
Slumped on one stool was a boy of about sixteen, his features delicate and tinged with adolescent sorrow. No weapon in hand; he appeared vulnerable, lost in his own thoughts.
Ruoshui's gaze shifted to the holo‑screen, where the scene transitioned to a moonlit garden behind a grand mountain villa. A lantern‑bearing maid, her silken attire brushing the stone pathway, approached a reflective pool.
The system's raspy voice intoned:
"The Jiang family—one of the Four Great Houses of the martial world—rose to prominence by crafting the legendary 'Cold Spring' wine. They later diversified into taverns, inns, and teahouses, bringing them in contact with wandering swordsmen. Forced to master martial arts, they gradually became a powerful lineage.
After the old patriarch's passing, only three direct heirs remain. The eldest, recently installed, lacks both experience and the guidance of elders; the second is proud and fiercely headstrong; the third, though compassionate, is physically unsuited to martial training. Meanwhile, ambitious cadet branches have grown strong, each eyeing the head house. Beneath the family's calm facade, turmoil simmers—tonight may decide the Jiang family's fate."
A scratchy audio clip followed, as though pulled from a worn magnetic tape, bathing the scene in tense ambience.
In the footage, a young maid—Qin'er—stepped toward a lantern‑lit figure by the pool's edge. She started to retreat, but he blocked her path.
"Young Master," she whispered, eyes darting, "what are you doing here? If Miss finds out…"
He chuckled softly. "Qin'er, you wound me. I seek only to know the young master's whereabouts."
He teases the maids freely, Qin'er thought, yet never dares approach the mistress. She crossed her arms. "He's gone to the river again—refuses to let anyone follow."
Her slip revealed more than intended. Flushing, she hurried to cover her mistake: "Why must you see him?"
He stepped closer, voice low and gentle. "I worry for his heart. And you—now you have freer standing. With the mistress wed, your future might be brighter."
His tone grew intimate, a subtle implication that left Qin'er's cheeks aflame. He paused long enough to make her flush before turning away, strolling off with languid ease.
As he departed, Qin'er spat quietly and muttered, "May all who wrong my young master meet their end." She stormed into the shadows of the garden, leaving the moonlit water hushed again.
The holo‑screen's image faded. Ruoshui turned his attention to the boy before him. This had to be the fabled Jiang Xue, drowning his sorrow in solitude and wine.
Hidden among the pavilion's shadows, Jiang Xue heard the soft tap of bamboo against stone. He looked up, surprise flashing in his clear, starlit eyes, to see Ruoshui standing calmly at the threshold, frost dusting his staff.
Their gazes locked—Ruoshui's aura was cool and composed, his eyes reflecting a quiet determination. Jiang Xue felt his breath hitch, mesmerized by the stranger's presence.
Summoning his composure, Jiang Xue leveled his shoulders, smoothed his robe, and cupped his hands respectfully.
"Sir…?" he began, voice soft.
Ruoshui inclined his head in return, his tone gentle. "No need for formalities. I apologize if I have intruded upon your solitude."
Jiang Xue forced a small smile. "Not at all. I come here often, whenever the night weighs heavy on my heart. This wine…" He nodded toward the jade flask. "It is called 'Cold Spring.' Crisp, delicate, rarely savored outside my family's estate. You are welcome to partake."
A flicker of unspoken pain crossed Jiang Xue's features, but he held the flask with quiet dignity. Ruoshui sensed the undercurrent of sorrow and yet felt compelled by both curiosity and duty to accept.
Ruoshui lifted the jade cup, its surface cool beneath his fingers. "Thank you. I accept your hospitality."
He drank deeply. The wine's flavor unfolded in his mouth: a crisp chill like a spring snow, a subtle floral bouquet, and a lingering warmth that hinted at hidden fire. Yet before he could savor the last notes, a sharp sting bloomed in his chest, accompanied by the system's stark warning.
System Alert ①: Poisoned. System Alert ②: Main Quest Triggered—Protect Jiang Xue. Achievement Unlocked: Heroic Act—Drank another's toast. Achievement Unlocked: Connoisseur—Detected three distinct flavor notes.
Ruoshui froze. The pavilion's hush pressed in around him. He swallowed hard, realizing that even the simplest cup of wine could conceal deadly intentions.