The dust hung in the air for a long time after the last echo faded.
Snow still drifted down from the sky, mingling with the gray haze that rose from the collapsed cave.
No one moved at first. The silence felt unreal. Then, as the first fragments of stone stopped rolling, the cries began.
"Help!"
"Someone!"
"They're trapped inside!"
Dozens of disciples rushed toward the entrance. Shovels and picks scraped against frozen stone, hands clawed at loose earth. The air was filled with the sound of coughing and shouting.
Fu Yang stood a few paces away, half-turned toward the mountain.
Head Master Xiang stumbled forward, his face pale. "Move the rocks! Quickly! Get them out!"
Elders shouted orders, their voices cutting through the panic. "Form lines! Don't crowd the entrance!" "Bring torches here!"
The disciples obeyed as best they could. They worked in frantic rhythm—passing stones from one to another, clearing debris inch by inch.
Cin Yan and Le Wei were near the front. Cin Yan's sleeves were torn, her face streaked with dust.
"They're still alive," she said between breaths. "They have to be."
Le Wei and others nodded grimly.
Fu Yang crouched, picked up a small piece of rock, and turned it in his palm. The edge was smooth—freshly broken. The collapse had been instant, complete. He knew what that meant: no pockets large enough to survive long.
Yet he said nothing.
Behind him, more disciples arrived carrying ropes and wooden planks. Someone shouted, "Torchlight here! We found a gap!"
The crowd surged. A faint cheer rose as a narrow crack appeared between the fallen boulders. Cold air whistled out, mixed with the faint smell of damp soil.
"Can anyone hear me?" a disciple called into the gap. "If you're alive, answer!"
For a moment, nothing. Then—a weak, muffled voice.
"H-help… here…"
The group froze, then erupted into renewed effort. Picks struck faster, torches waved wildly.
Fu Yang tilted his head slightly.( One survived, he thought. For now.)
After several long minutes, they managed to widen the opening just enough for one person to crawl through.
"I'll go," a lean disciple said immediately.
"No, it's too unstable!" others shouted.
But without another word, he slid into the gap, vanishing into the darkness.
The others held their breath. Minutes dragged by. Then his voice echoed faintly from within: "He's alive! But his leg's crushed!"
"Pull them out!" Xiang shouted. "Carefully!"
Ropes were passed in. Two disciples held the ends while the deciple tied them around the injured boy. Together they hauled him out, inch by inch, until he finally emerged—his robes torn, face gray with dust and blood.
The boy gasped for air, eyes wide in shock. "The… others… still inside…" he whispered weakly. "The roof fell… they… they couldn't move…"
Xiang knelt beside him, trembling. "Save your strength, child. You're safe now."
The boy's eyes fluttered closed.
The deciple crawled out after him, coughing hard. "It's too deep," he said, voice hoarse. "i couldn't find others."
"Then we'll dig all night if we have to," an elder declared.
But Fu Yang quietly glanced at the sky. The sun was already slipping behind the mountains, its weak light fading to gray. The temperature was dropping fast.
Snow began to fall again—slowly at first, then heavier.
An elder approached the Head Master, bowing slightly. "Head master xiang , the storm's returning. If we stay here, everyone will freeze before midnight."
The other elder jaw clenched. "I won't leave my disciples buried here."
"With respect," the elder said softly, "if we lose more people to the cold, what then? We must return and continue tomorrow."
Headmaster Xiang didn't answer. He stared at the broken cave mouth as if hoping the snow itself would give him a miracle.
Fu Yang watched the exchange silently. He knew what would happen next. The elders would argue, the Head Master would resist, and in the end, exhaustion and weather would win. Humans could only defy nature for so long.
The disciples kept digging until their hands bled. Torches sputtered in the wind, their flames bending low. The rescued boy had been carried back toward the camp, and several others now sat shivering near small fires, too cold to move.
..
But then Head Master Xiang finally turned away from the cave. His eyes glistened under the torchlight. "Enough," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "Everyone, fall back."
No one moved for a moment. Then, slowly, tools were lowered. The disciples stepped back one by one, their movements heavy with reluctance.
The wind howled louder now. Snow whirled across the clearing, erasing footprints and covering the rubble.
Fu Yang straightened, brushing frost from his sleeves.
One disciple muttered bitterly, "All that work… and still nothing. Not even the frogs."
Another answered, "Maybe the gods have cursed us. Maybe we were never meant to find them."
"Quiet!" an elder barked, but even his tone lacked force. The men were too tired to fear reprimand.
They began the slow march back down the mountain. The torches flickered like dying stars against the white storm.
Fu Yang walked at the rear of the group. Each step crunched softly in the snow. He glanced once over his shoulder—the cave was already half-hidden, swallowed by drifting snow.
Cin Yan followed behind him, whispering in low voices.
"I can't believe they're gone," Le Wei said.
"They were foolish," Cin Yan replied flatly. "Greedy. They didn't listen."
He looked at her. "Still, they were our brothers."
Her voice softened. "I know."
Fu Yang said nothing. He merely listened, eyes half-closed against the wind.
When they reached the village, the Head Master called them to rest in their rooms.
Elders gathered around Xiang, their faces drawn.
"This is a disaster," one said quietly. "We don't if other five are still alive, one barely breathing. And still no trace of the frogs."
Another muttered, "Rion Yan will hear of this by tomorrow. He'll press the offer again."
Xiang rubbed his temples, saying nothing. The orange glow of the fire reflected in his weary eyes. "If we accept that offer," he said slowly, "we will be handing over everything we built."
"And if you refuse," the elder replied, "our plans will fail, we will be called with the title of bumpkin villagers again. And we will lose our whole investment in it."
A heavy silence followed. Their face darkned.
While they were talking, in the accademy.
Fu Yang was already in the dining hall, along with the other disciples. The others were eating, but their faces were filled with sadness and fear.
After finishing his meal, Fu Yang left for his room, as he was tired and needed rest.
On his bed, he began his meditation, his cultivation still in the final stage of the Tempering Realm.
However, since his body was still recovering, he would not be able to continue his cultivation for at least half a month.
And since he couldn't cultivate for the time being, he was thinking about a different plan for his cultivation.
"Spiritual Dew Lotus," he murmured. With this plant, he could remove impurities faster, but he couldn't simply eat its leaves or roots. He needed to refine them into spiritual pills.
This process would take time, but it wasn't difficult for him. He had done it in his past life, so the chances of his success were quite good.
After he made his plan, realizing it was the perfect time to make the spiritual pills, as everyone would be busy with the matter of the cave.
With his plan set, he lay on his bed and fell into a deep sleep.
The next day.
By mid-morning, nearly seventy disciples stood at the edge of the forest, packed in heavy robes. Their shovels and picks were fresh, unbroken, but the tension in the air was palpable. The snow from the previous night had blanketed the entire area, covering the collapsed cave entrance in a thick, slippery layer.
Head Master Xiang stood at the forefront, his robes flapping lightly in the wind. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them. "Be careful today," he said, voice calm but heavy. "The snow makes the ground unstable. Move slowly. Watch for cracks."
A murmur ran through the disciples. Several exchanged nervous glances, recalling the disaster from yesterday—the cave collapse, the lost comrades, the fear that had gripped every one of them.
Fu Yang leaned against a tree nearby.
His dark eyes swept over the scene.
The first group approached the cave entrance. Snow crunched underfoot, muffling their movements. Xiang inspected the mound carefully, kneeling down, probing the surface with a gloved hand. "It's worse than I thought," he muttered. "The snow has hidden most of the stones. There could be ice beneath, or the ground may be loose."
"Then shall we begin, Head Master?" a disciple asked hesitantly, glancing at the menacing slope.
Xiang straightened. "Slowly. Watch each other's backs. One misstep, and the cave could seal itself again."
With that, they began. The first few stones were deceptively light, the ones lying on top of the snow, and it gave the disciples a false sense of hope. They called to each other, their voices tense but bright with effort. "Move that one!" "Push from here!"
A few moments later, their optimism faded. The hidden snow beneath the surface had frozen into a thin layer of ice. The stones shifted unpredictably, some tumbling down with a muffled roar. Shouts of alarm echoed as several disciples scrambled back to avoid being crushed.
"Careful! Step back!" Xiang barked, his voice cutting through the panic.
Even the more experienced among them hesitated. Each small movement caused fragments of stone and ice to break away.
Fu Yang observed quietly. He noted the angle of the rocks, the weight distribution, and the points where the ice had weakened the soil beneath. Every movement the disciples made was predictable to him.
The group tried calling out, hoping the vibrations might loosen something deeper, but the cave remained sealed. Their voices echoed faintly, swallowed quickly by the dense snow and frozen walls.
"Keep at it," Xiang ordered. "Slowly. One stone at a time."
Hours passed. The snow fell heavier, weighing down on every surface. The cold seeped into bones and joints, numbing fingers despite gloves, stiffening backs and knees. Progress was slow—agonizingly slow. Each stone removed revealed only more obstacles beneath.
Some of the younger disciples began to falter. "Head Master… maybe we should leave for now," one said, voice trembling. "The snow… it's too deep. It will collapse again."
Xiang shook his head firmly. "We move as long as we can.
But fear was creeping into their hearts, steadily gnawing at their resolve. They glanced at each other, saw the exhaustion mirrored in their eyes. Every movement carried the threat of disaster.