Beneath the black surface of the Dragon-Locking Pool, the world was a void. The golden light from Yue Qingqian's "Sphere of Absolute Harmony" pushed back the oppressive darkness, creating a small, warm sanctuary in an ocean of absolute cold. The silence was so profound it was like a physical pressure against the bubble, broken only by the sound of her own steady breathing.
Slowly, her bubble-like craft descended into the abyss. Above, on the cliff, she knew two pairs of eyes were watching her every move. One was filled with fanatical faith. The other, the Sect Master's, was a lens of pure, analytical power, a divine sense that could perceive the slightest ripple in the fabric of the Dao. She was an actress on the loneliest, most dangerous stage in the world.
She reached the bottom. It was not a floor of mud, but of cold, barren rock, smoothed over by centuries of stagnant, energy-leeching water. There was no life here. Nothing grew. It was a place of absolute death.
Remembering her Senior Brother's instructions, she did not act immediately. She simply sat cross-legged for a full minute, her eyes closed, projecting an aura of deep meditation. She was "listening," attuning herself to the "silence" of the abyss.
Then, her performance began. She took out a small, flat stone from her sleeve. It looked like a common river rock, but it was another of Lin Fan's creations—a "Resonance Stone," calibrated to vibrate almost imperceptibly in the presence of the unique metallic properties of Star-Navigating Iron. It was a purely physical tool, containing no spiritual energy.
Holding the stone in her palm, she began to move, her bubble drifting slowly across the desolate floor of the pool. She moved with a purpose that looked, to the observers above, like a spiritual dowsing ritual.
As she drifted, her golden light brushed against something colossal in the darkness to her left. For a horrifying instant, a single, house-sized black scale was illuminated, its surface reflecting the light with a cold, metallic sheen. It was just one of the countless scales on the body of the slumbering Blackwater Serpent Demon. It lay coiled in the abyss, an entire mountain range of dormant flesh and apocalyptic power. Yue Qingqian's heart, despite the calming pill, gave a single, painful lurch. She kept her expression serene, her movements fluid, as if observing a large, uninteresting rock, and continued on her path.
The Resonance Stone in her hand began to hum, a low thrumming that traveled up her arm. She followed the sensation, her bubble coming to a stop above a patch of rock that looked no different from any other. This was the spot.
Now came the most audacious part of the play. She took out the set of strange tools made of bone and hardened wood—her "Earth-Soothing Probes."
On the cliff above, Elder Liu watched, mesmerized. "Incredible! She is using mortal tools! She understands that spiritual instruments would disturb the natural flow of the earth's qi! This is the ultimate respect for the Dao of the Mountain!"
Even the Sect Master, shrouded in his mist, let out a silent, mental sigh of astonishment. He had expected her to use some profound, esoteric technique. Instead, she was using tools that a common miner might discard. The logic was so counter-intuitive, so backward, that it looped all the way around to seeming profound. To avoid disturbing the Dao, she was acting as a mortal. What a strange, yet fascinating, philosophy.
Inside the bubble, Yue Qingqian began her work. The time limit of one incense stick was a ticking clock in her mind. She used the sharpened bone pick to carefully, painstakingly, pry away the layers of rock and petrified silt. The work was slow and physically demanding, her hands quickly growing sore. There was no grand display of power, only the quiet, tense scrape of bone against stone.
She worked for what felt like an eternity, her entire focus narrowed down to the small patch of rock in front of her. She could feel the Sect Master's divine sense observing every detail, analyzing the way she held the tools, the rhythm of her movements.
Then, her bone pick struck something that did not sound like rock. It was a dull, metallic thud.
At the same instant, a faint, almost imperceptible pulse emanated from the point of impact. It was not a spiritual pulse, but a physical one, a deep thrumming that resonated through the tool and into her hand.
Thump... thump... thump...
It was a slow, ancient rhythm, like a colossal, sleeping heart. It was the "heartbeat of the mountain" she had described in her fictional vision. She had found it. The Star-Navigating Iron was just beneath the surface. And with its discovery, she could feel the faint, slumbering consciousness of the Demon King in the distance stir, not in alarm, but in a deep, dream-like annoyance, as if a fly had just landed on its sleeping form.