Lanshan Lodge sat nestled in the middle reaches of Kun Mountain, the only inhabited place for miles. In summer, it was embraced by lush greenery, but in winter, the path was buried in snow, leaving only desolation behind.
A cold wind howled outside. Inside, a figure draped in a long gray rabbit-fur coat leaned by the window, exhaling warm breath onto cupped hands.
"Freezin' the birds to death! Freezin' the birds to death!" On the other side of the room, a large white parrot with a crimson crest paced restlessly in its cage.
"Someone's coming." The figure by the window sensed it—a strange presence brushed against their awareness.
"Huh?" The parrot tilted its head.
"Strange. Not many can find this place nowadays..."
Few had ventured into Kun Mountain in the past twenty years, let alone someone who seemed to be heading straight for Lanshan Lodge.
"I'm leaving. Stay here and keep watch." With that, they walked to the cage and refilled the food tray.
"Gimme a talisman, eh? Feels spooky." The bird flapped its wings anxiously, resuming its pacing as if contemplating an uncertain fate.
No response came. The figure packed lightly, locked the door behind them, and left without a backward glance.
"What if they take your stuff?" the bird called after them.
"Plenty can take things. Keeping them is the real skill."
With a *clank*, Lanshan Lodge was locked. All that remained was the sound of the white bird flapping its wings indignantly.
---
Two days later, a knock sounded at the lodge's door.
Silence.
Then—*clank*—the lock was broken. The white bird inside startled.
A visitor stood at the threshold, dressed in plain robes, long silver hair cascading down. As the door swung open, a gust of icy air rushed in. The man shook off his snow-laden cloak, its edges embroidered with silver thread—dragons and clouds woven into the fabric.
Seeing no one inside, his gaze fell on the white bird, which had resumed pecking cautiously at its food.
Bai Changming stepped in. The lodge's layout matched Nianchu's memories perfectly. He strode straight to the inner hall, where a sealed longsword hung at the center of the room—*Severing Snow*.
Puzzled, he recalled the old monk's memories—there should have been traps here, a pattern like the Taiji symbol in the corner... Yet the room was eerily clean. Dust drifted from the rafters, as if the place had been abandoned for years.
*Probably the old monk's scrambled memories.*
Following Nianchu's recollection, Bai Changming took down *Severing Snow*. He had trained in swordsmanship back in Saher City, and now, with his magic bound, a reliable weapon was exactly what he needed.
The blade slid free—sharp, unyielding. His reflection in the steel gleamed with approval. Only the scabbard bore an unusual emblem, a fusion of "6" and "9," named *Typhon*—a symbol of wielding power and authority within rightful bounds.
He had received piles of gifts from visiting officials over the years—ornate tokens bearing auspicious pictograms, animal motifs, ancient scripts, or decorative flourishes of every imaginable kind. But he saw them for what they were: empty symbolism, fleeting wishes.
Obtaining *Severing Snow* had been effortless. Aside the two-day trek up the mountain—his lightness technique unusable with sealed magic—there had been no resistance. Naturally, he paid little mind to the emblem.
Only phenomena that manifest violently are perceived as threats. *What flourishes too strongly decays swiftly—this is against the Way.*
"Typhon! Typhon! Typhon!" As he left, the white bird cried out three times, its tone grave, like a warning.
"So you *can* talk." Bai Changming chuckled softly, shutting the door behind him.
With *Severing Snow* in hand, his spirits lifted. He wandered leisurely on his return, only realizing upon reaching Liuzhou that five days had passed.