The Blasphemous Way

Pitter-patter...

Snow lay thick upon the mountain path, soft as breath, untouched but for a single line of footprints: Li Qiong's.

His robes, once soaked, had frozen stiff at the edges. But he didn't feel the cold.

He followed the trail of the fox.

A set of light, precise pawprints curved toward a nearby stream, barely visible against the crystalline snow. Three tails' worth of pattern swayed behind the path.

And behind it... a scent. The faintest trace of spiritual residue. An aura not fully beast, not fully spirit—a demonic beast in transformation, perhaps.

He reached the stream.

Here, the snow thinned to glassy ice, broken only where water still flowed beneath. Steam rose faintly where qi clashed with nature. The trail ended at the water's edge.

Li Qiong knelt.

He placed a hand over the last pawprint and closed his eyes.

"Still fresh."

Anticipation.

The snowstorm had raged for three days and nights. Now, thick flakes tapped softly against the roof of Li Qiong's small mountain dwelling, the world outside drowned in whiteness.

Inside, the only sound was the faint crackle of burning wood and Li Qiong's brush dragging ink across paper.

He knelt before the Blizzard Rose.

Now thriving in a frozen stream, the flower was alive—glowing faintly with bright light. A boost to his cultivation. To wield ice as Dao. To refine its essence and complete his realm.

He had carved out a chamber in the ice and lined its entrance with talismans in a perfect circle. At its center sat the Rose—its petals glass-like, tremulous and vast, larger than a pumpkin, adorned in orbiting flakes of particle snow. From this stillness, he would pour his qi and merge his consciousness with the flower. If he succeeded, he would claim the blizzard itself; if he failed, his lungs and blood would freeze solid and shatter from within.

This was the perfect place. No men here—only wind and beasts. Human cultivators were always more troublesome. And with the storm clouding heaven's sense, no one would detect the treasure's aura.

He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes.

Within him, the aperture of his spirit stirred—a sea of green vitality churning with ancient disorder.

Primordial qi surged outward, threading into the Rose's crystalline stem. It glowed fiercely, pulsing in harmony. Outside, the snow began to tremble. He kept the flow precise, trapping the Rose in a suspended state—neither life nor death, only intent and will.

Then a low howl echoed from the woods outside. Mournful. Distant.

A moment later, it burst into the chamber—white fur swirling like moonlit snow. Its jade-blue eyes locked onto Li Qiong, glowing with fury.

Refinement, interrupted.

The talismans lit and cracked. The formation burned. Petals of ice shattered through the air. The storm screamed louder. Still, Li Qiong did not flinch.

The fox lunged.

A blur of claws and fangs. Its strike pierced flesh. Blood spilled. He remained motionless, his gaze calm.

It snapped again, this time for his throat.

He said one word.

"Stop."

And the world obeyed.

Everything froze. The Rose pulsed with steady rhythm.

Snowflakes hovered mid-air. The wind was caught mid-howl.

Time slowed.

His qi shrank back into him. The aperture within trembled under the rising pressure.

The Rose drank white essence like breath in winter.

Li Qiong clenched his jaw, forcing more qi into the stem. A deep tone pulsed from the flower like a buried heartbeat.

His meridians screamed. The Rose fought back. His vision dimmed. His breath shallowed. Sweat turned to ice across his brow.

Still, he pressed forward.

The Blizzard Rose flared, shedding fragments of living frost in radiant crescent arcs.

The air grew thin. The sound of his heart rang in his ears like a war drum.

He exhaled. Trembling.

His entire body was encased in crystal frost.

Days passed, weeks passed, months passed. The fox's relentless attack stopped.

Then—

Crack.

The ice shattered from his skin. Steam hissed into the cold.

He stood tall.

He had done it.

The fox stirred beside him, its fur steaming from residual frost. It looked at him—not with fear, but with wary recognition.

Li Qiong extended a hand, brushing lightly against its ear.

It growled, low in its throat. But did not strike.

He rose to his feet, steady.

A radiant light washed over his body.

And beyond the cave, the storm began to fade, falling silent like a held breath released.