Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

A short while later, a middle-aged man walked over quickly.

He was slightly overweight, with a fair complexion and no beard. He wore a dark blue dojo robe with silver thread embroidered on the cuffs, and a perfectly measured smile on his face.

"Mr. Siren, I am Belang, the vice-master of the dojo."

Siren nodded: "I want to enter the Wonderland."

Brenand glanced at the token, his smile unchanged:

"Of course. Since the owner has already given you the token, you can enter at any time."

However, the opening of this wondrous realm requires preparation. According to the rules, those entering must register their name, time, and items brought, and the entrance will be guarded by disciples of the dojo.

"Can."

Brenand was clearly surprised that he agreed so readily and was slightly taken aback.

"Aren't you waiting for the owner?"

"We have enough tokens."

Belang smiled and said, "That's more than enough."

He turned and led the way.

The two walked through the front yard, around the lecture hall, and arrived at a quiet courtyard at the back of the temple.

This place is completely different from the outside.

Several evergreen pines are planted in the courtyard, and the ground is covered with white sand, the sand patterns swept into a water ripple shape.

In the center is a small gray-tiled hall with its doors tightly closed. There are no statues on the doors, only an old, round bronze mirror.

The bronze mirror was dull and could not reflect a human face.

The closer Xilun got to the small temple, the more he could feel a slight spatial dislocation.

It's as if there's a door hidden behind it.

It was like the cold wind from the snow-capped mountains, blowing onto his skin from a great distance.

Brenand took out three keys and inserted them into the brass locks on either side of the temple door.

When the last key was inserted into the small hole at the bottom of the bronze mirror, ripples suddenly appeared on the surface of the mirror.

A low, rumbling sound came from inside the palace gates.

"Within the Snow Mountain Wonderland, time is roughly the same as in the outside world."

"The entrance will remain open for seven days," Bren said. "If you do not come out on your own after seven days, the dojo will attempt to guide you, but the environment of this wonderland is special, and guidance is not absolutely safe."

Xilun asked, "Besides the snow-capped mountains, what else is inside?"

"Ice Valley, Frosty Lake, Stone Forest, Ruins of an Old Temple," Belang answered fluently. "There are occasionally strange beasts in the area, mostly Frosty Deer, Snow Wolves, and Ice Crows. They're not too dangerous for a Tier 3 cultivator."

"What is the most dangerous thing?"

Brennan looked at him.

Xilun was also looking at him.

After a moment, Brendan laughed and said, "Getting lost, and being too confident that you won't get lost."

This answer sounds like the truth.

Xilun withdrew his gaze.

The palace doors slowly opened.

Inside the gate was not a small hall, but a vast expanse of white.

The wind and snow rushed towards him, fluttering the hem of his clothes.

Extremely cold.

It was also extremely clean.

There was no coal smoke, no rotten sweetness, and no sickly smell from the damp alleyways of the slums.

In that instant, the profound Yin coldness within Xilun's body seemed to hear the call of its kind from afar, and quietly but clearly raised its head.

He stepped inside.

The wind and snow swallowed the figure.

The palace doors were not closed immediately.

Beren stood outside the door, gazing into the pale depths, his smile gradually fading.

A disciple whispered, "Vice Master, should we notify the Master?"

Bérard remained silent for a moment.

"notify."

The disciple turned and left.

Brennan raised his hand and touched the edge of the bronze mirror, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

Daewoo Dojo has never been a charity.

Fowles had his reasons for issuing the token.

What's more troublesome is that Xilun is no longer a young man who can be easily manipulated.

Brenand was well aware of this.

He had personally witnessed Fowles standing silently before Risa's belongings, and had also heard the sound of the curator breaking wooden stakes while practicing boxing alone late at night.

Hatred, if left unchecked for too long, will fester and mold.

But if hatred is brought out into the open, it will draw blood again.

Fifteen minutes later, after hearing the report, Fowles put down his teacup.

His room was very simple.

A desk, a row of boxing manuals, and two medicine cabinets.

An old photo of Risa hangs on the wall.

The woman in the photo is wearing training clothes, her smile is bright, and there is a proud and passionate look in her eyes. Fowles stands in front of the photo, his expression calm to the point of indifference.

"He didn't notify me?"

Belang stood at the door, bowing his head, and said, "No, Mr. Xilun presented the black bronze token directly. According to the rules, I cannot refuse."

"You did the right thing."

Fowles picked up his coat.

Beren hesitated, then asked, "Master, are you also entering the country?"

"Um."

"Do you need to take on disciples?"

"unnecessary."

Fowles walked to the wall and took off a pair of black boxing gloves.

The gloves had no luster, and the knuckles were inlaid with dark metal, as if they had been soaked in blood and medicinal oil for many years.

Belang couldn't help but say, "Master, Xiren is now at Tier 3. Many people are watching him: Tusor, the Armed Insurgents, the Brotherhood, and the Black Death Cult. If something happens to him in the Dojo Wonderland..."

Fowles looked at him.

Brennan's voice trailed off.

Fowles did not get angry.

He simply said calmly, "I know."

"Then you..."

"I won't kill him at the entrance, nor will I burden the dojo with any public responsibility." Fowles put on his boxing gloves and tightened the straps one by one. "I'm just curious."

"curious?"

"What did he take when he first entered the Wonderland?"

Behring was taken aback.

Fowles looked up at Risa's photo.

"He grew up too fast, too fast for a young man from the downtown area, too fast to be explained by life-and-death battles alone."

Risa is dead, and some of the things she left behind have vanished. Now, he must enter Wonderland again.

His voice finally showed a little emotion.

It's very light.

But it's like an undercurrent pressing beneath the surface of ice.

"I want to see for myself what he will be looking for in the wonderland, and what he will gain."

Beren whispered, "If he discovers you're following him..."

"Then let him find out."

Fowles turned and walked outside.

"If a third-tier individual can't even bear being watched, they won't go any further."

Beren watched his retreating figure, his lips moved, but in the end he didn't try to persuade him any further.

In front of the small hall, the bronze mirror began to ripple again.

Fowles stood in the doorway, gazing at the snowstorm inside.

A moment later, he stepped inside.

Within the wonders of the snow-capped mountains.

Xilun stood on a slope, with the entrance light and shadow that had just closed behind him and endless pale mountains in front of him.

The wind whipped up snowflakes that brushed against my cheeks like tiny blades.

In the distance, mountain ridges undulate and ice-blue rift valleys crisscross the snowfield.

There was no sun in the sky, only a layer of pale, cold light shining down from behind the clouds, illuminating the world as vast and lonely.

Xiren took a deep breath.

The chill penetrates the lungs.

The Xuan Yin Breathing Technique operated naturally, and the Breath of the Styx River also flowed much more smoothly in this extremely cold environment.

He could feel his body slowly stretching out.

It's like a fish that has been trapped in a murky ditch for a long time, suddenly swimming into a cold and wide deep lake.

"It is indeed suitable for spiritual practice."

Xilun muttered to himself.

Instead of rushing into the depths of the snow-capped mountains, he first squatted down and grabbed a handful of snow.

The snowflakes were fine and hard, carrying a faint spiritual quality. When they landed in his palm, they didn't melt from his body heat; instead, they actively clung to his chill.

Xilun took a small amount of the rotten wood powder from the Cold Swamp and the sediment from the Underworld River and mixed it into the snow.

The grayish-black powder was enveloped by the white snow and quickly turned into a drop of dark ice water.

He closed his eyes and channeled the breath of the Styx.

The drop of ice water hovered, slowly rotating around the fingertip.

It's much more stable than when I was in the training room.

Xilun felt somewhat relieved.

He looked up into the distance.

Puji Temple.

Precious Tree.

The tree once said that if one cultivates oneself perfectly in these three aspects, one can obtain an opportunity.

Back then, he was still young, so he could only listen to half of what was said and believe half of it.

Now that he has reached the third level, looking back, many things in the wonderland may not be accidental.

The Da Yu Dojo uses the Wonderland as a resource for cultivation, but it may not have truly grasped all the secrets of the Wonderland.

Xilun stood up.

The wind and snow covered his footprints.

He walked in the direction of Puji Temple that he remembered.

Far behind, a figure appeared silently on the snow slope.

Fowles stood in the wind, not following immediately.

He looked down at the snow.

The footprints in Xilun are being rapidly buried by the wind and snow, but a faint chill still lingers, like a thin line extending into the depths of the wonderland.

Fowles' eyes were calm.

"Direction of ruins and relics."

He said softly.

"really."

As the wind and snow swept by, the two figures, one in front of the other, gradually disappeared into the vast expanse of white sky and earth.

……

The wind and snow quickly swallowed up the slope behind them.

As Xilun walked deep into the snow-capped mountains, the snow beneath his feet was held up by the cold, leaving no deep marks.

The cold here is different from the winters in Victoria.

The cold of Victoria, always tinged with the smells of coal smoke, rust, damp walls, and rotting sewers, is like a dirty hand, slowly groping into people's collars.

The cold and cleanliness here is almost cruel.

The wind blows from the distant snow-capped peaks, sweeps across the icy valleys, and passes through the stone forest, carrying a sense of vast emptiness that disregards life and death.

With each breath Xilun took, a subtle chill would rise in his chest.

The Xuan Yin Breathing Technique flowed quietly, and the breath of the Styx River was no longer as difficult as it had been in the underground training room. The dark blue, cold aura slowly traveled along the lungs, like a snake that had sunk to the bottom of an underground river and finally encountered a damp, cold stone wall suitable for crawling.

But he didn't become addicted to it.

The more suitable a place is for cultivation, the easier it is for people to forget the danger.

Will Fowles come in?

Will Daewoo Dojo take action at the entrance?

Has the Black Death cult's plague spread to more distant neighborhoods?

Where is Lund now?

These thoughts, like stones buried under snow, would occasionally prick his heart.

Siren stopped at the edge of a rift valley.

Ahead, icy fog surged, its depths unfathomable.

If it were an ordinary third-tier cultivator, they might have to take a detour, but he raised his hand and clenched his fist, forcibly drawing in the moisture seeping from the snow on both sides of the rift valley, condensing it into thin but tough ice chains that stretched across the wind and snow.

He stepped onto the ice rope.

The ice rope trembled slightly, but then stabilized.

The wind rushed up from the ravine beneath his feet, as if countless invisible hands were trying to drag him down.

Xilun did not bow his head.

He walked step by step across the ice rope, and when he landed on the opposite mountain wall, a thin layer of frost had formed on his palms.

This wonderland does not unfold exactly like the real terrain.

In his memory, the road to Puji Temple wasn't this long, but this time, it took him nearly two hours to finally see the half-collapsed stone forest.

Beyond the stone forest are old steps buried in snow.

At the end of the old steps, the ruined temple still stands.

Broken walls, broken monuments, a leaning gate tower, and charred beams weighed down by snow.

It lies quietly among the mountains, like a long-dead shell.

Xilun stood outside the door, his eyes slightly somber.

When he first came here, he was only at the first level, and his strength, vision, and situation were all far inferior to what they are now.

At that time, he only felt that the abandoned temple was secluded and the precious tree was mysterious.

Looking at it now, this site exudes an indescribable loneliness.

It was as if it did not belong to the Dayu Dojo, nor to the Snow Mountain Wonderland.

It just stays here, waiting for one short-lived person after another to pass by.

Xilun entered the abandoned temple.

The snow made a soft sound underfoot.

Only half of the stone lion's head remains in front of the hall, with ice accumulated in its mouth.

The side hall was in even worse shape, with several pillars leaning precariously against the roof, as if they could be broken by the next gust of wind at any moment.

But as he walked past the ruined gate of the main hall, the wind and snow around him suddenly subsided.

It hasn't stopped.

Instead, it was some gentle force that kept the wind and snow out of the ruins.

Xilun looked up.

He saw the tree.

The precious tree is still rooted in the center of the broken stone platform. Its branches are not tall, but they are vigorous and ancient, and its bark is covered with golden patterns.

The snow never falls on its leaves, and each leaf gleams with a faint, glassy light, like a very quiet fire burning in the cold.

There was no incense burner or prayer mat under the tree.

There were only a few cracked bluestones and a ring of lightly fallen leaves.

Xilun stood three zhang away, not in a hurry to approach.

The branches and leaves of the precious tree swayed gently.

An aged, gentle voice rang out in the hall.

"You're here again."

Xilun bowed his head slightly: "I've come to ask for a way."

Baoshu remained silent for a moment.

"The chill in your body is much deeper than last time."

"I was lucky enough to advance to the third rank."

"Just lucky?"

There seemed to be a faint hint of amusement in Baoshu's voice.

"Those who manage to escape from a dead end often like to say they were lucky. But every lucky escape is paved with blood and flesh."

Celen did not deny it.

He took a few steps closer and stopped in front of the stone platform.

The golden patterns on the precious tree glowed faintly, as if an ancient eye was looking at him, seeing from his skin to his bones, from his breath to the depths of his spirit.

The feeling of being seen through isn't sharp, but it's profound.

Siren offered no resistance.

There's no point in resisting this tree.

After a long while, Baoshu said, "Your body moves very fast, the chill penetrates to the bone, the water enters the internal organs, and there is a trace of thunderous echo protecting your mind."

But you left too hastily; many parts were not closed up, like a newly fired piece of porcelain—hard on the outside, but with hidden patterns inside.

Xilun said, "I know."

You don't know the whole story.

The leaves of the precious tree swayed gently.

"Some dark patterns are harmless under normal circumstances. But they will become weaknesses when they encounter plague, corruption, curses, or divine contamination."

Upon hearing the word "plague," Xilun's eyes turned slightly cold.

"In the city outside, the Black Death Cult is spreading the plague."

Baoshu did not answer immediately.

The abandoned hall was very quiet.

In the distance, the wind and snow crashed against the broken wall, making a low, mournful sound.

"Plagues are never simply diseases."

Baoshu said slowly, "Illness kills people, and plagues select people. It kills the weak, lets those who are suited to bear something live, and then makes the survivors think they have received a blessing."

Xiren recalled the people in the wanderer camp who had drunk the dark brown liquid.

I recalled the unusual, cold, damp sensation in the pregnant woman's abdomen.

I recall the black and red foam that exploded in Gray Seventeen's chest.

His fingers slowly tightened.

Is there any way to be unafraid of plague?

"have."

Baoshu answered very directly.

Xilun looked up.

Baoshu said, "Once you cultivate the Golden Body, external evils cannot enter, and internal filth cannot arise. Plagues, curses, and the aura of decay are all just external winds. If the wind cannot find a crack, it cannot enter the house."

Siren stepped forward: "How do I obtain it?"

The branches of the precious tree drooped slightly, as if scrutinizing him once again.