The icy terror coiled around Jiang Jiang's heart like a venomous snake, each heartbeat tugging at the tearing pain in his left shoulder. The roar of the tour bus engine filled his ears, yet it could not drown out the image in his mind—those cold, scrutinizing eyes peering down from the vent—the eyes of the Gray-Coated Man. Jiang Jiang knew the man would never let him go. The "Ice Burial" protocol… even the name alone carried a suffocating chill.
The bus stopped at a dilapidated little station on the edge of Dawson City. Jiang Jiang practically stumbled down the steps, darting quickly into a snow-filled alley. The wind drove icy flakes against his face, but instead of numbing him, it brought a brief clarity to his blood-loss-hazed mind. He had to treat his wound—then vanish.
Dawson City, a border town that had risen and faded with the Gold Rush, was now little more than a transfer point for polar tourism. Low, weather-beaten wooden buildings lined the streets, signs advertising souvenir shops and cheap motels swinging in the wind. Sweeping the area with his Medical Eye, Jiang Jiang avoided the chain pharmacies with surveillance cameras, finally stopping before an inconspicuous "Old Jack's General Store," smelling faintly of aged medicine and leather. The shopkeeper was a wrinkled, cloud-eyed Inuit elder.
"Gauze… alcohol… hemostatic powder… and the strongest liquor you've got," Jiang Jiang said quickly in English, placing a few Canadian bills on the counter. He tried to keep his voice steady, but the pale face and dark red seeping from his shoulder told their own story.
Old Jack glanced at the wound, then at the young man's frightened yet determined expression. Without a word, he slowly fetched the requested items, then added a small roll of dried, pungent-smelling moss. "Bear claw get you? Mash this, press it on. Old way, stops bleeding fast." His voice was as rough as sandpaper.
"Thanks." Jiang Jiang grabbed the supplies, adding some high-calorie food and water before hurrying out.
At the edge of town, he found an abandoned miner's shack, nearly buried in snow. The wood was rotting, the wind slipping through the gaps, but it would keep out the worst of the storm. Leaning against the icy wall, Jiang Jiang bit the cap off the liquor bottle and took a hard swig. The fiery burn from throat to stomach chased away some of the cold—and gave him a spark of courage.
Treating the wound was torture from hell itself. He bit open the alcohol bottle and poured the stinging liquid directly over the claw marks, deep enough to see bone. Agony exploded through him, blackening his vision and wracking his body with spasms. He clamped a rag between his teeth, a muffled groan tearing from his throat as sweat and blood soaked his clothes. The Medical Eye showed the wound's scorched, necrotic edges… and faint traces of dark red energy wriggling like living worms along the torn flesh—blocking the healing. Poison, carried on the altered killer's claws.
"Damn it!" He shoved the moss into his mouth, chewing it into a pulp, mixing it with the hemostatic powder before pressing it hard onto the wound. A strange coolness laced with heat seeped into him—the moss seemed to restrain the alien toxin, slowing the crawl of the red energy. Wrapping the wound tightly in gauze, binding his coat around himself, Jiang Jiang finally slumped back, panting, each breath heavy with the taste of iron.
He pulled out the pale blue ice-slice map. Under the gaze of the Medical Eye, the 3D image of "Hanyuan" appeared once more. The coordinates pointed to a barren area northwest of Dawson City—marked on the map only as "Old Mining District & Permafrost Zone – Hazard." Not far, but in his condition, trekking through a blizzard would be suicide.
More pressing was shaking off Dark Medical Gate's pursuit. The Gray-Coated Man's cold eyes clung to him like a parasite. Jiang Jiang touched the jade pendant at his chest; it could mask the active fluctuations of the Medical Eye, but it couldn't hide the environmental disturbances from using it—nor the simple physical trail of a living person.
Then—suddenly—the brass acupuncture case in his coat gave off a faint, unexpected warmth. At the same moment, the dormant micro-carvings inside shimmered with tiny glimmers of energy, resonating with the ice map!
Guidance? The thought struck him—perhaps what Lin Jiuzhen left him was more than just a map. Bringing the ice slice closer to the brass case—
Hum!
The instant they touched, a weak but distinct ripple of energy spread outward. The Hanyuan valley image remained unchanged, but several previously unremarkable characters carved inside the box lit up, projecting a new line of text onto the coordinates:
"Where the gold veins run dry, the wraith points the way. 1898, the Blood-Tear Stained Path."
1898? A gold mine? Dawson's history came rushing back—the height of the Klondike Gold Rush, when miners flooded in… and countless died in the dark. The "gold veins run dry" could mean a long-abandoned mine. The "wraith points the way"… combined with the mystical nature of the Xuantian Medical Lineage, it sent a chill down his spine.
But this was his only chance at a hidden route—one Dark Medical Gate might not be watching. Abandoned mines were labyrinthine, deep underground, shielding him from detection—and perhaps… leading straight to Hanyuan.
No more hesitation. Outside, the sky sagged under heavy clouds, brewing a greater storm. That cold, hunted feeling still gnawed at his back.
Stuffing the remaining food and water into his pack, using a sturdy branch as a crutch, Jiang Jiang plunged into the snowstorm. Guided by the Medical Eye's vision and sense of direction, he avoided main roads and possible surveillance, heading toward the scar in the land—the forgotten minefields.
The wind howled, visibility dropping fast. Snow reached his knees, draining his strength with every step. His shoulder throbbed with stabbing agony, blood soaking the bandages again. Teeth clenched, the Medical Eye worked to keep his bearings and watch for pursuit.
He didn't know how long he walked before night swallowed the sky, leaving only the shriek of the storm. Finally, before a mound like a giant's grave, the Eye pierced the snow to reveal—
A rotting, half-boarded mine entrance, black as a gaping maw. An iron sign lay in the snow, so rusted the words were almost gone: "…No. 8 Shaft… 1898…"
Here.
He tore away the snow and boards. A stench of mold, dust, and something deeper—cold and ancient—rolled out. The tunnel sloped downward, rails broken and rotted.
Just as he stepped inside, the Eye caught several heat signatures closing fast through the snow—enemy pursuit, fanning out to encircle him.
"Damn!" He dove in, shoving a loose boulder down to block the mouth, buying precious seconds.
Inside was utter darkness and silence, broken only by his harsh breathing. The air was wet and bone-cold. Cobwebs and ice hung thick on the walls. Soon, the tunnel split into multiple branches like a maze.
Leaning on the wall, Jiang Jiang activated the Eye at full strength, scanning the chaotic energy fields around him. Following the faintest trace, seemingly northwest, he pushed deeper.
Drips, falling stones—each sound boomed in the silence. The Eye revealed relics wedged into the rock—rusted pickaxes, shredded boots, even bits of bone.
Then—light swept across a broader chamber, and he froze.
A shape crouched in the shadows, back to him, wearing tattered, mud-stained cloth, head buried in its knees, shoulders shaking. A crushing sadness and despair rolled out like icy water.
"Who… who's there?" His voice cracked. Fingers closing around the silver needles in his pocket, the Eye locked on the figure.
No reply—only stronger grief.
The beam edged closer—
The head snapped up.
No face. Or rather—no human face. Just churning gray-black smoke, with two scarlet embers flaring to life, staring into him.
A low, inhuman whisper detonated in his skull—direct to his mind, bypassing air. An icepick of pure malice slammed into his consciousness; his vision reeled.
A wraith! This was what the box's guidance had named.
Gritting his teeth, his life-force surged, the Eye's warmth shielding his mind. In its special sight, the smoke was not mere mist—it was tangled, broken energy channels, a furious soul-flame, and—shockingly—a faint trace of ancient silver needle energy, kin to Lin Jiuzhen's.
This wraith had once been touched by the Xuantian lineage… perhaps a miner treated, yet doomed here.
"1898… blood and tears…" he whispered, sending calm intent through his gaze. "I'm not your enemy… I seek Hanyuan… to ease the hate…"
The smoke stilled. The malice ebbed slightly. One blurred "hand" lifted, pointing toward a blocked branch.
"That… way…" came the fractured, pained whisper. "…pain… cold… source… seal… needle…"
Before he could respond, the sound of rocks shifting and boots pounding came from behind—along with clipped, electronic beeps. Dark Medical Gate.
The wraith sensed them, scarlet eyes blazing. It swelled into a wall of rage, blocking the passage.
"Go…" The last echo hit his mind. "…they… defile… death… take… pain…"
Jiang Jiang didn't hesitate. One last glance at the guarding shadow, then he plunged toward the black branch. Behind him came the pursuers' shouts, the thrum of energy weapons, and the wraith's silent, defiant scream.
He didn't know how long it could hold them—only that the blocked, half-collapsed path ahead was his only route… toward Hanyuan and the truth.