Seven Nights of Snow — Chapter 1: Prologue. Part 1

The snow had started falling at an unknown time.

It was so heavy, like a silent swarm of butterflies descending from the cold grey clouds, passing through the vast fir forests and covering the land. In the blink of an eye, the desolate plains were blanketed in white.

By the time Huo Zhan Bai had caught his breath, snow had already covered the edge of his sword.

Red snow fell onto the pitch-black sword. The stench of blood made his stomach spasm—he hadn’t eaten for two days and one night. To think, for someone like him who always prided himself on never staining his hands with blood, he had killed… far too many this time.

He panted heavily, yet didn’t dare move a muscle. His arm remained stiff, frozen in the posture of having just thrust his sword.

It had been an exceptionally brutal standoff: his sword had pierced through his opponent’s chest, pinning him to a deep black fir tree. At the same time, the assassin wearing the white jade mask had driven his blade into Huo Zhan Bai’s side, piercing through his right rib and into his lung. After that deadly blow, both men had reached the limits of their strength, gasping for breath.

Any slight movement from either side would result in mutual destruction.

For a moment, the wasteland was as silent as death.

The snow continued to fall, endless and unyielding. The towering fir trees, like cold gravestones, pointed skyward. In the midst of the forest, Huo Zhan Bai and the silver-clad assassin stood locked in their final stance, their swords embedded in each other’s bodies.

Huo Zhan Bai carefully drew breath, feeling the expanding lungs within his chest brush against the cold blade.

He struggled to maintain his stance and consciousness, refusing to pass out before his opponent fell. In front of him, the chest pierced by his sword rose and fell rapidly, and the eyes behind the white jade mask were slowly dimming.

It seemed that his opponent had also reached the end of his strength.

Despite several attempts, the assassin’s sword, lodged in Huo Zhan Bai’s ribs, had become stuck. The blade was caught between his bones, unable to fully penetrate his lung. At last, the masked figure’s head tilted slightly and fell, lifeless and silent.

Huo Zhan Bai exhaled quietly—after all, he had won!

In such cold on the snowy plains, had the standoff continued, both of them would likely have frozen to death. His gaze remained fixed on the white jade mask just inches away, and with painstaking slowness, he shifted his weight backward, carefully pulling the assassin’s sword from his lung.

Only a small amount of blood trickled out.

In the bitter cold, the blood froze the moment it surfaced, sealing the wound.

It took him the time it would take to drink a cup of tea to move half a foot away. After completely withdrawing from his opponent, he pressed his hand against his injured right side. This battle on the snowy plains—facing twelve Silver Wings alone—had left even the famed Huo Zhan Bai, said to be the finest swordsman in the central plains, with thirteen major injuries.

But this should be the last one, right?

If he didn’t get to the Medicine Master’s Valley soon, he feared he wouldn’t make it.

As he pulled his sword out, the silver-clad assassin, with whom he had fought nearly a hundred rounds to the death, collapsed against the fir tree, leaving a streak of blood on the trunk.

With a “crack,” the mask on the assassin’s face shattered the moment his body hit the snow.

Huo Zhan Bai jumped back, startled, instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword again, scanning the assassin’s body. However, the life had indeed already drained from him. The snow fell onto his face, unmelted.

“Sigh, so young… already throwing your life away in such fights…” he muttered, and before the assassin’s body hit the ground, his sword, like a snake, had already darted out, slicing through the layers of the assassin’s clothes. His blade skillfully searched the body from top to bottom.

But only the wind whistled through the tattered clothing, howling emptily as it continued its journey.

Nothing.

Huo Zhan Bai froze, his entire body wracked with sudden pain from his wounds, almost making him collapse.

How could this be? This was the last of the twelve Silver Wings. After that chaotic four-sided battle in the Qilian Mountains, the treasure had been taken by this group, and he had followed their trail, intending to strike from behind. This man should have been the leader—if the item wasn’t on him, then where could it be?

Huo Zhan Bai frowned, kneeling on the snow. Refusing to give up, he bent down to search again.

Without that final medicinal ingredient, the pill could not be made, and Mo’er’s health was worsening by the day. For eight years, he had roamed the world, painstakingly gathering the other ingredients. How could he fail at the last moment?

He kept searching. He was so close that when he looked up, he could see the assassin’s eyes—half-closed, they gazed blankly toward the sky, with a strange mix of coldness, detachment, and a hint of mockery. The whites of his eyes glowed faintly blue.

That pale blue tint would be imperceptible without the white snow for contrast.

Just one look made Huo Zhan Bai’s heart skip a beat. He felt an invisible force rising from within, constricting his body from the inside out. That sudden dizziness made him almost lose his grip on his sword.

Something’s wrong! Completely wrong!

Instinctively, he tried to leap back, to draw his sword, to guard himself—but he could do none of it. In an instant, his body felt paralyzed, as if his acupoints had been struck. He couldn’t even move his eyes.

What’s happening? This feeling… what is it?!

His body and gaze were firmly "nailed" in place by an invisible force, unable to move.

Then, he saw that pair of pale blue "dead" eyes begin to move.

With just a slight shift, those eyes opened, locking directly onto his own. They were so clear and pure, yet unfathomably deep. Just one glance sent a chill through his entire body, as if pierced by blades and spears, making his hair stand on end.

This is bad! He cried out inwardly, but he couldn’t break his gaze, forced to remain kneeling in the snow.

Compared to the strange pallor of the whites of those eyes, the color of the pupils was normal—black, but so intense, like ink that couldn’t be diluted or a night that couldn’t be cut through. Yet, reflected against the pale eyes, they wove together an indescribably eerie spectrum of colors. The moment those glassy, otherworldly eyes opened, Huo Zhan Bai’s entire body became paralyzed, as if cursed.

In that instant, Huo Zhan Bai recalled the legends of secret techniques circulating through the martial world, and his heart turned cold—

Eye magic? Could this… be the legendary eye technique?

Snowflakes continued to fall, melting on his forehead like cold sweat. The silver-winged assassin, lying in the snow, opened his eyes, a faint smile appearing at the corners of his lips, his gaze disturbingly strange. Though he had awakened, the snow on his face remained unmelted, and even his breath was cold, like a ghost returning from the underworld.

“This is Soul Enchantment,” the assassin murmured, gently pressing his wound as he struggled to sit up against the fir tree. “Seventh Master of the Dingjian Pavilion, you’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

Huo Zhan Bai was suddenly alarmed. Although he had concealed his identity on this journey, the assassin had already recognized him.

The assassin smiled faintly, but his eyes were cold: “Just a bit more, and I would’ve truly died under your Moxun Sword.”

Huo Zhan Bai couldn’t respond—his voice had been frozen as well.

Soul Enchantment… could such an eye technique really still exist in this world? Wasn’t it said that after the old man from the mountains, Huo En, was killed by the priest of the Moon-Worshiping Sect a century ago, the eye technique had been lost? How could anyone in the martial world still possess such an ability?

“I didn’t expect you were also after the Ten-Thousand-Year Dragon Blood Scarlet Cold Pearl… I thought the Seventh Master didn’t even want to be the head of the Dingjian Pavilion, that you were someone above all this,” the assassin said, struggling to his feet. He glanced at Huo Zhan Bai, who was frozen in the snow, and suddenly sneered. “But too bad, I’m also determined to get it.”

He turned, raised his palm, and struck the fir tree behind him.

With a cracking sound, the ancient bark split open, and a blood-red pearl dropped into his hand.

Huo Zhan Bai let out a low gasp but still couldn’t move.

That’s it! The Ten-Thousand-Year Dragon Blood Scarlet Cold Pearl—when had he hidden it in the tree during their battle? Qiu Shui… she… was counting on this to save Mo’er’s life! He couldn’t die here… he absolutely couldn’t die here.

But no matter how hard he struggled, his body remained immobilized, as if hypnotized, an overwhelming force suppressing him. Under that cold, dark gaze, even his consciousness was being slowly devoured, his eyes gradually losing focus.

How… how could such sorcery exist?

This assassin was still so young—how could he possess the oppressive power that only the elders of the demonic cult wielded?

The silver-winged assassin coughed softly, his voice light but cold. Though he had gained the upper hand, all his subordinates had been killed, and his own body had reached its limit. Along the way, he had seized the Dragon Blood Pearl from the four factions at Qilian Mountain and had been pursued and ambushed ever since. Now, in the fir forest, he had encountered one of the most formidable swordsmen in the central plains!

His breathing became labored, and a throbbing pain began to pulse in his head. Using the eye technique drained a significant amount of spiritual energy, and if this continued, his recurring headaches would strike again. He said no more and slowly raised his hand amid the wind and snow.

As his hand lifted, so did Huo Zhan Bai’s, as if pulled by invisible strings like a puppet.

“Remember this—my name is ‘Tong’.” The eyes behind the mask were icy cold.

Tong? The top-ranking mysterious assassin of the Grand Light Palace from the demonic cult?

So, the demonic cult had also sent people to Qilian Mountain to fight for the Dragon Blood Pearl! The demonic cult’s Asura Arena was known for its legion of assassins. Even centuries ago, the founder of Dingjian Pavilion, Master Shu Ye, had emerged from their ranks. Over the past hundred years, their elite assassins had continued to rise, impressing and threatening the martial world of the central plains.

And Tong, standing before him now, was said to be the most exceptional assassin in the past century.

In that moment, Huo Zhan Bai realized the gravity of his mistake!

Tong’s hand slowly moved toward his neck, his glassy eyes emitting a chilling gleam.

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