One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Outside the pipe inlet.

The very next second his figure disappeared into the pipe.

At the base of the "mother nest," which was covered in black ice, beneath the thick layer of ice, a dark red light, filled with violence and resentment, flickered stubbornly and weakly, like a candle in the wind.

It wasn't a "flash"—it "beat." Like a heart, beneath the ice, in the deepest darkness, in a place everyone thought was dead, it beat again.

"Click...click..."

A very faint sound, like ice cracking, quietly rang out in the deathly silent, frozen world.

The sound wasn't loud; it was so faint that you might not hear it if you were standing right next to it. But in this frozen, utterly silent space, it was as clear as a scream.

A hairline crack appeared on the ice. Starting from the base of the mother nest, it stretched upwards, upwards, as if an invisible hand had drawn a line on the ice.

Inside the pipe.

The road was not smooth.

The inner wall of the three-meter-diameter metal pipe was covered with rust and a strange slime. The rust was in patches, orange-red, like sores on the skin. The slime was transparent and slippery, feeling like snot to the touch; it was unclear what it was.

The ground was slippery, and many places had collapsed or become blocked due to years of disrepair. In some places, the ground had collapsed into a large pit filled with water, the depth of which was unknown; in other places, the ground was blocked by rubble, and one could only squeeze through the gaps between the rocks; in some places, the pipes were deformed, turning from round to oval, and one could only crawl through them.

Supporting each other, the group trudged forward in the darkness. The beams of their flashlights swayed back and forth against the metal pipe walls, illuminating sections of the pipes and the tired faces covered in blood and dust.

They were all worried about Nie Lingfeng, who was covering their retreat.

"Brother Nie... he'll be alright, right?"

While using lightning to illuminate the way ahead—white arcs of electricity shooting from his palm like a glowing snake winding through the pipe, illuminating the darkness ahead—Zhang Chulan couldn't help but ask for the nth time.

His voice carried an undisguised worry. That worry wasn't feigned; it came from his heart, like thorns that pricked him painfully.

"Shut up, save your energy for the journey."

Master Wang Ye weakly rebuked him. He was being supported by Feng Baobao and Zhang Lingyu, one on each side, his legs dragging on the ground, almost being pulled along. His breath was still weak, and his face was bloodless, like a person just dug out of a grave.

But there was also a deep worry in his eyes. That worry wasn't on his face, but in his eyes—it was a deep, heavy worry, pressing down on his heart like a stone.

He sensed the power of Nie Lingfeng's final strike. It was an explosive force beyond any limit. The power of that strike exceeded the upper limit of Nie Lingfeng's usual strength—at least 30%, or even more.

The cost will be far from small.

Chen Duo held Xiao Yun tightly, without saying a word, but silently quickened her pace.

Xiaoyun remained unconscious, but her breathing was steady, and her body temperature was slowly returning to normal. Her complexion changed from bluish-gray to sallow, and then to pale—although she was still bloodless, at least she no longer looked like a small corpse.

Bald Bear, leaning on a steel pipe and enduring the pain in his leg, limped along. The steel pipe pounded on the ground with a "thud, thud, thud," as fast as his heartbeat. He kept muttering "God bless me," "Buddha bless me," "The Three Pure Ones and the Taoist Ancestors bless me"... he probably prayed to every god and Buddha he knew. With each one he muttered, his pace quickened, as if he were racing against death.

The British elite in suits supported the unconscious Fujiwara Sousuke—no, Fujiwara Sousuke wasn't unconscious; he just had his eyes closed and his legs were still moving. But his eyes were closed, there were dried bloodstains at the corners of his mouth, and his face was ashen, like that of a dead man.

Catherine struggled to walk, gritting her teeth with each step. Her legs were trembling, not from the cold, but from spasms caused by excessive muscle strain.

Both of them looked grim, a mixture of relief at surviving a close call—if Nie Lingfeng hadn't covered their retreat and if Catherine hadn't desperately held up the ice wall, they would both be dead from that "Tyrant's" blow—and also a sense of dread about Nie Lingfeng's terrifying strength and uncertainty about the future.

If Nie Lingfeng isn't dead, and if he returns, what will happen next? The agreement is null and void. They'll be enemies again.

The passage seemed to have no end, only endless darkness and a suffocating sense of oppression.

I don't know how long I walked—maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour, maybe an hour—but finally a faint light appeared ahead.

The light was so faint that if you didn't look closely, you might mistake it for the reflection of a flashlight on a wall. But it wasn't a reflection, because it was flickering—no, it wasn't still. It was stationary, like a white dot fixed in the distance.

And... a faint sound of wind?

"Whoosh—whoosh—"

The wind wasn't loud, but inside the enclosed duct, every subtle sound was amplified. The wind didn't sound like it was coming from afar; it sounded more like it was coming from the world outside the duct.

"Exit! There's light ahead! It's the exit!"

Bald Bear was the first to shout excitedly. His voice echoed in the pipe, and after being reflected off the rock wall, it became a distorted, loud sound. The steel pipe pounded on the ground even faster, like a dense drumbeat.

Everyone perked up and quickened their pace.

The light drew closer. It transformed from a tiny white dot into a white disc, then into a white opening, and finally into a gateway to the outside world.

The sound of the wind grew clearer, whistling in and carrying a fresh, cool scent, unlike the polluted air underground.

That's the smell of soil.

It tastes like ice and snow.

It's the taste of freedom.

Finally, they burst out of the pipe.

Outside, it was the darkest hour before dawn.

There wasn't a ray of light on the horizon, and thick, low-hanging dark clouds overhead. The wind was strong, swirling up fine snowflakes that lashed against my face with a "whoosh—whoosh—" sound, feeling like countless tiny needles pricking me.

They were in a secluded mountain hollow. The hollow wasn't large, surrounded by mountains on three sides, with an opening on one side. The opening led to a dark, seemingly endless forest.

Behind us was a steep mountain wall covered in thick snow. The wall was so high that the top was invisible, its summit hidden in the clouds. The pipe's exit was concealed in a recess in the mountain wall, half-hidden by snow and withered vines.

The withered vines were thick, as thick as a person's arm, intertwined like dead snakes. The snow was thick; one step could sink up to your calves.

Looking around, all that could be seen were rolling, dark mountains and forests covered in white snow. The outlines of the mountains and forests appeared and disappeared in the darkness, like a group of giant beasts crouching on the horizon.

In the distance, a faint sliver of dawn was struggling to emerge on the horizon. It wasn't bright, but gray—the kind of ambiguous, uncertain color the sky displays when it's about to brighten, neither fully light nor fully dark.

They finally escaped from that hellish underground base!

"It's out...it's really out..."

Zhang Chulan plopped down in the snow.

With a "plop," the snow was pressed down, creating a crater, and snowflakes splashed all over him. He didn't mind the cold or the wetness; he just lay there in the snow, his limbs outstretched like a star.

I breathed in the cold but fresh air deeply. Each breath carried the taste of ice and snow, cool and refreshing, seeping into my mouth, my throat, and my lungs. The air was clean, odorless, and free of any bloody smell.

It felt like I had walked through hell and crawled back up; my bones felt like they were falling apart, every muscle ached, and every joint was groaning. But deep down, I felt an indescribable sense of relief and... lingering fear.

If Nie Ge hadn't covered their retreat. If Wang Ye's time stop hadn't succeeded. If Catherine's ice wall hadn't held. If they had been even a second slower.

He dared not think about it anymore.

The others also collapsed to the ground, some sitting, some leaning, greedily breathing in the air of freedom to ease their tense nerves and physical exhaustion. The relief of surviving the ordeal temporarily overshadowed their pain and worry about Nie Lingfeng.

Master Wang was gently placed on a relatively flat patch of snow by Zhang Lingyu. His eyes were closed, his breathing was weak, but his complexion was better than when he was on the ground. Zhang Lingyu took out a handkerchief from his bosom—it was white and neatly folded, and he didn't know where it came from—and gently wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

The suited man placed Fujiwara Sousuke and Catherine under a large tree, leaning them against the trunk. Fujiwara Sousuke was still unconscious, while Catherine closed her eyes, leaning against the trunk, breathing heavily. Her face was still pale, but her lips were no longer purple.

Chen Duo knelt in the snow and laid Xiao Yun flat on a clean patch of snow. She took out a small porcelain bottle from her bosom, poured out a vermilion pill, and put it into Xiao Yun's mouth. Xiao Yun swallowed unconsciously, her Adam's apple bobbing as she swallowed the pill.

Then, she gently placed her hand on Xiaoyun's forehead, feeling her body temperature. Xiaoyun's forehead was no longer hot; it was warm.

Bald Bear slumped in the snow, the steel pipe lying to one side, panting heavily like a fish washed ashore. His face was buried in the snow, yet he didn't seem to feel the cold.

Feng Baobao did not sit down. She stood beside the pipe entrance, her katana held horizontally in front of her, her eyes fixed on the dark depths of the pipe, like a stone statue.

She was waiting for Nie Lingfeng.

However, this relief did not last long.

"Cough cough..."

A soft cough came from deep inside the pipe.

The sound wasn't loud, but amidst the howling wind, everyone heard it clearly. It was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, creating ripples.

Everyone sprang to their feet instantly!

Zhang Chulan sprang up from the snow, Feng Baobao's hand rested on the hilt of her knife, and Zhang Lingyu's hands emerged from her sleeves, black and white qi flowing in her palms. Chen Duo hugged Xiaoyun tightly, took two steps back, and warily watched the pipe exit.

The suit-wearing elite's hand also touched the energy pistol that had run out of bullets, and ice crystals began to condense on Catherine's palm—only a thin layer, but better than nothing.

In the darkness, a staggering figure, supporting itself against the pipe wall, struggled to emerge.

It was Nie Lingfeng!

The flashlight beam shone over.

He looked worse than anyone had imagined.

His face was as pale as paper—not just "pale," but "paper-white." So pale it didn't look like a living person's face, more like it was covered with white paper. His lips were devoid of color, a grayish-white, like tree branches frozen to death in winter.

The black coat he was wearing had several tears and scorch marks. The cuffs were burned, the hem was torn in several places, and there was a large area on the back that looked like it had been corroded by something. The coat was no longer recognizable as its original color—it was a mixture of blood black, scorched black, and mud black, all of which had turned into gray.

The clothing at the chest and shoulders was torn, revealing deep, bone-revealing wounds that had stopped bleeding and were frozen solid by the cold. The worst wound was on the left shoulder, a gash running from the collarbone down to the deltoid muscle, the flesh torn open to reveal the white bone beneath. The edges of the wound were frozen bluish-black, there was no bleeding, no infection—no, there was infection, but it was frozen solid.

Especially the charred burn mark on his ribs, where the gray shadow had grazed, had now spread into an unhealthy bluish-black. The bluish-black color radiated outwards from the wound, like a black flower in bloom. The blood vessels beneath his skin had turned black, as if something was growing and spreading within his body.

His aura was extremely weak, so weak that Zhang Chulan, using his Qi to sense it, almost thought he was dead—his Qi was so faint, like a flickering candle in the wind, ready to go out at any moment.

He walked with faltering steps, each step a struggle in the snow, his feet dragging on the ground as if he couldn't lift them. A long drag mark was left in the snow, like a furrow plowed out.

It looked like it might collapse at any moment.

The Snow Drinking Blade in his hand had vanished, clearly retrieved by him—no, not retrieved, the Snow Drinking Blade disappeared on its own. When the master's Qi is insufficient to sustain the blade's existence, the blade will dissipate on its own and return to its "blade case."

"Brother Nie!"

"Brother Lingfeng!"

Zhang Chulan and Chen Duo exclaimed in surprise and rushed over to support him.

Zhang Chulan braced his right arm, while Chen Duo supported his left. Nie Lingfeng's weight pressed down on the two of them, like a mountain about to collapse.

He swayed, leaning almost his entire weight on the two of them to barely keep his balance. If Zhang Chulan and Chen Duo hadn't been supporting him, he probably would have fallen to the ground.

"I...I'm fine."

His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. It sounded like sandpaper rubbing against his throat, or like cotton stuffed in his throat. Every word seemed to be squeezed out with all his might.

He glanced at everyone. His gaze moved from Zhang Chulan's face to Chen Duo's, then to Zhang Lingyu's, then to Wang Ye's, then to Feng Baobao's, then to the bald bear's, then to the suited elite and Catherine's, and finally—

Xiao Yun, still unconscious, lay in Chen Duo's arms.

Xiaoyun's face was buried in the blanket, with only a small part of her forehead showing. The bluish-gray on her forehead had faded, leaving a pale color, but at least it was the white of a living person.

A hint of relief flashed in his eyes. It was a very faint emotion, fleeting and almost imperceptible unless you looked closely. But Zhang Chulan saw it, and so did Chen Duo.

Then, an even deeper weariness enveloped it. That weariness wasn't physical, but spiritual. It was the kind of overwhelming, irresistible weariness that welled up from the depths of one's bones when one had finally been able to stop after carrying too much, walking too long, and giving too much.

"First...let's leave here...and find a safe place..."

"Yes! Let's get out of this awful place first!"

Zhang Chulan nodded quickly.

Together with the others, they helped Nie Lingfeng determine the direction—roughly towards the border, where their people, company people, and a safe place were located.

Supporting each other, they stumbled and walked deeper into the mountains and forests.

The snow was deep; every step sank into it. The wind was strong, and the snowflakes stung my face like needles. The sky was dark, with only a sliver of pale light slowly and laboriously brightening on the distant horizon.

I just want to get away from that nightmarish place as soon as possible.

They didn't notice.

Or rather, exhaustion and pain made them overlook—

Shortly after they left.

Inside that hidden pipe outlet.

In the depths of darkness.

A faint, extremely slight "crackling" sound, like countless tiny ice crystals shattering simultaneously, could be heard.

The sound was very faint, as faint as an ant walking across the snow. But if you put your ear to the opening of the pipe, you would hear—it was the ice cracking.

Then came a low, venomous, and seemingly hellish howl filled with hunger before disappearing again.