Frost Immortal: Born from Betrayal.

Shadows in the Forbidden Library 1

The frost on the training dummies hadn't even begun to melt by the time Liu Jin had shattered his fourth wooden blade of the morning. The wood splintered with a sharp, ugly crack, the shards flying into the dirt like shrapnel. He stood in the centre of the clearing, his chest heaving, his palms raw and stinging from the impact.

"Again," he muttered, reaching for the rack of practice weapons.

"Jin, for the love of the Heavens, stop. You're going to break the rack next, and then Deacon Wu will have both our heads on a platter."

Jiang Feng was leaning against a nearby cedar tree, tossing a small, flame-red apple in the air. He looked remarkably relaxed for someone who had been watching his best friend descend into a frantic, obsessive spiral for the last three days.

"I’m stagnant, Feng," Liu Jin said, his voice tight. He grabbed another sword, testing its weight. It felt like a lead pipe in his hand. "Since that night in the mist... everything feels slow. My Qi is sluggish. It’s like I’m trying to run through waist-deep water."

"That night was a freak occurrence, mate," Jiang Feng said, taking a loud, crunching bite of the apple. "The Elders said it was a localized elemental surge. Rare, scary, but over. Everyone is fine. Xueru is fine. Why are you acting like the world is about to end?"

Liu Jin turned to him, his eyes unusually sharp. "Because I couldn't see, Feng. I had all this 'talent' and 'skill' everyone keeps talking about, and I was useless. If that mist had been a real enemy, Xueru would be..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. The memory of her voice cutting off, the sound of something hitting the ground—it had haunted his sleep every night since the tournament.

"She’s not, though," Jiang Feng pointed out, tossing the apple core into the bushes. "She’s currently in the medicinal gardens, probably wondering why her favourite i***t is out here trying to murder inanimate objects instead of having lunch with her."

"I can't go to lunch," Liu Jin snapped, then immediately softened his tone. "I just... I need a breakthrough, Feng. Master Han’s words... he said my heart is my greatest burden. He said I need to become a weapon. But how? The standard Azure Flow techniques aren't doing it anymore. I can feel the ceiling, and I’m hitting my head against it."

Jiang Feng straightened up, his playful expression flickering into something more serious. "Master Han has a way of making everything sound like a prophecy of doom. Don't let him get into your head, Jin. You're the top disciple for a reason. You're twenty. You aren't supposed to be an Immortal yet."

"I don't want to be an Immortal," Liu Jin whispered, looking at his shaking hands. "I want to be enough."

"You are enough. Now, drop the stick. Let's go get some noodles before I actually starve to death. I can feel my stomach starting to digest itself."

Liu Jin looked at the practice dummy, then at the splintered wood at his feet. He felt a profound sense of dissatisfaction, a hollow ache in his marrow that no amount of physical exertion seemed to fill. "Go ahead, Feng. I'll catch up. I want to stop by the archives first."

"The archives? On a Tuesday? You really have lost it," Jiang Feng groaned, waving a hand over his shoulder as he started down the path. "Fine. But if there’s no duck left by the time you get to the hall, don't come crying to me!"

Liu Jin watched him leave, the silence of the mountain settling back over the clearing. He didn't move for a long time. The air was crisp, scented with pine and the faint, metallic tang of his own exhaustion.

He didn't actually know why he wanted to go to the archives. It was an impulse, a tugging sensation at the back of his mind that had started the moment he woke up that morning. The Azure Sect's library was a massive, labyrinthine structure built into the side of the highest peak, filled with thousands of scrolls on history, philosophy, and the countless variations of their sword styles.

As he walked through the heavy, iron-bound doors of the Great Library, the smell of old parchment and beeswax enveloped him. It was usually a place of peace for him, but today, it felt oppressive. The shelves seemed to lean in, the knowledge within them feeling suddenly inadequate.

He wandered past the familiar sections—the Azure Wave Manuals, the Cloud-Step Treatises—searching for something he couldn't name. He nodded absently to a few junior disciples who looked at him with awe, their whispers trailing in his wake.

There he is. The Star of Azure.

I heard he broke four dummies this morning. His power must be incredible.

Liu Jin ignored them. He felt like a fraud.

He found himself drifting toward the back of the library, where the light of the enchanted lamps grew dim and the scrolls were coated in a finer layer of dust. This was the historical section, mostly filled with the tedious genealogies of long-dead sect masters and records of border disputes from three centuries ago.

He was reaching for a book on the Formation of the Northern Valleys when he felt it.

A draft.

It was faint, barely a tickle against his skin, but it was impossibly cold. It didn't smell like the library's stale air; it smelled like the high glaciers, like air that hadn't been breathed by living lungs in an eternity.

Liu Jin frowned, his hand pausing in mid-air. He looked at the floor, then at the heavy oak shelf in front of him. The draft was coming from behind the wood.

"That shouldn't be there," he whispered to himself.

He stepped closer, pressing his palm against the back of the shelf. The wood was freezing. He pushed, expecting it to be solid, but there was a subtle give. A click echoed through the silent aisle, a sound like a bone snapping in the dark.

The shelf didn't swing open like a door in a stage play. Instead, a narrow segment of the stone wall behind it recessed and slid to the side with a grinding groan that made Liu Jin’s heart leap into his throat.

He looked around guiltily. The library was nearly empty, and the few disciples at the far end were deep in their studies. No one had noticed.

I should report this, his training told him. This is a breach of security. A hidden chamber is a matter for the Elders.

But then he felt the draft again. It wasn't just cold now; it was a beckoning. It felt like a tether hooked into his Dantian, pulling him toward the dark opening. Master Han’s voice echoed in his mind: A heart that feels too much is a heart that can be broken.

Liu Jin took a breath, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword, and stepped into the darkness.

The passage was narrow and steep, the stairs carved directly into the heart of the mountain. There were no lamps here. Liu Jin had to rely on a small spark of Qi at his fingertips to light the way, the pale blue glow reflecting off walls that were slick with a strange, translucent frost.

As he descended, the temperature plummeted. His breath began to bloom in thick, white clouds. The silence here was different—it was heavy, as if the air itself was too frozen to carry sound.

At the bottom of the stairs, the passage opened into a small, circular chamber. It was empty, save for a single stone plinth in the centre.

And on that plinth sat a scroll.

It wasn't made of paper or silk. It looked like it had been carved from a single sheet of moonlight, a shimmering, crystalline material that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic light. Around the plinth, the floor was cracked, deep fissures radiating outward as if the very presence of the object was too much for the stone to bear.

Liu Jin approached it with a sense of profound dread and irresistible curiosity. He could feel his own Qi reacting to it, his inner energy swirling with a frantic, agitated motion he had never experienced before.

"What are you?" he breathed.

He reached out, his hand trembling. The air around the scroll was so cold it felt like needles pricking his skin. Just as his fingers were an inch away, a voice boomed in the small space.

"It is not often we have visitors in the cellar, Liu Jin."

Liu Jin spun around, his sword half-drawn, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Standing in the shadows of the doorway was an old man he hadn't seen in years. It was Elder Mo, the Keeper of the Archives, a man so ancient people joked he had been born with the library. He was hunched over a gnarled staff, his eyes milky with cataracts, yet they seemed to fix on Liu Jin with unsettling precision.

"Elder Mo! I... I apologize," Liu Jin stammered, sheathing his blade and bowing deeply. "I was looking for a book and I found... I found this opening. I thought it might be a security risk."

The old man chuckled, a sound like dry parchment rubbing together. He hobbled forward, his staff clacking rhythmically against the frozen stone. "A security risk? Oh, dear boy, the mountain itself protects this room. You didn't find this place because the wall was broken. You found it because you were looking for it."

Liu Jin blinked, confused. "I wasn't looking for anything like this, Elder. I didn't even know it existed."

"Your mind didn't know," Mo said, stopping beside the plinth. The pale light of the scroll cast deep, ghoulish shadows across his wrinkled face. "But your spirit is hungry, isn't it? You feel the wall. The ceiling. You feel the weakness of the Azure Flow."

Liu Jin felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. "How do you know that?"