The camp had changed in the days since Hui Jian's return. What had once been a fragile semblance of hope now felt like an unraveling thread, ready to snap. The icy wind cut through the crude barriers they had constructed, carrying with it whispers of discontent. The survivors, huddled together around meager fires, looked less like a band of survivors and more like people waiting for the inevitable end. Eyes filled with suspicion darted between each other, but most often, they rested on Hui Jian.
He could feel their doubt. They feared him—feared his cold, calculated methods—but more than that, they feared the wilds. It had been weeks since the raid on the beastmen camp and his return from the hidden cavern with the supplies. The food and weapons they'd gained had staved off starvation, but they hadn't erased the growing dread.
Tao Xun's absence hung over the camp like a specter, and people were starting to ask questions.
Hui Jian stood at the edge of the camp, scanning the snow-covered horizon. The North Plains were a desolate wasteland, but he knew that it wasn't just the cold that threatened to consume them. Inside the camp, the tension was reaching a breaking point. He could feel the weight of it in every glance, every hushed conversation. The beastmen were coming, that much was certain. But the camp's real enemy was fear.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow behind him. Hui Jian didn't turn immediately, but he tensed, recognizing the soft, hesitant approach.
"Tao Xun isn't back yet."
The voice belonged to a girl—Tao Xun's younger sister. Her small figure was wrapped in a thick, tattered fur cloak, but her face, pale from the cold, showed clear concern. She stood a few feet behind him, her eyes wide and searching.
Hui Jian kept his gaze on the horizon. "No," he said, his voice flat. "He's not."
The girl shifted, pulling her cloak tighter around her. "He… he went out looking for you before. He said he'd bring you back to the camp." There was a slight tremor in her voice. "But it's been days now, and no one's seen him. I thought maybe you'd seen him out there?"
Hui Jian clenched his jaw. He hadn't thought about Tao Xun much since the incident in the cavern. He had convinced himself that it was a necessary sacrifice. Tao Xun's death had given him the chance to survive, to grow stronger. But standing here now, with the girl staring at him, it was harder to suppress the weight of guilt that gnawed at him.
"I haven't seen him," Hui Jian said, finally turning to meet her gaze. His eyes were cold, his face a mask of indifference. "The North Plains are dangerous. People disappear all the time."
The girl's eyes searched his face, as if trying to find something—some hint of truth, some glimmer of hope. But Hui Jian gave her nothing.
"I… I understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. She turned away, her shoulders slumped, and walked back toward the camp.
Hui Jian watched her go, the pang of guilt twisting in his chest before he pushed it away. He couldn't afford to dwell on emotions, not now. Not ever. Tao Xun's death was unfortunate, but necessary. Survival demanded sacrifices. If he wanted to become stronger, to rise above the filth and weakness of this world, he couldn't allow sentiment to hold him back.
He turned back to the wilderness, eyes hardening with resolve. There was no room for hesitation. The beastmen would come, and when they did, the camp would fall unless he acted.
Later, as the camp settled into a tense stillness for the night, Hui Jian withdrew into the small tent he had claimed for himself. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows against the rough canvas walls. He sat cross-legged, the dim light glinting off the Frozen Mind Gu in his hand. The tiny Gu, now showing signs of deterioration, was barely holding together. Its once vibrant sheen had faded, and cracks ran along its icy surface. It was weaker than before, but still useful—for now.
Hui Jian took a deep breath, centering his mind as he prepared to use the Frozen Mind Gu for a small test. He wasn't foolish enough to attempt refining the Mind Flower Gu yet, but he needed to build his strength. His target for this experiment was a low-level healing Gu he had scavenged from the cavern, one he hadn't yet been able to refine.
The Frozen Mind Gu activated with a faint shimmer, releasing a cold, focused energy that seeped into Hui Jian's mind. Instantly, his thoughts became clearer, sharper, and he felt a surge of mental clarity. It wasn't perfect—the deterioration of the Gu made the effect unstable—but it was enough.
He reached out with his will, focusing on the healing Gu, forcing his presence into it. The Gu resisted at first, its wild nature pushing back against him. Refining even a simple Gu was a battle of wills, and the Frozen Mind Gu gave him an edge, but it was a tenuous one.
Hui Jian's brow furrowed as he pushed harder, concentrating on bending the healing Gu to his will. The strain was immense, beads of sweat forming on his forehead despite the cold. The healing Gu fought back, its will wild and untamed, but Hui Jian gritted his teeth, refusing to relent.
After what felt like hours, the resistance began to falter. The wild energy within the healing Gu weakened, and slowly, painfully, Hui Jian's will overpowered it. With a final push, the Gu surrendered, and he felt it submit to him.
The process was complete. The Gu was now his.
Hui Jian exhaled sharply, his body trembling from the exertion. The Frozen Mind Gu dimmed in his hand, its energy spent for the moment. He could feel its deterioration more acutely now—it wouldn't last much longer. He would need to find a way to replace it soon, but that was a problem for another time.
For now, he had succeeded.
The next morning, the tension in the camp was palpable. Rumors were spreading that some of the survivors were planning to leave, abandoning the camp to its fate. Hui Jian could see it in their eyes—fear, uncertainty, and the creeping sense of hopelessness. He had heard whispers of discontent, of people questioning his methods, of talk about heading south where the cold was less severe, and the dangers less immediate.
He stood at the edge of the camp, watching the survivors move about their tasks. Their faces were gaunt, their movements sluggish. They were on the brink of breaking.
As Hui Jian scanned the camp, a figure approached—Ren, one of the few who still trusted his leadership. Ren's expression was grim as he stopped beside Hui Jian.
"It's getting worse," Ren said quietly. "People are scared. They're talking about leaving."
Hui Jian's gaze remained on the camp. "Let them leave if they want to die in the snow."
Ren frowned. "You know it's not that simple. If too many of them leave, we won't have enough people to defend against the next attack. The beastmen will come, and they'll finish us off."
Hui Jian said nothing for a long moment. The weight of his decisions hung heavy on his shoulders, but he knew that survival in this world required strength. The weak would fall, and only the strong would rise.
"Fear is a disease," Hui Jian said finally, his voice cold. "If they let it consume them, they're already dead. I won't stop them from leaving, but I won't save them either."
Ren looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I figured you'd say that."
Hui Jian turned to Ren, his gaze hard. "We have to keep moving forward. There's no time for fear. If they can't follow, then we'll do it without them."
Ren sighed but didn't argue. "I'll gather the others. The ones who are willing to fight."
As Ren walked away, Hui Jian remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. The North Plains were unforgiving, and so was the path he had chosen. There was no room for doubt, no room for weakness.
Only strength.
And Hui Jian intended to become stronger—no matter the cost.