Chapter 2: The Finger-Sting Verdict

Shen Tan’s fingertip hovered in midair. She didn’t pull back; instead, she gently tapped the cold iron plate.

Only this kind of “swirling fire” could create the micro-stress fields inside the glaze at the moment it was applied, causing the sudden shift from hot to cold that triggered those unpredictable, ice-crack-like patterns. Ordinary firewood might hit the high temperatures, but you couldn’t control the rate at which the glaze contracted as it cooled. In the end, you’d just burn a slab of dead, lifeless blue-black with no soul to it.

A faint tingling buzzed through her fingertips—the precursor sign that her [Tracing] ability was being triggered. Shen Tan closed her eyes. In her mind, massive amounts of data raced backwards at blinding speed. Her consciousness plunged into a chaotic vortex, thousands of fragmented memories flashing past like a carousel. The kiln temperatures from a century ago, the subtle deviations in the glaze formula—they exploded in her nerve endings. The pain was sharp, clear enough to make her shiver.

The night was as black as ink. Deep in the Cold Palace, the abandoned kilns cast jagged, menacing shadows under the moonlight. The air reeked of rotten wood and mold, mixing with the distant, rhythmic dripping of the water clock, making the silence feel even more suffocating. In the depths of Shen Tan’s eyes, a strand of absolute, piercing coldness grew thicker, like two unsheathed swords pointing straight at the heart.

Finally, at the entrance to the forbidden zone at the deepest end of the Cold Palace, they spotted the legendary remnant gate of the Fire Suppression Bureau. Above the lintel, a long-faded bronze plaque hung precariously, ready to fall. Four ancient seal-script characters were carved into it, weathered by wind and rain. Only the words “Fire Suppression Bureau” remained legible.

Shen Tan lightly touched the ceramic body, which wasn’t fully dry yet. In her mind, the [Tracing] module spun wildly, piecing together countless shards of broken historical records from the depths of her consciousness. She remembered a brief note in the history books: *“The Grand Tutor controls the national vessels. Gold fire is forbidden. Only when the purple qi rises from the east can one truly see its form.”*

Bai Zhi stayed silent for a moment, her gaze lingering on that eerie purple luster for three seconds. Her tense shoulders relaxed slightly, the hostility in her eyes replaced by a complex emotion—it was the excitement of a hunter seeing a crack in the prey’s armor, mixed with the tacit understanding between co-conspirators who had finally reached an agreement.

The air there was biting cold, laced with the smell of rotten wood and some unidentifiable, fishy stench. The street lamps along the way had long since died. Only the moonlight poured down from the dilapidated roof, stretching the shadows of the stone pillars into twisted, grotesque shapes, like countless skeletal fingers reaching up to the sky.

Shen Tan didn’t argue. She simply took the shard from her robe. In the faint moonlight, beneath the mottled green glaze, a faint purple luster began to seep through. It was the residue of the fire primer left a thousand years ago—the only physical evidence that Auric Gold Charcoal had ever existed.

Shen Tan: “Without the fire primer, this body is just a lump of Kaolin clay. But with it? I can burn something that makes Grand Tutor Zhou nervous and makes the harem tremble. Bai Zhi, do you protect my safety because you want me to die with dignity, or because you want me to win?”

In the mist, three black silhouettes slowly materialized. The leader wore a purple official robe embroidered with gold cloud patterns, a jade tag at his waist. His face was hidden in the shadow of his hood, his features indistinct, but the aura of someone who stood above the rest made the surrounding air feel frozen solid.

Shen Tan opened her eyes, the chill in her gaze still lingering. She pried one corner of the iron plate with one hand, her movement precise and resolute. Metal scraped against metal, a piercing, sharp shriek that cut through the silent night, startlingly terrifying. The smell of rust and dried blood hit her in the face.

The two moved quickly under the moonlight, bursting through the thorn-choked back courtyard of the Cold Palace. The thorns tore at their hems with a faint ripping sound, but neither of them dodged. Moonlight filtered through the sparse branches, casting dappled shadows on the ground, looking like a shattered chessboard.

Shen Tan pulled out the shard. Under the moonlight, the cracks looked like fresh breaks in ice, so intricate it made her heart race. Every hairline fracture held a bizarre beauty, as if it were nature’s most perfect work of art, yet it carried the harshness of human craftsmanship.

As the iron plate loosened, a stale, stagnant smell washed over them, like the corpse-gas of time itself frozen in place. Shen Tan reached inside. Her hand touched a shard, hard as stone. The texture was rough but incredibly cold, like touching a block of ice that had been asleep for a thousand years.

Shen Tan dug up a handful of dirt, mixed it with a small amount of plant ash she carried on her, and began shaping the ceramic body. The clay gradually became soft and obedient in her palms. Her fingertips felt the texture changing with every inch, like caressing a lover’s skin—focused and reverent.

Bai Zhi cut through her thoughts with a wary tone, keeping her voice extremely low: “Are you insane? Auric Gold Charcoal only exists in the burial pits of the late emperor’s tomb, or in the abandoned ruins of the ‘Fire Suppression Bureau’ in the Imperial Household Department. Going there is like walking straight into a trap.”

“There might be ingredients there to improve the soil quality, but Grand Tutor Zhou’s men are close by.” She lowered her voice, her eyes scanning the dark corners around them vigilantly, as if countless watching eyes were hiding in those shadows.

The night was as black as ink. The darkness in the depths of the Cold Palace seemed to take on a physical form, creeping slowly around them. Shen Tan carefully wrapped the ceramic body in coarse cloth and hid it against her body. She knew that from here on, every step would be taken on the edge of a knife.

Shen Tan took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In the void before her, the [Tracing] interface fully expanded. Countless red warning signals flashed frantically, pointing to a hidden chamber behind that remnant gate, where the figure in purple stood.

[Fingertip Ancient Appraisal] activated instantly. The ratio of calcium and silicates in the soil layers appeared clearly in her mind. Data turned into flowing light maps, flickering rapidly across her retinas, analyzing the microscopic structure of every grain of sand.

Shen Tan slowly stepped out from behind Bai Zhi, facing the pair of eyes hidden in the darkness. She looked directly at the man in purple, refusing to back down. A cold, sharp smile curled at the corner of her mouth, while her hand pressed firmly against the robe where the ceramic body was hidden.

Bai Zhi handed over a coarse pottery bowl. Inside was a bowl of rancid, thin porridge. A layer of murky oil floated on the surface, reeking of acidic rot. But in this desperation, it was a supply more valuable than gold.

“God?” Shen Tan laughed lightly, her gaze locked on the black dice that was still trembling faintly in his hand. “No. I’m here to borrow fire. And while I’m at it, I’ll give your little ‘god’ a lesson he can never recover from.”

The man in purple stopped, only ten paces away from them. He toyed with a black die in his hand. With a flick of his fingers, the die arced through the air and landed steadily on the ground.

Bai Zhi gripped the handle of her broom, her knuckles turning white, her voice trembling. The broom behind her swayed faintly in the wind, making a soft rustling sound that only highlighted the tension in the air.

Shen Tan took the bowl. She didn’t look disgusted. She swallowed it in small sips. The rough rice grains scraped against her throat, bringing a slight warmth of comfort, but it couldn’t mask the foul smell of spoilage.

Shen Tan’s heartbeat quickened with her steps, but she suppressed it with all her might, forcing her breathing to remain steady and normal. She couldn’t panic. One slip, and all her hard work would be for nothing.

The man in purple spoke, his voice raspy, like sandpaper rubbing against tin: “Girl of the Shen family, making a grand entrance to the Fire Suppression Bureau. Are you here to find death, or to find a god?”

Shen Tan didn’t stop walking. Her mind was already mapping out the route. Every footfall, every angle of turn was within her precise calculation.

Bai Zhi was silent for a long time. She slowly lowered her broom, a flicker of hesitation passing through her eyes. That hesitation was like a spark in the dark—faint, but enough to start a wildfire.

The tactile feedback from her fingertips was delicate. The clay body was taking shape under the moonlight. It was a texture somewhere between earth and porcelain, warm to the touch but with a stubborn hardness.

Bai Zhi: “Win. I don’t just want you to survive. I want you to win high enough that even the Grand Tutor has to look up to see you.”

She looked at Bai Zhi, her tone terrifyingly calm. The wind around them seemed to pause for a second. The only sound was their breathing.

She frowned. She needed to add bone ash to lower the contraction rate. Her fingers rustled through the dirt quickly, searching for those special white particles.

Bai Zhi lowered her head and said no more, only keeping silent watch over the surroundings. Her body was taut as a drawn bow, ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.

She placed the ceramic body next to the remnants of the stove to dry using the residual heat. Faint embers jumped in the darkness, illuminating the determined line of her profile.

When they reached a sheltered spot, Shen Tan crouched down and plunged her fingers into the muddy pile. The metallic tang of the earth hit her nose, mixed with a damp, moldy scent.

Bai Zhi leaned in, her eyes full of confusion. She looked at the rough, unfinished body, unable to imagine how it could withstand such violent heat.

Shen Tan gripped the ceramic body tightly and looked into the depths of the Cold Palace. Her gaze was sharp. That place was pitch black, like an entrance to hell.

Bai Zhi suddenly stepped in front of Shen Tan, a short dagger sliding out from her sleeve. A cold light flashed in her eyes: “Someone’s coming.”

It sounded like heavy boots stepping on bluestone. Each step carried a sense of pressure, converging on them from all directions.

The man in purple narrowed his eyes, his pupils constricting sharply. The die in his hand spun wildly, finally landing with the face down.

“Purple qi rising from the east...” Shen Tan murmured, her brow furrowed. “This isn’t just fuel. It’s a key.”

Just as she was about to inspect the locking mechanism, a very light, very slow set of footsteps echoed through the darkness.

Bai Zhi’s eyes went wide, her face a mask of disbelief. Her pupils dilated, her breathing becoming rapid and uneven.

The two figures behind the man in purple drew their swords simultaneously. The cold light of the blades instantly cut off every escape route.

Shen Tan nodded, a cold smile curling at the corner of her mouth. There was no warmth in that smile, only calculation and resolve.

Bai Zhi froze for a second, then gave a bitter smile. Moonlight shone on her pale face, making her look even more haggard.

There, inside, was an ancient fire pit that hadn’t cooled yet, sealed with the last wisp of “Dragon Vein Residual Fire.”

Shen Tan: “Then I need to find Auric Gold Charcoal. Only Auric Gold Charcoal can break Grand Tutor Zhou’s blockade.”

The two quietly left the excavation site, using the shadows of the crumbling walls to sneak deeper into the Cold Palace.

Shen Tan: “[Tracing] shows this body can withstand the high-temperature [Kiln Transformation] of Ice-Crack Glaze.”

Shen Tan: “The Dragon-Subduing Kiln of the previous dynasty sealed ‘Ice-Crack Glaze’, not a living creature.”

Shen Tan: “Bai Zhi, what you’re afraid of isn’t the porcelain. It’s what’s hidden behind it.”

Shen Tan: “Bai Zhi, is there any of that rancid food left for tomorrow?”

Bai Zhi: “Impossible. That formula was lost three hundred years ago.”

Shen Tan: “The clay here has too high an iron content. If I burn it directly, it’ll crack.”

Shen Tan opened her eyes. Her pupils were clear, but they held a kind of madness that could start a prairie fire.

Shen Tan: “Lost doesn’t mean disappeared. It just means it was sealed away by power.”

Shen Tan: “Perfect. I’ll use his blockade to build my own barrier.”

Bai Zhi: “Watch your step. There are remnants of the previous dynasty’s weapons buried there.”

Bai Zhi: “Eat something first. If you’re weak, you won’t survive this.”

Shen Tan: “I’ll use it to buy back my life, and your freedom.”

Shen Tan: “Look at this pattern. Natural ice-cracking, extremely high density.”

Bai Zhi: “Only half a bowl left. Eat sparingly. Don’t make noise.”

Shen Tan: “The density isn’t high enough. Add some [Kaolin] impurities.”

Bai Zhi: “But ordinary firewood can’t reach a kiln temperature of three thousand degrees.”

Bai Zhi: “Are you insane? That’s a forbidden zone. Anyone who touches it dies.”

Shen Tan: “Ignorance, not curiosity, is the cause of death.”

Bai Zhi: “Come with me. There’s an old kiln pit in the corner of the Cold Palace.”

Shen Tan held her breath, peeking through the gap over Bai Zhi’s shoulder.

Shen Tan: “Thanks. I’ll remember this debt.”

Shen Tan stopped. A fine layer of sweat formed on her palms.

*Tap. Tap. Tap.*

Bai Zhi looked back to give her a reminder.

“Interesting.”

“Bai Zhi, in three breaths, make your move.”