Chapter 92: Borrowing Your Life to Point My Path

Raindrops smashed onto his face, icy and piercing, mixed with blood seeping from his wounds, flowing into his mouth with a tang of rust. Zhang Jun braced himself on the oil‑slicked ground, barely holding up half his body, his lungs burning with pain. That hard clash just now had shaken his five viscera and six bowels nearly out of place, not to mention the gash on his arm sliced by a poisoned blade, the numbness crawling up his meridians.

He stared fixedly at the back in front of him.

In the rain curtain, he stood ramrod straight, like an old tree rooted in the deserted concrete ground, utterly still. Rainwater streamed down the rough edges of his clothing, pooling into a small puddle of murky water. Just now it was this person who, with an almost ghostly speed, deflected that deadly strike.

Who?

A cold wind reeking of fishiness poured through the broken windows of the factory, making the hairs on end.

He moved.

He slowly turned around.

Rain washed over a face of sharp angles, high cheekbones, skin bronzed from years of wind and sun — exactly the middle‑aged man who had "invited" them down from Snow Mountain, calling himself a mountain dweller.

Kun.

Zhang Jun's head buzzed, his body instinctively tensing further. The eeriness and ferocity of those people on Snow Mountain were still vivid in his mind.

"Your life's tough," Kun said, his voice fragmented by the rain but still carrying that cold, hard mountain tone, "and also pretty stupid."

He stepped two paces closer, stopping before Zhang Jun and looking down at his sorry state. The motion held no contempt, only a detached statement of fact.

"This isn't a place for you to run wild."

Zhang Jun gritted his teeth, staying silent. An inner surge of heat flowed on its own, resisting the chilling numbness from his wound while also guarding against the unfathomable man before him.

"Who sent you?" Zhang Jun's voice hoarse, rain flooding his mouth.

Kun didn't answer that question; instead he crouched, his fingertips lightly brushing the edge of Zhang Jun's arm wound. A strange, faint tingling with a hint of herbs spread out, and the chilling numbness at the wound eased a little.

"Someone doesn't want you dead just yet," Kun said, his fingertip smeared with dark blood as he rubbed it between his fingers, "at least not by these rabble's hands."

Zhang Jun's heart jumped. "Who?"

"When the time comes, you'll naturally understand." Kun rose, patting his hands. "The waters of Bin Hai are far murkier than you see. Lin Zhen, the Su family, and those shadowy rats from earlier… they're just scum on the surface. What lurks below could swallow you whole."

The weight of his words sank into Zhang Jun's chest. Lin Zhen really is colluding with those heretical cults! Has the Su family been dragged in too? And that attacker just now — vicious in skill, using a yin‑tainted poison, certainly no good. Just how many forces are behind this?

"You…" Zhang Jun wanted to ask who he really was and why he was helping him.

Kun gave him no chance to continue questioning. He pulled a pinch of dark‑green powder from a small, inconspicuous pouch at his waist and pressed it onto Zhang Jun's wound without hesitation.

A searing heat exploded instantly, making Zhang Jun almost cry out. But after the pain faded, the wound grew itchy and warm, a warmth that began dispelling the yin‑cold toxin — far faster and more exquisite than resisting it with his own Pure Yang Power.

Kun's wound‑treatment method was simple and brutal, yet highly effective. After finishing, he pulled a palm‑sized piece of beast bone, its edges smoothed, from his pocket and tossed it to Zhang Jun.

The beast bone felt icy in his hand, etched with a crooked mark somewhat resembling the symbol on the bottom of the broken water flask he'd found in the Snow Mountain cave, but not identical.

"If you run into trouble you can't solve, crush it." Kun's voice turned cold again. "Don't die. Your life still has use."

As his words fell, his form flickered like a leaf blown by the wind, vanishing into the factory's deep darkness and heavier rain in a few leaps — so swift it seemed unreal.

Only Zhang Jun remained, half‑kneeling in the icy rain, clutching that strange beast bone, his wound still throbbing faintly. The factory's steel skeleton loomed in the night rain like a gigantic carcass, surrounded by endless darkness and unknown peril.

He lowered his head, gazing at the beast bone in his hand.

Zhang Jun stumbled out of the abandoned factory, rain mixed with blood leaving a broken trail of footprints. He ducked into his car, pressing on the still‑aching wound, drawing several deep breaths to steady his ragged breathing.

The powder Kun left behind worked wonders; the sharp pain and numbness at the wound were rapidly fading. Zhang Jun pulled out his personal medical kit and gave it a quick wrap.

He opened his palm to examine the odd beast bone. The bone was warm and smooth, its edges polished, cool to the touch but not biting. The carving on it was more complex than the symbol on the water flask base in the Snow Mountain cave, and he could faintly sense a wisp of energy fluctuating within.

"If you run into trouble you can't solve, crush it." Kun's words echoed in his ears. Zhang Jun frowned, carefully stowing the beast bone away.

Returning to the clinic at deep night, he pushed the door open to find Lin Xue sitting quietly behind the consultation desk, waiting. Her gaze swept over his somewhat disheveled attire, a flicker of worry crossing her eyes.

"You're back," Lin Xue said calmly.

Zhang Jun nodded, peeling off his soaked outer coat. He keenly caught the fleeting complex expression in Lin Xue's eyes, his heart stirring.

"How much do you know about the factory?" Zhang Jun got straight to the point.

Lin Xue fell silent for a moment, then spoke softly: "I had people secretly follow you, just in case. But I didn't expect the opponent to be so strong that even my men couldn't get close."

Zhang Jun raised an eyebrow, took out the beast bone from his pocket and placed it on the table. "Do you recognize this?"

Lin Xue gave a slight shake of her head, but her eyes lingered on the bone a few seconds longer.

Zhang Jun briefly recounted Kun's appearance and warning. Lin Xue listened, her brows knitting slightly: "Kun is unfathomable; his purpose is probably not so simple."

"Do you think he's connected to Lin Zhen?" Zhang Jun asked.

Lin Xue pondered: "Not really. Lin Zhen's people wouldn't act this way. Instead, those mysterious forces on Snow Mountain are the ones to watch."

The two locked eyes, each seeing a hint of relief in the other's gaze. This frankness deepened their trust another notch.

"What martial art did the attacker use?" Lin Xue shifted the topic.

Zhang Jun recalled: "His moves were vicious and venomous, tinged with a chill. I almost fell into his hands."

Lin Xue mused: "That style sounds like the work of the Cold Poison Sect. They do have some ties with Lin Zhen, but I'm not sure how deep."

As they spoke, Zhang Jun's phone suddenly rang. It was Su Muqing.