Chapter 952: Cold Raven Immortal City

When Yan Buji dragged his heavily wounded body away from the Morning-Evening Hall branch hall, the cold wind of the North River still cut like a knife across his face.

With each step he took, the unhealed wound on his chest sent out a tearing pain. The Abni Sword at his waist trembled slightly; the gray mist on its blade was much thinner than before, as if it too had expended its vital energy in this fierce battle.

Three days later, a towering immortal city appeared on the horizon.

That was the largest cultivator gathering place in the North River Ice Plains, the "Cold Raven Immortal City"; it was said that tens of thousands of Profound Dark Cold Ravens nested there year-round, serving as the Heavenly Cold Palace's eyes and ears monitoring the entire ice plain.

Yan Buji stopped three li outside the city, took a gray-white cloak from his storage bag, and draped it over himself.

Fine scale patterns appeared on the cloak's surface, completely concealing his aura. This was the "Heaven-Concealing Scale Garment" he had obtained from the corpse of a fallen Soul Formation cultivator; even a Union Body stage cultivator would find it hard to see through.

"Although I don't need this kind of Accumulation Device to hide, it's always good to be prepared." Yan Buji gave a cold chuckle.

At the city gate a long line had formed, with over a dozen cultivators dressed in Heavenly Cold Palace attire inspecting passersby.

The ice-crystal emblems embroidered on their chests flashed cold light in the sunlight, and the Cold Iron Tokens hanging at their waists clinked with their movements.

"Next!" the leading square-faced cultivator shouted impatiently.

Before him was an old man carrying a medicine basket, inside which lay a few stalks of spiritual grass emitting a chill.

"Sir, sir, this is the Cold Marrow Grass I picked on the ice plains..." the old man trembled as he handed up the medicine basket.

The square-faced cultivator snatched it up, examined it carefully, then suddenly sneered: "The eastern 300 li of the ice plains are a forbidden zone of the Heavenly Cold Palace; the frost patterns on this Cold Marrow Grass clearly indicate it's a specialty of the east."

He fiercely smashed the medicine basket to the ground: "Illegally harvesting forbidden-zone spiritual materials; by law your cultivation shall be abolished!"

The old man plunged to his knees, his forehead knocking on the ice with a bang: "Lord, please see clearly! I am from the west..."

Before he could finish, the square-faced cultivator slapped a palm toward the old man's celestial crown.

Yan Buji narrowed his eyes, watching with interest. He had thought the old man was surely dead, but saw a middle-aged fat man in a brocade robe step forward quickly and slip a storage bag into the square-faced cultivator's sleeve without a trace.

"Steward Zhao, please calm your anger; this old fool has a poor memory—I personally saw him gathering medicine in the west."

The fat man put on an apologetic smile, gesturing with his fingers inside his sleeve: "I'm the manager of the Golden Jade Pavilion; last month I even sent you a jar of Blazing Yang Wine..."

The square-faced cultivator weighed the storage bag, his expression easing: "Since Manager Jin is vouching for him..."

He suddenly kicked the medicine basket flying: "Scram! Next time have a better memory!"

The old man crawled over, thanking profusely as he gathered the scattered spiritual grass; when Manager Jin bent down to help, Yan Buji noticed a faint frost-flower brand on his nape and a hint of extreme cold magical power stirring.

Seeing that the boss was also a Soul Formation cultivator yet so deferential to two Golden Core stage guards shows how domineering the Heavenly Cold Palace is in the North River Ice Plains.

When it was Yan Buji's turn, the square-faced cultivator eyed him suspiciously: "You look unfamiliar; where are you from?"

"The south." Yan Buji lowered his voice, deliberately giving his tone a soft accent uncommon in the North River: "Just a little business."

"What business?"

"Information trading." Yan Buji slipped a medium-grade Spiritual Stone from his sleeve into the other's pocket: "Just arrived; please look after me, Steward Zhao."

The crisp sound of the Spiritual Stones colliding made the square-faced cultivator's brows relax: "You're sensible."

He casually tossed over an iron token: "Remember, you must return to the inn before the hour of the rooster; night curfew applies. Anyone loitering in the streets..." He made a throat-slitting gesture.

Yan Buji nodded and bowed as he took the iron token, then squeezed into the city gate with the crowd.

Upon entering the city, a clamor hit him at once. Shops lined both sides of the street, hawking voices never ceased, but listening closely revealed an oddity: all haggling was driven to extremely low prices, the vendors' smiles like masks carved on their faces, while their eyes continually flicked to the Cold Ravens circling in the sky.

"Friend Daoist, need a room?" a monkey‑thin attendant sidled up, voice as tiny as a mosquito: "Our Joyful Come Inn is clean and cheap, plus... special services."

Yan Buji narrowed his eyes: "How special?"

The attendant looked left and right, then leaned in closer: "A room where you can speak without the Cold Ravens' ears and eyes, for two low‑grade Spiritual Stones per day."

Yan Buji narrowed his eyes, thinking it might be a pimp's offer.

Following the attendant through seven twists and turns, Yan Buji was led to an inconspicuous small inn.

Upon entering, he keenly noticed a few nearly invisible scratches on the threshold—traces of a sound‑proofing formation, and the technique was quite sophisticated.

"Boss, a guest has arrived!" the attendant shouted.

Behind the counter, a one‑eyed old man slowly rose to his feet; his good eye was cloudy and yellow, yet deep in the pupil a sharp gleam flashed.

He stared at Yan Buji for a while, then suddenly broke into a grin revealing a mouth full of black teeth: "Friend Daoist, you're badly injured."

Yan Buji's heart gave a slight jolt—this old shopkeeper could see his injury at a glance, yet his face showed nothing: "Just took a fall. I need a quiet upper room."

The old shopkeeper tossed over a copper key: "The rearmost room on the third floor, two Spiritual Stones per day, pay for three days in advance."

After Yan Buji finished paying, he suddenly lowered his voice: "If you want to ask about anything, the old man simmers soup in the kitchen at night."

The room was cleaner than expected, its window facing the city's largest structure—the Heavenly Cold Palace's temporary palace set in Cold Raven City.

It was a palace wholly ice‑blue, with over a hundred large Cold Ravens crouched on the roof, their scarlet eyeballs continually scanning the city.

Yan Buji sat cross‑legged to regulate his breath until night fell.

From outside the window came the night watchman's clapper—three long, two short—the signal that the curfew had begun.

"The Heavenly Cold Palace really learned that set from mundane dynasties—suppressing local cultivators like this is even harsher than in the Nan Ting Mountain Region." Yan Buji thought to himself.

He slipped out of the room soundlessly, following the shadows toward the kitchen.

The old shopkeeper was indeed simmering a pot of thick broth, in which rolled some unknown beast bones.

Seeing Yan Buji enter, he didn't even lift his head as he tossed a handful of spices into the broth, instantly filling the air with fragrance.

"This scent can disrupt the Cold Ravens' sense of smell." The old shopkeeper ladled out a bowl of soup and pushed it over: "Friend Daoist, do you want to ask about the Heavenly Cold Palace?"

Yan Buji took the soup bowl but didn't drink: "What happened at the Morning‑Evening Hall?"

The old shopkeeper's single eye suddenly contracted: "No wonder you're injured like this..."

His hand stirring the spoon trembled slightly: "Three months ago, the Heavenly Cold Palace suddenly blocked all roads leading to the Morning‑Evening Hall branch. That night the northern side shone like daylight, and someone saw countless black figures standing on the ice plains..."

"Undead?"

"Worse than the undead."

The old shopkeeper's voice dropped to a near‑inaudible whisper: "Those things can think, can form arrays, and even... assemble Accumulation Devices on the spot according to a cultivator's traits to fight them."

He suddenly pulled open his collar, revealing a ferocious scar on his chest: "I nearly lost my old life there. If I hadn't feigned death to escape that calamity..."

Yan Buji's gaze sharpened: "Did you see those things with your own eyes?"

"More than just seen." The old shopkeeper gave a bitter laugh: "They crawled out from the cellar of the auxiliary palace of the Heavenly Cold Palace! That night I happened to go to the auxiliary palace to deliver wine, and I saw Elder Han Shuang personally opening the cellar seal..."

Before he could finish speaking, a sharp, piercing cry of cold crows suddenly came from outside the window.

The old shopkeeper's face changed drastically; he suddenly flung a ladle of hot soup at the oil lamp. In the darkness he grabbed Yan Buji and crouched behind the stove: 'Don't make a sound!'