After the defeat of the Black Sun Covenant, frost banners flew proudly across the north. Messengers carried word thrice over: the Leng Clan had not bent, the Everfrost Patriarch's field had frozen an entire battlefield, and evil sects had scattered like leaves before the storm.
But even in the loudest victory, Leng Zhi remained calm.
Sitting beneath the Frost Wall, he looked at disciples kneeling to praise him. "Remember," he said quietly, "we did not win because one man fought. We won because all held roots. Glory belongs to frost itself, not to Leng Zhi."
Still, his inner body trembled. The Eternal Winter Field had drained him nearly to collapse. Few knew he coughed blood that night alone in his chamber. He realized his strength was already climbing precariously close to limit.
So he began another plan—choosing successors. He spent days observing disciples. Some strong, some clever, but he looked beyond spirit rank. He looked for patience. "Many wield fire proudly, but frost must be humble," he whispered.
Finally, his eyes found his niece Leng Yu. She was not the strongest, but she meditated hours without moving, her ice shield steady even when mocked by peers.
"That one," he decided in his heart. "Frost will not fall if she bears sutra."
And thus, as celebration filled the continent, Leng Zhi prepared quietly for future storms, always mindful that nothing lasts forever—even Everfrost Patriarchs.