Mai Qiu was Ke Er’s mother—at least, according to the intelligence Ou Tao had gathered. She was a strikingly beautiful red-haired peasant woman. One night, eight years ago…

Mai Qiu suddenly lost her mind. She screamed that a devil had stolen her husband’s soul. She even grabbed a knife, lunging to stab him, shrieking that *he* was the devil.

But her husband Rod was perfectly fine. The villagers locked Mai Qiu in the woodshed. In the end, the madwoman set the shed ablaze—nearly burning herself alive.

Ignoring the village chief’s protests, Rod charged into the flames and rescued her. After that, Mai Qiu was no longer mad.

Precisely speaking, she became numb and hollow. Her health faded day by day. Rod grew frantic, summoning doctor after doctor. Finally, a diagnosis came: Mai Qiu was pregnant—with Ke Er.

Then the horror began. Mai Qiu died in childbirth from Frostblood Syndrome—a uniquely agonizing, fatal condition in this world. Simply put: the fetus carried an ice-affinity constitution; the mother, lacking magic, couldn’t suppress it.

During labor, the amniotic fluid froze solid. The very fluid meant to ease delivery turned into jagged ice shards. Only a cesarean remained.

Among nobles, this ailment was nearly always survivable. How strong could a fetus’s ice magic be? A fire mage would simply press a hand gently to the mother’s belly—the ice would melt.

But for commoners? Near-certain death. Too poor to hire mages. In remote villages like this? None existed at all. Though the old priest did his utmost after the surgery, his low rank left him unable to staunch the bleeding in time.

Rod lifted Ke Er from the blood-soaked scene. No wonder she faced ostracism. At birth, her hair was already silver. She wailed loudly in a cradle of bloodstained ice shards—a sight eerily reminiscent of a witch’s arrival.

Ou Tao handed the hoe to Yami. “You dig. I’ll keep watch.”

He blinked at her foolish grin. To stop this donkey from causing more trouble, he mimed the digging motion barehanded. “Clear? Dig like this!”

“Of course!” Yami nodded. She swung the hoe down—the ground cracked open. Recoil sent the upper half flying straight into a tree trunk.

Ou Tao nearly collapsed from friendly fire. “You’re holding it backward!” he snapped. “Use the sharp edge to dig—not the blunt back!”

Rubbing his temples, he muttered, “Ugh… gotta buy a new hoe.”

Yami shook her head. “Swordmaster, with me here? No hoe needed. Watch!”

She dropped flat, hips raised. With one powerful, elegant leg, she kicked sharply upward—flinging a massive clod of earth high behind her!

Her legs pistoned rhythmically up and down. The motion was uncannily, unmistakably that of a donkey digging in the dirt.

She finished a small pit. The soil kicked up by her hind legs piled half a person high.

Ou Tao stood dumbfounded. He glanced at the broken hoe, then at Yami—her long ears twitching right before him.

He gave a slow nod. “Alright. You’ve finally been… somewhat useful.”

“Yay, yay, yay! The Swordmaster praised me! I’m the best, the *very* best donkey!” Yami rolled gleefully in the yellow dust—reminding Ou Tao of a famous Northeastern snack: Donkey Roll.

“Quiet.” Ou Tao seized her long donkey ears, hauling her up. “Go keep watch. If anyone comes—stay silent. Return straight to my sword.”

He opened the coffin. The sight inside made Hamiyou staff watching Ou Tao’s first-person feed vomit their breakfast.

Inside lay a desiccated red-haired woman, her skin tinged deep purple-black. Her lower body was split open like a zipper, revealing countless shimmering ice fragments—half crimson, half cerulean.

“Good stuff,” Ou Tao murmured, sliding a fragment between his fingers.

*Grudge Blood Ice.* A mother who nurtured life with care, only to perish the moment her child drew breath. Her lingering resentment clung to the ice, refusing to fade. Used to brew Blood Ice Potion—a high-damage control-type concoction.

*Orange text.* Ou Tao let out a cold laugh. Why was Ke Er’s innate Grudge Blood Ice marked orange rarity?

He exhaled sharply. Doubt hardened into certainty. Moving to step two, he produced a parentage-testing potion unique to this world. He dropped in strands: his own hair, Ke Er’s, and one from Mai Qiu’s corpse.

In Huiyuan Potion, blood-related hairs would bind into one strand. Unrelated? Nothing.

Yet the impossible happened: his hair and Ke Er’s fused tightly. Mai Qiu’s strand remained utterly still.