Hu Tao Is Monetizing My Existence. [106]

“Achoo—!”

Jiang Bai, who was warming himself by the fire, let out a loud sneeze.

Is someone talking about me, or am I coming down with something?

He pulled on a thicker coat without hesitation. Being gossiped about was fine, but catching a cold definitely wasn’t. He hadn’t even started climbing yet—just lingering at the base of the mountain was enough to feel winter’s bite.

He laid out bedding inside the coffin he’d summoned. With the fire crackling beside it, even the cold stone inside felt toasty warm.

Once the bedding had absorbed enough heat, he lay down fully clothed, eyes open as he stared up at the vast, star-strewn sky.

Stargazing at the base of this snow-covered mountain felt entirely different from doing so in the mountains of Liyue. Here, the moonlit snow gleamed even at night, making the stars—distant and dim—seem less dazzling in comparison.

Shifting into a more comfortable position inside his coffin, Jiang Bai gazed at the endless sky, his thoughts drifting.

If I really came from beyond this world… then which star did I come from?

And how did I arrive on this continent?

How long have I been here already?

A cascade of unanswered questions lingered in his heart, with no one around to answer them.

After a long while, he reached up and slid the coffin lid shut, sealing out all the light.

None of that matters right now. What matters… is getting some sleep.

He yawned, wrapped himself in the quilt, and drifted into a deep slumber.

…

By morning, after a warm and restful sleep, Jiang Bai kicked open the coffin lid and sat up.

Even though he’d slept fully clothed, the burst of cold air that surged in as soon as the coffin opened made him shiver involuntarily.

“Damn, it’s cold.”

He quickly jumped out and started moving around to get his blood flowing, slowly warding off the chill.

After a quick wash with hot water—heated overnight on the fire—he gnawed on a tough slab of Mora meat. Then he changed into thicker cotton gear, switched boots, strapped on crampons and gloves, extinguished the fire, and prepared to ascend.

It was still early—the sun hadn’t yet risen—but everything around him was already lit with a soft brightness. A few birds, unafraid of the cold, flitted through the trees, chirping as they preened their feathers.

Most adventurers traveling to the snowy mountains took the main road from Mondstadt. This side path—God knows when it was carved out—had long since been swallowed by snow from lack of use.

Following the faint outline of the trail, Jiang Bai used his soul-banner like a walking stick, probing the snow-covered ground as he moved forward.

No one knew how long the snow had been piling up here. Every step sank into a deep hollow.

The wind blowing down from the peaks made the soul-banner flutter and rustle. The characters for Wangsheng Hall flickered faintly in and out of view. The three Sanqing Bells at his waist jingled with his movements, and his boots crunched with every step—like an eerie funeral dirge echoing through the white silence.

Vast snowy plains stretched in all directions. It felt as if he were the only person left in the world—a lone black figure pressing forward, searching tirelessly for the remains of the departed.

With one hand on his banner and the other holding a compass, Jiang Bai followed the shifting needle, adjusting his path accordingly.

Snowy terrain was treacherous, especially where thick snowfall had hidden the true path beneath a frozen crust. One misstep could send him plunging into an unseen pit.

“Good thing I came prepared.”

He knocked snow off his boots and adjusted his crampons, silently praising his foresight.

“No wonder the Director refuses to come to the mountain—it’s freezing and the roads are awful. I honestly don’t get how those adventurers who are obsessed with exploring the snowy mountain manage to keep going. Or maybe… it’s just that my route is especially brutal?”

Jiang Bai pondered that for a moment, and concluded the latter seemed far more likely.

He had been walking for ages and hadn’t seen a single person, camp, or even a fire pit. That alone proved he probably wasn’t on the right path.

Looking back, all he saw was a single line of footprints trailing behind him—his own—stretching upward into the wilderness.

Though the sun had long since risen, its rays couldn’t pierce the dense clouds blanketing the snow mountain. They didn’t bring even a sliver of warmth.

Jiang Bai found a large boulder, brushed off the snow, and sat down to rest.

Taking a swig of strong liquor from his flask, he rubbed his wind-chilled, reddened cheeks and looked toward the deeper reaches of the mountain.

From the outside, the snowy peak hadn’t looked that massive. But standing within it now, he could no longer see the distant peaks or lakes—only endless snow. When he craned his neck, the summit pierced into the clouds above.

The needle of his Four-Way Compass pointed steadily upward like a raised finger, unmoved no matter which direction he turned.

“That adventurer must’ve reached the summit and fulfilled his final wish.”

To die after achieving your goal—wasn’t that a kind of completion?

…

After a short break, he stepped back into the untrodden snow and continued on.

Eventually, the mountain path widened and leveled out, and he even began to hear the trickling sound of water.

Following the sound, he discovered a stream cutting through the snow—formed by melting ice from the mountaintop—flowing down into the great rivers of Liyue.

Kneeling beside the stream, Jiang Bai dipped a hand into the water. Ice mixed in with the flow, and the chill bit into his skin instantly, making him flinch and shake his hand dry.

“There must be a lot of streams like this up here.”

For a mountain this large, who knew how many rivers it had birthed.

Following the stream uphill, he began to spot broken remains of old structures—so weathered by time they were impossible to identify. Only fragments of stone walls and toppled pillars remained.

Some of the pillars had lost everything but their bases, yet even those bases bore carvings—patterns that hinted at the wisdom and artistry of a bygone age.

Intrigued, Jiang Bai stepped closer, brushing snow from the surface of a pillar base to get a clearer look at the designs.

These carvings closely resembled those on the ruins in Guyun Stone Forest. In fact, some symbol groupings were exactly the same.

The more he looked, the more confused he became.

He had always believed that the ruins in Guyun were remnants of the people who had once served the suppressed god beneath the island—so how could the same architectural motifs appear here, so far away in the snowy mountains?

Could this place have been their origin, and they later migrated to Guyun? That would explain the shared designs.

Or… maybe the carvings aren’t exclusive to those people, but instead represent a broader civilization or culture?

There wasn’t enough information. Jiang Bai couldn’t make sense of it yet, so he mentally shelved the questions and continued his climb.

The higher he went, the more ancient ruins he encountered—until he even saw small camps inhabited by hilichurls.

These hilichurls, shaped by the harsh snow mountain environment, had adapted accordingly—their fur had turned white, helping them blend seamlessly into the snow-covered terrain.

—

This is a fan translation of 胡桃拿我冲业绩 by 余溯. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!