The dream came in fragments, a slow-moving tide of shadow and decay.

  Xu Lian stood at the edge of a vast, stagnant lake. The water was thick, black, and unmoving, as though something congealed lay just beneath the surface. A fetid wind stirred, carrying the scent of rot, the kind that clung to one's skin long after they had left its source. The mist curled around her ankles like ghostly fingers, creeping toward her with an unnatural stillness.

  Something bobbed in the water.

  At first, it was only a dark shape, featureless, indistinct. Then, as though the murky depths wished to reveal their secrets, the corpse rolled over, its bloated face turning toward her. The flesh was swollen and split, dark liquid oozing from where the skin could no longer hold. Its eyes were gone… only now two hollow pits staring endlessly into the abyss.

  Xu Lian couldn't move.

  The lake was full of them. Dozens, no hundreds floating, waiting, their forms barely visible in the thick, clotted darkness. And though their mouths did not move, she could hear them whispering. A breathy, wet chorus that seeped into her bones.

  A ripple passed over the surface.

  Something was there, watching.

  Not from the depths of the lake, but from the shore opposite her, where the mist curled and thickened like a living shroud. A figure stood just beyond the veil, tall and unnaturally still, its form blurred by the shifting haze. It did not breathe, did not shift, only watched. Its presence a cold, unyielding weight that pressed against her chest.

  The longer she stared, the more the figure seemed to solidify, its edges sharpening as though the mist itself were carving it into existence. Its silhouette was human, yet not too tall, too thin, its proportions stretched and distorted as if the very fabric of reality had warped around it. Its face, if it had one, was hidden, but she could feel its gaze piercing through the fog, pinning her in place.

  The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of voices that seemed to emanate from the figure itself. They were not words, not exactly, but a chorus of despair and longing, a sound that clawed at her mind and burrowed into her soul. It was as if the figure were drawing her in, pulling her toward the lake, toward the black waters that churned with unseen horrors.

  She tried to move, to step back, but her body refused to obey. The cold that had seeped into her bones now felt like chains, binding her to the spot. The figure remained motionless, its presence a silent promise, or a threat. She could not tell which.

  And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, it raised a hand. The gesture was deliberate, deliberate and deliberate, as if it were beckoning her closer, inviting her to step into the lake, to join the dead that floated in its depths.

  The whispers became a roar, drowning out all thought, all reason. The figure’s hand remained outstretched, its fingers long and skeletal, the tips brushing against the edge of the mist. And though it did not speak, she could hear its voice in her mind, cold and hollow, echoing with a thousand voices.

  Come.

  The whispers grew louder.

  A drop of black liquid splashed onto her hand. The cold of it burned.

  She woke with a gasp.

  Xu Lian sat up abruptly, her breath ragged and uneven, as though she had been running for hours. A sheen of cold sweat clung to her skin, defying the morning chill that seeped through the thin fabric of the tent. Her fingers clawed into the blanket, gripping it tightly as if it could anchor her to reality, to the here and now. But the dream clung to her like a second skin, its weight pressing down on her chest, its whispers still echoing in her ears.

  The tent was quiet, too quiet. The faint, silvery light of dawn crept through the seams of the fabric, its soft glow doing little to chase away the shadows that lingered in the corners of her mind. She exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid, frantic beat of her heart beneath her palm. It thundered as though it had been racing for miles, as though it were still trying to outrun the figure in the mist, the black lake, the whispers that had felt so real.

  She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, but the image of the figure’s outstretched hand burned behind her eyelids. That cold, hollow voice still echoed in her mind, a single word that had felt less like an invitation and more like a command.

  Come.

  Her fingers trembled as she released the blanket, the fabric slipping from her grasp. She glanced around the tent, half-expecting to see the mist curling at the edges, the figure standing in the corner, watching. But there was nothing. Only the quiet, the faint light, and the lingering chill that refused to leave her bones.

  Outside, the world was serene. The ground shimmered with dew, the damp earth holding the cool remnants of the night. The horses stood where they had been left, their sides rising and falling in steady, lazy breaths. The sky in the east had begun its slow transformation, shifting from the deep indigo of the early hours to the pale hues of approaching sunlight.

  Everything was calm.

  Everything was safe.

  So why did it feel like something had followed her out of the dream?

  The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and the dying embers of last night’s fire. The quiet between them was broken only by the soft rustling of movement, their boots scuffing against packed dirt, the creak of leather straps as they packed up their camp, the occasional snort from the horses as they swished their tails in lazy contentment.

  Overhead, the canopy of trees filtered the morning light into soft golden shafts, dappling the ground with warmth. A breeze stirred through the leaves, carrying the faint chirp of distant birds and the murmurs of a waking forest. It was the kind of morning that should have felt peaceful. Should have.

  But Xu Lian couldn’t shake the cold that still clung to her bones.

  She pulled her outer robe tighter around herself, glancing at the smoldering remnants of their fire. The embers had burned low in the night, but in her dreams, she had stood before something that refused to burn out… a place untouched by warmth, where darkness stretched in every direction and the dead did not rest.

  Across from her, Mo Chen moved with his usual quiet efficiency, tightening the straps on his pack, securing his sword at his side. He had said little since their murmured conversation, his expression as unreadable as ever. But there had been something in his voice, something strained, when he spoke of a lake.

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  Xu Lian hesitated before speaking. "You saw it too?”

  Mo Chen didn’t look at her immediately. Instead, he adjusted the strap of his bracer, his fingers moving with careful precision. "I saw a lake," he said at last. "A blackened, stagnant thing. And the dead, drifting in its waters."

  Xu Lian let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Then it wasn’t just a nightmare."

  Mo Chen’s gaze flicked toward her, sharp but measured. "No."

  Something about the way he said it made her skin prickle. It wasn’t hesitation, no Mo Chen never hesitated, but rather a restraint, as if there was more he wasn’t saying.

  "The corpses," she pressed. "Did you hear them too? The whispers?"

  He nodded once, but his silence spoke louder than words.

  Xu Lian swallowed, gripping the strap of her pack a little tighter. "It felt... wrong. Not just terrifying, but unnatural. Like something was pulling me toward it."

  Mo Chen’s jaw tensed. "It was."

  That sent a chill through her. "What do you mean?"

  A pause. Then, quietly: "Dreams don’t leave behind a weight in the chest when you wake. They don’t stain the air with something you can still feel." His fingers brushed against his sleeve, as if testing some unseen presence. "What we saw wasn’t just a dream. It was a place."

  Xu Lian exhaled sharply. "Then where is it?"

  Mo Chen didn’t answer immediately. He looked away, his gaze drifting toward the trees, toward the winding path ahead. His voice, when it came, was quiet.

  "I don’t know. Not yet."

  She frowned, studying him carefully. There was something off about the way he said it. It was too neutral, too carefully chosen.

  "But you’ve seen it before, haven’t you?"

  Mo Chen was still. Not stiff, not tense; he was just motionless, as if he were considering whether or not to acknowledge the truth aloud.

  Finally, he said, "Once."

  The word carried a weight she couldn’t decipher.

  Xu Lian's fingers curled at her sides. "Then you know what it is."

  A long pause. Then, Mo Chen spoke, his voice low and measured. "I know that it is dangerous."

  The conversation could have ended there. It almost did. But something in Xu Lian refused to let it go.

  "The way you talked about the water," she said softly. "It wasn’t just fear."

  Mo Chen’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of something, something raw, flashing behind his eyes before it was buried beneath his usual control. "No," he admitted, voice barely above a murmur. "It wasn’t."

  He turned away then, standing as if signaling the end of the conversation.

  Zhen Wei, who had spent the better part of the morning listening, chose this moment to stir from his hammock. With a dramatic stretch and a groan, he rolled to his feet, shaking out his robes like a man who had not just overheard something deeply unsettling. He’d overheard the hushed conversation between Mo Chen and Xu Lian, and while neither of them was exactly spilling their guts, Zhen Wei’s sharp mind connected the dots quicker than a lightning strike.

  “Well, well,” Zhen Wei’s voice was light, almost sing-song as he moved to pack up his own gear. "It seems we’re all in the same… strange boat, aren’t we? Shared dreams, nightmares that linger… This sounds like more than a simple bad night’s sleep."

  Xu Lian shot him a bright smile, eager to share what she could. "Yes! I dreamt of this horrible lake, all dark and… awful, with corpses floating around. And there were whispers too. They didn’t speak to me, but I could hear them in my bones. It was like the lake was… alive somehow." She frowned, clearly troubled by the images.

  Zhen Wei raised an eyebrow. "That sounds unpleasant. Anything else? Anything that might give us a clue as to what’s behind it?"

  Xu Lian hesitated, her eyes flickering over to Mo Chen, who was still packing in silence. “I... felt like something was watching me, but I don’t know what. It’s hard to explain. It’s like there’s something out there, just beyond my reach. It’s creepy.”

  Mo Chen remained still, his gaze distant, a shadow flickering over his face. "I also saw the lake," he said finally, his voice low, almost reluctant. "The water was thick with black ooze. I don’t know what it is, but it felt… Like it’s alive, feeding off something, but I can’t say for certain what."

  He stopped there, though, his jaw tightening. He didn’t mention the faces in the water. Didn’t mention how some of them had been familiar—brothers lost long ago, their eyes staring out of that black void, begging for release. He couldn’t face that. Not yet. Not with Xu Lian, and definitely not with Zhen Wei, who might see right through him.

  Zhen Wei listened quietly, sensing the unspoken words between them. He continued to move with a calm, deliberate manner, helping pack up the camp without interrupting the silence that had settled over them. But he was alert—he could sense the tension between the two, the weight of their shared knowledge. The way they danced around the real truth.

  After a few moments of silence, Zhen Wei gave a loud sigh and threw a teasing glance at Mo Chen, his voice light, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Well, then. Another day of riding and mysterious forces in the air. Nothing like a little road trip to get the blood flowing, huh?" He swung back onto his horse, looking up at the clear sky. “Maybe I should start singing to entertain us and lighten the mood!”

  Mo Chen’s lips twitched at the corners, but he remained stoic as always. "If you do, I’ll throw you off the horse myself," he muttered, barely acknowledging the joke.

  Xu Lian’s laughter rang out, bright and clear, though internally, a storm raged within her. What was she even doing here? This wasn’t the life she had wanted. She just wanted to be a cultivator, to walk the path of the immortal, not to get caught up in all of this darkness. What was it all about? Her thoughts spun in circles, but she pushed them aside for now. She forced a smile, hoping the feeling of being watched would pass. For now, she would just keep going. Keep moving forward.

  Meanwhile, Zhen Wei rode quietly beside them, his usual banter replaced by a thoughtful silence. Something about Xu Lian felt... different. The memory of the previous night lingered in his mind, vivid and unsettling.

  It had been late, the campfire reduced to faint embers, the forest cloaked in a stillness that felt almost unnatural. Zhen Wei, ever the light sleeper, had stirred at the faint shift in the air, a subtle disturbance, like the ripple of a stone dropped into a still pond. At first, he had dismissed it as the wind, but then he felt it: a faint, oppressive energy, a whisper of something dark and ancient. It emanated from Xu Lian’s tent, a faint aura of malevolent chi that prickled at his senses.

  Curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had approached her tent cautiously, his steps silent, his fan held loosely in one hand. The glow had been faint at first, a soft, otherworldly light seeping through the fabric of her robes. It pulsed gently, like the heartbeat of something alive, something powerful. He had hesitated, torn between his desire to understand and the unspoken rules of propriety. Peering further would have been an unforgivable intrusion, and he had no intention of being labeled a lecher or a peeping Tom. But the sight had left him unsettled.

  The light had felt holy, almost celestial, like the radiance of a divine artifact. Yet, beneath its brilliance, there had been something else, a shadow, a taint that twisted the purity of its glow. It was as if the object carried a duality within it, a balance of light and darkness that defied explanation.

  Now, as they rode, the memory of that glow weighed heavily on his mind. What was it? And why did it feel so... dangerous? He glanced at Xu Lian, her profile serene as she gazed ahead, oblivious to the storm of questions swirling within him. Whatever she carried, it was no ordinary trinket. It was tied to something far greater, something that had marked her in ways she likely didn’t yet understand.

  Zhen Wei’s fingers tightened around the reins, his usual smirk absent. He couldn’t ignore the unsettling feeling that had settled in his gut. The dreams, the aura, the glow—it was all connected. And whatever was pulling Xu Lian toward that darkness, it was only a matter of time before it revealed itself. The road stretched ahead of them, open and inviting.

  The sky above was a brilliant blue, the morning sun warm against their backs. Birds flitted between the trees, the rustling of leaves whispering a song of tranquility. The world, for all its beauty, bore no awareness of the darkness growing beneath its surface.

  Somewhere in the distance, in the place they had both dreamed of, black waters lay still, waiting.

  The past was not done with them.

  And neither was whatever lurked beneath the surface.

  it lingers. The chill in Xu Lian’s bones is not just fear, it is recognition.

  Some questions to ponder:

  ?? The lake—just a nightmare, or something more?

  ?? The figure in the mist—what does it want?

  ?? Mo Chen’s past—why does he refuse to name what he has seen?

  ?? Zhen Wei—was his usual mischief masking something deeper?

  this is only the beginning. The road ahead is not just one of travel—it is one of discovery.

  ?? Themes I Write: Xianxia | Wuxia | Cultivation | Poetic Tragedy | Immortality & Fate

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