The road had grown quieter.

  Not the natural quiet of evening settling over the land, but something heavier, a silence with weight, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

  The horses felt it first. Their ears flicked, nostrils flaring at the faintest shift in the wind. Even the most even-tempered among them moved restlessly beneath their riders, hooves striking the dirt with nervous energy.

  Xu Lian gripped the reins a little tighter. The chill in the air was subtle but present, threading through the twilight like an unseen whisper. She hated this feeling. The lingering unease from the boar, the plague-stricken travelers, the black ichor that refused to be just a stain on the past.

  Zhen Wei was the first to speak, his voice light but deliberate. "I say we push a few more miles." He tilted his head toward the horizon, where the last vestiges of daylight bled into deep indigo. "I’d rather not sleep under another tree and wake up to something dead sniffing at my boots."

  He laughed, but the sound was hollow. His thoughts were elsewhere.

  That ichor, black as ink, clinging to flesh and bone, defying the natural order of death itself, it unsettled him. Not because it was demonic. Demons he could understand. There were rules to these things, after all.

  Zhen Wei narrowed his eyes at the darkened sky, his mind slipping backward into the depths of history, where gods, ghosts, and monsters once walked among mortals. He had seen many things in this world, things that corrupted, twisted, and devoured. Some, he had fought himself. Others, he had watched rise over centuries, born from broken faith and shattered wills.

  But this?

  This sickness, this plague, this wrongness… it didn’t fit what he knew. And that unsettled him most of all.

  He tapped his fan against his palm, his mind racing through possibilities.

  Perhaps it was a Yao Guǐ (妖鬼), a vengeful spirit born from greed, wrath, or injustice, a ghost that refused to fade, poisoning the land with its grudge. Zhen Wei had seen them before, twisted things trapped in the mortal realm, too consumed by hatred to move on.

  But a Yao Guǐ could only haunt what it had once known. It wouldn’t spread like a disease. It wouldn’t infect the living, turning beasts into nightmarish husks.

  No, this was something different.

  Then there were those who toyed with the dead, treating life and flesh as mere playthings. Some were mortals who had stolen forbidden arts, playing at being gods. Others were necromancers of the darkest kind, not just raising the dead, but binding their spirits, corrupting their very essence.

  He thought of the Bai Gu Fu Ren (白骨夫人), the White Bone Demoness, a wraith who had once bathed an entire valley in death, leaving behind only hollow husks with bones bleached by the sun.

  No soul. No rebirth. Just an empty shell.

  But this ichor was worse. It clung. It resisted. It knew.

  This wasn’t mere necromancy. This was something deeper, something that refused to let go, even in death.

  Zhen Wei frowned.

  Even among demons and ghosts, there were lines not meant to be crossed. The balance between Yin and Yang, life and death, light and shadow, these weren’t arbitrary rules. They existed because the alternative was too terrible to consider.

  There were things even demons refused to touch.

  Because there was a difference between being cruel and being unnatural.

  A difference between wanting power and wanting to unravel existence itself.

  Zhen Wei’s grip tightened around his fan.

  Someone had done this. Someone with no reverence for life or death, no fear of consequence, no respect for the boundaries even gods and demons acknowledged.

  And the worst part?

  He didn’t know who.

  He had lived longer than empires. He had seen the rise and fall of tyrants, gods, and celestial warriors. He had whispered with sages and drunk with ghosts.

  And yet, he couldn’t name this thing.

  That troubled him more than anything.

  He glanced at Mo Chen, at the stiff line of his shoulders, at the way his dark gaze stayed fixed ahead, unreadable, unshaken.

  But Zhen Wei knew better.

  Mo Chen had recognized something back there. He had seen something in that ichor, in the way the boar resisted death, in the whisper buried in its final, twisted breath.

  And if Mo Chen was unwilling to speak of it, then it could only mean one thing.

  It was worse than anything Zhen Wei could imagine.

  His fan snapped shut. He forced a smile. No use worrying Xu Lian yet.

  Instead, he let out a slow sigh, shaking his head as if his thoughts had been nothing more than idle musings.

  "Let’s just hope whatever it is, it doesn’t have friends."

  He laughed, but even he could hear the hollowness in it.

  Deep down, he had a feeling this was just the beginning.

  Xu Lian cast him a sharp glance. "You’re a real ray of sunshine, Zhen Wei."

  Zhen Wei flashed her a bright grin. "What can I say? I have an undying appreciation for soft beds and hot meals. Surely, even you wouldn’t object to that?"

  Xu Lian hesitated. She wouldn’t. Not even a little.

  Mo Chen, as expected, had already made up his mind. "We move. Now." His voice was smooth, distant, like the decision had already been made the moment the first shadow stretched long across the road.

  Xu Lian exhaled slowly, allowing herself a flicker of relief. Good. She did not want another night in the wilderness. Not after today.

  But the unease didn’t fade.

  Even with the promise of an inn ahead, even with the warmth of Zhen Wei’s humor and the steady presence of Mo Chen leading them forward, she could not shake the feeling that something was watching them.

  It wasn’t just paranoia. She had been uneasy before. This was different.

  The last time she had felt something like this, she had nearly died.

  Her grip on the reins tightened.

  Zhen Wei must have noticed, because he nudged his horse closer to hers, his voice deceptively light. "Nervous, little one?"

  She scoffed, rolling her shoulders. "Just being cautious."

  "Mmm." His golden eyes studied her for a moment, a thoughtful flicker behind them. "Good. Caution keeps you alive. But fear?" He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough that only she could hear. "Fear is a leash."

  Her brows furrowed at his tone. It was… different. Not teasing. Not mocking.

  Just knowing.

  She wanted to ask what he meant, if he meant more than what he was saying. But before she could, Mo Chen’s voice cut through the thickening dusk.

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  "Keep moving."

  The words weren’t harsh, but they held a weight that settled over them like a heavy cloak.

  Xu Lian inhaled, pressing her lips together before nodding. She could unravel whatever that look in Zhen Wei’s eyes had meant later.

  For now, they pressed forward, three figures against the deepening night, shadows stretching long behind them.

  The road stretched ahead, swallowed by the encroaching twilight, the world growing quiet in a way that made Mo Chen’s skin prickle.

  He had seen silence before. He had walked through valleys where not even the wind dared to stir, where the very air had been stripped of life.

  This silence was the same.

  The horses continued to move uneasily beneath them, sensing something their riders could not. The stain of unnatural death still clung to the road, unseen but felt.

  Mo Chen kept his face impassive, but the unease in his chest had already taken root.

  His fingers curled tighter around the reins, the sensation pulling him backward, beyond this moment, beyond this road…

  To another night. Another fight.

  To a time when he had fought alongside his sworn brother.

  Centuries ago…

  The valley was choked with fog, its tendrils curling around gnarled trees like the whispers of a forgotten grave. The air tasted of rot, heavy and sour, clinging to Mo Chen’s tongue with every breath.

  Qi Tian sauntered beside him, his golden blade resting casually on his shoulder. "You’re brooding again," he said, his smirk cutting through the gloom. "It’s unbecoming."

  Mo Chen didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the temple ahead. Its once-sacred gates were warped and splintered, the wood cracked as if something had burst free from within.

  And there, at the entrance…

  The warlocks awaited.

  Their figures were wrapped in tattered robes, skin etched with runes carved too deeply into their flesh, their very presence an offense to the heavens.

  And behind them…

  The bodies.

  Rows of them, stacked like offerings before an unseen altar, their flesh sickly pale, their mouths frozen in silent screams. No wounds, no blood. Only an empty, hollow husk where life had once been.

  Qi Tian inhaled sharply. "Soul siphoning."

  Mo Chen’s grip on his sword tightened.

  This was not just an act of war. This was a transgression against existence itself.

  The warlocks turned, sensing them at last.

  One stepped forward, his hollowed-out eyes gleaming with something grotesquely amused. "You are too late," he rasped, his voice raw with power that should not have been his to wield. "They belong to me now."

  He lifted his hand, and the corpses, the ones who should have long since passed on, began to move.

  Not like the dead reanimated, nor like puppets bound by strings.

  They crawled.

  Their bodies twisted, joints bending at angles not meant for mortals. Their faces, once human, warped with something beyond pain, mouths opening in soundless howls, as if whatever remained inside them was still screaming.

  Qi Tian let out a slow breath, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. His voice was calm. Too calm.

  "Disgusting."

  Then, he moved.

  The air reeked of death and decay, thick with the remnants of rituals that had no place in this world. But even among the twisted corpses and chanting warlocks, Mo Chen and Qi Tian moved like two halves of the same blade, one unyielding, one searing, a perfect storm of steel and fury.

  Qi Tian was upon them in an instant, his blade a golden streak against the darkness. He cut through the first abomination cleanly, his strike so precise that the body had not yet realized it had been severed before it collapsed.

  "One down," Qi Tian exhaled, his tone almost bored, except for the unmistakable thrill beneath it. "Fifty more to go."

  "You’re slow," Mo Chen replied, his own blade flashing in the dim light as Beidou carved through the next abomination. "We’ll be here all night at this rate."

  Qi Tian snorted, flipping his sword into a reverse grip as he deflected an oncoming strike. "If I’m slow, what does that make you? I’m the one doing all the work."

  Mo Chen side-stepped an unnatural claw reaching for his throat, his sword arcing effortlessly to sever limb from body. "You talk too much."

  "You’d rather I let you fight in brooding silence?" Qi Tian smirked, his golden blade slicing through a warlock’s throat. "Not happening, my friend. Besides…" He kicked another corpse back with a sharp snap of his boot. "You’d miss me if I didn’t keep you entertained."

  Mo Chen did not dignify that with an answer.

  But the curve of his blade was faster than before.

  He moved through the battlefield like a force of inevitability, every strike an ending. One, two, three, bodies collapsed in his wake. He was the steel edge of finality, the quiet precision of a fate already decided.

  Qi Tian was the fire.

  He weaved through the fight with sharp laughter and reckless grace, his blade dancing, his chi burning bright against the corruption in the air. The two of them were a single rhythm, unbreakable, unstoppable.

  But then…

  The corpses did not stay down.

  Each time one fell, another rose.

  Qi Tian let out an exasperated sigh as he skewered a corpse through the chest, only for its empty, soulless body to shudder, and keep moving.

  "This is getting annoying," he muttered, yanking his sword free. He hated undead things. There was no pleasure in killing something that didn’t even know it was dead.

  Mo Chen’s gaze flicked toward the temple’s twisted, black-stained altar.

  "Their souls are bound," he said, voice edged with that same sharp certainty that had always guided them through battle.

  "Yes, thank you, genius," Qi Tian grumbled, his sword flashing in golden arcs of celestial light as he cleaved through three at once. "Did you have any insight beyond the obvious?"

  "Break the altar," Mo Chen said simply.

  Qi Tian let out a dramatic sigh, twisting to avoid a clawed hand reaching for his shoulder. "Why do I always get the heavy lifting?"

  "Because you never stop complaining," Mo Chen replied, launching himself forward in a blur of motion.

  "Unbelievable," Qi Tian muttered. But he was already moving, his blade shearing through flesh like sunlight splitting through storm clouds.

  One moment, he was beside Mo Chen, cutting down foes.

  The next, he was gone.

  Because while Mo Chen cut a path forward, Qi Tian cut a path upward.

  Mo Chen’s eyes flickered to the temple.

  Qi Tian vaulted onto the crumbling temple beams, feet light as air. His eyes flickered over the battlefield below, Mo Chen carving through the horde without pause, the corpses trying and failing to reach him.

  A god of the sword.

  It was almost unfair.

  But Qi Tian had his own talents.

  His golden blade pulsed in his grip, the chi burning hotter than fire, and then, he leapt.

  The air hummed, power gathering around him as he descended toward the altar, blade-first.

  "Break the altar," he mocked under his breath. "As if I wasn’t already planning to."

  The blade met stone.

  A shockwave ripped through the temple grounds, tearing through the ritual site like the heavens themselves had answered.

  The warlocks screamed.

  The corpses fell.

  The ichor boiled, black and unnatural, writhing as if something inside it was howling in agony.

  And Qi Tian, standing at the heart of it all, flicked dark blood from his blade and sighed. "That was way too much effort for a bunch of second-rate necromancers."

  Mo Chen landed beside him, sword still drawn, eyes scanning the fading remnants of the battle. "If it was so easy, why are you out of breath?"

  Qi Tian scowled, wiping soot from his sleeve. "I'm not."

  "You are."

  "I am not."

  Mo Chen tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, but Qi Tian could feel the judgment radiating off him in waves.

  Qi Tian groaned, sheathing his blade with a sharp click. "You’re insufferable."

  "You’re loud."

  "And yet, here I am. Saving you from doing all the work." Qi Tian smirked, slinging an arm around Mo Chen’s shoulder as they surveyed the battlefield. "What would you do without me?"

  Mo Chen exhaled. "Enjoy the silence."

  But he did not remove Qi Tian’s arm.

  And Qi Tian did not let go.

  For a moment, they simply stood there, side by side, as they always had.

  The battle was over.

  And at the time, Mo Chen had no reason to believe it was anything but another victory.

  That Qi Tian, his sworn brother, his most trusted companion, would always be there to stand beside him.

  That they would always fight together, laughing in the face of death, shoulder to shoulder against the world.

  That nothing would ever change.

  His fingers twitched around the reins.

  Had something survived?

  He had killed them. He was sure of it.

  But here they were.

  History was not supposed to repeat itself.

  And yet the stench of defiled chi, the ichor that refused to fade, the unnatural hunger that clung to the edges of this world…

  It all told him otherwise.

  Mo Chen blinked, the echoes of the past fading into the present.

  The road stretched ahead.

  The silence lingered.

  And once again, clucking to his horse, he ushered them all forward.

  Not as a commander ordering troops.

  But as a shared, unspoken urgency to get the Dìyù off this damned road.