Bai Ning wished—perhaps foolishly—that something interesting would happen soon.

  It was a dangerous thing to hope for in a haunted land that had likely devoured many overconfident cultivators like herself over the years. Still, after nearly an hour of trudging through the ghost-infested forest, even the occasional spirit attack had begun to feel dull. They flung themselves at her only to burn out on the Crimson Parasol’s shield, and she barely spared them a glance anymore.

  This was not the trial she had envisioned.

  Where were the monstrous ghouls, the perilous traps, the desperate battles for survival? Instead, her greatest enemy so far was boredom. How utterly inane.

  She eyed the canopy above. Maybe she should just fly over the damned place. It would cost her some qi, sure—but was it really worth slogging through dead trees and stubborn mist any longer? She had come here to grow stronger, to challenge herself, not to meander through bleak scenery like some lost mortal.

  Just as she was about to rise into the air, something changed.

  The mist ahead began to shift, parting like a curtain drawn by unseen hands. A soft, ghostly glow pulsed in the distance. She stopped immediately, her hand moving instinctively to her storage pouch.

  A figure emerged—human-shaped, faintly glowing, and approaching with calm steps. Her wariness spiked, and she reinforced her barrier, preparing for a confrontation.

  As the figure drew closer, its details sharpened. A small, glowing bell hovered silently over his shoulder, its chimes muffled in the thick, oppressive air. The man was pale and hollow-looking, with sallow skin, untamed black hair, and the beginnings of a wispy beard. His black robes stirred despite the still air, as if moved by an unseen force.

  More importantly, his aura was heavy with darkness—thick, shadowy qi clung to him like a second skin. A demonic cultivator at the eight stage of the Qi Condensation realm.

  He was weaker than her—four stages below, to be precise—but Bai Ning’s body tensed, qi honed to a razor’s edge. She was ready to strike.

  However, the man didn’t attack.

  Instead, his expression lightened with what looked like genuine relief. He slowed his steps and offered her a formal salute.

  “I’m glad to see you, Fellow Daoist,” he said with a faint smile. “How about we travel together? It’s better to have someone watching your back in a place like this.”

  She blinked. A greeting was the last thing she’d expected from a demonic cultivator—which, in retrospect, was a little naive. They were still people, after all, even if twisted and immoral. Her master’s warning echoed in her mind: Don’t bother talking, just turn around and walk away. But Bai Ning wasn’t the type to turn and flee just because someone was from the other side of the moral line.

  Besides, some conversation in this gloomy death-soaked forest wouldn’t be unwelcome. She would remain cautious, of course—on her highest guard, ready to sever ties the moment anything seemed off. If worse came to worst, she could always walk away.

  She didn’t retract her barrier, but her stance relaxed slightly. With a calm nod, she returned his salute.

  “I am Bai Ning. What is your name, Fellow Daoist?”

  “So it is Fairy Bai Ning,” he replied with another polite gesture. “I am Ge Xiang, a rogue cultivator from the Grey Mist Islands, down south. What do you say to my proposal? Shall we travel together? I won’t hide it—this yin qi is stronger than I expected, even for me. I’d be glad to have a companion I can rely on.”

  There was something easy and disarming about his tone. He spoke plainly, with the self-awareness of someone who didn’t expect to be trusted and wasn’t trying too hard to change that.

  Bai Ning gave a small smile in return. Yes, he was a demonic cultivator—but so far, he seemed civil enough.

  She nodded, and the two of them fell into step side by side, their protective barriers glimmering faintly where they nearly touched. As they walked, Ge Xiang spoke freely, telling her bits and pieces about himself—how he had walked the demonic path not by choice, but necessity, and how he had come here to break through his bottleneck and advance to the final stages of the Qi Condensation realm.

  “And you, Fairy Ning?” he asked as they skirted the edge of a massive hollow crawling with jiangshi. They avoided it without discussion. Bai Ning could likely handle the creatures on her own, but not without cost—and certainly not with an unknown ally beside her.

  “I came because my master thought it would be a good experience,” she said. “He called the Enigmatic Death Domain a thresher—it separates the chaff from the grain.”

  Ge Xiang nodded thoughtfully. “The way sect cultivators do things… it's very different from what I’m used to. I’ve had to scrape and bleed for every resource I’ve ever gotten. Coming to a place like this ‘for experience’ sounds… a little wasteful to me.” He paused, then quickly added, “No offense to your master, of course.”

  Bai Ning gave a soft chuckle and waved his concern off. She could understand where he was coming from. She rarely thought about it that way, but she was, in many ways, privileged. A rogue cultivator’s life was as foreign to her as hers must have been to him.

  Their conversation continued in fits and starts as they walked, the silence between them occasionally filled with the distant howling of ghosts or the creaking of dead trees. Then—a sound came from the mist around them. Faint, but distinct. It echoed oddly, like a whisper warped by the Domain itself.

  At once, both stopped. Their bodies moved instinctively into defensive stances, spiritual senses stretched to their limits.

  A heartbeat later, a powerful spiritual pressure descended on them.

  Ge Xiang flinched slightly, and Bai Ning’s eyes narrowed. A moment after that, its source appeared: a middle-aged man, clad in pristine white robes, with a sword strapped to his back. He drifted through the mist atop a floating cloud, his form protected by a golden barrier inscribed with talismanic characters that shimmered faintly.

  His aura was deep and refined. The peak of Qi Condensation, like her. Only, unlike her aura, which had been veiled by Master Mo Jian to make it look like she was at the tenth stage of Qi Condensation, his was unrestrained. He wasn’t hiding his power.

  The man on the cloud slowed as he spotted them through the thinning mist. His gaze swept over Bai Ning, then stopped abruptly on Ge Xiang. For a moment, his expression remained neutral—but then, almost imperceptibly, it stiffened.

  His golden barrier flared faintly.

  “You…” he said slowly, voice calm but edged with something sharp. “You look familiar.”

  Ge Xiang didn’t react at first, then tilted his head slightly and offered a courteous bow. “You must be mistaken, Fellow Daoist. I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

  The man didn’t respond. His eyes remained locked on Ge Xiang, thoughtful now, calculating.

  Bai Ning stepped forward slightly, sensing the rising tension. “I am Bai Ning,” she said, giving a proper salute. “This is my first time entering the Enigmatic Death Domain. May I ask how you’re addressed, Senior?”

  The man’s gaze flicked to her, and he returned the greeting with polite formality. “Wu Zhen. Inner disciple of the Harmonious Rain Sect.”

  His tone was courteous—but the moment passed, and his focus snapped back to Ge Xiang like a drawn sword.

  A flicker of recognition flared in his eyes.

  “…That’s right,” he said, voice darkening. “You’re the one. Your face was on a notice sent to every sect branch in the region.”

  Ge Xiang’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You murdered my junior nephew, Wei Yun,” Wu Zhen said coldly. “Last month, outside the Crimson Fog Valley. He was a disciple of our Harmonious Rain Sect, and he died with your sword through his chest.”

  Ge Xiang stiffened—but only for a moment. Then his expression settled into something cold and guarded.

  “I haven’t killed anyone matching that description,” he said evenly. “If your junior died to a demonic cultivator, then that’s his bad luck. This is the cultivation world, not a garden stroll.”

  Wu Zhen rose slightly on his cloud, his qi surging as his golden barrier flared to life with radiant intensity. His expression matched the power—blazing with fury. “You lie. I wouldn’t mistake that face. Two of my juniors saw you flee the scene after killing Wei Yun.” He pointed at Ge Xiang. “For the crime of murdering a Harmonious Rain disciple, I’ll deliver justice here and now.”

  Bai Ning’s heart sank. She’d hoped to avoid a fight, but standing beside Ge Xiang at that moment had sealed her fate. Could she walk away?

  Wu Zhen’s gaze flicked to her briefly. “I see you’re not a demonic cultivator, Fairy Bai Ning. Help me slay him, and I’ll let you go.”

  Bai Ning hesitated. “I have no stake in this fight. Fellows, I must bid you farewell. I have my own purpose here, and your quarrel does not concern me.” She stepped back cautiously, keeping both men in sight.

  Ge Xiang’s expression was resigned, as if he had expected this outcome. But Wu Zhen’s anger shifted toward her.

  With a flash of light, a dozen swordlights burst from his hand, streaking toward both of them. Bai Ning flared her shield, meeting the attack as the swordlights struck—each clash sending shockwaves rippling through the mist.

  Ge Xiang also reacted instantly. He leapt back, a small jade bead flying from his sleeve to hover protectively before him. The bead absorbed the incoming strikes one by one, but each deflection sent cracks running deeper through its surface. By the time the last swordlight shattered against it, the bead split clean down the middle and fell to the ground in fragments.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Ge Xiang’s face turned deathly pale.

  Bai Ning raised her voice, still trying to de-escalate. “Senior Brother Wu, please wait—this is a misunderst—”

  But Ge Xiang was already turning away. Without a word, he fled into the mist, his black robes trailing behind him.

  Bai Ning froze in sheer surprise.

  Wu Zhen scoffed coldly. “You’re dreaming if you think you can escape.”

  He reached over his shoulder and unsheathed the sword on his back. With a sharp gesture, he tossed it into the air. The blade hovered for an instant—then vanished in a streak of golden light, chasing after Ge Xiang like a hunting hawk.

  Wu Zhen’s eyes turned back to her.

  “Now, as for you.”

  Bai Ning didn’t wait. She activated Imperial Flying Step, her form blurring as she shot toward a nearby tree. She hit the trunk, pushed off with practiced precision, and launched herself to a higher branch. A ghost screeched into her path—its pale form lunging with outstretched claws—but she twisted mid-air, slipping past it by a hairsbreadth. Her feet touched down lightly on a high branch just as Wu Zhen rose after her, standing calmly on his drifting cloud.

  A silver, spoked wheel glittered in his palm. He pointed it at her and a blast of coruscating light tore through the air, annihilating the branch she’d just landed on.

  But she was already gone. Bai Ning launched backward, bouncing from tree to tree, branches cracking beneath her feet as she evaded one radiant blast after another.

  This wasn’t working.

  The moment her feet touched another trunk, she grit her teeth and dropped. She fell like a stone through the layers of mist and leaves, then slapped her storage pouch. Her flying tool shot out and caught her mid-air—the embroidered handkerchief, now expanded into a wide, shimmering platform beneath her feet.

  She took off at once, weaving through the trees in sharp zigzags as blasts of light streaked after her, tearing through bark and stone. Each near miss raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

  As soon as she’d gained some distance, Bai Ning arced around in a wide loop, slapping her storage pouch again to summon the second tool she had painstakingly prepared under Master Mo Jian’s watchful eyes before entering the Enigmatic Death Domain.

  A golden banner dropped into her waiting hands. With a burst of qi, she unfurled it. The Golden Silk Dragon Banner gleamed through the mist, a coiling, serpentine dragon stitched in resplendent thread across its fluttering surface.

  She pointed it toward Wu Zhen. The dragon stirred. With a shiver, it peeled itself from the cloth—an ethereal golden beast twisting and coiling through the air. Flames danced along its spine and claws, trailing down its chin like a burning beard. Its eyes blazed with silent fury.

  The dragon opened its fanged maw and let out a roar—soundless but impossibly forceful—before launching itself at Wu Zhen’s shield.

  Gold met gold. The entire forest lit up as if a miniature sun had descended. A shockwave of qi flattened trees and scattered the surrounding mist in an explosive burst. Even the ghosts, drawn by death and resentment, fled the overwhelming light, leaving the world eerily silent for one suspended breath.

  Bai Ning didn’t waste it. She pointed toward her defensive tool, and the crimson umbrella unfurled once more, casting a radiant barrier around her and her floating platform.

  Then she moved. She gathered her qi, channeling it through her meridians as she activated a spell. Flames surged in her palm, coalescing into a fireball. She hurled it at Wu Zhen the instant it formed, then another, and another—each one fueled by crisp, controlled rage.

  He remained behind his shield, struggling to repel the golden dragon. The fireballs struck one after another, exploding against the barrier in bursts of heat and light. Each impact rocked him further back through the air, his balance wavering on the drifting cloud.

  The dragon pressed harder, clawing and biting at the golden barrier. Each strike carved deep gouges of molten light, and the once-stable shield now flickered, threads of energy unraveling along its edges like a fraying tapestry.

  Wu Zhen was faltering. His jaw was clenched tight, his expression twisted in effort as he poured qi into the collapsing shield. He had probably assumed his cultivation realm outstripped hers and this would be an easy fight, but Bai Ning held the upper hand through both superior magic tools and sheer preparation. She watched as the golden dragon reared back once more, its burning eyes fixed on Wu Zhen, its claws raised to strike.

  Snarling, Wu Zhen spat out a curse. “You demonic whore.”

  Without warning, he hurled the silver spoked wheel in his hand. It passed through the thinning shield and Bai Ning’s instincts screamed a warning. She had only a heartbeat to react, but not enough time to stop it.

  The wheel detonated.

  A blinding flare of coruscating light consumed everything, and the world vanished in white. The explosion ripped outward with a roaring burst of force, the sheer pressure of it flattening the nearby trees and scattering the heavy mist like a shattered veil. The earth itself trembled under the impact, and for a long, suspended moment, all that existed was light, smoke, and sound.

  Bai Ning staggered on her flying tool, her shield rippling violently under the strain. Even protected, the blast had nearly knocked her from the sky. Her ears rang with an oppressive hum, and her vision danced with afterimages as she hovered unsteadily above the ruined clearing.

  As the smoke began to thin, she spotted Wu Zhen. His floating cloud had crashed into the ground, now little more than scattered fragments of qi. His golden shield was gone, completely obliterated by the self-detonation of his own tool.

  He emerged from the crater, wobbling, smoke rising from his robes. Blood and bile spilled from his mouth as he staggered forward, barely conscious.

  Detonating a magic tool was reckless. Not only was it an enormous waste, it carried the risk of backlash—often harming the wielder more than the enemy. Wu Zhen had gambled everything on that desperate move and done more damage to himself than to her.

  Bai Ning hesitated, wondering whether she should just leave right now, but then a flash of crimson flew into the clearing. Wu Zhen tried to turn, but he was too shaken and unready. The dagger took him in the back, emerging in a shower of blood and gore from the font of his chest. Wu Zhen let out a choked, disbelieving sound, eyes wide, before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

  Bai Ning raised the Golden Silk Dragon Banner at once. Another ephemeral dragon unfurled from its surface, coiling protectively around her.

  Ge Xiang entered the clearing, his steps slow and deliberate. Bai Ning didn’t lower her guard. Her grip on the banner tightened as she braced for another fight.

  But Ge Xiang only bowed, the defensive bell at his shoulder chiming softly.

  “I am in awe of your talent, Fairy Bai Ning,” he said. “And I must apologize for fleeing earlier. I knew I couldn't face him directly, so I hid, waiting for a chance to assist. Unfortunately, dealing with his flying sword took longer than I anticipated. Still, I returned in time to see him cornered. I hope you don’t mind me helping to finish him off. Even weakened, he was a peak-stage Qi Condensation cultivator—best not to take chances.”

  He bowed again, even lower this time, then gestured toward Wu Zhen’s body. “Here.”

  Wu Zhen’s storage pouch detached from his belt and floated toward Bai Ning.

  She caught it mid-air after a moment’s hesitation, her heart still pounding from the sudden, brutal end to the fight. It felt ghoulish, looting a corpse, but she knew the tradition—among orthodox sects as well as unorthodox ones: the victor claimed the loser’s belongings.

  Still, she kept her shield up. Words were easy, but she didn’t trust Ge Xiang after his actions. But he did seem sincere this time, and unless she planned to part ways immediately, she might as well descend.

  She dismissed the Golden Silk Dragon Banner, though she kept the Six-Trigrams Crimson Parasol unfurled. Her flying tool carried her gently down. As her feet touched the ground near Wu Zhen’s body, the flying handkerchief shrank down and flew back into her storage pouch.

  Ge Xiang smiled. “Here, I have a healing pill. Please take it as my apology for being of so little help.”

  Before Bai Ning could politely refuse—she had no intention of putting anything into her body from a demonic cultivator—Ge Xiang casually tossed the pill her way. Instinctively, she caught it, letting it pass through her shield.

  It was bone-white and unfamiliar, not resembling any healing pill she knew.

  “Thank you for the offer, Fellow Daoist Xiang,” she said, holding it out. “But I have my own. You can take this one back.”

  Ge Xiang smiled again, but this one was different—sly, edged with something cold.

  Bai Ning’s instincts screamed. She moved to throw the pill aside—but it was too late. It burst in her hand, releasing a puff of green powder that swirled into a tight, focused cloud around her. Before she could react, it dissipated into her lungs and skin. Her thoughts went foggy; her balance swayed.

  “What...” she mumbled. The ground tilted beneath her. No—it was she who was tilting. Her vision blurred. Within moments, she was on her knees, then flat on her back, breathing hard. A dull pressure weighed down her mind, smothering her thoughts like wet wool.

  Through numb lips, she managed a single word: “Poi… poison.”

  Ge Xiang exhaled and rolled his shoulders, as if shedding tension. She could barely make him out, a smudged silhouette at the edge of her flickering vision—but his voice was strangely clear.

  “Finally,” he said, sounding almost relieved. “I was starting to worry I wouldn’t get the chance. But it’ll be worth it. A sect princess like you? You’re bound to be carrying some real treasures.”

  His tone was still charming and warm. That only made it worse.

  Ge Xiang tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I must say, I’m impressed. Not just by the fight—though that was instructive—but by how you’re still maintaining your barrier even after ingesting the Thousand Bone Agony Poison. Your master trained you well. Most people lose control of their qi instantly.”

  A memory surged up through the haze. Her master, Mo Jian, standing over her, a small vial in hand. The first poison he’d ever given her—bitter, burning, and terrifying. He'd forced her to refine it in her body as a training method. She’d protested, whined, even gone days without speaking to him. However, he hadn't relented. Over the months, the poisons had grown stronger, and her resistance sharper.

  Now, on desiccated ground, under a flickering crimson shield, with a demonic cultivator practically at her throat, that training became her only hope.

  Bai Ning took a shallow, shuddering breath. Then another. Her qi moved like syrup through her meridians, but she pushed it—slowly, steadily—refining the poison with each exhale.

  Ge Xiang was still talking.

  “It’s a shame, really. You’re quite beautiful,” he mused. “But there are more important things than beauty.” He crouched low, leaning in so his face hovered just beyond her barrier. His features came into focus: calm, confident, and entirely unbothered.

  “Do you know how I knew I could beat you, even though you’re the stronger cultivator?” he asked, voice soft. “I saw it the moment you hesitated to strike down that fool, Wu Zhen. You’d never killed before—have you? A sheltered little sect princess.”

  He stood and shrugged.

  “I can wait. Your barrier won’t last forever. And in the end, you’ll be just another corpse feeding the worms.”

  Another memory stirred—one she'd buried.

  Her master had taken her on a hunt. Not for glory or battle, but for experience. Demonic beasts, he said, would teach her the reality of killing. She had struck down Vermillion Wolves and Golden-Furred Monkeys with little difficulty—but she had faltered when faced with the Illusory Phantasm Cranes. They mimicked people—illusions of the familiar, of the innocent. She hadn’t wanted to kill them.

  But her master, though always gentle, had been unmoved. He'd insisted. She remembered the first one she struck down—how its illusion shimmered and bled. Her flying dagger piercing its throat. The spray of blood. The stillness afterward. The nightmares that followed.

  She took another breath. Her qi was still sluggish, but it flowed easier than before, slowly clearing the poison from her system.

  Through a swollen tongue, with great effort, she forced the words out:

  “You… you're wrong about one thing.”

  Ge Xiang’s eyes snapped to her in surprise. Her vision had sharpened; his face was no longer a blur. She could see the confusion flicker across his features.

  “I have killed before.”

  The flying dagger that had killed Wu Zhen dropped down from above on Ge Xiang’s head. He had a bare moment of speechless disbelief, gazing up at it, before his own magical tool pierced through his eye and its sharp tip emerged from the back of his head. There was a breathless moment of silence. Then, a single bead of blood welled up and rolled down the dagger’s tip, falling soundlessly to the ground.

  Ge Xiang’s body jerked. His knees gave out, and he collapsed backward, landing flat on the ground.

  Bai Ning shuddered. The dagger slipped from her mental grasp and fell with a dull thud beside his corpse. She choked back a sob, her breath catching as the weight of everything crashed down on her.

  Slowly—painfully—she pushed herself upright. Numbness faded from her limbs, replaced by pins and needles, then deep, aching fatigue. Her fingers trembled. Her legs barely held her.

  Around her, the ghosts had returned. Driven off during the battle, they now hovered at the edges of the clearing, drifting between corpses like vultures sensing a fresh kill. Pale, formless, and hungry, a couple of them tested her crimson barrier, before being driven off again.

  Bai Ning forced herself to her feet. Her entire body ached, every movement slow and deliberate. She stood there for a long moment, steadying her breath, gathering what little strength she had left.

  Her gaze settled on Ge Xiang’s body. She didn’t know what she felt—rage, relief, sorrow, disgust—it all blurred together into a dull, cold emptiness.

  At last, she raised her hand.

  A fireball ignited in her palm and shot forward. His body went up in flames, devoured in moments, leaving only scorched earth and ashes.

  Then, slowly, painfully, she turned around and walked away.