A creeping, greasy gray mist coiled through the crags of the southern ridgeline, clinging to the jagged rocks like mold on rotting wood. Twilight had bled into night. That left the moonless sky obscured by heavy, low-hanging clouds that smelled faintly of distant sulfur and ozone.
Through the narrow cleft between two dark rock crags, eight dark silhouettes slipped into the forest boundary without displacing a single pebble.
They wore flowing robes woven from the tanned hide of underground shadow-leeches, designed to swallow surrounding light and suppress the body heat of the wearer. Their faces were hidden behind polished bone masks carved in the likeness of weeping skulls, through whose narrow eye-slits cold, hungry gazes scanned the dark brush. At their hips hung curved daggers ground from the femurs of blood-apes, their serrated edges glistening with purple necro-toxin capable of liquefying internal organs in twelve breaths.
Leading the squad was Deacon Xue San of the Blood Sea Demonic Sect.
Xue San was an early Foundation Establishment fighter whose skin had turned the sickly, waxy shade of lard from twenty years of cultivating the [Blood River Soul-Melting Art]. At his waist rested a copper fortune-telling compass, its central needle crafted from a dried human fingernail that twitched and spun toward sources of dense spiritual energy.
“Hold formation,” Xue San hissed through his bone mask, raising a gauntleted hand. His voice was a rasping scrape that carried no farther than three paces. “Suppress your blood-reservoirs to the lowest ebb. The border depot is three miles to the west, but we’re bypassing the human wagon drivers. Elder Han Gu doesn’t care about mortal merchants or bags of rice. Our target is the valley core.”
Behind him, seven elite scouts halted instantly, sinking into the mossy shadows like oil settling on water.
“Deacon,” whispered the scout nearest to him, a lean student named Gu She who carried a heavy metal tube of crimson metal strapped across his spine. “The rumors from Qianyuan City spoke of an ancient fiendgod—a ‘Divine Azure Patriarch’ who controls heavenly lightning and commands wolf kings. Is it truly wise to probe their depths with only eight men?”
Xue San let out a low, mocking sneer that sent a puff of foul mist through his mask.
“Fool,” Xue San spat coldly. “Have you cultivated demonic arts for ten years only to be frightened by tavern fables whispered by drunken wagon drivers? ‘Divine Azure Patriarch’? ‘A blue orb of sky starlight’? It’s nothing more than an overgrown spirit beast that developed basic intelligence. Likely a mutant water-element mollusk or an ancient toad spirit that learned to mimic human speech. The mortal merchants were scared by bandits. So when a local monster chased the brigands away to protect its feeding grounds, those cowardly mortals fell to their knees and announcedit a god.”
Xue San tapped the copper metal tube on Gu She’s back.
“Elder Han Gu has already begun the final posture of the Nine-Ghost Blood Soul Cauldron in the southern barrens,” Xue San continued, his eyes gleaming with sadistic devotion. “Within five days, one hundred thousand blood-maddened beasts will pour through this pass like an avalanche of red fire. Our duty tonight is simple: map their underground water gates, locate the spirit grain vaults, capture three beastfolk sentries so we can peel their souls for defense maps, and plant these three Crimson Bright light Needles into the forest leylines.”
He drew a nine-inch needle from his leather sleeve. The spike was forged from cursed blood-iron, its surface etched with micro-runes that pulsed with an ugly, crimson heartbeat.
“Once these needles take root in the soil,” Xue San whispered with dark relish, “the blood-scent will act as an irresistible bright light for the beast tide. The horde will bypass the outer walls entirely. It drove twenty thousand razor-tusk boars straight into their residential huts while they sleep. Not a single living thing in this valley will escape the cooking pot’s refining fire.”
“Understood, Deacon,” Gu She whispered, his stance stiffening with cruel excitement. “Shall we advance through the bamboo grove ahead?”
Xue San glanced at the compass. The fingernail needle was trembling wildly. He pointed directly toward a narrow defile lined with towering stalks of dark green iron-bamboo. The spiritual qi flowing from that direction was astonishingly pure. So crisp and invigorating that even breathing the stray breeze made Xue San’s congested blood spirit veins hum with covetous hunger.
“Advance in diamond dispersal,” Xue San commanded. “Tread only on exposed stone. If you meet any beast sentry—be it wolf, fox, or otter—don’t kill it right away. Drive a bone nail through its kneecaps, sever its throat cords, and bring it to me for soul-extraction.”
The eight shadows surged forward, weaving between the iron-bamboo stalks with uncanny, fluid agility. They moved like wraiths through the mist, their soft-soled boots skimming over dead leaves without producing the slightest rustle.
Yet they pierced deeper into the bamboo defile. Then, an unsettling sensation began to prickle against Xue San’s neck.
The forest was quiet. Unnaturally quiet.
There were no night-crickets chirping in the brush. There were no owls hooting in the canopy. Even the wind seemed to die down, leaving the air thick, humid, and remarkably fragrant. The iron-bamboo stalks stood perfectly straight. Their polished green culms rose forty feet into the canopy like a forest of emerald spears.
“Something is missing,” Xue San thought, his eyes narrowing behind his bone mask as his grip tightened on the handle of his bone dagger. “There are no patrol tracks. No outer edge torches. A settlement of a thousand beasts, and they leave their eastern bamboo flank fully unguarded?”
He paused beside a massive culm of iron-bamboo, raising his compass. To his confusion, the fingernail needle was no longer pointing north toward the volcano bowl. Instead, it was spinning in slow, lazy circles, as if bathing in a warm whirlpool.
“Deacon,” Gu She whispered from five paces back, his tone slightly strained. “Do you smell that?”
Xue San inhaled through the mask’s vents. Expecting the pungent musk of hungry beasts or the rot of forest loam, his senses were instead greeted by a warm, intoxicating aroma of roasted sesame seeds, sweet honey glaze, and freshly baked fried dough twists.
Xue San frowned in disgust. “Sesame? In the middle of an untamed mountain pass?”
Three miles to the north, in the calm garden courtyard beneath the ancient spirit willow, Lin Xiao was resting upon a low cedar table.
Before him sat a broad bronze basin filled with spring water, whose surface reflected the misty bamboo grove with crystal-clear zoom. Beside the basin rested a wide bamboo basket filled with piping-hot, golden-brown fried dough twists, generously rolled in crushed sesame and wild honey.
Lin Xiao extended a small azure slime arm. It snapped off a crisp, sugary piece of dough twist. Then it drew it into his void core with a delighted crunch.
“Mmm, the sesame harvest this autumn is really superb,” Lin Xiao remarked, his curved eyes crinkling happily. “Extra nutty, and Tie Shan’s new cast-iron wok fries the dough with such a wonderful, even crunch. Ling’er, have you tried these yet?”
Su Ling’er stood beside the table, gracefully holding a pair of polished ivory tweezers as she adjusted a series of fine, semi-clear silk threads tied to small brass balance weights on the terrace railing. Her three snowy fox tails swished gently against the floorboards.
“They’re delicious, Master,” Su Ling’er replied with a refined chuckle. “Though perhaps we should pay attention to our visitors. They have just passed the seventh stone marker in the lower bamboo grove.”
Lin Xiao looked into the water basin.
On the shimmering surface, the eight dark-robed cultists were creeping forward in their dramatic skull masks. It held their jagged bone daggers at ready angles. They stepped cautiously from to stone with grave, cinematic intensity.
“Look at them,” Lin Xiao chuckled, his blue body wobbling with amusement. “All dressed in black leather, skull masks, bone knives... They really take their evil villain aesthetic very seriously, don’t they? It must be terribly hot inside those masks.”
“Target flight path confirmed, Host,” the Dao Spirit’s cool voice chimed within his mindscape. “The eight demonic infiltrators have entered the lethal radius of Viscous Dispersion Grid Gamma. Non-Newtonian impact-hardening threshold tuned to human sprint speed. solid strength of bamboo spring-launchers: one hundred percent.”
“Good,” Lin Xiao said, chewing on another sesame twist. “Remember our prime directive: no blood, no cut limbs, and absolutely no corpse-cleanup on the bamboo path. We spent two whole days sweeping that trail for the autumn mushroom harvest. I don’t want it ruined by toxic blood spills.”
“Understood, Master,” Su Ling’er smiled, her slender fingers lightly plucking the master silk thread.
PING.
A soft, musical shaking hummed through the night air. It traveled through the underground root network straight into the heart of the southern bamboo grove.