In the space around the motionless Wan Yu, Fu Ran leaped down from his spiritual blade. He dropped only a dozen feet from the imposing red shrine, and had his eyes not been keen he might have missed the young boy nearly covered in tall blades of grass and piled red leaves. But the bright white robes of An Xian Yun Peak were hard to mask even in a sea of green and red.

Fu Ran pressed a hand to Wan Yu’s chest, checking his body’s condition. He didn't so much as shift.

As soon as he confirmed his disciples' condition, Fu Ran crouched low. His breath fell shallow, trying to vanish into the earth itself. The air hummed with a rising tide of malevolent energy of demonic qi, thick and undeniable.

Nearly the moment his feet touched the ground, a fresh wave of spirits rose from the graves. What had once been a peaceful resting place now crackled with unnatural life, as if the boundary between the dead and the living had thinned beyond repair.

Soft, ethereal lights drifted upward from the burial mounds like the gentle fall of snowflakes. Each one shimmered with a faint, calming glow.

They floated in the air, weightless, their light soft enough to soothe but too frail to offer warmth. As these delicate orbs hovered, they began to take shape. Slowly, each one transformed, stretching and twisting into ghostly silhouettes.

Some took the form of humans with faces that were serene, calm, even familiar. A man in tattered white robes appeared first, his hands folded as if in prayer, his features gentle despite the sadness that lingered in his eyes. Another figure, an elderly woman, glided forward, her body thin and translucent, but undeniably human. Their movements were slow, as though reluctant to cross back into the world they had left behind.

But amid the peaceful forms, others were far from human.

As Fu Ran watched, the glow of some orbs dimmed and flickered erratically. What began as humanoid figures twisted and warped, their bodies stretching into grotesque, unnatural shapes. One man wore a chef’s attire, his face a mask of twisted rage. As soon as he joined the rest of old Bei Zangli inhabitants, his body contorted into a painful mess, drawing the attention of the other spirits.

The chef wailed an earth shattering sound. His skin darkened and veins bulged beneath his flesh, sickly and swollen. His teeth elongated into jagged fangs, his once-clear eyes clouding over as the corruption spread. Just like this one, many of the spirits followed suit. They shifted and changed right before Fu Ran’s eyes, and their numbers were growing far more rapidly than he could keep up with.

Fu Ran kept his body low to the ground, heart pounding as he scanned the chaotic scene before him. The corruption of demonic qi swirled thick, making even the air hard to breathe. Other than Wan Yu, his focus was set on not drawing more attention to himself.

For now at least, it seemed that Wan Yu was not their main focus. Because he was non-functioning, he may have appeared as dead. Instead these evil spirits wanted something more tangible, so they shared looks with one another: Their eyes were hungry with desire and thirsty for power.

While they are focused on eachother, perhaps I can…

Pressing two left fingers together, Fu Ran summoned enough spiritual energy to command Shi Wei Ji. Like a glimmering string of light, the white sword flew through bodies, leaving trails of gruesome carnage. It all mixed together with the canopy of red trees.

Fu Ran scooped up Wan Yu while keeping them both lowered, and shook. “Wan Yu, Wan Yu.” He whispered. At the very minimum, he wanted his voice to be loud enough to rouse Wan Yu from his sleep, but quiet enough to not draw ravenous eyes.

He continued the shaking for a few more moments. Just when he was close to giving up, golden eyes blinked open.

“...Shizun?”

“Yes, yes, Shizun is here. Shizun will not leave you alone until you can move.” Fu Ran cradled him like a baby rather than a growing disciple, but at the same time, Wan Yu felt so small in his arms. How could he see him as anything else?

"Can... move..."

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Doubtful! Fu Ran mentally chastised him. He could barely speak, so it seemed unlikely that he could walk.

While he was thankful to have a single half-functioning disciple, one glaring issue still bothered him. Where was Su Biyu? His expression threatened to turn grim, but insistent innocent golden eyes reminded him to save face.

Fu Ran didn't want to senselessly worry Wan Yu in his current poor state. But the thought of the missing young girl wouldn't leave him be. Su Biyu certainly couldn’t have gone far, but the need to find her was stopping his attention from focusing on the deadly matter at hand. There were far too many questions Fu Ran needed to ask. Without hearing certain answers from her own mouth there was no way he could be sure: Why had she drugged the others?

Oftentimes, a child will not act that maliciously, not without external interference.

A sharp cling pulled his attention away from his thoughts. Yanking his head up, Fu Ran was drawn back to the action, but the number of enemies wasn't decreasing. Shi Wei Ji would slice through some of them, one or two at a time, but three or four new ones would manifest. They were reacting to the source of the demonic curse—the mark placed on the back of Wan Yu’s neck.

His eyes flicked to the chef spirit again, a man who had once, perhaps, tended to his craft with pride. But now, that human warmth had vanished, replaced with a ravenous hunger that twisted his features. Fu Ran watched in grim horror as the spirit’s white robes clung to his grotesque, swollen body.

The chef’s eyes locked onto another spirit: an elderly woman who watched in horror nearby. She was frail, translucent, but undeniably human, a remnant of what these beings had once been. She had no chance against him.

A low growl escaped the chef’s throat and, in an instant, he lunged.

Fu Ran’s breath caught in his throat as the corrupted spirit’s claws sliced through the air, too fast, too sudden. Fu Ran could only watch as the chef spirit’s jagged talons tore into her form with a sickening crackle. Despite being a spirit—she left ribbons of red blood.

It was done in an instant.

This time when the chef lunged, he sunk his fangs into her shoulder. He looked no different than a starving beast being given a scrap of food.

Fu Ran winced, and raised his sleeve to cover a sickened expression.

Roars of beastly growling and terrified wails of frightened spirits mixed against his ears in an abrasive cacophony. The sounds fought for dominance in the shrine clearing.

"I need to get Wan Yu away from here, but in his current state..." Fu Ran barely registered his own words until he felt Wan Yu’s shivers against his arms, muttering softly. His words drew the attention of a twisted amber gaze.

Wan Yu whined a sentence barely audible. "Don't... don't want... burden." It was clear that he struggled with his words, but what he was trying to piece together was clear.

"You will not become a burden. No matter what happens, alright?" Fu Ran faked a reassuring smile.

Fu Ran stood and took a few slow steps away from the chaotic wreckage of ghastly entities tearing through one another. With little other options, Fu Ran supported Wan Yu with his left arm, and with his right he reached into his bag. There was one thing that could very well become a safety net for his disciples.

Fu Ran's mind focused elsewhere, and moved from the onslaught for only a few moments. But those few moments were enough to hear a loud shing of metal flying in his direction. He didn't even give himself time to look before his body reacted in self-preservation. Fu Ran hugged tightly to Wan Yu and quickly kicked his feet, rolling to the side. His shoulder scraped the ground, kicking up dust and leaves.

The unexpected assault was from none other than his own white blade?

His brows drew together in anger, and his next words were spat out: “Shi Wei Ji?!” he yelled. “Have you suddenly forgotten how to fly?!” Shi Wei Ji hadn’t slipped up during battle since old training days. Yes, the sword liked to show nightmares that couldn’t be controlled, but when it came to combat capabilities, Shi Wei Ji usually listened with ease. Why in this city had it been so rebellious? Thinking it was just a mishap, Fu Ran readjusted his footing and stood, this time urging Wan Yu to stand on his own, even if shaky.

His louder quip had garnered a few lingering eyes.

“Wan Yu, I have something very important—” Fu Ran tried to speak, but was interrupted again.

Shi Wei Ji’s trajectory did a wide turn before coming right back in his direction. He blinked several times.

Once could be a mistake, but twice… that was dangerous.

With a quick dodge, Fu Ran jerked out of the damage line, and raised his hand. In a sturdy grasp he clutched onto the silver handle, and forced the weapon to stay. The way it shook in his hand was like a frightened animal trying to escape a trap, and it’s light blue tassel swayed in a frenzy.

Never in his days had his blade reacted like this.

“Shi Wei Ji! I demand it—Behave!”

BANG.

Despite the fact that his own raised voice held the attention of the evil spirits for a few moments, that quickly changed. Both his eyes and the golden eyes of his disciple, among dozens of bloodthirsty ones, all turn to look at the wall of the shrine.

He was still quite a distance away but the sound of banging could easily be made out. The knocking was incessant, and it continued again and again.

Fu Ran pulled Wan Yu behind his body and stood tall. Despite the fighting pulls of Shi Wei Ji, he forced the blade still.

BANG. BANG. BANG. He waited with baited breath. That wall wouldn't hold out forever. The condition of the shrine isn't good enough to stand up to whatever was making that noise.

As a surprise to no one, at first a crack formed. Then mere seconds later the wall collapsed. While he wouldn't have said that the sudden distraction was all that shocking, considering this was the host spot for demonic curse, what was shocking was the figure thrown through the shrine debris.

A figure in white lay on the grass, drawing all attention.