As I stood panting, my heart racing from the battle we had just survived in the Void, I suddenly felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. My mind drifted back to a memory—a memory of a time when I had faced a different kind of danger, one that wasn’t about swordsmanship or monsters but a far more insidious threat: deception.

It had been years ago when I was still young and naive, still learning the basics of cultivation. I had lost my way during a mission, wandering into a place that seemed almost otherworldly—a paradise hidden away from the dangers of the real world. The entrance had been cloaked in mist, and when I emerged on the other side, I was greeted by a vision of lush, vibrant gardens, crystal-clear streams, and a peaceful village that seemed untouched by time.

At first glance, it was the sort of place you’d read about in fairy tales. The people were warm and welcoming, their faces kind, their voices filled with joy. It felt like the ideal haven, a sanctuary where I could rest and regain my strength. I had been weakened by my journey, my cultivation still in its infancy, and the place seemed like a godsend.

The village was ruled by a man they called “Gatou.” He was a towering figure with a silver beard and eyes that gleamed with wisdom—or so I had thought. Gatou greeted me personally, his smile wide and seemingly genuine as he invited me to stay.

“We don’t get many travelers here,” he said in his deep, resonant voice, leading me through the village. “But you are welcome to stay as long as you like. We’ll take care of you.”

The people smiled and nodded as I passed. There was Yanzi, a beautiful woman who always seemed to be at Gatou’s side, clinging to him like a vine to a tree. She was playful and charming, always surrounded by laughter and the smell of wine. Then there was Lanren, a shifty-eyed man who followed Gatou around like a shadow. He had a slick grin that made my skin crawl, but he was always careful to never cross the line.

But the one who stood out the most was Sanya, a woman who was gentle and caring. She had become like an older sister to me during my time in the village. At that time, she had been pregnant, her body too weak to maintain her cultivation. Her kindness seemed genuine, and I clung to her warmth in those early days, grateful to have someone who seemed to care about my well-being.

And then there was Fay, a young woman who moved through the village with a grace that was almost otherworldly. Fay didn’t fit with the others, though she played along well. She was sharp, observant, and always had a witty comment ready. She was the only one who seemed to see through the illusions, though she never voiced her thoughts outright.

I stayed in that village for months, allowing myself to believe in the tranquility of the place. I trained when I could, but my body was too weak to make much progress. Gatou and his people assured me that I was safe, that I could recover here in peace. At first, I believed them. They were kind to me, always offering food, shelter, and companionship.

But then, little things started to unravel. I began noticing the way Gatou’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way Yanzi’s laughter would fade the moment she thought no one was watching. Lanren’s sneers grew more apparent, and I could feel his eyes on me, always watching, always calculating.

One evening, as the sun set over the village, I was invited to Gatou’s home for a feast. It was supposed to be a celebration, though I wasn’t sure what we were celebrating. As I sat at the table, I could feel the tension in the air, the way the villagers whispered and glanced at one another when they thought I wasn’t looking.

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“You’ve been with us for quite some time now,” Gatou said, raising his cup in a toast. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, truly.”

“Thank you,” I replied, forcing a smile. “It’s been a peaceful time for me.”

“Yes,” Yanzi purred, leaning closer to Gatou. “We do like to make our guests feel at home.”

I nodded, but something in her tone made me uneasy. Fay, sitting across from me, caught my eye and gave a small shake of her head, a warning I didn’t yet understand.

As the night wore on, the villagers grew more intoxicated, their conversations more careless. Yanzi and Gatou were deep into their cups, laughing loudly, while Lanren lurked nearby, his eyes flickering between me and the rest of the room.

“So, you plan to stay here forever?” Yanzi asked suddenly, her voice syrupy with feigned innocence.

“No,” I replied carefully. “I’ll leave when I’m strong enough.”

“Oh, but you are strong,” Gatou said, his eyes narrowing. “Stronger than you think.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine. It was then that I realized they weren’t just being hospitable—they were watching me, assessing me. For what, I didn’t know yet, but I could feel the weight of their intentions pressing down on me.

The turning point came a few days later. I had been out by the stream, practicing my cultivation when Sanya found me. She was pale, her steps slow and deliberate as she approached.

“I need to talk to you,” she whispered, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear.

I followed her to a secluded part of the forest, where she finally turned to face me. Her eyes were filled with fear, and she clutched her swollen belly protectively.

“They’re going to drain you,” she said, her voice trembling. “They’ve been doing it for years. Every traveler who comes through here… they steal their strength, their power. They’re planning to do the same to you.”

I felt my blood run cold. “What do you mean?”

“Gatou, Yanzi, Lanren… they’re all in on it. They pretend to be kind, but they’re using you. They’re going to take your power, drain your cultivation, and leave you with nothing.”

Her words hit me like a thunderclap. Suddenly, everything clicked into place—the false smiles, the constant attention, the way I had been feeling weaker instead of stronger despite my efforts to cultivate.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Because you’ve been kind to me,” she whispered. “And because I can’t stop them. Not anymore.”

For the first time, I noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the way her body seemed to be wasting away despite her pregnancy. She had been drained, too, just like they planned to do to me.

I knew I had to leave, but the village was heavily guarded, and Gatou watched everyone’s movements closely. I spent the next few weeks biding my time, pretending everything was normal while secretly gathering my strength. Fay, who had always been distant from the others, seemed to sense my plan. She didn’t ask questions, but I caught her watching me with a knowing look more than once.

The final night of my escape, Fay found me as I prepared to slip out of the village.

“Leaving?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

I nodded. “I can’t stay here. They’re going to—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “I’ve known for a while. This place isn’t what it seems.”

“Then why are you still here?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Because I’m waiting for the right moment,” she replied cryptically. “And because I don’t have the same weaknesses they exploit in others.”

She paused, her eyes meeting mine. “Be careful. They won’t let you go easily.”

With her words of warning echoing in my mind, I slipped away under the cover of night. It wasn’t an easy escape—Lanren had tried to stop me, his oily voice whispering threats in the darkness, but I managed to outmaneuver him. Gatou, furious at my betrayal, sent his followers after me, but I was faster, more determined.

I barely made it out of the village alive. By the time I collapsed in the wilderness, my body was weak, my mind clouded with exhaustion. I had pushed myself too far, and my cultivation was dangerously low.

I spent the next year recovering, my body in a near-constant state of sleep as I regained my strength. The trauma of that place, of the betrayal I had experienced, lingered long after my escape.

And now, as I stood in the aftermath of the battle in the Void, those memories came rushing back with a clarity that made my heart ache. I had been naïve once, too trusting of the false paradise I had stumbled upon. It was a lesson I would never forget—a reminder that not all dangers wear fangs and claws. Sometimes, the greatest threat lies in those who smile too warmly.