The mist rolled through the mountains like drifting spirits, weaving between ancient pine trees that had stood long before the rise of empires. Far above the world, hidden by dense forest and forgotten paths, a thatched cottage rested beside a silent stream. Birds chirped softly. Bamboo chimes swayed in the breeze. Here, time moved slower. Chen Fi sat cross-legged on a flat stone, a small clay teapot steaming beside him. His robe was plain, the color of aged linen. Hair tied with a single cord, he looked no different from a wandering scholar or retired hermit. And to any passing cultivator, that’s all he’d seem to be—if they could even perceive him. But no one passed here. This place was beyond the reach of maps, untouched by sect wars, beast hordes, or the ambitions of mortal kings. Only the wind knew he existed, and even it approached softly. Chen Fi poured himself a cup of tea, watching the ripples settle. He sipped. Still bitter. He frowned faintly, then stood. The stream

Three days passed.The girl moved about quietly, helping with simple chores around the cottage—sweeping the steps, boiling rice, gathering fallen pine needles. Chen Fi never asked her to. She simply did it, perhaps out of gratitude… or guilt.She hadn’t asked his name again. And he had not offered it.This morning, as mist curled between the trees and the bamboo chimes whispered, the girl finally spoke.“My name is Liun.”Chen Fi didn’t reply. He was tending to a small patch of spirit herbs at the edge of the clearing. Some of them were extinct in the outside world. Here, they thrived like wild grass.Liun hesitated. Then sat near the flat stone where he always brewed tea.“I was supposed to become a vessel,” she said softly. “For the Black Flare Sect.”Chen Fi’s hand paused over a leaf. He said nothing.“They raise children with special constitutions. I was born with the Silent Flame—cold on the outside, but deadly when stirred. They needed someone to contain their Spirit Demon Core.

The clouds gathered without warning.Chen Fi stood on the southern edge of the mountain, where the pines thinned and the cliffs dropped into endless mist. Below, villages dotted the distant valleys, specks of life ignorant of the sky above them.Tonight, the heavens were not calm.A black star had appeared—faint but undeniable. It hung above the eastern ridge, pulsing with dark crimson light, trailing embers like ash falling through water.He knew what it was.A Soul Rot Seed—a cursed fragment of a failed Ascension, hurled from beyond the mortal realm. They were rare, but each one carried tainted Qi that corrupted not just cultivators, but land and life itself.And it was falling.Not toward the sects. Not toward cities. No—it had somehow chosen his mountain.Chen Fi sat on a smooth boulder and extended one hand into the air.He didn’t summon a sword.He didn’t cast an art.He simply... breathed.The wind shifted.The soil beneath him echoed his heartbeat. The trees turned their leave

The village of Shui’an sat cradled between rivers, its fields once golden with spirit grain. But now, rot clung to the roots, and the water no longer sang. Children coughed. The elders sat in silence. No beast approached.The sky above the village had grown dark, even during the day.It began two weeks ago—when a crack opened in the old temple ruins. Something unseen had poured from it. Not a beast. Not a ghost. But a scent, like burnt bones and rusted Qi.They prayed to wandering cultivators, begged sect disciples traveling the roads.But none came.And now, the children had begun vanishing.---Chen Fi stood beneath a broken shrine tree at the village’s edge. His robes were plain. His hair tied loosely. He said nothing to the villagers. They didn’t see him arrive.He stood there at dusk as the last light faded. He listened to the earth breathe beneath the rot. And then, quietly, he stepped toward the center of the miasma.No one stopped him.No one could.---Beneath the ruined temp

The path leading to Voidcrest was not one a mortal should tread lightly. It lay beyond the lands of men, where the sun barely pierced the thick canopy of ancient trees. Even the air here seemed heavier, saturated with a weight that no ordinary cultivator could bear for long.Chen Fi and the boy walked side by side, though the boy had to struggle to keep up. His exhaustion was evident; the weight of the token seemed to pull at his Qi, slowing him down despite the brief respite Chen Fi had given him. Yet, there was no question in his mind now—he had no choice but to follow."You’re not saying much," the boy remarked after several hours, his voice strained. "What is this place? Why are we going here?"Chen Fi didn’t immediately answer. His gaze remained forward, his senses sweeping the surrounding forests, watching for the ever-present shadows of those who would soon be after them. There were already whispers on the wind, faint but undeniable—hunters who could sense the token’s presence.