Zhang Fan was briefly taken aback, recognizing her as the beautiful young woman who had spoken up to argue about the meiyu at dinner. She still wore that same water-green dress, her skin gleaming like snow in the moonlight, her beauty peerless and ethereal — as though a celestial maiden had descended from the heavens.
The young woman brought the freshly plucked bloom to her nose and drew a deep breath, a look of intoxication spreading across her face — a beauty so breathtaking it struck the heart. And the flower itself, held before her lovely countenance, seemed to shine all the more brilliantly.
Yet from somewhere deep within him, Zhang Fan felt a nameless anger surge up unbidden. He furrowed his brow and said, "This flower was blooming just fine—why did you have to snap it off?"
The green-clad girl's bright eyes wandered with languid grace, her gaze gliding over Zhang Fan like flowing water. She said lightly, "That I plucked this flower is already its blessing; that I deign to breathe in its fragrance is a karmic bond the flower cultivated across three lifetimes. How would a common man like you ever understand?"
Zhang Fan was stunned for a moment. Never in his life had he heard something so absurd. He shook his head and said: "This flower has been plucked by you — it has lost its very life. How could it possibly be happy?"
The girl in green glanced at him. "It's not a flower — how would you know it won't be happy?"
Zhang Fan listened to the woman's utterly unreasonable words, growing all the more furious inside. Besides, it wasn't as though he were the flower—how could he possibly know whether it was happy? For all anyone knew, the flower was suffering unbearably at this very moment. That water on its petals? Chances were it had cried those tears out from sheer pain."
The green-robed girl was visibly taken aback for a moment, then let out a soft laugh — and that smile was truly like a hundred flowers bursting into bloom all at once, so breathtakingly beautiful that Zhang Fan nearly forgot himself staring at her.
"Flower tears? Ha, flower tears—in all my born days, this is the very first time I've heard a grown man call dewdrops the tears of flowers. You're killing me!"
Zhang Fan's face reddened, and he found himself at a loss for words. But seeing the girl laughing so hard she nearly doubled over, his face burned all the more. He forced himself to say, "So what about it?"
Yet the young woman, upon hearing his words and seeing the look on his face, only laughed all the harder. Her bright, clear laughter rang out through the still and shadowy garden, filling it with a few degrees of warmth.
Zhang Fan was flustered, wanting to say something yet unable to find the words. He watched the young woman's joyful smile, stomped his foot in exasperation, and turned to walk away.
He had barely taken two steps when he suddenly heard the green-clad girl behind him stifle her laughter, though her tone still carried a trace of mirth. "Hold on a moment."
Zhang Fan had been in a fine mood when he stepped out that evening, but after running into this woman, his spirits had soured considerably. Now, hearing her call out again, a fresh wave of irritation surged in his chest, and he couldn't help turning back to say: "My name isn't 'Hey.' Just who are you calling out to?"
The young woman froze for a moment, the smile instantly vanishing from her face. The gaze she turned on Zhang Fan seemed to cool by several degrees — as though very few people had ever dared speak to her so bluntly. But a moment later, something seemed to occur to her. The brilliant smile from before did not return, yet her voice remained measured: "Then what is your name?"
Zhang Fan blurted out, "My name is—" He caught himself, gave a short hmph, and said, "Why should I tell you?"
The green-clad girl's expression turned stern, and she seemed genuinely annoyed—but the moment she caught sight of Zhang Fan's sulking face, so like a petulant boy throwing a tantrum, she couldn't help herself: another helpless "pfft" of laughter escaped her lips.
That smile dissolved all the stern composure she had worn just moments before. Bathed in moonlight, with fragrance filling the garden, the beautiful woman's face broke into pure delight — as though she knew it was not quite proper, and shook her head, nearly managing to hold back, yet laughed all the same.
As if the truth from long, long ago had come alive again tonight.
The moonlight, soft as water, fell gently upon her shoulders and cheeks, casting a beauty that stirred the very soul.
Unbeknownst to himself, Zhang Fan had fallen into a trance, his gaze fixed and lost.
The girl laughed for a moment, and when she noticed Zhang Fan staring at her, she let out a small "heh" — showing none of the blushing shyness one might expect from a girl in her position. Instead, she asked him directly: "Am I pretty?"
Zhang Fan was startled by her, as though a thief had been caught in the act—thoroughly flustered. Yet beneath the girl's gaze, soft as still water, he found himself with nowhere to flee: "I—you—uh—look!"
The moment the words left his mouth, Zhang Fan froze. A strange, indescribable feeling stirred in his chest. The young girl, however, seemed entirely unbothered — a faint smile touched her lips. *Of course. From the time I was small, who hasn't said I was beautiful? You men are all the same.*
Judging by her tone, one would have thought—despite her youth—that she had weathered a lifetime of hardship. Zhang Fan's temper flared, and he was on the verge of a sharp retort. But his eyes fell on her by chance, and he saw her bright eyes and gleaming teeth as she stood alone in the wash of moonlight, something about her faintly, inexplicably familiar. In an instant his mind flew back to Qingyun Mountain, to the edge of the Biyu Pond, to the beautiful figure of his Senior Sister he had glimpsed there with his own eyes. At that recollection, the fight went out of him all at once; he could not summon the will to say a word. He gave the green-robed girl one last look, let out a low sigh, and without another syllable, turned and walked away.
…a few steps, only to hear a voice call out from behind. Zhang Fan furrowed his brow and turned around, eyes settling on the green-robed girl.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, her rouged lips seeming to press a little tighter, as though turning something over in her mind—yet the atmosphere fell into silence all at once.
"What is your name?" she asked once more, just as before, his reflection dwelling in the depths of her eyes.
Zhang Fan suddenly faltered. All the anger from a moment before dissolved in an instant, as though in the presence of this figure, even the slightest fury was out of place. He looked away from those gentle eyes and, with a timid unease he could not quite suppress, murmured: "Zhang Fan."
Then they turned and walked away with quick steps, looking very much like someone making a hasty retreat.
He walked with his head bowed, striding forward at a brisk pace. Just as he rounded a bend in the winding path, a dark figure suddenly materialized before him—in this dim and shadowy garden, it would have been nearly impossible to detect had he not drawn so close.
He nearly couldn't stop his momentum in time—fortunately his body reacted quickly enough, and he halted just barely in front of the figure. In the darkness, a pair of bright yet tranquil eyes appeared before him.
The two had drawn too close. Zhang Fan startled, hastily stepping back a pace, and only then could he make out that this person was the veiled woman who had sat beside the girl in green at dinner. She still wore her veil now, but had changed into a black silk dress, and in the darkness of the night, she seemed almost like a wraith.
Zhang Fan steadied himself, only to find he was still slightly breathless. A faint, delicate fragrance lingered in his nostrils — he could not tell whether it drifted from the blooms of the garden, or whether it had stolen upon him in the moment he had drawn close to that woman.
His heart gave a start. He felt that coming out tonight had been a terrible mistake. Mumbling a vague "Pardon me," he slipped past the veiled woman and made his way back to his own quarters.
From beginning to end, the masked woman never uttered a single word, simply standing there in silence, her eyes fixed upon the young man. When Zhang Fan walked past her, she slowly turned, watching his retreating figure as he departed.
For a long while, until her silhouette had nearly melded with the darkness of that dim garden, she finally turned and walked deeper into its depths. Soon, she caught sight of the woman in green, still standing where she had been, idly toying with a plucked flower in her hand.
The green-clad girl looked up without a trace of surprise and smiled. "Auntie You, you're back."
The veiled woman glanced at the flowers in her hands. Her veil stirred faintly — she appeared to nod. "The four of them are from Qingyun Sect." Her voice drifted through the garden, deep and haunting, soft yet threaded with an eerie chill. "The one leading them is Qi Hao of the Dragon Peak lineage. The other three I have never seen before — they appear to be of the younger generation, their names unknown to me."
The girl in green smiled faintly—so now she knew one thing: the person who had just walked past was called Zhang Fan. What a plain name.
The masked woman glanced at her and said lightly, "Bi Yao, it has been quite a while since I last saw you admiring the flowers."
The girl in green — the one known as Biyao — seemed to freeze for a moment. In the next instant, a smile returned to her delicate face. "Ah, Aunt You, it has been so long."
She picked up the flower and examined it closely once more. Then, under the masked woman's watchful gaze, the girl in green smiled—yet her hand closed with cold, decisive finality, crushing the beautiful bloom into dust.
※※※
The following day, the four from Qingyun Sect rose and freshened up. Qi Hao gathered them together and said, "Kongsan Mountain lies three thousand li to the east—no short journey. We had best make haste." The other three raised no objections, so they settled their bill and set out.
The owner of Shanhai Garden did indeed hold the Qingyun Sect in high regard — the normally steep room rate had been cut by half, bringing it to nearly the price of an ordinary inn. Zhang Fan watched as Qi Hao settled the bill with the owner amid laughter, while his gaze drifted idly around the room. But by the time they departed, he had still not caught sight of the green-clad young woman from the previous night, nor anyone in her company.
The four of them traveled through the air, and the three-thousand-li journey took a full ten days. Zhang Fan naturally dragged the others down considerably along the way — yet in the latter days, as his Daoist techniques grew more practiced and his grip on the "fire staff" grew sure, he found himself flying with surprising poise. Each day spent soaring freely across the open sky, weaving through swaths of pale blue and white cloud, filled him with an exhilaration that lingered for days on end.
That day, they finally arrived at Kongsang Mountain. As the group descended from the clouds, they were all taken aback — within a hundred li in every direction, a great mountain rose steep and towering, yet covered in bare rock with scarce vegetation. Below the mountain, not a soul could be seen; it was a scene of utter desolation.
By now dusk was drawing near. The sun sank in the west, and the hazy golden light of evening spread across Kongsang Mountain, lending it an air of bleak desolation—and something faintly dreadful as well. The group touched down at the foot of the mountain and put away their immortal swords and Artifacts. Qi Hao looked around and, seeing no households nearby where they might seek lodging, said, "We may as well head up the mountain at once—search for the so-called 'Myriad Bat Ancient Cave,' and see if there is a suitable place to rest for the night along the way."
"Senior Brother speaks wisely—let us head up the mountain." Seeing that Zeng Shushu had agreed, Zhang Fan had no objections either. Xueqi glanced at the sky, said not a word, yet was the first to set off toward the summit.
Though Kongsang Mountain was nowhere near as absurdly tall as Qingyun Mountain's Tongfeng Peak, it was by no means low—and being remote and treacherous with no paths to speak of, by the time the four of them had climbed from the foot of the mountain to the midway point, the sky had already gone completely dark.
The four of them stepped onto a broad, flat platform. Qi Hao called out for everyone to stop, then drew a bronze mirror from within his robes. All three immediately recognized it as the supreme treasure of Qingyun Sect—"\*"—and each of them froze for a moment, none of them knowing what Qi Hao meant to do.
Qi Hao took the \*\*-mirror in hand and murmured a few incantation words under his breath. The \*\*-mirror, previously dim and lightless, seemed to stir with awareness; it gradually brightened, then rose of its own accord from Qi Hao's grasp and hovered two chi above his head. Its radiance swelled steadily, and a pale golden halo spread outward to illuminate a circular patch of ground roughly six chi across around the four of them, sheltering them at its center.
Only then did Qi Hao speak: "Eight hundred years ago, Kongsang Mountain was a gathering place for the fiends of the Demonic Sect. Moreover, looking at this mountain now—so desolate and uncanny—I fear it is home to no small number of mountain spirits and demons. The **Mirror can protect its master, so we would do well to guard against trouble before it arises."
Zhang Fan cast a glance at the \*\*Mirror floating in the air. The mirror appeared unremarkable at first sight, yet within its archaic, unpolished form was hidden an auspicious aura that defied close scrutiny. At that very moment, everyone suddenly heard a tremendous boom from afar, followed swiftly by a rapid crackling—*crack, crack, crack*—that grew denser with each passing heartbeat. In the end, the sounds did not merely grow louder and louder; the rhythm itself became impossible to distinguish, swallowed into one vast rolling thunder that reverberated across the desolate mountains and wilderness. In the distance, by the faint flicker of light the \*\*Mirror cast against the darkness, everyone looked up in shock to see, behind the faraway ridgeline, a mass of black cloud-vapor surging suddenly into the sky—its strangeness made all the more unsettling by the surrounding dark—and it was from there that the tremendous roar came.
Everyone's expression changed.
The words had barely left his mouth—the crowd had not yet registered what was happening—when the vast black cloud looming overhead seemed to sense something, and shifted toward them. A moment later, a piercing shriek rang out from within its depths, and in that instant the entire cloud wheeled as one, surging toward the four of them, toward the only point of light in all that darkness.
In an instant, the night sky that had been bright with starlight went utterly dark, as though something had blotted it out. Everyone felt a putrid, fishy stench flood the air all around them in the blink of an eye, and Zhang Fan and the others went pale with shock. Only Qi Hao remained relatively composed, though his face had drained of color as well. He said urgently, "Don't move rashly — whatever you do, do not leave the range of the **Mirror Light Circle."
Another moment passed, and the howling, thunderous roar was nearly upon them. Lit by the radiance of the \*\*Mirror, everyone finally made out what that dark cloud truly was — countless black bats, packed so densely they blotted out all else. By their size, these creatures were more than twice as large as any bat they had ever seen before. Every single one flew with its maw stretched wide open, and amid the solid black of their bodies, the insides of their mouths shone a vivid, bloody crimson — grotesque and terrifying beyond words.
The faint yellow radiance that had been emanating now revealed its true effect. Every bat was held at bay beyond the ring of light—no matter how frantically they hurled themselves against it or pressed forward in mass, the luminous circle did not yield in the slightest. On the contrary, those bats that drew close enough to brush against the pale yellow glow let out sizzling sounds from their dark bodies; moments later they dropped to the ground, writhing helplessly, clearly beyond saving.
Yet the swarm of bats was simply too vast — as far as the eye could see, they blotted out even the stars in the night sky, numbering in the tens of millions if not hundreds of millions. Those that lay dead upon the ground were surely no more than one in a million of their total number, yet countless more surged forward in an endless tide, wave upon wave. The four found themselves encircled at the center; though unharmed for the moment, they were hemmed in on all sides by rows of gaping, bloodied maws, the stench so foul it nearly turned the stomach.
Yet the \*\*Mirror was, after all, a supreme Taoist treasure. Under the relentless assault of countless vicious beasts, it showed not the slightest sign of weakness or faltering. The yellow ring of light, thin and delicate as it appeared, stood firm as a mountain — and in no time at all, the corpses of bats piled ever higher around it.
At that moment, countless black bats swarmed the skies above the ring of light—not merely three layers within and three layers without, but more like three hundred layers deep on every side. Yet the creatures' frenzied assault against the ring gradually slackened, as though they had come to understand the futility of their efforts and saw no point in continuing such a fruitless endeavor. Still, the bats appeared reluctant to abandon so tempting a morsel dangling just within reach, and so they lingered, circling and refusing to depart.
Zhang Fan's heart was in turmoil. Never in his life had he encountered a creature so ferocious, and even now he remained gripped by anxiety and fear. He drew a ragged breath and pulled his gaze away from the bats at the outer perimeter, only to catch a glimpse from the corner of his eye—Xueqi, standing at his side, was deathly pale as well.
As if at that very same moment, Lu Xueqi sensed his gaze and looked over toward Zhang Fan. Their eyes met in the air.
6 Xueqi suddenly turned her head away, her already pale face growing even paler still, but she never looked back again.
*Swish*
Suddenly, all the bats beat their wings and took flight. Zeng Shushu watched them, and only then let out a sigh of relief: "It wasn't easy to
Before he could finish his words, he fell silent. All they could see was a sky thick with black clouds—countless bats soared upward, then wheeled around in an instant, the foremost among them plummeting down one by one like hailstones. They struck the halo of the **Mirror, only to be hurled back by the rebound of its light ring; clouds of blood mist bloomed in the pale golden radiance, and the bats crumbled to dust as they rained upon the ground.
Foul blood streamed freely, its stench striking them full in the face. Countless horrifying blood-blossoms flared and bloomed in the darkness before dropping to the ground, yet the bats that surged behind seemed utterly indifferent to the deaths of their kin ahead, still hurling themselves forward without pause. The four from Qingyun Sect stood pale-faced to a man, staring at these savagely ferocious creatures seldom seen anywhere in the world.
Around the halo, in no time at all, a dense pile of bat corpses had heaped up—nearly half a man's height deep.
Zhang Fan suddenly realized that the clothes on his back had been soaked through entirely with cold sweat.
No one could say how long that terrifying scene had lasted. Only when the bat corpses piled outside the halo had risen to nearly the height of a man did the swarm finally abandon its savage, relentless assault. By then, even the treasure mirror itself had dimmed—the radiance it cast flickered several shades lower—yet still it blazed against the darkness, unyielding and unbroken.
The dark clouds, vast and sprawling, circled the only light in this black night—yet still refused to leave.
The four of them dared not even blink, each gripping their own immortal sword Artifact, not permitting themselves the slightest lapse of vigilance.
Yet these massive swarms of bats seemed to have run out of any good options—they simply circled around, unwilling to leave, but launched no further attacks.
This went on until dawn.
When the first ray of morning light broke through, as though summoned by some unseen call, every bat suddenly took flight. They wheeled through the air for a brief moment, then all swept back toward the same opening through which they had poured out the night before. They had come swiftly, but they left even faster — in no time at all, the countless bats had vanished without a trace.
The four members of Qingyun Sect slowly eased their vigilance, though a long while passed still before Qi Hao, finally certain those bats would not emerge again, dismissed the \*\* Mirror.
The halo dissipated.
A dull thud rang out, and the mountain-like mass of bat corpses surrounding the four of them suddenly collapsed inward from all directions, burying them beneath a nauseating, horrifying torrent of bodies. In that instant, Zhang Fan's heart gave a violent lurch—he almost believed his own breathing had stopped—and in the very same moment, he heard a scream from someone beside him. A jade-white hand reached out and seized his arm in a tight grip.
The force was so great that even through the fabric of his clothes, her nails had sunk deep into his flesh.
The pain drilled into his heart. He turned back and looked at her — this startled, beautiful woman — her pale face carrying a flicker of alarm in the morning light, stirring an inexplicable ache within.
Suddenly, all the fear in his heart vanished without a trace. Though he was still somewhat nervous, his entire attention had been drawn to Lu Xueqi — as if standing before her, he simply could not allow himself to falter.
He stepped forward, placing himself in front of her.
6 Xueqi's ragged breathing slowly calmed. She tilted her head up slightly, lips parting in a faint, wordless movement, and held Zhang Fan's face in her gaze for one long, searching moment before releasing his hand.