The road narrowed into silence as they entered the valley, frost clinging to the pines like thin glass. Mist coiled between the slopes, veiling the distant ridges in white haze. Even the wind felt muffled here, carrying the faint scent of burnt incense and something older — the bitter tang of disturbed ground.
Ling Xiuyuan stopped first at the valley's mouth. His breath showed pale against the cold, his gaze sharp and unreadable. Behind him, Mingyue followed without sound, the light crunch of his steps barely audible on snow. Zhou Qingrong and Wei Jingyan trailed a short distance behind, their sleeves fluttering with the wind.
"It's quieter than I expected," Zhou Qingrong murmured, kneeling to brush the frost from a broken ward stone. "No spiritual fluctuation, no trace of resentment. It's as if the valley itself swallowed everything."
Wei Jingyan frowned, scanning the ridges. "The report said villagers heard weeping for three nights. There should be remnants, even faint ones."
"There are none," Zhou Qingrong said softly. "Which is worse."
Before Ling Xiuyuan could speak, faint footsteps echoed from the mist behind them — deliberate, steady.
All three turned.
From between the snow-laden trees emerged three figures in pale blue robes, each marked with the silver crest of Tianyin Sect. The one in front, tall and broad-shouldered, broke into a grin as he recognized them.
"Well, if it isn't Sect Leader Ling," said Lu Zhaoyun, voice carrying warm surprise. "I thought Jingshou Sect had long left such wandering cases to the younger generation."
Zhou Qingrong's brows lifted. "Lu Zhaoyun? You're the one Tianyin sent here?"
Behind him, Meng Chuan chuckled, his tone edged with mischief. "Seems fate enjoys playing tricks."
And the youngest, Fan Yongrui, offered a hasty bow. "Sect Leader Ling. Senior Zhou. Senior Wei. Forgive us — we didn't expect company."
Wei Jingyan sighed audibly. "Wonderful. Of all the sects in the empire, it had to be yours."
Meng Chuan smirked. "Still holding grudges, Junior Wei?"
"Still holding onto that overconfidence, Meng Chuan?" Wei Jingyan shot back.
Lu Zhaoyun gave a long-suffering laugh. "Please. Not again. We've barely exchanged greetings."
Ling Xiuyuan's expression remained unreadable, though the faintest shadow of amusement touched his eyes. "There's no need for formalities. If your sect came for the same reason, then our purpose is shared. Cooperation will serve us both."
All three Tianyin cultivators bowed in unison. "Sect Leader Ling's guidance is an honor."
Mingyue stood a little behind, quiet and unobtrusive. He lowered his gaze when the strangers' eyes flicked toward him — a servant in plain robes, almost too still for the cold wind that curled past them.
They began the investigation together. The snow deepened as they walked, muffling sound; the mountains curved inward like the walls of a silent hall.
Everywhere, the signs of old rituals surfaced — scraps of yellow talisman paper pressed into stone, burnt offerings half-buried in frost, a few scattered beads that might once have formed a rosary.
Zhou Qingrong crouched to examine one. "Cinnabar traces. Someone sealed this place long ago — but the wards are all broken."
Lu Zhaoyun nodded grimly. "Broken from within. Whoever did this tried to keep something from escaping."
"Then the spirit we seek was once imprisoned here." Fan Yongrui said.
Xiuyuan's gaze slid over the ruins. "If so, someone disturbed it. And now it stirs again."
Wei Jingyan turned sharply toward a patch of blackened ground. "There," he said. "Ash. Not wood. Flesh."
Fan Yongrui's face paled. "A sacrifice?"
"No," Xiuyuan murmured. "A warning."
He stepped closer, crouching to touch the ground. The ashes still held a faint pulse of qi, sharp and chaotic. He withdrew his hand, eyes narrowing. "Yin energy laced with resentment — but no trace of the dead. This was done recently."
The air seemed to thicken.
And then — a sound.
At first it was a whisper, faint as breath. Then it spread, curling around the trees — laughter that was not laughter, a sound without direction.
Snow lifted in pale spirals, and from the mist something moved — a shape like smoke seen through glass, faceless, gliding just beyond the reach of light.
Zhou Qingrong's sword was in her hand before the others could blink, its blade gleaming cold silver. "Show yourself!"
But the thing only circled them, drifting close enough that its chill brushed their faces like damp fingers.
Wei Jingyan drew his sword and stepped forward, but Xiuyuan's voice stopped him, calm and low. "Don't chase it. It's not attacking — it's observing."
Meng Chuan frowned. "Observing?"
Lu Zhaoyun's tone dropped. "Then it's aware."
"Yes," Xiuyuan said softly. "And curious."
The spirit hissed — a sound that might have been amusement — before vanishing, leaving only the echo of cold.
Silence returned. Even the wind had gone still.
They moved deeper into the valley. The air thickened, heavy with a metallic tang. By twilight, they had uncovered the remains of a stone altar in the valley's heart — half-collapsed, its carvings nearly erased. Around it, seven charred stakes protruded from the snow, their tips blackened by ritual fire.
Zhou Qingrong knelt beside one. "Old rites of confinement," she said. "But who would confine an unknown spirit?"
Lu Zhaoyun looked grim. "Someone who feared what it could do."
As the last light faded, the wind shifted again. Cold swept through the valley, sudden and sharp — and then, from nowhere, came a whisper.
It was not the cry of a ghost, nor the laughter of before. It was a voice — human, intimate, and soft.
"Shizun…"
Ling Xiuyuan froze.
The voice was faint — tender, familiar. It slipped through the air like memory given shape. His breath caught; for an instant, the world tilted. The ruined shrine blurred before his eyes, its outline dissolving into another scene — that blood-soaked valley seven years ago, when he had found what remained of Shen Liuxian.
He saw again the pale bones, half-buried in ash and crimson mud. The fragment of a jade pendant in his trembling hand.
He had knelt there for hours, until even the snow melted beneath him.
Now that moment returned whole, raw and unbidden.
"Shizun…"The voice again — soft, coaxing, loving."Do you miss me?"
Xiuyuan's breath broke. His vision rippled, edges fading to black.
He stumbled — still conscious but caught between two worlds, between memory and air.
A flicker of light tore through his vision, white and red. He felt the weight of a thousand unshed words pressing down. His fingers trembled at his side. The whisper drew closer, brushing his ear — cold breath and the scent of lotus ash.
"Shizun, why did you leave me there?"
The ground tilted. He swayed—
"Shizun!"
Mingyue's voice broke the trance. The world snapped back in an instant.
A hand caught his arm before he could fall. Mingyue stood close — too close — his face pale, his dark eyes wide with alarm but his expression steady.
The illusion shattered like glass. The whisper fled. All that remained was the thundering of Xiuyuan's pulse and Mingyue's hand gripping his sleeve.
Wei Jingyan rushed forward. "Shixiong! What—"
He stopped short as Xiuyuan swayed, color drained from his face.
Zhou Qingrong's voice cut through. "He's freezing—look at his pulse!"
Lu Zhaoyun and his companions hurried closer, forming a protective ring. "Sect Leader Ling, what's wrong?"
Xiuyuan pressed his fingers to his temple, drawing a breath that trembled only slightly.
"The spirit… it strikes at the mind. It feeds on what one cannot bear to remember." Meng Chuan said.
Mingyue's grip on his sleeve tightened. "You heard something," he said softly, almost accusingly.
Xiuyuan's eyes flickered to him. "It's nothing you need to fear."
"Nothing?" Wei Jingyan snapped, half-furious, half-frightened. "You nearly fell! If Lianxiu—" He stopped abruptly, the name catching like a blade between his teeth."—if Mingyue hadn't caught you."
Silence followed. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Zhou Qingrong lowered her eyes. "We need to strengthen the wards. Before it attacks again."
Lu Zhaoyun nodded quickly, already weaving a sigil. "Understood."
Xiuyuan straightened, forcing steadiness into his limbs. "Do it. Guard your hearts. It will use your fears as its doorway."
Then, turning slightly toward Mingyue, his voice softened. "Stay close."
Mingyue inclined his head, quiet as snowfall. "Yes, Shizun."
The single word rippled through Xiuyuan's composure like the echo of a half-forgotten vow.
He looked away first. "Begin."
As the others set their charms, the wardlight flickered pale gold against the mist. Mingyue stood beside him, silent and unwavering, his fingers still faintly trembling where they had caught his arm.
No one spoke of Wei Jingyan's near-slip, but its weight lingered between them all—the reminder of a name that refused to fade.
And somewhere beyond the ward's faint hum, the unseen spirit lingered, patient and hungry, whispering again only to Xiuyuan:
"Shizun… you found my bones once. Will you find me again?"