The valley had gone utterly still.Even the breath of the wind seemed to have been swallowed by the cold.
After the wards were placed, their faint light glimmered against the mist like lanterns drowned in milk. It did little to ease the weight pressing on the chest — that invisible heaviness that marked the presence of something ancient, unseen, and terribly aware.
Ling Xiuyuan stood in the center of the ruined shrine, his hands clasped behind his back, gaze lowered to the frost-covered altar. The snow was gray with ash. Beneath it, faint lines of a forgotten formation pulsed like veins under translucent skin.
"It's under us," Zhou Qingrong said quietly. "The center of the disturbance lies below the altar."
Lu Zhaoyun frowned. "If we break the seal carelessly—"
"It will break on its own," Xiuyuan said, voice steady, low. "The spirit has been gnawing at it for years."
He raised a hand. Threads of pale spiritual light unfurled from his fingertips, sinking into the snow. The markings answered with a low hum, deep and resonant — like breath stirring in a tomb. The earth shuddered faintly beneath their feet.
Wei Jingyan drew his sword. "Shixiong, when it rises—"
"Don't speak," Xiuyuan murmured. "Listen."
The hum deepened. From the cracks in the altar, a faint mist began to leak — black, viscous, rippling like oil. The temperature dropped sharply. Frost formed on steel and skin alike. Somewhere in that soundless dark, something moved.
Then came the whisper.
Soft. Almost tender.
"Shizun…"
Xiuyuan's breath caught.It was the same voice. The same tone that had haunted him in the mist.
Mingyue, standing behind him, looked up at once — but there was no voice for him to hear, only a pressure in the air, like hands pressing against glass.
Zhou Qingrong felt the shift of energy. "It's choosing a host."
"No." Xiuyuan's eyes sharpened. "It's searching."
And then — it found him.
A soundless crack split the altar, sending shards of ice scattering. The mist erupted outward like a living tide, coiling upward and spiraling around Xiuyuan's form. The others moved to strike, but he raised a hand — a gesture to stay back.
"Shixiong!" Wei Jingyan shouted, half-drawn blade trembling. "Don't—"
"Hold your ground." His voice was calm, but his aura surged with restrained power. "It wants me."
The mist thickened, swallowing light and sound alike. It curled close, whispering against his ear.
"You found my bones, didn't you? You wept for me…"
His lips moved before he could stop himself."…Lianxiu."
The name broke in the air like glass.
At once, the mist surged forward — triumphant, hungry, threads of shadow driving straight toward his heart. The light from his talismans shattered. The valley screamed.
"Xiuyuan!" Zhou Qingrong's voice rang somewhere distant, lost in the roar of wind and cracking ice.
Then — movement.A blur of white stepped between.
Mingyue.
He caught Xiuyuan by the shoulders, turning at the last instant — his arms wrapping around him, shielding him from the tide of darkness that crashed forward.
The spirit's claws struck his back with a sound like tearing silk. For a moment, it seemed to hesitate — as if confused by the mortal warmth it touched. Then it lunged harder.
Mingyue's breath hitched — but his grip did not loosen. His body glowed faintly, the light of the wards reflecting in his eyes. "Don't—" he whispered, voice shaking, "—look at it, Shizun."
Xiuyuan's world narrowed to the sound of that voice.He realized too late what Mingyue had done."Mingyue!"
Zhou Qingrong's blade flashed through the mist — a single, perfect arc of silver. The spirit shrieked, its shape splitting apart like smoke cut by light. A shockwave tore through the ground, scattering the remaining darkness into nothingness.
Silence followed. Only the sound of snow settling.
Xiuyuan felt the warmth in his arms waver. Mingyue's head rested against his shoulder, breath faint but steady.
"Why…" Xiuyuan's voice was hoarse, half-broken. "Why would you—"
For a moment, Xiuyuan could not speak. The frost glittered faintly in the air like falling stars.
Wei Jingyan rushed forward, helping Zhou Qingrong stabilize the barrier as the valley's energy calmed. "If you hadn't struck when you did—"
Zhou Qingrong wiped his blade clean, expression tight. "If I'd hesitated, Mingyue would've been lost. Or Sect Leader Ling both."
They turned toward Xiuyuan — the Sect Leader standing unmoving in the snow, holding the young man who had shielded him. His hands trembled, just slightly.
The valley was silent again. The shadows were gone. But in the stillness, a single whisper seemed to linger — not cruel this time, nor mournful.
"Rest, Shizun."
Xiuyuan lifted his gaze to the pale sky. The snow fell softly, erasing the scars left by the battle. He closed his eyes.
When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a breath."It's over."