Night settled early over Tianyin Peak. By the time the parties gathered at the courtyard, the mist had risen from the forest like pale smoke, veiling the mountain paths and turning every sound to an echo.
Yun Shufeng stood before them.
"The lights were last seen beyond the eastern path," Fan Rongrui said quietly. "The forest there surrounds an abandoned shrine. The bell-keeper once prayed there for safe passage of souls — long before our sect sealed it. We'll investigate both shrine and surrounding woods. But the ground splits there — we'll have to divide."
"I will take the inner path through the forest. Sect leader Yun, you assign Fan Rongrui and Lu Zhouyan with you. They know the terrain. Zhou Qingrong and Wei Jingyan will follow."
Then he turned to Lin Wuyue, who stood silent at the side.
"Wuyue, take the outer path with your disciples. Sweep the perimeter and reinforce the wards. If something crosses your line, light the red flare."
Wuyue bowed slightly. "Understood, shizun."
The groups parted at the foot of the forest path. The mist thickened there — dense and silver, swirling between trees whose branches hung low like reaching arms.
Ling Xiuyuan and Mingyue walked side by side beneath the shadowed pines. The mist grew denser as they went, the air heavy with resin and cold moisture. Snowmelt dripped from high branches like the ticking of unseen clocks.
Mingyue carried a lantern, the flame inside flickering nervously.
"The air here feels different," he said quietly. "It's heavy… but not malicious."
"Old prayers," Xiuyuan murmured. "Unheard for too long."
The path curved toward a hollow where half-buried stones jutted from the earth — the remains of a long-forgotten shrine. The faint toll of metal brushed the air. Both stopped.
"It's daytime," Mingyue whispered.
"And yet it calls," Xiuyuan replied, his voice almost calm. "That's what makes it dangerous."
The bell was small — no larger than a mortal's shoulder — but it gleamed as if freshly polished. Beneath it lay a scatter of white plum petals that had not wilted.
Xiuyuan bent to examine them. "These were placed recently."
Mingyue crouched beside him. "Offerings?"
"Perhaps," Xiuyuan said. "Or memory."
For a time, only their breathing filled the silence. Then Mingyue spoke again.
"Shizun… this sound — it's the same I heard at Frostveil Inn, the night before the spirit appeared."
Xiuyuan looked up at him, sharp-eyed but unreadable.
"You remember it clearly?"
Mingyue hesitated, lowering his gaze. "Not clearly. It was calling something. Or someone."
"What name did it call?"
He shook his head. "I couldn't tell."
Xiuyuan watched him for a moment longer, then said softly, "If it calls again, remember the tone. Fear often hides truth."
Mingyue nodded. The faint flush on his cheeks caught the lanternlight — whether from cold or something unspoken, Xiuyuan could not tell. The sect leader turned away first, his voice quiet:
"Stay close. This place remembers what it loses."
They stepped deeper into the hollow, their shadows melting into one upon the earth.
Far across the forest, Yun Shufeng led the second group up the stone steps toward the old bell tower. The structure rose like a sentinel of rusted bronze and white stone, its frame shrouded in ivy.
"Three nights ago, the bell rang thrice," Yun Shufeng said as they climbed. "After that, the first disciple disappeared. It rang twice more, and two others were gone."
Wei Jingyan gave a low whistle. "So… if it rings again, someone else vanishes?"
Zhou Qingrong shot him a look. "Don't test it."
Meng Chuan, pale and jumpy, muttered under his breath, "Why did I come again…"
Wei Jingyan smirked faintly. "Because you were the only one not pretending to be sick this morning."
On the far edge of the sect, Lin Wuyue and her six disciples traced the ridgeline. Talismans fluttered faintly in their hands, catching the wind.
"Reinforce the third seal here," she said, kneeling to press a charm against stone."Shijie," one disciple asked softly, "do you think Sect Leader Ling will be safe?"
Wuyue paused. For a long moment she said nothing, eyes turned toward the shrouded heart of the forest. Then, quietly:
"He always finds his way through darkness."
She exhaled. "Stay sharp."
Through the fog, perhaps twenty paces ahead, a figure stood.A young girl — white robes, long hair trailing down her back. She was turned slightly away, her face obscured, her posture still as if waiting.
"Did you see her?" Xiuyuan murmured.
Mingyue's eyes widened. "Yes."
The girl moved then — or rather, drifted — her steps too light, her robes brushing against no leaves. And before either could speak again, she turned and glided deeper into the forest.
Without hesitation, Xiuyuan followed.
"Shizun—wait!" Mingyue called, and hurried after him, the mist curling around his ankles.
The trail narrowed, winding between fallen trunks slick with moss. Each time they neared the girl, she slipped farther, her shape wavering like reflection in water.
Once, Xiuyuan caught the faint sound of bells — not metal, but a ringing inside the air itself. He slowed. The forest seemed to breathe.
And then — nothing.
The girl was gone.
Only the stillness of trees and the faint whisper of wind.
Xiuyuan stood at the clearing's edge, scanning the shadows. "She vanished here."
Mingyue approached, his breathing light, controlled. "Perhaps it was an illusion."
"No," Xiuyuan said. "There's more."
His gaze lowered — to the roots curling along a rocky slope, where a black hollow opened, almost hidden beneath tangled ivy. A cave mouth, its breath cool against their skin.
Xiuyuan knelt, brushing aside the ivy. "There's yin-energy coming from inside." The stone beneath was cold, damp. "It's old," he murmured. "And the wards—broken long ago."
He flickered his fingers to conjure a soft orb of pale light. The glow illuminated the cave's entrance — narrow, uneven, descending steeply into darkness.
"Stay close," Xiuyuan said, stepping forward.
Mingyue obeyed.
Inside, the air was heavy with damp earth and the faint scent of rust. The cave walls gleamed faintly, streaked with mineral veins that caught the light like dull silver. Water dripped from the ceiling, each drop echoing like a heartbeat.
They moved in silence.
After some time, Mingyue's voice broke softly through the dark. "Do you think… she was one of the vanished disciples?"
Xiuyuan shook his head. "The aura was wrong. That girl was… hollow. No breath, no life."
Mingyue's steps faltered. "Then what was she?"
Xiuyuan glanced back at him, expression unreadable in the dim light. "That's what we're here to find out."
They walked deeper. The light from the entrance was long gone; only Mingyue's orb flickered faintly ahead of them. The air grew colder, each breath misting white.
At one point, Mingyue stumbled, his hand brushing Xiuyuan's sleeve. Ling Xiuyuan steadied him instantly, their faces only inches apart. Mingyue quickly averted his gaze, cheeks faintly flushed.
"Careful," Xiuyuan said quietly.
"Yes, Shizun."
They stood like that for a moment — silence pressing close, the faint echo of dripping water between them — before moving on.
The tunnel curved sharply and opened at last into a small hollow chamber. Its walls were etched with ancient runes, their shapes faintly glowing blue. In the center lay a shallow pit filled with still water, perfectly reflective, as though it had not been disturbed for centuries.
Xiuyuan stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "This place was once sealed. Something unsealed it… recently."
Time passed, though they could not tell how long.The flame of Ling Xiuyuan's conjured light hovered in midair, trembling faintly, the only thing that separated them from the thick darkness pressing against the walls.
They had searched every corner of the hollow. Nothing stirred. No shadow of the girl. No trace of the vanished disciples. Only the faint drip of water and their own slow breathing.
At last, Xiuyuan turned back toward the entrance. "We'll regroup. There's nothing here."
Mingyue nodded, moving the light ahead. But when they reached the narrow opening—where the faint grey of daylight should have been—there was only rock.
The way out had closed.
Mingyue froze. "Shizun…"
Xiuyuan stepped forward, pressing his palm to the stone. It was seamless, solid. The air beyond felt gone.A faint tremor ran through the ground beneath them, and then—silence again.
He withdrew his hand. "The mountain shifted, or the cave… sealed itself."
The words were calm, but his voice had softened with fatigue. He exhaled slowly, and the breath misted white.
It was colder now. Bitter cold.
He pulled his cloak tighter, but the chill sank through the layers, biting into his skin. His fingers, wrapped around Qinglan's hilt, had begun to numb.
Mingyue noticed first. "Shizun, you're trembling."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Before Xiuyuan could reply, Mingyue stepped forward and, with quiet decisiveness, slipped off his own outer robe. The movement was simple but deliberate, his sleeves brushing against Xiuyuan's arm as he reached up to drape it over his shoulders.
The fabric was still warm from Mingyue's body. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and mountain wind.
Xiuyuan's breath caught.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The faint glow of Mingyue's light painted their faces — Xiuyuan's pale and still, Mingyue's touched with color, eyes lowered as if afraid to meet his gaze.
"You'll freeze," Xiuyuan said at last, his tone too steady to hide the rough edge beneath.
"I don't feel the cold as much," Mingyue murmured. "Please—don't refuse."
The way he said it — soft, almost pleading — made Xiuyuan's pulse shift, slow and heavy.He let the robe remain.
The silence between them changed. It wasn't the silence of caves or ghosts anymore — it was warm and near, filled with breath. Xiuyuan found his eyes drawn to Mingyue's face, to the way the light trembled against the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows over his cheek.
Mingyue reached forward, perhaps to adjust the cloak — but the sleeve slipped back, and the light caught on his forearm.
Xiuyuan's gaze froze.
There, just above the wrist, a faint scar ran across the pale skin — curved and narrow, healed long ago. The same scar.The same place.Exactly where Shen Liuxian had carried a wound.
The air left his lungs.
"Where did you get that?"
Mingyue blinked, startled. "Shizun—?"
"The scar." His voice was low, sudden, sharper than he intended. "How did you get it?"
Mingyue's face went still. Then, with a small, almost frightened motion, he drew back his arm and covered the mark with his hand.
"I… don't remember," he said too quickly. "It's old."
Xiuyuan's eyes narrowed, his heartbeat heavy against his ribs. "Old?"
Mingyue looked away. The light flickered, dimming around them.
"I must have fallen when I was young," he murmured. "It's nothing."
His tone was calm, but the tremor beneath it was clear. His fingers pressed over the scar as though he could erase it.
Xiuyuan watched him for a long moment — the way his shoulders had tightened, the faint tremble in his breath, the impossible familiarity of it all. The shadows on the cave wall blurred.
For a moment, he almost spoke — almost said a name that did not belong to this world anymore.
The orb brightened again, soft and wavering. Its glow wrapped around them both, fragile and beautiful, as the darkness pressed closer from every side.
And in that silence, Xiuyuan felt the faintest tremor in his chest — something colder than the mountain air, and far more alive.