"Spirits don't coordinate like this naturally, Tang Bo," Ji'an said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "They are being directed by something or someone. Look at how organized they are, despite lacking consciousness. There must be a stronghold backing them up. I'm going to go find whoever is playing conductor for this ghost choir and shove my spatula down their throat!"
Before Tang Bo could protest further, Ji'an stepped over the threshold.
The moment her boots hit the foggy cobblestones, the spirits shrieked, converging on her like moths to a blinding, golden flame.
Ji'an didn't flinch. She took a deep breath, circulating the entirety of her Harmonious Five-Grain Qi through her meridians.
"Culinary Art: High-Heat Wok Toss!"
She swung the Black Iron Spatula in a massive, upward arc. A literal tidal wave of golden, searing Yang fire erupted from the heavy iron, crashing into the front line of the spectral horde.
