The wind howled, drowning out their voices, while thick fog blurred their vision. Only the faint glow of fireflies punctuated the darkness, tiny dots of light flickering in the abyss.
"I want to go home," He Zhen whispered, raising his hands. The sound of a cat's meow echoed back, almost mocking him. On the other side, Xiao Ling facepalmed, and Chun Fu rolled his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
In the distance, a shadowy figure loomed closer, growing more defined with each passing second.
Chun Fu summoned a flower into his palm: Mountain Laurel. Its stunning blossoms concealed a deadly secret; consuming them could lead to a burning agony in the lips, mouth, and throat.
As the figure edged into the light, an eyesore of a ghost came into view. With a flick of his wrist, the flower transformed in the ghost's eyes into a succulent piece of meat—enticing enough to provoke a primal hunger. Blood trickled from Chun Fu's hand, a tantalizing temptation that sent the ghost into a frenzy.
In a blink, the ghost lunged at him. Yet, as the illusion shattered, it found only the flower, biting down and causing its own downfall. The ghost screamed as the poison seeped into his skin, igniting a burning pain. He realized, too late, he was no longer invulnerable.
"It was nice encountering you," he grunted through clenched teeth, forcing the ghost down, sealing it to the ground. He looked around, desperate to find his companions, but they seemed impossibly far away, each lost in their own nightmare.
Xiao Ling had also managed to pin a ghost down with his fu-zan, sealing it away. Yet he felt the same gnawing dread as Chun Fu—no matter how far he walked, he couldn't find his fellow ones.
Meanwhile, He Zhen faced a different challenge. Five ghosts surrounded him, creeping closer from every direction. He stood firm, his form shifting as he embraced his true nature. His hair transformed from black to white, his eyes from blue to a piercing golden yellow, revealing two additional eyes that opened in a silent command.
The ghosts froze, fear flickering across their faces.
I mean, who was the king who brutally tortured the ghost which they, after destroying his realm and making his own people suffer...
That's right...He Zhen. He Zhen the King of the Crimson.
With a wave of his hand, the ghosts scattered, fleeing from him as if he had simply brushed them away.
All around, they remained scattered, disoriented, each struggling to find their way back to one another. The silence was punctured only by a distant.
"AHHHHHHH!!!!"
The piercing scream sent chills down their spines, and in an instant, the fog lifted, leaving everything eerily still. They stood in the same spot, untouched, but a haunting feeling washed over them: these weren't the ghosts they were searching for. No, he was watching them, toying with them—like an immature brat!
Suddenly, a parade appeared, as if waking from a collective dream. Today marked the celebration of the wind god, they recalled.
"All thanks to the water tyrant Nan Xuanjin, all hail him!"
The chant echoed, leaving them in shock. They had been certain that today honored the Wind Lord Zhao Qing. Stepping forward, Xiao Ling sought clarification. The villagers insisted that today was a blue supermoon, not a half-moon.
Glancing up at the sky, they saw, as expected, a half-moon hanging there. What were the villagers talking about?
But then Xiao Ling noticed something strange: as the villagers gazed at the moon, their eyes reflected what they claimed to see—a brilliant blue supermoon...