LIGHTNOVELONLINE Chapter 7: chapter 7
The withered forest fell silent. Fang-toothed and snarling, the undead glared furiously at the man and ghost sitting atop the gravestone, growling as though held back by an invisible force.
Su Yu seemed to realize something. He glanced at his hand, where faint black energy curled around the fragment he had broken from the gravestone. It resembled the dark specks emanating from the undead, yet it was subtly different. Moving his gaze, he surveyed the nearly motionless black dots around him.
Zhang Fugui tentatively stretched out a leg, only to retract it immediately when a nearby undead lunged, eliciting a startled gasp. The pale, shriveled undead crawled on all fours, and more were gathering in the distance. They seemed ready to tear the pair apart the moment they left the gravestone. Yet, inexplicably, the creatures didn't dare approach, as if the gravestone repelled them.
Half-buried in the earth, the weathered gravestone had dulled under years of wind and rain. Zhang Fugui scrutinized it. If not for the Daoist pulling him here, he might've mistaken it for an ordinary rock, like the countless others scattered across the mountain. Who would've guessed it might be the marker for the Living Tomb's master?
As he pondered, a cracking noise broke the silence. "Daoist!" he cried out.
Su Yu's hand remained on the fractured gravestone, the dark energy from his palm pressing down. More cracks splintered across its surface. His lifeless eyes swept over the nearby undead, faint golden threads lingering in his gaze with an inexplicable aura of dominance.
With a single movement, Su Yu caused the snarling undead to pause and retreat a few cautious steps.
Zhang Fugui huddled low, bracing for the worst. When he didn't feel himself being torn apart, he glanced up and saw the undead had backed away. "Daoist?"
Su Yu said nothing. The forest had grown eerily quiet, but exhaustion crept over him. His arm, used earlier to fend off the undead, now felt so heavy he could barely lift it. He wanted to study the gravestone further, but as he took two steps forward, the suppressed pain in his injured leg surged back, sharper than before. Blood oozed from the wound, and the fatigue compounded his discomfort.
Su Yu had no choice but to temporarily ignore the gravestone, turning his attention to his broken leg. If he didn't address it, walking would be impossible.
Meanwhile, Zhang Fugui was locked in a silent staring match with the surrounding undead. Worry gripped him—how could he appease these creatures for the damage done to their ancestor's gravestone? As he racked his brain, a crisp snap drew his attention. He turned to see Su Yu snapping the dried branch he had used earlier to stabilize his leg.
"Stop, stop!" Zhang Fugui hurriedly intercepted Su Yu's hand before it could reach the injured area. Words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them: "You can't just handle it like that! That's... that's reckless! You'll cripple your leg completely!"
Su Yu, caught off guard, paused. Zhang Fugui immediately realized his blunder and retracted his hand as though burned. Sweat poured down his face as he stammered, "I-I didn't mean that, Daoist. It's just your leg… it, uh, needs careful handling."
Why was he acting like a doctor again? He chastised himself silently. The Daoist was a cultivator; surely, he had his own methods for healing. Yet Zhang Fugui couldn't help feeling guilty for overstepping.
Su Yu didn't respond immediately. A chill lingered around his wrist where Zhang Fugui had grabbed him. After a moment of silence, Su Yu's gaze fell on the ghost. He remembered that his earlier wound had also been treated by this spectral figure.
"You do it," he said flatly.
"Me?!" Zhang Fugui's voice cracked. When Su Yu didn't respond further, Zhang Fugui's heart sank, and he reluctantly edged closer.
The aftermath of their battle left Su Yu's robes in tatters, his body smeared with blood and dirt, a picture of utter disarray. Zhang Fugui hesitated, then tore a relatively clean section of the Daoist's robe into strips to fashion a makeshift bandage. "Daoist, I'm starting now," he said nervously.
Su Yu nodded.
With the Daoist conscious this time, Zhang Fugui's hands trembled as he worked. Last time, he had bandaged Su Yu while he was unconscious; now, the pressure was palpable. The Daoist had already defeated two of his ghostly comrades and broken the gravestone of the Living Tomb's master. One wrong move, and he might be next.
Cultivators are benevolent, Zhang Fugui reminded himself repeatedly. If he patched Su Yu up, maybe he'd earn some mercy.
Su Yu watched the ghost's glowing form darting around his injured leg. The ghost's movements were unexpectedly light and deft, his actions quick and efficient. Within moments, Zhang Fugui had stabilized the injury again.
"You're a doctor?" Su Yu asked.
"…Used to specialize in treating injuries," Zhang Fugui admitted, swallowing hard. His gaze flicked toward the Daoist, but something about the blood emanating from Su Yu seemed almost… enticing.
The realization horrified him. Shoving the thought aside, he frantically scanned their surroundings. "Daoist, how are we going to get out of here?"
The undead had retreated slightly under Su Yu's earlier display of power, but the dense fog and crisscrossing mountain paths made navigation nearly impossible. Zhang Fugui realized they had wandered into an unfamiliar area during their flight, and now, even the direction they'd come from was unclear.
The withered forest seemed to stretch endlessly, the oppressive atmosphere thickened by the ever-present growls of the undead lurking just beyond the gravestone. Zhang Fugui shivered. How could they escape this place alive?
At that moment, Zhang Fugui's gaze was drawn to something in the distance, and his heart leaped into his throat. He stumbled back several steps in shock.
"What's wrong?" Su Yi felt the chain around his ankle tighten.
"There! Over there!" Zhang Fugui gesticulated wildly, pointing to a nearby area. Just ahead, a dark, mist-shrouded river was faintly visible.
"A river?" Su Yi turned his head to follow Zhang Fugui's gaze. Through the mingling haze of black fog and white vapors, his vision seemed to sharpen, revealing more than before. In the distance, through the gaps in the oppressive atmosphere, he saw a dense, white mist flowing like a river of smoke.
"What is that?" Su Yi asked, startled.
Zhang Fugui's voice trembled. "The Fog River… at the heart of Mount Nanwu."
Meanwhile, on the southeastern slopes of Mount Nanwu, a blue-robed cultivator led a group of Li Fire Sect disciples along a narrow trail. The eerie atmosphere of the mountain had everyone on edge. The path had been treacherous, teeming with wild spirits that grew more aggressive the closer they ventured to the mountain's eastern side.
"Now we understand why the elders warned us to stick close to the Su family," one disciple muttered. "A single misstep, and we'd be overwhelmed by those spirits, just like the scattered cultivators who've gone missing in this fog."
"We're here," the blue-robed cultivator said suddenly, halting.
The others followed his gaze and saw a peculiar river below.
From their vantage point, they could see the Fog River descending from the mountain's heights. Dense vapors swirled above its surface, imbuing the waters with an eerie allure.
"The rumors were true! This is the resting place of ancients," one Li Fire disciple said, his eyes alight with greed. Along the riverbanks, the skeletal remains of demonic beasts lay scattered, their residual pressure still palpable despite the passage of years.
"Has anyone else been here before us?"
"Impossible," sneered a Su family cultivator. "The outer perimeter is guarded by a living graveyard. Without our clan's prepared path, they wouldn't have made it this far."
Su Yi stood silently, his gaze fixed on the riverside. One beast's skull, still intact, bore a look of abject terror. He frowned and muttered, "They didn't resist before death… likely subdued by bloodline suppression."
"Bloodline suppression?" The others exchanged uneasy looks. One disciple's greed overcame his caution. "Could there still be a powerful beast here? If we could tame it—"
"Fool!" Su Yi's icy glare silenced the man. An elder from the Li Fire Sect dragged the disciple back and reprimanded him in hushed tones. "Don't let your greed blind you! A creature like that isn't something we could hope to control!"
While the others grew captivated by the mysterious scene, Su Yi studied the surroundings carefully. Three months ago, the astrologers of the Snowfall Sect had predicted an anomaly in the southern reaches of the Eastern Realm. Such events were rare, yet not long after, word of disturbances in Mount Nanwu began to spread.
Su Yi, stationed nearby at the time, had been the first to receive the news. Reports came in of Su family cultivators going missing during their exploration of the Fog River—the very place they'd identified as the mountain's nexus of yin energy. Beyond that, there had been no word.
The Su family had since captured several wild spirits from the mountain, but even these beings avoided mentioning the Fog River, treating it as a cursed place. Yet the very mystery surrounding it hinted at extraordinary opportunities. Such a place might indeed align with the astrologers' predictions—a once-in-a-millennium chance.
Dark fog drifted around the cultivators, emanating from the Fog River and creeping ever closer.
Suddenly, a disciple bolted toward the river's edge, drawn as if by an unseen force. His movements became sluggish, and then, as though bewitched, he threw himself into the river.
"Stay back!" Su Yi commanded sharply. "Maintain your focus!"
The other disciples froze, some reaching out to help, only to recoil as they noticed the sinister mist pooling at their feet. One stumbled backward and muttered, "Isn't this supposed to be a place of ascension? Why does it feel like a river of corpses?"
The river's depths churned with foul, murky waters, exuding a stench of decay that struck the cultivators like a physical blow. Those with weaker resolve turned away, their faces pale as waves of nausea overtook them.
The yin energy permeating the Fog River had accumulated over countless years, further intensified by the countless white bones scattered within its depths.
Cultivators adhered to the principles of karma in their practice, and human lives formed a crucial link in that chain. How could a place so filled with death—a river of corpses—serve as the final resting place of a great power? Such a site was steeped in profound sin.
The bewitched Li Fire Sect disciple, upon plunging into the Fog River, was immediately swallowed by its dark currents. The turbulent flow dragged him downstream, his figure vanishing before the horrified eyes of his companions. Their attempts to save him proved futile, leaving them pale and shaken as they stared at the river's edge.
Su Yi stepped forward cautiously, avoiding the Fog River as he approached its boundary. In the distance, the mountain trail abruptly ended, dropping into a mist-filled chasm. Anyone who misstepped and fell would likely never return.
"A place so sinister… This can't possibly be the site of a great power's legacy. What is this place?"
Suddenly, a fierce gust of yin wind surged through the area, catching the cultivators off guard. Those standing closest to the pit's edge were swept off their feet and plunged into the river's dark, swirling depths. The waters swallowed them in moments, dragging them into the abyss.
As the mist flickered and shifted, several figures emerged from its eerie haze. Their sudden appearance froze the remaining cultivators in place. A suffocating aura emanated from the newcomers, extinguishing the talismans ignited by the Li Fire Sect disciples.
What are these creatures?
The cultivators struggled to lift their heads. Standing on the river were entities with glowing red eyes. These were no ordinary wandering spirits or wild ghosts. Their clothing was surprisingly intact, some even clad in robes that bore the insignias of various sects. If not for their blood-red eyes and ghastly expressions, they might have resembled wandering Daoist sages.
Among them were individuals whose robes bore the Su family crest—undoubtedly the Su family cultivators who had vanished in Mount Nanwu half a month ago.
"Nascent Soul level…" Su Yi felt the crushing pressure emanating from the beings. "There's more than one on that river."
The realization drained the blood from everyone's faces. The highest cultivation level among them was a Golden Core peak, and while they might have been able to overcome a single Nascent Soul entity by pooling their strength, there were over twenty such creatures lurking in the Fog River's depths.
The Li Fire Sect only had three or four Nascent Soul cultivators in total, and even across the entire southern region of the Eastern Realm, there were few Nascent Soul cultivators of note. Yet here, in the seemingly unremarkable Mount Nanwu, so many Nascent Soul-level vengeful spirits had gathered.
The most chilling part? These powerful entities had all lost their sanity.
What they had encountered was not the fabled legacy of a great power. It was something far more horrifying.
"This isn't the resting place of a great cultivator," Su Yi said, his voice steadying. "Send word to those outside. Warn the—"
Before he could finish, the Nascent Soul spirits on the river all turned to face the group, their blood-red eyes tilting in unison as their heads twisted unnaturally to the side.
A wave of dread swept through the cultivators. Before they could raise their artifacts or cast their techniques, the spirits opened their mouths and unleashed a bone-chilling howl.
"AHHH—!"