The Serene Lotus Dojo stood in tranquil silence, its wooden beams aged yet sturdy, exuding the wisdom of generations past. Intricate carvings of celestial lotuses adorned the pillars, their petals seeming to shift in the dim candlelight. The polished floor gleamed, reflecting the flickering flames of braziers, while the faint scent of incense and aged parchment filled the air.
The moment Fang Lee and Fang Xiu materialized within the sacred hall, the female master stood before them, her presence commanding yet composed. "We have pressing matters to attend to."
With a wave of her sleeve, a wisp of smoke coiled through the air before solidifying into an image. Lian Xue's red jade-like body remained motionless outside Fang Xiu's chambers—exactly where Fang Lee had left her.
Fang Lee blinked.
Oh.
Right.
He had completely forgotten about her.
It wasn't guilt that settled in his chest—more like mild surprise, as if he had misplaced an object rather than a person. He hadn't even thought about her since he entangled himself with Fang Xiu.
The female master's gaze remained sharp. "Though I am pleased that you have successfully built your foundation, the way you did so presents a serious problem."
Fang Lee stared at her, unblinking. Was he supposed to care? Wasn't the Fang Clan one of the strongest forces in this region? And from Fang Lee's memories, Lian Xue was from a lesser-known sect.
His master sighed. "You truly don't understand the weight of your actions, do you?" She folded her arms. "Lian Xue is the daughter of an allied sect. If word spreads that you used her body to refine your foundation, it would create an irreparable rift between our clans."
Fang Meilin tensed beside him. "Master, surely there's a way to fix this before they find out?"
The master nodded. "That is why I am sending you both on a mission. There are certain soul-strengthening herbs that may allow Lian Xue to regain a fragment of her sentience, at least enough to make her a half-foundation treasure. That should mitigate the fallout if this situation is ever uncovered."
She waved her sleeve, and a scroll materialized in her grasp. She handed it to Fang Meilin. "This contains a list and location of the necessary herbs. You'll find descriptions and illustrations for easier identification."
With another flick, she summoned several items before them—long-distance and short-distance teleportation talismans, cold resistance pills, and a small jade slip. "As this is a special occasion, I will grant you access to my floating boat in case of an emergency or if you lose the teleportation talismans."
A small flying boat, no larger than a table, drifted towards them, hovering effortlessly in the air. Its body shimmered with faint runic engravings, humming with latent energy.
Fang Meilin bowed in acceptance, while Fang Lee followed suit, albeit with less reverence. They turned and strode toward the exit, the dojo's heavy doors groaning as they pushed them open and stepped into the cool night air.
Behind them, the female master stood in quiet contemplation, her gaze lingering on Fang Lee's departing figure.
"So fast… he's growing up too quickly," she murmured, seemingly to herself.
Then, her expression softened slightly, and she turned her head. "You should be very proud as a mother."
Miles away, nestled deep within the mist-shrouded Fang Clan Village, a grand manor sprawled like a hidden world of its own. Its courtyards overflowed with lush greenery, ancient pines twisting skyward as if reaching for the heavens. Lanterns cast a warm glow over the stone pathways, illuminating the figures of servants moving with practiced grace.
Within the most secluded chamber, a woman at the peak of the Gold Core realm sat in silent meditation, her spirit senses stretched across the distance. She lifted a delicate porcelain cup, taking a slow sip of fragrant tea.
"I am," she said simply.
Beside her, a young girl, no older than fourteen, tilted her head. "Mother, who are you talking to?"
The woman merely smiled, reaching out to pluck a delicate cookie from the plate before her. "No one, my dear."
—
(Twenty minutes later…)
Fang Lee and Fang Meilin stood on the deck of the floating boat, now greatly expanded. No longer the small transport they had been given earlier, the vessel had grown in size, large enough to fit at least twenty or thirty people. Intricate carvings of celestial beasts lined its wooden railings, glowing faintly with protective enchantments. The sails billowed even without wind, carrying them effortlessly through the night sky.
Below, the Fang Clan village slumbered peacefully, the mist rolling in soft waves over rooftops and narrow streets. The colossal bronze statue of the clan's founder stood with its watchful gaze turned toward the horizon.
Beyond the village's outer perimeter, the ancient pine forest loomed ahead, its emerald canopy stretching endlessly. From the ground, it was an illusion—a simple ring of trees surrounding the statue. But from above, the truth became clear. This was no ordinary grove.
This was the Immortal Fang Forest.
And somewhere beyond it lay their destination.
The floating boat glided through the moonlit sky, silent as a specter. Below, the Fang Clan village stretched like a celestial ring around the Immortal Fang Forest, its mortals oblivious to the hidden world concealed beneath its towering pine canopy.
Fang Meilin leaned against the boat's railing, her violet eyes scanning the mist-laden valley. "So, where exactly are we heading?"
Fang Lee, still holding the mission scroll, unrolled it again. The aged parchment detailed their destination—a valley deep within the ancient mountain ranges, where soul-strengthening herbs grew in abundance.
"Somewhere called the Jade Serpent Hollow," he muttered, his green eyes flickering over the hand-drawn map. "It's supposed to be—"
A strange pressure squeezed his mind. The air thickened, shadows stretched unnaturally, and a bitter chill seeped into his bones.
The scent of blood filled his nostrils.
Fang Meilin's form flickered—her body rippling like disturbed water before melting away into the mist. The illusion shattered.
Reality came crashing back.
The boat's deck was slick with gore, butchered bodies strewn across the wooden planks in grotesque disarray. Cultivators—clad in Fang Clan robes—lay motionless, their Qi drained to the husk. Some were slumped against the railing, their faces frozen in silent screams, while others were torn open, their very essence devoured.
But Fang Lee didn't move.
His jade-green eyes swept over the scene with cold scrutiny. An illusion within an illusion. He hadn't left the village with a crew. He and Fang Meilin were the only ones on this boat. These weren't his slain kin.
The scene flickered.
The shredded bodies twisted and distorted, their flesh melting away like ink dripping into water. In their place, shriveled, gray-skinned corpses lay contorted in unnatural positions, their clawed hands still twitching, their empty sockets glaring in his direction.
The Mistborn Phantoms.
Their forms were grotesque—partially decomposed yet still pulsing with a strange vitality, their flesh marked with remnants of the Qi they had stolen. These spectral entities were more than mere ghosts; they were a part of the Fang Clan's defensive network, scattered throughout the Immortal Fang Forest like unseen sentinels.
By luring wandering prey into their mist, they drained Qi to sustain their existence, their bodies formed from the very essence of devoured cultivators. Typically, they remained dispersed, watching from the shadows, but when gathered using a Wraithcaller Banner, they could form an endless legion—millions strong—becoming an unstoppable tide of spectral warriors in times of war.
However, without command, they sometimes coalesced into wild hordes, attacking any unfortunate traveler that strayed too close to their hunting grounds. And Fang Lee and Fang Meilin had sailed straight into one.
A whispering hum layered the air, illusions pressing against his mind once more.
Fang Lee exhaled sharply, green energy flooding his meridians as his two hundred sword formation responded to his will. The air around him trembled as the blades, gleaming like falling stars, turned from pure gold to shimmering jade, an ancient radiance pulsing within them.
The first wave of phantoms screeched as the jade swords tore through them, their spectral bodies hardening, limbs crystallizing into translucent green before they shattered like fragile glass.
For every specter that fell, more emerged from the surrounding haze, their empty eyes gleaming with insatiable hunger.
A chill ran down his spine. They weren't just attacking blindly—they were adapting.
From the shifting mist, new illusions began forming, twisting reality once more. The boat beneath him seemed to creak and warp, corpses flickering in and out of existence, and the very air became thick with suffocating whispers.
Fang Lee grit his teeth, his grip tightening on the hilt of his main sword.
"Meilin," he growled.
No response.
He swept his gaze across the battlefield—there, just beyond the shifting illusions, Fang Meilin was locked in battle, her twin sabers flashing in arcs of violet light as she fought off another group of phantoms.
But her movements were sluggish, her body wavering—she was still partially trapped in the illusion.
With a flick of his wrist, Fang Lee sent a streak of jade Qi toward her, the energy slicing through the mist like a blade. The moment it struck, Fang Meilin jolted, eyes clearing as realization dawned.
"damn," she breathed, stepping back into a defensive stance. Her own Qi flared around her, violet energy lashing through the air like whips. "I hate these things."
"You're not the only one."
The phantoms screeched again, but their bodies recoiled from the jade-infused blades. The ones that had already been cut were still twitching, their limbs turned to gleaming crystal, unable to reform.
A smirk tugged at Fang Lee's lips.
He cracked his neck, emerald light surging around him. His eyes now gleamed with an intense green radiance, matching the shifting jade glow of his swords. Fang Meilin's own energy responded in kind, her violet Qi burning fiercely in the mist-choked air.
"Let's finish this," he said.
And then, with a single step, they plunged into the storm of phantoms.
Fang Lee's jade swords sliced effortlessly through the shifting forms, leaving behind crystallized remains that shattered like brittle gemstones. Each cut solidified the phantoms, turning their ethereal bodies into hardened jade before they splintered into nothingness.
Fang Meilin danced beside him, her twin sabers releasing arcs of violet destruction. Every slash ignited bursts of ghostly flame, consuming the illusions with violent ripples of raw energy.
The mist churned, the phantoms shrieking in unison.
The illusion was breaking.
The wails of the Mistborn Phantoms echoed across the night sky, a haunting symphony of agony and rage. The shifting mist around them trembled as their ranks faltered, their illusions losing stability under the relentless assault of jade and violet energy.
Fang Lee's swords carved through the spectral horde with effortless precision, each stroke carrying the weight of his will. The moment his jade-infused Qi touched them, their incorporeal bodies solidified—trapped in crystalline prisons—before shattering into nothingness.
Fang Meilin moved like a phantom herself, her twin sabers tracing arcs of violet destruction. Each strike severed limbs that melted into smoke, her presence a blur of deadly elegance.
"How many more of these damn things are there?" she muttered, cutting down another phantom as it lunged for her throat.
Fang Lee's gaze flickered toward the mist beyond them. The illusions had begun to collapse—the shifting scenery of corpses and twisted landscapes flickering like a dying flame. But the mist itself remained dense, thick with the unyielding presence of more unseen entities.
"They're stalling," he realized, his voice cold.
Fang Meilin's brows furrowed. "For what?"
A sudden pulse reverberated through the air.
The mist recoiled, swirling violently as if something massive stirred within its depths. The remaining phantoms let out a collective shriek before retreating, their twisted forms dispersing into the gloom like ink dissolving in water.
Silence fell.
And then the sky split open.
A pillar of dark mist erupted from the depths of the forest below, rising like a coiling dragon. At its center, a figure loomed—a towering specter clad in tattered robes of shadow, its body composed entirely of swirling mist and hardened Qi. Unlike the lesser phantoms, this one had defined features—its skeletal face stretched into an eerie grin, twin pinpricks of ghostly fire burning in its hollow eye sockets.
A Mistborn Wraith.
A rare evolution of the Mistborn Phantoms, born from centuries of accumulated Qi and countless devoured souls. Where the lesser phantoms relied on illusions and swarm tactics, the wraiths possessed a terrifying intelligence—and worse, a will strong enough to resist simple purification.
It spoke, its voice an eerie whisper that rattled against their bones.
"Children of the Fang… You trespass where the mist reigns… This night, you belong to us…"
The moment its words ended, the mist exploded outward, swallowing the sky.
A wave of pure illusion crashed into them.
Fang Lee barely had time to react before the world around him twisted violently. The boat beneath his feet vanished, replaced by an endless void of swirling jade and black.
His own body flickered—one moment solid, the next insubstantial, as if he were being dragged between reality and the illusion itself.
A hundred voices whispered in his ears, familiar and unfamiliar alike.
"Fang Lee… you are not real…"
"Your life is a dream… surrender to the mist…"
"Why do you resist?"
The voices pressed against his mind like a thousand grasping hands, trying to unravel him, to unmake him.
But Fang Lee only smirked.
"You think this is enough to break me?"
Green lightning crackled around his form, his jade swords humming with power. He exhaled, his will surging outward in a tidal wave of jade energy.
The illusion shattered.
Reality snapped back into focus.
The Mistborn Wraith recoiled, its spectral form flickering erratically, struggling to maintain its hold on the mist.
Fang Meilin reappeared beside him, her eyes gleaming with violet fire.
"Kill it."
They moved as one.
Fang Lee surged forward, his jade swords dancing through the air, each strike solidifying the wraith's form bit by bit. Fang Meilin followed, her sabers carving through the mist like twin streaks of violet lightning.
The wraith roared, its illusory body breaking apart under the onslaught.
But it wasn't finished.
The mist howled, converging around its form. Tendrils of shadow lashed out, trying to drag them back into its illusions, trying to drown them in its endless domain.
Fang Lee's eyes burned brighter.
"Enough."
He swung his swords in a sweeping arc.
A jade crescent of Qi erupted forward, cutting through the mist like a divine decree. The energy crashed into the wraith, its entire form crystallizing in an instant.
It let out one final, distorted wail—
—before shattering into countless shards of jade, dissolving into the night.
The mist began to clear.
The boat remained intact, now floating above the restored landscape of the Fang Clan's lands. The oppressive weight of the illusion was gone, the lingering phantoms retreating into the depths of the forest.
Fang Meilin exhaled, rolling her shoulders.
"Next time, let's fly higher above the forest," she muttered.
Fang Lee simply cracked his neck, the green energy around him fading. His jade swords returned to their usual golden hue, but the power still lingered, simmering beneath his skin.
"Agreed," he said. "Let's get moving before more of them show up."
With that, they turned the boat toward the distant mountains, leaving the haunted mist behind.