The deck of the flying vessel was slick with the remains of the mistborn phantoms, their twisted, ashen bodies sprawled where they had been struck down. Though the ghosts had taken on something more tangible in death, their flesh had an unnatural, rubbery texture, leaking an eerie, dark mist that coiled into the night air before dissipating. The acrid scent—metallic and wrong—clung to the cold wind as the ship drifted above the Immortal Fang Forest.
Far below, ancient pines stretched endlessly, their dark silhouettes shifting beneath the silver glow of the moon. Mist wove between the trees like living veins, creeping up the mountain range that loomed ahead—a vast, jagged silhouette against the night sky. That was their next destination. Somewhere within those peaks lay the Jade Serpent Hollow, hidden deep in a valley shrouded in legend and secrecy.
Fang Meilin exhaled, planting a foot against one of the corpses before shoving it toward the railing. The dead thing was unnervingly heavy for something that had once been so ethereal, its flesh sagging unnaturally as it slid across the deck.
"These things stink." She wrinkled her nose. "Let's get rid of them before they start sticking to the ship."
She crouched, grabbing another corpse by what remained of its arm, and with a sharp motion, hurled it over the side. The movement caused her robe to shift slightly, moonlight catching the sheen of sweat on her skin. The curve of her waist, the flex of her muscles beneath silk—Fang Lee noticed. He hesitated for half a second before glancing away, tossing a heavier corpse overboard with a grunt.
She caught his glance as she turned back, one brow arching. "What? Don't tell me the great Fang Lee is afraid of ghost corpses."
He scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "Not afraid. Just making sure you don't tire yourself out before we even reach the herbs."
Fang Meilin snorted. "I should be saying that to you. Weren't you the one bleeding earlier?"
Fang Lee tapped his chest with a grin. "Barely a scratch."
The vessel drifted smoothly through the night sky, cutting through the mist as it approached the looming peaks. The jagged mountain range stretched endlessly before them, bathed in silver moonlight, its ridges sharp and imposing. The air grew colder the higher they ascended, the scent of pine giving way to something crisper—an ancient, untouched purity that clung to the wind.
Fang Lee stood at the helm, his jade-green eyes scanning the terrain below. Nestled deep within the range was their first destination—the Jade Serpent Hollow, a spirit plant garden cultivated by the Fang Clan for generations. There, the serpent flowers thrived, their roots birthing white jade-skinned snakes that slithered across the sacred soil.
"We should be close," Fang Meilin murmured, her violet gaze flickering toward the valley beneath them.
The landscape shifted—the dense forests giving way to a wide, circular hollow. At its heart, a pale mist coiled above the earth, undisturbed by the mountain winds. Massive stone formations jutted from the ground like the ribs of an ancient beast, their surfaces lined with intricate carvings—wards and seals laid by past generations to protect the delicate ecosystem.
Fang Lee guided the ship lower, its enchanted sails shifting to slow their descent. As they neared the ground, the mist parted, revealing a breathtaking sight.
A palace.
Not just any palace, but a grand structure built for the cultivation of spirit plants. Towering spires entwined with flowering vines, wide courtyards lined with luminous herbs that pulsed with soft, verdant radiance. Dark jade walls inlaid with silver runes shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Bridges of carved white stone arched over pools filled with glowing water plants, their leaves swaying gently in unseen currents.
Yet, for all its beauty, something was wrong.
Figures moved between the flower beds—mortals, gaunt and exposed, clothed in little more than thin rags. Their backs were striped with fresh welts. Some crawled on their hands and knees, carefully pruning the delicate flowers with trembling hands. Others carried buckets of thick, dark nectar, their arms straining under the weight. And standing over them—overseers.
Tall, humanoid figures with serpentine lower halves, their jade-scaled tails coiling idly as they watched the laborers with cold, slitted eyes. Their upper bodies were human, dressed in dark green silk embroidered with silver serpent patterns. Each held a whip coiled at their side—a symbol of authority rather than necessity. Because no one here dared to resist.
Fang Lee's gaze flickered. He knew these beings. They were spirit beasts, bound to the Fang Clan not by blood, but by oath—an ancient pact that granted them dominion over this land in exchange for their service. They were not slaves, but they held power over those who were.
As the flying vessel descended toward a circular stone platform at the heart of the palace, the overseers noticed them.
A ripple of movement spread through the crowd. Their sharp gazes turned skyward, fangs glinting as they took in the crest upon the ship's sails. Recognition dawned instantly. Their expressions shifted—first to shock, then to reverence.
One by one, they bowed.
"We pay our respects to the Fang Clan!" Their voices rose in unison, hissing and smooth like a whispering tide.
Above them, a group of Foundation Establishment cultivators soared through the air atop various treasures—floating swords, jade lotuses, spirit cranes. Their robes fluttered as they descended toward the palace grounds. Their auras pulsed with restrained power, but none carried the presence of someone in the Core Formation Realm or beyond. This was a place of servants and caretakers, not true rulers.
Fang Meilin folded her arms, her sharp eyes scanning the scene. "Haven't been here in a while," she murmured. "Looks like they've been working hard."
"Or being worked hard," Fang Lee replied dryly, his gaze drifting back to the mortals.
Before she could respond, movement at the far end of the platform caught their attention.
A figure approached, her steps light and deliberate.
She was small, barely reaching Fang Lee's chest, but her presence was undeniable. Her lower body was human, slender legs wrapped in intricate silk bands that shimmered like iridescent scales, her feet bare against the polished stone. Yet her eyes—large, golden, slitted like a snake's—marked her as one of the spirit beast clan.
And her dress…
Fang Lee took a moment to appreciate it.
Thin, near translucent, it clung to her curves like mist over water, revealing just enough to entice, yet not enough to be indecent. The fabric shimmered with faint enchantments, designed to ripple like liquid jade, emphasizing the delicate curve of her hips, the smoothness of her shoulders. A faint, floral fragrance clung to her—soft yet intoxicating.
His eyes lingered—just a moment longer than necessary—before meeting her gaze.
She noticed.
A flicker of amusement passed through her golden irises. Her full lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile as she dipped into a graceful bow.
"This lowly one greets Young Master Fang, Young Mistress Fang, honored guests of the main branch." Her voice was melodic, smooth as silk, with the slightest trace of a hiss beneath the words.
Fang Lee smirked, tilting his head. "And you are?"
She straightened, placing a delicate hand over her chest. "This servant is called Xian Rui," she said, "guardian of the serpent flowers, keeper of the valley's purity."
Fang Meilin raised an eyebrow. "Keeper of purity, dressed like that?"
Xian Rui chuckled, unbothered. "The flowers bloom best in the embrace of the moon," she said lightly. "Would it not be fitting for their caretaker to reflect their beauty?"
Fang Lee liked her already.
Xian Rui's golden eyes flickered with amusement as she stepped closer, her movements fluid, deliberate. The faint shimmer of her translucent silk dress caught the moonlight, rippling like water over her slender frame. She was playing a game, and Fang Lee was more than willing to play along.
"You have quite the way with words," he said, smirking as he let his gaze trail over her. "I can see why they made you the guardian of this place. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were one of the flowers yourself—delicate, beautiful, in need of gentle care."
Xian Rui chuckled softly, tilting her head. "Delicate?" she echoed, her voice laced with quiet amusement. "You flatter me, Young Master, but I assure you—my roots run deep. Unlike the flowers, I do not wither at a mere touch."
Fang Lee took a step forward, closing some of the space between them. "Good," he murmured, his tone teasing. "It would be a shame if something so enticing was too fragile to enjoy."
A flicker of something passed through Xian Rui's golden irises—curiosity, intrigue, challenge. She liked the game just as much as he did.
Fang Meilin, standing off to the side, rolled her eyes but didn't interfere. She had long grown accustomed to Fang Lee's tendencies, and if seducing the serpent guardian helped them obtain the flowers faster, she had no objections.
Fang Lee let the moment stretch, the charged air between them thick with unspoken intent. Then, with a smooth confidence, he finally spoke.
"We've come for serpent flowers—not just any, but those that have matured for ten to fifteen thousand years. The Fang Clan requires them for an important refinement, and we were told that if such treasures still exist, they would be found here, under your watchful care." His gaze held hers, steady, expectant, laced with just enough charm to soften the demand into something more persuasive.
Xian Rui's golden eyes shimmered with something indecipherable—curiosity, calculation, perhaps amusement. Silence stretched between them before a slow, knowing smile curved her lips.
"Ah," she murmured, her voice like silk threading through the cool night air. "The ancient ones. A rare request indeed... but not an impossible one."
Xian Rui let the moment linger before finally stepping back, just enough to keep the tension taut. "Come," she said smoothly, turning with an elegant sway of her hips. "The flowers you seek are deep within the valley. I will guide you."
She led them through the vast serpentine palace, past the bowing overseers and silent laborers. The scent of herbs grew richer with every step, the air thick with spiritual energy. Bioluminescent vines coiled along the stone walls, casting an ethereal glow over the pathways.
As they walked, Fang Lee made a point to stay close to Xian Rui, his presence just at her side, his voice low and laced with amusement whenever he spoke. He flirted, lightly at first—complimenting the way the moonlight caught the silver threads in her dress, the way her voice carried like a song.
And she responded in kind, her words teasing, her golden eyes glinting with hidden laughter.
It was a slow, deliberate dance—one Fang Lee had played many times before.
But Xian Rui wasn't just a conquest. She was a spirit beast, a guardian, a being tied to the ancient power of the valley. Winning her favor could mean more than just a night of pleasure—it could mean gaining an ally, someone willing to bend the rules in their favor.
So, as they descended deeper into the valley, he took his time.
—
The valley opened before them in a breathtaking display of nature and cultivation intertwined. Fields of serpent flowers stretched across the landscape, their luminous petals swaying gently despite the lack of wind. The air was thick with pulsing spiritual energy, radiating from the ancient roots that burrowed deep beneath the soil.
At the center, nestled within a grove of twisting jade trees, lay the oldest of the flowers—the ones they had come for.
Ten to fifteen thousand-year-old serpent flowers were no ordinary herbs. Their roots had fused with the land itself, birthing countless white jade snakes that slithered between the stems, their scales glistening like carved stone.
"This is it," Fang Meilin murmured, her violet gaze sweeping over the valley.
Xian Rui turned to them, folding her hands elegantly before her. "The ancient ones are not easily taken," she warned. "Their roots are deep, their sentience strong. To pluck one without the proper reverence would be… unwise."
Fang Lee chuckled, stepping closer to her once again. "Then it's a good thing we have you to guide us," he said smoothly, letting his voice drop just enough to be intimate.
Xian Rui held his gaze, her lips curving. "Flattery will not make the flowers surrender themselves to you, Young Master."
"No," he agreed, his smirk widening. "But it might make you more willing to help."
She laughed—a soft, melodic sound. Then, after a long pause, she tilted her head, considering.
"And what would the Young Master offer in return for my… assistance?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement.
Fang Lee's smirk didn't waver. "I can think of a few things," he murmured, his fingers grazing lightly over the silk of her sleeve.
Xian Rui arched a brow, pretending to contemplate. "Hmm. Perhaps if you impress me, I may consider it."
"Then I suppose I'll have to make tonight memorable," he whispered.
She let out a soft hum, turning away just as Fang Meilin muttered under her breath, "You better not take all night. We still have another garden to get to."
Fang Lee watched Xian Rui's retreating figure with a satisfied smirk. She was interested—he could tell by the way she lingered, the way she let the game continue. But for now, they had business to attend to.
The valley stretched wide before them, illuminated by the soft bioluminescence of the serpent flowers. Their white petals glowed faintly, their roots shifting subtly beneath the ground as though alive. And they were—their sentience whispered through the air, a soft hum of awareness that made the skin prickle.
Fang Meilin had already stepped forward, her violet eyes scanning the flowers carefully. "How many do we need?" she asked, voice low.
"Ten to fifteen," Fang Lee replied, rolling his shoulders. "And the older, the better."
Xian Rui approached one of the elder flowers, crouching beside it. She ran her fingers lightly along its stem, and the plant reacted, curling slightly toward her touch. "They will not yield easily," she murmured. "Especially not to someone who does not understand them."
Fang Lee knelt beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. "Then teach me," he murmured.
Xian Rui's lips curved, but she said nothing for a moment. Instead, she reached for a small jade dagger tucked at her waist. With a graceful motion, she nicked the tip of her finger, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the flower's petals.
The reaction was instantaneous.
The flower shuddered, its glow intensifying, and the jade-scaled snakes that slithered around its roots suddenly stilled, lifting their heads as though acknowledging her presence.
"It is not just about taking," she said softly. "It is about earning their recognition."
Fang Lee tilted his head, watching the way her blood shimmered against the petals. Spirit beast lineage. That was why the flowers responded to her so easily. But he wasn't without his own means.
He lifted a hand, summoning a single strand of Foundation Qi , and let it hover just above the flower. The energy pulsed, warm and sharp, its radiance casting shifting shadows across the valley.
The flower twitched, as though hesitant.
Then, ever so slowly, its roots began to loosen.
"Interesting," Xian Rui murmured, watching intently. "You are not one of us, and yet…"
"I am Fang Clan," Fang Lee said smoothly. "That alone should be enough."
Xian Rui gave him a sidelong glance, amusement flickering in her golden eyes. "We shall see."
With careful precision, Fang Lee began to sever the flowers from their roots, ensuring that the jade-skinned snakes were not disturbed in the process. Each extraction had to be meticulous—too much force and the entire valley would react, the roots twisting in defense.
Fang Meilin moved with efficiency, her own qi forming thin, shimmering threads that wove between the flowers, stabilizing their energy as she plucked them from the soil.
Xian Rui watched with keen interest, occasionally offering guidance.
But she lingered near Fang Lee the most, her presence a warm, deliberate weight at his side.
At one point, as he reached for another flower, she leaned in slightly, her breath ghosting against his ear. "You are quite skilled with your hands," she murmured, amusement in her voice.
Fang Lee smirked but didn't look at her. "You should see what else they can do."
Xian Rui let out a soft chuckle, but there was heat behind it, a silent challenge.
Fang Meilin sighed from the side. "Can you two not?"
Fang Lee only grinned, twirling a freshly plucked serpent flower between his fingers. "Why? Are you feeling left out?"
Fang Meilin snorted. "No. I just don't want to be here all night."
Xian Rui chuckled, stepping back, but the look she gave Fang Lee before turning away promised their game was far from over.
The harvest continued, slow and methodical. The valley's energy pulsed with a quiet, watchful presence, but no resistance came.
It was as though the flowers had accepted their fate.
By the time they finished, the satchels at their waists were filled with thousand-year-old serpent flowers, their delicate glow illuminating the dark silk.
Fang Meilin exhaled, stretching her arms. "Finally."
Xian Rui turned to Fang Lee, folding her hands. "You have what you came for," she murmured. "But I wonder… will you leave so easily?"
Fang Lee chuckled, stepping closer. "That depends," he said, his voice low. "Are you offering a reason to stay?"
Xian Rui's golden eyes glinted. "Perhaps."
Fang Meilin groaned. "Oh, for the love of—just get it over with so we can go."