The void swallowed them whole.
Ling Tian ran—not with his legs, for there was no ground here to push against—but with his will, dragging Qing'er and Xiao Hei through the starless dark like a comet trailing fire. The golden threads streaming from his chest illuminated only fragments of the nightmare around them:
A hand the size of a mountain range, its fingers curling like dying galaxies
Ribbons of light being sucked into Tianlang Xiu's maw, each one a stolen memory
The door, always just out of reach, its peach tree carvings glowing faintly
Then—
Impact.
They crashed through the wooden door as if it were made of smoke, tumbling into a world of golden twilight and the scent of overripe fruit. Ling Tian's knees hit soft earth, his fingers digging into soil that pulsed like a living thing.
He looked up.
The Celestial Peach Orchard stretched before them in impossible splendor. Trees heavy with glowing fruit lined cobbled paths of crushed jade. The sky was a tapestry of frozen sunsets—eternal dusk in shades of amber and violet. But something was wrong.
The peaches wept.
Sap like blood dripped from their skins, pooling around roots that squirmed like dying snakes. Half the trees stood petrified, their branches clawing at the sky in silent agony.
Xiao Hei skipped ahead, her bare feet leaving no prints in the cursed soil. "Shifu's home is sick," she announced, plucking a weeping peach from its branch. The fruit screamed as she bit into it.
The Keeper of the Grove
The crunch of footsteps on jade.
A figure emerged from between the trees—a woman with bark for skin and hair of woven vines. Her eyes were hollow pits where fireflies danced, her mouth stitched shut with silver thread.
The Crimson Witch went rigid. "Fu Xi," she breathed, the name dripping with venom and something like longing.
The bark-woman tilted her head, the fireflies in her eye sockets flaring. When she spoke, the words slithered from between her stitches:
"The Fox's thief returns. And you brought... guests."
Her gaze locked onto Ling Tian's chest—onto the fox-paw fused with his flesh. The stitches on her mouth strained, then snapped one by one as her lips peeled back in a snarl.
"That does not belong to you."
The orchard shivered. Every peach on every tree turned to face them, their weeping sap now flowing upward like tears defying gravity.
The Trial of Roots
The ground erupted.
Thick roots burst from the soil, wrapping around Ling Tian's legs with crushing force. The pain was immediate—but worse was the emptiness that followed as the roots began to drink.
His first victory at the Azure Cloud Sect—gone.
The warmth of Qing'er's hand in his—fading.
Xiao Hei's laughter—turning to static.
Qing'er's sword flashed, severing the roots, but for every one she cut, three more took its place. The Witch was locked in her own battle, her dagger carving through vines that sought to strangle her.
Xiao Hei simply watched, the half-eaten peach still in her hand.
"Stop this!" Ling Tian roared at the bark-woman. "We're not thieves!"
Fu Xi's laughter was the sound of branches scraping against bone. "All who come here steal. The Fox stole fruit. The Witch stole secrets. And you..." She pointed a twig-like finger at his chest. "You stole a death that wasn't yours to take."
The accusation struck like a blade. Mo's final moments replayed in his mind—the old fox shoving the mummified paw into his chest. A gift? Or a burden passed on?
The roots tightened. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision.
Then—
A voice from the past.
"Ling Tian."
The roots hesitated.
The Ghost in the Trees
Between the petrified trunks, a figure materialized—translucent, flickering like a candle in the wind. A man in Azure Cloud Sect robes, his face obscured by shadows... except for the eyes.
Mo's eyes.
But it wasn't Mo. The way he held himself—the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head—it was all wrong.
The ghost extended a hand toward Fu Xi. "Enough, sister. Can't you see he carries our mark?"
The bark-woman recoiled as if struck. "You... you died screaming. I felt it!"
The ghost smiled sadly. "Some things are worse than death."
Ling Tian's breath caught. The voice—that particular rasp—he'd heard it only once before, in the memory shown by the Key.
His future self.
The Price of Passage
The ghost turned to Ling Tian, its form flickering between young and old, whole and broken. "The orchard remembers what the world forgets. To pass through, you must leave something behind."
Xiao Hei finally moved, pressing the half-eaten peach into Ling Tian's palm. The fruit had stopped weeping. Where her teeth had broken the skin, the flesh pulsed golden.
"Gege knows what to give," she whispered.
The ghost nodded. "The memory you cherish most. The one you'd die to keep."
Ling Tian closed his eyes. The choice was already made.
He reached into his chest—not physically, but deeper—and pulled free a shard of light.
The night his father taught him the Nine-Heaven Dragon Art's first stance, their hands moving together under the moonlight.
The memory shattered in his grip, its fragments scattering across the orchard like fireflies.
The trees shuddered, then parted, revealing a path lined with petrified fox statues, each one wearing a collar of thorns.
Fu Xi bowed her head. "Pass then, thief. But the orchard always collects its due."
As they stepped onto the path, the ghost called after them:
"Beware the throne room. The Emperor isn't the only thing that waits in the dark."