Zhu Qinglan nodded, stepping out from the rocky alcove and positioning herself exactly half a step ahead of Zhi Xuan. Their forms seemed to dissolve into the grey mist, leaving behind no trace of spiritual essence or air ripples that could trigger the suspicion of any creatures around them.

  Their footsteps moved in a synchronized rhythm, traversing a rocky path that grew increasingly narrow. The fog ahead was no longer stagnant; it began to swirl, forming small, disorienting vortices.

  Zhu Qinglan felt it; every time she took a step, she could sense Zhi Xuan's presence behind her—a cold aura that paradoxically provided her with a strange inner warmth. She kept her eyes fixed forward, where the silhouette of the giant dragging the coffins reappeared in the distance, cleaving the mist with its blunt bronze axe.

  KLANK... KLANK...

  The giant suddenly halted, prompting Zhi Xuan to place his hand on Zhu Qinglan’s shoulder to stop her. From behind the fog, three more giants emerged, staring directly toward where Zhi Xuan and Zhu Qinglan stood. They could not see with eyes, yet they could sense a faint spark of life.

  A suffocating tension instantly gripped the space within the grey mist. The three newly arrived giants were no less terrifying; their armor appeared more intact but was blackened, as if scorched by the unquenchable fires of hell. Each of them dragged chains shackled to small wooden coffins, creating a deathly symphony that numbed the spiritual senses.

  Zhu Qinglan felt her shoulder tremble beneath the weight of Zhi Xuan’s palm. Although the Silent Shroud concealed their bodies, the intensity of the gaze from the hollow iron sockets of the three giants seemed capable of peeling away the layers of the formation wrapping them. The aura of death emitted by these beings began to seep through, searching for a crack in their spiritual defense.

  "Zhi Xuan..." Zhu Qinglan whispered through an incredibly subtle voice transmission, barely more than a breath. "They... they don't see us, but they know we are here."

  "Do not move an inch, Qinglan," Zhi Xuan replied via soul transmission, his voice as flat as the surface of a frozen lake. "Hold your breath. Let your heartbeat align with the silence of this mist."

  One of the giants stepped forward. Its rusted bronze axe rose slowly, parting the fog with a searing hiss. It sniffed the air, its metal head rotating 180 degrees with the sound of grinding dry bone. The coffins it dragged began to vibrate, emitting the sound of claws scratching wood from the inside.

  Zhu Qinglan closed her eyes, trying to obey Zhi Xuan’s command. She felt a creeping chill from her shoulder, freezing her blood flow to the point where she felt as though she were part of the stone path they stood upon.

  The giant stopped exactly three zhang in front of them. Its massive axe was raised high, radiating a grey aura capable of shattering the mental fortitude of any practitioner. Seconds passed like thousands of years. The grey mist around them seemed to freeze in anticipation of spilled blood.

  Suddenly, from the opposite direction deep within the fog, the clear chime of a bell rang out. Ding... Ding... The sound was soft, yet it carried an undeniable authority. The three giants instantly lowered their axes.

  Their metal heads turned in unison toward the source of the bell. Ignoring Zhi Xuan and Zhu Qinglan, they turned and began dragging the coffins with faster strides, as if summoned to complete their task.

  KLANK... KLANK...

  The sound of the chains grew distant, swallowed by the density of the fog as it resealed the path. Zhi Xuan only released his breath after a moment, though his hand remained resting on Zhu Qinglan’s shoulder. Zhu Qinglan nearly collapsed if Zhi Xuan had not immediately caught her arm. Her body trembled violently from the tension that had just passed.

  She turned back, looking at Zhi Xuan’s face, which remained calm without a single ripple of emotion. "That bell... what was it?" Zhu Qinglan asked hoarsely, her throat feeling parched. "It felt like a bell calling them back."

  Zhi Xuan stared toward where the giants had vanished. "We won't know until we move, Qinglan."

  Zhi Xuan released his hand from her shoulder, yet he maintained a very close distance, acting as an invisible shield protecting the Holy Maiden's back. The two of them resumed their journey, following the direction of the giants with far greater vigilance.

  The grey mist was now tinged with a purplish-black hue, creating a vortex that seemed to swallow them into another side. Zhi Xuan parted the mist soundlessly, and when it cleared, his eyes widened slightly as the sight before him defied his expectations. There lay a vast, lush meadow, with flowers in full bloom and the sharp, fresh scent of morning dew.

  The scene before them was a harsh slap to the senses that had just grown accustomed to the aura of death. Instead of a hell of soul-worship, they stood on the threshold of a hidden paradise. Soft green grass reached their ankles, swaying gently in a breeze that carried the warmth of spring, and the petals of colorful Xian flowers refracted a golden light from an unknown source.

  Zhu Qinglan was stunned, her still-weak legs stepping hesitantly onto the grass that felt as soft as silk. "This... how is it possible for a place like this to exist deep within that grey mist? The scent of this dew, the essence is so pure."

  Zhi Xuan was not so easily enchanted. His sapphire-blue eyes scanned every inch of the lush meadow with terrifying sharpness. He saw crystal-winged butterflies flying low, heard the buzzing of insects, and the cheerful chirping of birds.

  "Do not be fascinated by outward appearances, Qinglan," Zhi Xuan whispered, his voice remaining low. "In the world of cultivation, the more beautiful a flower, the deadlier the thorns it hides."

  Zhu Qinglan immediately withdrew her hand just as she was about to touch a water lily blooming by a small pond. She turned back and was shocked to see that the grey mist they had just traversed had disappeared, replaced by a cliff wall covered in vines with purple flowers. The way back had been sealed by a perfect spatial illusion.

  "Zhi Xuan, look over there!" Zhu Qinglan pointed to the center of the meadow.

  There, beneath the shade of a giant willow tree whose branches drooped to the ground, stood a very simple wooden pavilion, vastly different from the crystal one they had encountered before. Most surprisingly, the three coffin-dragging giants were now kneeling before it. Their axes were laid on the ground, and the small coffins were neatly stacked beside them.

  An old man in tattered hemp robes was sweeping the pavilion's courtyard with an ordinary-looking broom. Every time his broom touched the ground, the bell chime they had heard earlier resonated again—soft, yet capable of vibrating the soul.

  "A practitioner?" Zhu Qinglan whispered, her eyes narrowing as she tried to pierce the old man's cultivation base, but she found nothing—it was as if he were a mere mortal with not a single hair's breadth of spiritual essence.

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  Zhi Xuan frowned. He sensed something different. Through his Heavenly Eye, he saw that the old man was not a human, but a vortex of energy so massive that the natural laws around him bowed. The old man was like the balancer or the will of this entire dimension.

  "Welcome, guests from the outside," the old man’s voice sounded clear, though he did not stop sweeping. "It has been ten thousand years since someone last dared to jump into the abyss of mist just to chase the shadows of the past."

  The old man slowly stopped sweeping, leaning his broom against the willow tree, and turned toward where Zhi Xuan and Zhu Qinglan stood. His face was etched with deep wrinkles, but his grey eyes seemed to encompass the entire span of the stars.

  Zhi Xuan stepped forward, his hand still on guard, but he gave a small bow by clasping his fist over his palm. "Junior Zhi Xuan, along with Holy Maiden Zhu Qinglan, apologizes for intruding upon Senior’s territory. We are merely looking for a way out of the misleading grey mist."

  The old man chuckled, the sound as dry as falling leaves. "Zhu... the Ancient Zhu Clan. Ah, I see. So, this is a descendant of the Great Emperor Zhu, Zhu Yan Tian?"

  "Senior... you knew our ancestor?" Zhu Qinglan asked in a tone full of reverence and dread.

  The old man did not answer immediately. He walked slowly to the small pond beside the willow tree, his wrinkled fingers scooping up the clear water and letting it flow back into the pond. "Great Emperor Zhu... perhaps only an ancient tomb remains of him now. However, his path was indeed worthy of the mandate of Heaven and Earth."

  "Do not worry," the old man continued, standing up and reaching for his broom again. "Your arrival here shows that you are capable of seeing without eyes, but with conviction."

  The old man resumed sweeping the courtyard, as if the presence of two great practitioners was merely dust that did not disturb the rhythm of his life. However, every time the broom touched the ground, it was not just dust that was cleared, but thin, shimmering threads of fate under the eternal sun of the meadow.

  Zhi Xuan stood tall, but his mind was in turmoil. He could feel that every sweep of the old man was actually tidying the spatial formations of this entire place. The giants who had dragged death were now as still as statues, as if they were merely guardian puppets waiting for a new command.

  "Senior," Zhi Xuan said, his voice calm yet filled with deep vigilance. "The small coffins they carry... are those the souls of practitioners lost in the previous pavilion?"

  the old man's sweeping motion stopped for a moment. He looked up, gazing at Zhi Xuan with a look that seemed capable of piercing through the white-robed practitioner and seeing the black form dwelling at the bottom of the ocean trench. A mysterious, faint smile was etched onto his aged face.

  "Souls?" the old man repeated slowly, his voice like an ancient bell. "The Secret Realm does not eat souls; the pavilion blesses by exhausting the regrets of every being. Yet, none have ever realized it; instead, they lose themselves before they can achieve enlightenment."

  Zhu Qinglan looked shaken, her fingers clutching her robe. "Exhausting regrets? But Senior, I felt my soul nearly crack inside that pavilion. If Zhi Xuan had not pulled me out, I might have been trapped there forever."

  The old man shifted his gaze to Zhu Qinglan, his grey eyes seemingly parting the veil of the Holy Maiden's identity. "Little girl of the Zhu clan, fear is a thing both beautiful and cursed in different eyes. Once, there was a fear of being devoured by the Taotie, but now it is the fear itself that can sometimes devour back."

  "Devourer, or the devoured," the old man continued with a wise smile. "A heart that is vast and fertile will walk the golden stairs to Divinity. A heart that is narrow and shallow is the ground for those who are Divine."

  The old man swung his broom again, but this time, every strand of the broom that touched the ground emitted sparks of silvery light forming the pattern of the Nine Palaces diagram. Zhi Xuan watched the pattern intently; he realized that every sweep was a lesson on how to manipulate spatial structures without using the violence of spiritual essence.

  "This junior wishes to ask," Zhi Xuan said, his voice low but steady. "Who is Senior, truly? Why does a figure as high as the heavens choose to sweep dust in a place forgotten by time?"

  The old man did not turn around, his hunched back appearing fragile yet unshakable. "A name is a heavy burden. I am merely a forgotten gravekeeper; life and death, what do they mean in the face of time?"

  The old man stopped his movement for a moment, letting his broom stand upright on the ground without support, as if the broom itself had become a part of the established natural laws. He turned, staring straight at Zhi Xuan, his pupils reflecting Zhi Xuan’s shadow. The silence was heavy, as if only Zhi Xuan and the old man existed in this isolated place.

  The old man saw flashes of the past—a figure with a robe trailing on the ground, walking majestically and grandly across an endless barren land. He walked with such arrogance and cruelty, as if the grains of sand he stepped on were the sprawling universe. The figure stopped in the middle of the wasteland, the corner of his lips curling slightly as he stared at a bronze furnace floating in the air.

  The furnace shot into the figure's hand, the sky before the figure suddenly split, and the figure faded as he entered the rift. The vision vanished, and the old man's face contorted slightly. He was stunned; his upright broom suddenly vibrated subtly, creating ripples in the air that broke the silence of the meadow.

  "What kind of great figure..." the old man whispered, his voice no longer dry, but deep and authoritative. "is capable of stepping upon the barrenness of the high regions?"

  Zhi Xuan remained frozen, his eyes unblinking as he saw the change in the old man's expression. "Senior, what is it?"

  The old man did not answer immediately. He took a slow breath, his eyes that were once as calm as a lake now holding a grand depth. "Your aura... you are not him. Your aura is like a note separated from its string."

  The old man grabbed his broom again, sweeping slowly. The Nine Palaces engraving glowed for a moment, making the giants move and rise from their kneeling positions. The giants turned and walked away. The old man turned toward a chair in front of the pavilion and rested his body upon it.

  "I can feel the children of the Ancient Clans are currently at the heart of the Palace," the old man said, referring to the Holy Sons and Daughters. "Little girl of the Zhu Clan, you already possess the Heavenly Ascension Fruit; that fruit can only be meditated upon within the Secret Realm."

  He waved his withered hand, and the pavilion gates swung open, revealing a white expanse in the center. "This path will take you to the palace core you desire, to rejoin the dragons and phoenixes. I have nothing left to give after you successfully passed the pavilion of illusions."

  Zhu Qinglan stared at the white expanse inside the pavilion with mixed feelings. She glanced at Zhi Xuan, seeking assurance if this gateway was truly safe. However, before she could speak, Zhi Xuan had already stepped forward, standing right at the boundary between the meadow and the white light.

  "This junior thanks Senior for the guidance," Zhi Xuan said with deep respect. "Regarding the note separated from the string... let time reconnect it, or let it become a new melody."

  The old man simply closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the creaking wooden chair. He no longer responded, as if the short conversation had exhausted all his words for the next thousand years. His aged body slowly began to fade, merging with the shadows of the giant willow tree.

  Zhi Xuan turned to Zhu Qinglan, extending his hand. "Let us go. The Heavenly Ascension Fruit will be the key to your Divine Transformation. Zhu Yanghai must be looking for you as well."

  Zhu Qinglan stared at Zhi Xuan’s open palm. There was a moment of hesitation—a remnant of the fear she felt in the illusion pavilion—but she remembered how this man had held her and pierced the grey mist without hesitation. She placed her delicate fingers on his palm, feeling a firm grip that provided an indescribable sense of security.

  As they stepped into the white light, a refreshing cold sensation swept through their bodies. The space around them seemed to fold, shortening the distance in just a single breath. Zhi Xuan felt the Laws of Space here were far more refined and ancient than anything he had ever studied.

  WUUUNNNGG—!

  The white light faded, replaced by a magnificent and incredibly vast sight. They now stood on a hanging platform made of transparent crystal, floating high above a crater of energy pulsing with blue and gold. At the center of the crater, a tower as high as the sky stood proudly, surrounded by energy chains connecting other hanging platforms.

  "The Palace Core..." Zhu Qinglan murmured, her beautiful eyes wide at the grandeur before her.

  On other platforms, Zhi Xuan could see flashes of spiritual essence he knew well. Han Shanshan still looked arrogant, Bai Wuchen was talking to Qin Meiling, and Ye Xishui was surrounded by an emerald green glow. They all seemed to be preparing, staring at the still-closed gate of the tower.

  The sudden appearance of Zhi Xuan and Zhu Qinglan on the eastern platform immediately drew the attention of the elite practitioners. Han Shanshan turned with a look of pure hatred, while Feng Yaoyue, standing on the southern platform, waved her hand elegantly, completely ignoring the sharp gaze of her brother, Feng Haoyue.

  "Senior Zhi Xuan! You really showed up!" Feng Yaoyue called out, her voice refined yet sounding as if she were right beside him. "Yaoyue has been waiting for Senior for a very long time..."