The voice from above did not speak again immediately.
Fang Lin stood at the bend of the passage, his body half-hidden behind the cracked stone wall. The red glow ahead trembled against the rocks, sometimes bright, sometimes dull, as if the fire had been fed with damp wood. Feng Jiu'er stood beside him with her sword in hand, her flame completely withdrawn. In the dark, her eyes looked colder than the stone.
Fang Lin did not rush out.
A thin thread of divine sense slipped forward from him, narrow and controlled. It did not sweep through the passage like an elder showing power. It moved close to the ground, brushed past broken stones, touched the edge of the firelight, and withdrew before lingering too long.
Six cultivators.
One injured person on the ground.
One man hidden behind a half-collapsed pillar to the right.
A talisman buried beneath ash near the center of the clearing.
Fang Lin's gaze lowered slightly.
These people were not resting here by accident.
Feng Jiu'er glanced at him once. She did not ask aloud. The situation ahead was clear enough from his stillness.
Fang Lin lifted two fingers and pointed toward the right side.
Feng Jiu'er's eyes moved in that direction. Her expression did not change, but her grip on the sword shifted.
The two of them advanced without sound.
Beyond the bend was a small open space between broken pillars. Someone had cut away the roots there and lit a low fire with dried black branches. Around the fire stood five cultivators in grey-yellow robes. Their robes were not uniform in quality, but each carried the same sand-patterned mark near the collar. A lower sect, not strong enough to stand in front of the major sects outside, but bold enough to bare its teeth when scattered cultivators lost their groups.
Grey Sand Hall.
Fang Lin had heard the name once in Broken Banner City. They were the kind of sect that followed larger powers, sold information when they could, and robbed when no one important was watching.
A young woman sat on the ground near the fire with her hands bound by a dark rope. Her blue-green robe was torn at the shoulder, and blood had dried along the side of her face. A storage pouch lay open before her, its contents scattered across the ash. Pills, two small jade bottles, a cracked compass, and a few spirit stones had already been kicked into a pile.
The man standing before her was broad-faced and thick-necked, with a curved knife resting on his shoulder. His aura was at the Late Spirit Foundation Realm, but it was not steady like an old elder's. It had the rough heaviness of someone who had forced his way up with pills, battles, and stolen resources.
He looked down at the young woman and smiled.
"Lian Qing, I have asked you politely three times. Where is the rest of it?"
The young woman's lips were pale, but her eyes remained clear. "That is all I have."
The broad-faced man laughed softly. "A disciple of Blue Reed Pavilion enters the Rivercloud Demon Sealing Ruins with this little? Do you think I was born yesterday?"
A skinny cultivator beside him kicked the cracked compass away. "Senior Brother Deng, she still has the mark. I saw it when she tried to hide her hand."
The fire popped.
Fang Lin's eyes moved slightly.
They were talking about the black mark from the lamp trial.
Feng Jiu'er also heard it. Her gaze became sharper, but she still did not speak.
Deng Kuang grabbed Lian Qing's wrist and pulled her hand upward. A faint black mark was hidden near her palm, dim beneath dirt and blood. It did not glow now, but it had clearly made these people curious.
"Tell me what this is," Deng Kuang said, his smile fading. "If you speak well, I may only take your things. If you keep wasting my time, I will cut off one finger and ask again."
Lian Qing gritted her teeth. "I don't know."
Deng Kuang's expression darkened.
At that moment, Fang Lin stepped out from the passage.
The firelight shifted across him. Night Burial Sword rested at his side, black and silent, with faint red lines that looked almost like buried veins. Feng Jiu'er walked out half a step behind him, her expression calm, but the air around her carried a restrained heat.
The Grey Sand Hall cultivators turned at once.
Deng Kuang's hand left Lian Qing's wrist. His eyes first landed on Fang Lin, then on Night Burial Sword, and finally on Feng Jiu'er.
For a moment, greed moved through his face before he hid it.
He was not the only one. Two of the Grey Sand Hall disciples stared at Night Burial Sword a little too long. One looked at Feng Jiu'er's storage ring. Another took half a step backward, not out of caution, but to block the passage behind them.
Deng Kuang smiled again.
"Two more fellow Daoists. Good. The ruins are generous tonight."
Feng Jiu'er's voice was cold. "Untie her."
Deng Kuang looked at her more carefully. The firelight showed her face, and his smile stiffened for a breath. "Feng Jiu'er of the Green Bamboo Sect?"
The men around him changed expression.
Green Bamboo Sect was not a major sect, but it belonged beneath the shadow of the Thousand Leaf Immortal Sect. Feng Jiu'er herself was not a weak name among Spirit Foundation disciples. If this were outside the Rivercloud Demon Sealing Ruins, even Grey Sand Hall would not dare speak too loudly.
But this was not outside.
This was a dead valley.
No elders stood here. No camp banners hung above them. No witness from a major sect watched from the side.
Deng Kuang slowly lowered his knife from his shoulder. "So it really is Junior Sister Feng. Forgive my poor eyes. This valley is too dark, and everyone who comes through it looks half-dead."
Feng Jiu'er did not respond to the insult.
Fang Lin looked at the buried talisman under the ash, then at the hidden cultivator behind the broken pillar.
Deng Kuang followed his gaze for a moment, and a trace of unease flashed in his eyes. It disappeared quickly.
"Since Junior Sister Feng has arrived, this matter can be simple," Deng Kuang continued. "Leave behind a few recovery pills and half of your spirit stones. We will consider it the price for sharing this passage. As for this woman, she owes us compensation. That has nothing to do with you."
Feng Jiu'er's aura grew colder, though the heat around her became stronger.
Deng Kuang's smile widened. "Of course, if Junior Sister Feng is injured and needs protection, Grey Sand Hall can escort you. We are not unreasonable people."
The skinny cultivator beside him laughed.
It was not a loud laugh.
It was worse than that.
It carried the kind of boldness that came only when a person believed the other side could be surrounded.
Fang Lin finally spoke. "You are robbing people and calling it compensation?"
Deng Kuang looked at him. "And who are you?"
"Someone passing by."
"Then pass properly." Deng Kuang's eyes settled on Night Burial Sword again. "Leave the sword, and you may pass with your life."
The clearing became quiet.
Lian Qing's face changed. She looked at Fang Lin's sword, then at Deng Kuang, and understood why his tone had changed.
That sword was not ordinary.
Even a fool could see it.
Fang Lin looked at Deng Kuang for a moment. Then he gave a faint sigh.
It was not anger yet.
It was closer to disappointment.
"Your eyes are better than your brain," he said.
One Grey Sand Hall disciple frowned. "What did you say?"
Deng Kuang's smile vanished. "Take them."
The hidden cultivator behind the pillar moved first.
A yellow talisman flashed between his fingers, and a net of sand-colored light shot toward Feng Jiu'er from the side. At the same time, the talisman buried under the ash erupted, throwing up a circle of grey dust that tried to bind Fang Lin's legs.
Feng Jiu'er's fire rose in an instant.
The sand net burned red at the edges, but it did not collapse immediately. It was a restraining talisman made for Spirit Foundation cultivators, and it tightened as it fell, trying to wrap around her shoulders and sword arm.
Night Burial Sword moved.
No shout.
No warning.
The black blade cut across the side of the net, striking the hidden anchor thread that ordinary eyes could barely see. The sand net twisted, loosened, and Feng Jiu'er's flame burst through it. Burning grains scattered like sparks and struck the stone.
The hidden cultivator's eyes widened.
Fang Lin was already in front of him.
The man tried to retreat, but the air around his knees became heavy. His body sank half an inch, and that half inch was enough.
Night Burial Sword passed across his throat.
Blood sprayed against the broken pillar.
The hidden cultivator fell without finishing his second talisman.
The Grey Sand Hall disciples froze.
Deng Kuang's face changed completely.
"Together!" he roared. "Do not give him space!"
They reacted like people who had robbed before. After the first death, they did not come one by one. Three of them rushed Fang Lin at the same time, while Deng Kuang's knife Qi spread outward like a grey curtain. The skinny cultivator moved toward Feng Jiu'er, his fingers already forming a seal to scatter powder into the firelight.
Feng Jiu'er stepped forward.
Flame bloomed from her sword and struck the powder before it spread. The grey dust turned red, then bright, then fell as tiny beads of half-melted grit. The skinny cultivator's face filled with disbelief.
"My fire can burn through your parlor tricks easily." Feng Jiu'er said coldly.
Her sword cut down.
The skinny cultivator screamed and staggered back with one arm burning.
On Fang Lin's side, three attacks arrived together. A spear thrust toward his chest, a short blade cut toward his ribs, and Deng Kuang's grey knife Qi descended from above.
Fang Lin did not retreat.
His foot pressed down.
The ash beneath him sank.
For a breath, the clearing felt as if a mountain had lowered its shadow over the fire. The spear slowed. The short blade shook. Deng Kuang's knife Qi did not break, but its edge lost its smoothness.
Fang Lin's body moved through that broken rhythm.
Night Burial Sword struck the spear shaft and cut it in half. His shoulder slammed into the short-blade cultivator's chest, and the sound of ribs cracking mixed with the fire's hiss. Then the black sword turned upward and met Deng Kuang's knife.
The two weapons clashed, and a sharp metallic ring spread through the clearing.
Deng Kuang's arms trembled.
His eyes opened wide.
This was not the strength of an ordinary Late Spirit Foundation cultivator.
Before he could change stance, a faint pressure touched his spirit sea. It was small, almost impossible to notice in the chaos, but his thoughts blanked for a fraction of a breath.
That fraction was fatal.
Fang Lin's sword slid past the curved knife and cut through Deng Kuang's shoulder. Blood burst out, and Deng Kuang staggered back with a hoarse cry.
The remaining Grey Sand Hall disciple stopped moving.
His lips trembled.
He looked at the corpse near the pillar, then at Deng Kuang's bleeding shoulder, then at Fang Lin. The arrogance on his face disappeared so quickly it was almost comical.
"Senior, spare me!" he shouted, throwing his weapon to the ground. "I was only following orders!"
Fang Lin glanced at him.
The disciple immediately dropped to his knees and pushed his storage pouch forward with both hands. "This is mine. Everything is inside. I never touched that woman. I only stood there. I swear I stood very quietly."
Even Lian Qing, still bound on the ground, stared at him.
Feng Jiu'er's eyes remained cold, but the corner of her mouth moved slightly before she restrained it.
Fang Lin looked at the kneeling disciple. "You stood very quietly while your senior brother robbed her?"
The disciple's face went pale. "I can stand even quieter from now on."
Deng Kuang roared, "Useless trash!"
He crushed a small grey talisman in his left hand. Smoke exploded around him, and his body shot backward toward the lower passage.
Fang Lin's eyes sharpened.
Night Burial Sword flew from Fang Lin's hand for a single breath. It did not shine, and it did not roar. It crossed the smoke like a black line and pierced through Deng Kuang's thigh, pinning him to the ash-covered ground.
Deng Kuang fell face-first with a scream, his hands clawing at the ash-covered ground as he tried to crawl away.
Fang Lin walked over slowly.
Deng Kuang tried to crawl backward, but the sword pinned him in place. His face twisted between pain and fear.
"You attacked first," Fang Lin said. "You tried to bind her from the side. You tried to rob us. Now you want to leave?"
Deng Kuang's throat moved. "I was blind. Fellow Daoist, I was blind. Grey Sand Hall can compensate you."
Fang Lin looked down at him.
"Good."
Hope appeared in Deng Kuang's eyes.
Fang Lin reached down, took the storage pouch from his waist, then pulled Night Burial Sword free.
Deng Kuang's hope lasted only that long.
The black blade fell.
His head struck the ash and rolled once before stopping near the broken firewood.
The kneeling disciple made a choking sound and pressed his forehead to the ground. "Senior, I saw nothing. My eyes have always been weak."
Fang Lin turned toward him.
The disciple slapped himself once. "My mouth is weaker."
Fang Lin's expression did not change. "Untie her."
The disciple crawled faster than he had fought. In a few breaths, he untied Lian Qing and pushed her storage pouch back toward her with shaking hands. He even gathered the scattered pills one by one, his fingers trembling so badly that he dropped a jade bottle twice.
Feng Jiu'er watched him coldly. "If you miss one pill, I will burn the hand that missed it."
The disciple nearly sobbed. "Fairy, my hands have become honest."
Lian Qing took back her pouch. Her face was still pale, but when she looked at Fang Lin and Feng Jiu'er, gratitude and fear mixed in her eyes.
"Thank you," she said softly. "I am Lian Qing of Blue Reed Pavilion. I will remember this."
Fang Lin collected the storage pouches from the dead Grey Sand Hall cultivators without opening them. Danger had not passed, and the smell of blood in this valley was not something one should trust.
Feng Jiu'er gave Lian Qing a pill. "Can you walk?"
Lian Qing swallowed it and nodded after a moment. "Yes. Not fast, but I can move."
Fang Lin looked at the kneeling disciple. "Speak. Why were you searching for marks?"
The disciple swallowed. "I don't know the full reason. Senior Brother Deng heard from another group that some cultivators who passed certain trials have strange black marks. Someone said those marks may lead to a deeper place after the fifteenth day. Others said it was nonsense. Senior Brother Deng did not care. He said if the mark was useful, we would force someone to explain it. If it was useless, we would still take their storage pouches."
Feng Jiu'er's eyes narrowed.
Lian Qing looked at her own palm, unease spreading across her face.
Fang Lin was silent for a moment.
The fifteenth day.
The black mark.
The ruins had not explained anything, but people had already begun killing over guesses.
That was how cruel cultivators were. Sometimes a rumor did not need to be true. It only needed to smell like profit.
Fang Lin looked toward the upper passage. "Who told Deng Kuang?"
The kneeling disciple hesitated.
Feng Jiu'er's flame rose quietly.
He spoke at once. "A group ahead. I only heard them mention Red Smoke Ridge and River Sword Sect disciples moving near the broken ravine. I don't know if they are together. I truly don't know."
River Sword Sect.
Fang Lin's eyes remained calm, but something beneath that calm cooled.
Feng Jiu'er noticed the change. It was brief, but not weak.
Lian Qing supported herself against a stone pillar. "There are more scattered cultivators ahead. Some are injured. Some are hiding. If Grey Sand Hall dared to do this here, others may be doing worse."
The fire crackled behind them.
The dead valley stretched forward, red and black and silent, as if it were waiting to see which kind of people would survive inside it.
Fang Lin turned toward the passage.
"Then we move."
Feng Jiu'er looked at him. "To find the way out?"
Fang Lin's hand rested on Night Burial Sword.
"And to see who else thinks robbing the injured is a clever path to fortune."
For some reason, the kneeling disciple shivered harder at that sentence than when the sword had killed Deng Kuang.
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