Si Moheng unfolded the urgent dispatch in his hands. The paper had been dampened by sweat from its frantic delivery; the handwriting was messy, yet the panic beneath it was impossible to hide. It was penned by Xiao You himself—
"Abnormal activity in Trial Valley. Black mist surging. Faint rune patterns flickering at the valley floor—suspected activation of a forbidden art!"
Si Moheng's fingertip paused on the lines. His gaze darkened at once. Inside the command tent, the candleflame swayed soundlessly, casting the sharp, cold contours of his profile into an even more ominous relief.
He flicked his hand and barked in a low voice, "Someone! Bring the Imperial Princess and the three commanders to my tent!"
Before long, the curtain was lifted by the night wind. You Qing entered in haste with the three commanders, all of their eyes drawn to the report in Si Moheng's hand.
Si Moheng folded the paper away, his eyes sinking further. Those few lines stabbed his chest like needles of ice—Trial Valley anomaly… forbidden art suspected… possibly related to Feng Mian. He raised his eyes to You Qing, his tone hard and decisive.
"Qing'er, I'm going to investigate. You stay here. The three commanders will protect you."
But You Qing shook her head. Anxiety and stubborn resolve burned in her eyes. "No. I won't let you go alone. If it really is Feng Mian, he's ruthless and calculating—he'll have set an ambush. I promised you—I would stay by your side. This time is no exception."
Si Moheng fell silent for a beat, studying her as if weighing her resolve against the risk. At last, he clenched his fist, his voice dropping—softer, yet no less firm.
"If you insist on coming, then be careful. The three of you take positions to our flanks. Don't let the enemy sever our retreat."
A horn sounded through the camp. Soldiers gathered like a tide. Armor clashed like thunder; horses screamed and stamped. Torches were lit one after another, flames trembling in the night wind, turning the marching column into a blazing dragon.
Si Moheng rode at the front, black cloak snapping in the gale. You Qing followed close behind, the three commanders split to either side to shield the core of the formation. The wind cut like knives, yet it couldn't quell the murderous intent in the air.
As they thundered onward, a strange glow began to stain the distant horizon. It wasn't moonlight—it was black mist rising from the direction of Trial Valley, roiling in waves and flashing with a faint, sinister crimson, like a abyss breathing.
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, yet none retreated. Iron hooves hammered the earth, echoing like rolling thunder through the mountains.
[Trial Valley · Valley Mouth]
The army arrived at full speed—and then, all at once, the thunder of hooves stopped. Si Moheng swung down from his horse. You Qing reined in as well and looked ahead.
The mountains split open. The valley mouth yawned like a beast, black mist billowing out to swallow most of the night sky. Within the fog, dim red light flickered like veins, snaking through rock and shadow.
You Qing's heart clenched. The pressure slammed into her like a wave—as if countless icy eyes lurked within, staring straight at them. She tightened her grip on the reins. Her horse pawed the ground nervously, seemingly shaken by the baleful aura.
"Moheng…" she murmured without looking away. "There's an array at the bottom… It feels like it's devouring the light."
The three commanders' expressions changed at the same time. One of them said grimly, "Forbidden-art aura! Someone inside is performing a sacrifice!"
Si Moheng's black eyes sank. He raised a hand to command the advance, his voice cold as iron.
"Follow me into the valley. If anyone dares to cast such a spell here—kill without mercy!"
Gales howled. The mist surged. The army entered the rift, the fog pressing down like a tide. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became—until at last they reached the valley floor and saw the altar.
Si Moheng's group charged in, only to find the black flames atop the altar already ebbing. The residual runes still glimmered with eerie light.
At the heart of the array, Wanluo was covered in blood, bound tight by chains. Her breath was thin—she was already unconscious. Her face was pale as paper, blood faint at the corner of her lips, yet her chest still rose and fell in the weakest of motions.
Off to the side, Feng Mian sat on the stone steps like a simpleton, black mist seeping slowly from his body, his aura scattered and hollow.
The moment Jialuo recognized Wanluo, his mind reeled. He could hardly spare a thought for the danger around them as he lunged toward the array's center.
"Little sister—!" His voice trembled with panic. He gathered her into his arms, his eyes instantly reddening. "How did you end up like this…?"
Tu Tan roared and swung his blade, severing the chains. The metal rings exploded apart, sparks flying. Lianyu followed immediately, guarding the flanks, vigilant for any lingering surges of the black mist.
Si Moheng, meanwhile, walked toward Feng Mian step by step, his gaze cold. He crouched to examine him closely and heard him muttering, "The light is gone… the black mist is gone…"
Si Moheng frowned and ordered, "Bind him. Keep him under strict watch."
Two black-armored soldiers stepped forward to secure Feng Mian with ropes—but he suddenly snapped like a madman, grabbing one of them with a death grip.
"Don't leave me! Don't—ah! My head hurts, it hurts! My body hurts too, everything hurts!"
The other soldier cursed under his breath and chopped him unconscious. "Damn—so loud."
The valley floor fell into a strange silence. Firelight wavered, illuminating the grim faces around them.
Cradled in Jialuo's arms, Wanluo's breath was faint—but her lips suddenly quivered. She whispered, "Brother… Feng Mian, he—"
Before she could finish, her pupils tightened. Her voice twisted abruptly as Ling Shuo's consciousness forced its way out.
Her delicate face was still Wanluo's, yet a deep, harsh voice spilled from her throat—utterly mismatched with her frail body. Her eyes snapped from vacant to razor-sharp, as if she had become someone else. The moment she saw Jialuo, she snarled—
"Rift-Yao fiend! I'll avenge my parents!"
She struggled violently to rise. Wounds tore and bled, yet she forced herself up and launched at Jialuo.
Jialuo froze in shock, too late to react—Tu Tan flashed forward, brought his hand down with a sharp strike.
Smack. Wanluo collapsed unconscious again.
"Little sister!" Jialuo cried out, catching her sagging body. Panic and fury flared in his eyes as he rounded on Tu Tan. "Why did you hit her?!"
Tu Tan waved his hands frantically, face full of regret. "Jialuo, I'm sorry! It's just… Wanluo's such a pretty girl, and then—mid-sentence—she suddenly sounded like some young man. I got spooked, my hand moved first, and… I couldn't help it!"
Silence again—only the firelight flickering.
Jialuo held Wanluo tighter, rage still boiling in his chest. Tu Tan stood there, hands half-raised, not daring to step closer. Lianyu's eyes were dark as he warned, "There's another soul inside her—fighting for control."
At that moment, Si Moheng stepped forward slowly, his gaze deep as it settled on Wanluo's bloodless face. The image of her sudden change—voice, expression, presence—was burned into his mind.
He murmured, his voice cold as steel, "Two souls… in one body… This is the mark of the Black-Yao Soul-Transference forbidden art."
You Qing jolted, lifting her eyes to him, unease flashing across her face.
Then she spoke, her voice cool yet unable to conceal the dread beneath it. "A Transmutation Yao-weaver… That's a forbidden art of the Gold Yao…"
Everyone's gaze snapped to her. She bit her lip, slowing her words. "We suspected Feng Mian was a Transmutation Yao-weaver… but now… it seems it wasn't that simple."
Si Moheng's eyes sank. He answered coldly, "Mm. Under soul-transference, he's likely already changed identities."
Lianyu added in a low voice, "If it truly involves the Transmutation Yao-weaver… then there may be another scheme behind all of this."
Under the black fire's glow, every face was taut—each word weighing heavier than the last.
You Qing looked at Wanluo and Feng Mian, both unconscious and barely breathing. Her heart sank. Then she spoke quickly, firm with urgency.
"They're too badly injured. If we delay, they may not survive. Yaonan Hidden Manor isn't far—we can take them there and ask Grandfather Ye of the pocket watch to find a Yao-healer. Once they wake, we can interrogate them then."
She paused, her expression grave. "Moheng, have the main force return to Yao Capital and report everything here to the Crown Prince—truthfully, in full. We'll escort them to Yaonan Hidden Manor. That way, we save lives and ensure the news reaches the capital as fast as possible. What do you say?"
Si Moheng was silent for a moment, his eyes lingering on her face, dark light shifting within them. At last, he spoke—low, heavy, and resolute.
"That will do. But we proceed with caution above all. Tu Tan, Lianyu—you two escort with me. Jialuo, you watch Wanluo. The rest return to Yao Capital at once. Report what you saw at the valley floor—not a single word omitted—to the Crown Prince."
The three commanders answered in unison. Hooves began to thunder again. The black flames at the valley floor had long since faded; only the lingering stink of blood and the remnants of rune-traces remained—like a nightmare that had not yet ended.