With the grim lesson of what had just happened, everyone retreated rapidly, putting distance between themselves and the lake, dreading that they would lose their lives here.

They fell back several hundred meters. Eight people looked back, and the more they looked, the more their hearts were gripped with dread. Blood-colored as smoke, it curled upward in wisps—like threads of vengeful spirits rising.

The small lake, no more than ten-odd zhang across, was crimson enough to make the heart seize, vivid enough to make breathing difficult. That expanse of water seemed capable of swallowing heaven and earth.

“What is this lake? Why does it make the skin crawl so?!” One person was visibly shaking—not from cowardice, but because the atmosphere of this place was genuinely wrong. Standing before the blood lake, one could not help but tremble.

At a greater distance from the Fire Dragon’s Burial Ground and the Dragon’s Bleeding, standing on higher ground, the others could also see the strangeness. Looking at the great ravine and the blood-colored lake together in their entirety, they immediately grasped what the shapes resembled.

“That is, without any doubt, a dragon coughing up blood! How can there be terrain like this?!” Someone cried out in shock, cold sweat breaking out all over their body.

The resemblance was uncanny—the craft of divine artisans!

This kind of mountain and river terrain looked as though it had been carefully excavated and designed. It was nothing like a product of natural formation.

Several cultivators broke out in a cold sweat all over. Seeing this topography, they were all somewhat stunned—and overwhelmed with fear.

Ye Fan glanced at the sky. The sun was sinking in the west, evening glow scattering down. His expression changed abruptly. He cried out loudly: “Fall back further!”

The Source Heaven Book contained a record that the Fire Dragon’s Burial Ground and the Dragon’s Bleeding were at their most ferocious and ill-omened at the transition between day and night.

The others saw Ye Fan react like this, and every face went pale. They followed in a desperate sprint.

When they had run several more li and the sun was grazing the horizon, about to sink below it—a deep, bone-chilling sound erupted. The great fissure was trembling. The water of the blood lake was rising, surging upward, spilling out from the earth and rushing up into midair.

Of the eight survivors, the weakest in cultivation was a full li behind the others. He let out a scream that tore at the soul.

Seven people looked back and watched helplessly as he went flying in reverse—drawn by a mysterious force—and dropped directly into the blood lake. Not even a ripple was raised. He simply vanished.

The remaining people were so terrified their souls nearly left their bodies, yet they dared not fly. They ran with every ounce of their strength, chasing after Ye Fan and Old Knife Handle, who were nearly out of sight on the horizon.

Only when they were a dozen li away did Ye Fan finally stop. The people behind him trickled in one by one. Every one of them was drenched in a cold sweat—not from exertion, but pure fear.

“If I could choose again, I would never come to this cursed place. Not even if you gave me an entire mountain of source stones would I be moved.” One young cultivator’s voice was thick with something close to tears.

The others felt exactly the same. Every face was paper-white, a look of bitter regret on each.

“This Primordial Forbidden Zone is truly extraordinary. We’re still far from the ancient mine, and we’ve already encountered places like this. If we had rashly pressed forward, we would all have died there.” One of them said with a trembling voice.

“That is the great ill-omened terrain—the True Dragon Coughing Blood.” Old Knife Handle’s expression was deeply grave.

“Old man, you’ve heard of it?” Ye Fan was inwardly surprised, though his expression remained calm.

“I think you know more about it than I do, young man. If not for your warning, I doubt many of us would still be here.” Old Knife Handle looked at him carefully.

“I only sensed danger by instinct—I don’t truly understand it. Please tell us more, old man.” Ye Fan asked.

“I don’t know very much about it either. I’ve only heard fragments here and there.” Old Knife Handle shook his head. “I don’t know exactly how many ages ago—at least seven or eight thousand years, perhaps ten thousand or more.”

In a time long past, someone had once discovered this kind of topography in the Northern Region. How many lives it had cost back then, no one knew—many of the great figures of that age had perished there.

In the end, a source master of extraordinary ability appeared and finally cracked the secrets of that mountain and river terrain. Yet the cost had been enormous—the source master had nearly died in the process—and within half a year of breaking through it, that source master had disappeared without explanation.

“Did someone really have to break open that kind of terrain? There must have been something extraordinary underneath.” One cultivator showed sharp perception.

“Of course. Otherwise who would throw their life away willingly?” Old Knife Handle said no more on the subject.

Ye Fan sighed inwardly. The Fire Dragon’s Burial Ground and the Dragon’s Bleeding each held divine source—at least two pieces, just ten-odd li away. But there was no way to retrieve them.

This was the first time he had directly and clearly confirmed the presence of divine source stones. If he possessed earth-shattering combat power and had fully comprehended the Source Heaven Book, perhaps he could come and try someday.

For now he could only quiet his heart. Getting out alive would be the greatest success possible.

The sky had grown dim. The seven remaining people walked very slowly. Despite their considerable strength, none of them dared move fast. Every one of them kept their eyes moving in all directions, carefully observing the terrain, terrified of straying into a death ground.

For the Fire Dragon’s Burial Ground and the Dragon’s Bleeding were surely not the only such places here. There had to be other demon grounds.

“Old Knife Handle, are you certain this is the way out of the forbidden zone? I have a feeling we’re walking toward the ancient mine.” One cultivator said with trembling apprehension.

The sun had long since set. The sky was dark, without star or moon—a single sheet of blackness overhead, like a black cloth thrown across the sky. Looking out across the wilderness, the earth was invisible, only mist rising and sinking. They seemed to be sealed inside a box.

Old Knife Handle was frowning as well. The further they walked, the more he lost his sense of direction. This seemed like an illusory realm—the four directions utterly silent, the atmosphere increasingly peculiar.

Red sand and stones covered the ground. Each light footstep produced a crunch crunch sound. In the still and empty darkness, it carried far.

None of the seven dared be careless. Every one of them moved without their feet touching the ground, fearful of disturbing something—for the legends about the Primordial Ancient Mine were far too numerous.

Half a quarter of an hour passed. They had completely lost all sense of direction, as though they had blundered into a maze.

The sky grew darker and darker. Mist wound through the air—at first like thin gauze drifting, then growing denser and denser, on its way to a point where one could not see one’s hand in front of one’s face.

“I’m saying… we cannot keep walking.” One cultivator halted, fear beating in his chest. “I have this feeling that the direction is wrong.”

“I feel the same. This doesn’t seem to be the way out.” Another agreed, dread showing in his eyes. “If we walk straight into the Primordial Ancient Mine, we will truly have no one to cry to.”

Everyone’s heart was heavy. To lose one’s way here—in this Primordial Forbidden Zone—was to forfeit half one’s life.

Old Knife Handle was silent for a long moment. He let out a long sigh. “We can’t stop walking either. Otherwise, I worry something will happen.”

“We absolutely cannot keep moving forward. If we do, we may truly step into the ancient mine. And then there will be no chance for regret!”

“Let’s wait until the sun rises tomorrow and move then.”

“Stopping here isn’t right either—this place makes the skin crawl!”

Several people’s views were all different, and an argument broke out.

“Young man, what do you think?” Someone asked Ye Fan. Old Knife Handle looked over as well.

“Let me think. Let me work through it…” Ye Fan’s heart was troubled and restless. He felt with certainty that there was something deeply wrong with this territory.

He raised his head and looked up. No stars, no moon—a dim and heavy darkness, like a black cloth draped across the sky. He looked out over the surrounding terrain. The earth was invisible—only mist rising and falling, as though they had been placed inside a sealed box.

This matched almost exactly the Ghost Mist described in the Source Heaven Book. A person could set the dragon veins and source rivers and lock in a divine source. Conversely, deviant source could seal heaven and earth and trap a person to their death.

Ghost Mist rising was a great omen of catastrophe. There was a strong possibility they had entered a demon ground—and could be sealed here to die.

If source locks a person in, it is among the most dangerous of circumstances—a life-stealing killing formation!

Ye Fan felt bitterness. Having learned the Source Heaven Book, he had not yet set a single source vein or sealed a single source river. He had not expected to be sealed and trapped instead—a potentially fatal entanglement.

Ghost Mist spreading all around, with hidden killing intent—once triggered, everyone present would be instantly dissolved into pus and blood.

It could be said that the gates of hell had already swung open to receive them.

At this moment, he finally understood why the Northern Region had only produced five source masters throughout all of recorded history. What had to be faced was too horrifying. This was a path that almost never ended well.

“Everyone—we have run into serious trouble. Who among you can find their way back along the original route?!”

Everyone’s heart sank. This was the last news anyone wanted to hear.

“This place is like a maze. We lost our sense of direction long ago. How can we find our way back?”

“I did leave some marks along the way—but I reached out just now and found I’ve lost the connection to them.” Old Knife Handle let out a long sigh.

Ye Fan’s heart went a little cold. Being entrapped and sealed by a deviant source’s reverse binding was very difficult to break. It was practically a death trap.

He had never set a source vein or locked a source river in his life. Now he was to be sealed to death in reverse—it filled him with a suffocating frustration. He was probably the most unfortunate apprentice to the path of source mastery in all of history.

Ye Fan crouched down, drawing and marking on the ground, calculating something as he did. “There is still a way out. We have not walked into the central region—we are only on the edge. There is only the Ghost Mist, nothing else. Perhaps we can find a way out.”

“Young man, you’re saying there’s still a way out?”

“Young Daoist, we’re counting on you—think hard and find us a solution.”

Everyone crowded around.

Ye Fan looked at each of them carefully. “Think back as carefully as you can. Each of you draw a map for me—based on your own sense of how you traveled, mark out the terrain you passed through on the way here.”

The others sensed the gravity of the situation. No one dared delay. One by one they crouched down, drawing maps in the red soil.

Just as Ye Fan had surmised, the maps looked nothing alike. It was as though none of them had traveled together—as though each had come from a different direction by a completely different path.

Ye Fan laid all seven maps together and studied them carefully. At intervals he would stand up and pace back and forth within a hundred-zhang radius, measuring from one position to another.

A full half-hour later, he finally let out a long breath. They had not yet fallen into a completely hopeless situation. He had thought of a method to escape.

But when he stood up, he froze.

Not far away sat seven figures. Including him, there should only be seven people total. How had there come to be one more?

“That one over there—who is that?!”

Hearing his low, sharp call, everyone’s hearts clenched. Five figures leaped up, moving quickly away from that spot.

Swish!

The sixth shadow burst upward—swift as a ghost, a phantom. In the blink of an eye it had vanished into the dense mist, its traces impossible to follow. Not even a clear look at its face had been possible.

Every person there went white. Cold sweat soaked their clothes in an instant. In just that single brief moment, their garments were completely drenched.

What was that thing? No one had managed to see it clearly!

One person’s teeth were chattering, his whole body shaking. “I—I caught a glimpse of it in that instant. It wasn’t human. Its body was covered in animal fur…”

At those words, everyone’s scalps went numb. That creature covered in animal fur had been sitting not far from where they all stood, and none of them had sensed it at all. The realization sent waves of panic through every one of them.

“What happened to… him?!”

One person had not stood up at all. He was still sitting on the ground—rigid as a weathered stone statue.

Several people stepped forward and came to stand before him. Every one of them changed color. The sight was too grim to look at directly. The top of his skull had been peeled back, and the brain matter inside—white and viscous as curdled soy—had been half devoured, with only a small amount remaining.

Swish!

Old Knife Handle snapped a finger backward. A seven-colored rainbow beam of light shot out, piercing into a thick patch of mist.

A shadow moved swiftly and disappeared in that spot, fleeing into the darkness beyond.

Several people pressed forward together. At that spot they found a small puddle of brain matter, clinging to two black animal hairs.

It was plain enough: the brain matter had dripped from the creature’s mouth. It belonged to the one who had died. Only the animal hairs were the unknown creature’s own.

“We leave here. Don’t pay it any mind.” Ye Fan took a step forward. The most urgent matter now was to break out of this illusory domain. Something was buried in the earth here. The longer they remained, the more likely it was they would never leave.