Every last member of the Gong Family fell in behind Gong Qi to search for Gong Si and his group. The members of the other clans, though unsettled, had no choice but to follow — lingering during a Yin convergence in a burial ground was asking for trouble.

Lang Jiuchuan kept pace at Gong Qi’s side, subtly layering concealment techniques on herself one after another, to lower her own presence to almost nothing. The few who caught a glimpse of her at his side received only Gong Qi’s brief, vague introduction that she was a newly taken-in disciple of the Gong clan — and even those who glanced at her immediately lost interest, so that even when they later tried to recall her, they found they could not bring her face to mind.

Some among the group recalled the two roaring tiger cries from within the illusion. Had it not been for those roars — whose savage killing energy had shattered the illusory realm — they might not have escaped with their lives, and would certainly have shed at least a layer of skin trying.

Gong Qi glanced at Lang Jiuchuan, caught her signal, and took the credit for himself — saying he had merely used two Spiritual Tiger talismans to produce the sound.

Jiangche huffed, noticeably displeased.

“Stop huffing. He’s the one taking the brunt of attention up ahead. Far better than exposing you and me.” Lang Jiuchuan was untroubled by the idea of letting others take credit. She didn’t need the gratitude of these people. Not drawing attention to herself — that was what actually mattered.

The time hasn’t come yet. Better to keep a low profile.

Jiangche was puzzled. “The Yin energy back at that burial ground was deep, but not so overwhelming that the whole group should have been trapped inside. How could they have almost all been caught in one sweep?”

Lang Jiuchuan said quietly: “I noticed earlier that one of the trees had a talisman and an Eight-Trigram mirror attached to it. The directional flow of that entire area has been manipulated — someone laid an illusory maze formation across that section. During the Yin convergence, the illusions within such a formation are at their most potent. This was deliberate.”

Jiangche started. “You mean it was Cong Bian’s doing?”

“Duoming Ridge has a fearsome reputation — once you enter, you can’t find your way out. I suspect that, too, is partly the work of formations. They laid this one to catch wanderers who stumble in, and use them as food for the jiangshi.” Lang Jiuchuan’s voice was cold as frost. “Once the dire reputation spreads, this entire area becomes a forbidden ground that no sane person would dare approach. With no one coming near, no one will ever discover what is truly hidden here.”

It was a formation with two purposes in one. It could capture the living — those suited as food for the jiangshi, those not suited sent to the jiangshi’s corpse-nourishing ground as fertilizer — while simultaneously cultivating an evil reputation to keep intruders away, ensuring the place remained undisturbed. A safe haven for anything they wished to do here.

Jiangche sighed. “To exhaust one’s ingenuity to this degree.”

A pity it had still fallen short in the end.

“Even with a formation in place, it shouldn’t have swallowed an entire group without a single person escaping. The Mystic Clan gathered every arts practitioner it could find — and this is what they assembled?” Jiangche cast a withering glance at the group and shook its head. “No wonder they’ve been scrambling to poach skilled practitioners and suppress every true master who refuses to be recruited. With a ragtag, uneven assembly like this, they’ll be in true decline within a matter of decades.”

Lang Jiuchuan frowned. “If they’re all like this, we might actually have a little breathing room. What I’m afraid of is that they have hidden strength kept in reserve — that their truly capable people haven’t been sent out yet.”

Jiangche’s killing energy sharpened. “You mean they didn’t take this jiangshi seriously enough to send their best?”

“Human nature at work. For the Mystic Clan, perhaps, their true foundation lies within their own clans. Those with real ability would naturally keep themselves in reserve to protect the clan first.” Lang Jiuchuan said evenly. “Why make a needless sacrifice?”

Jiangche laughed coldly. “When the nest is overturned, no egg survives. If they truly think that way, this isn’t merely small-minded — it’s having no capacity for vision at all.”

Lang Jiuchuan recalled something A’Piao had once said. “To lose sight of the root for the branches will eventually trap them inside their own well, spinning a cocoon around themselves.”

If things continued this way, it would not be long before the Mystic Clan had no one left at all.

Gong Qi had also taken note of the faces around them. He frowned and murmured quietly to Gong Shiliu: “Is this everyone the various clans sent? Are there really so few elders among them?”

Gong Shiliu dropped his voice. “Supposedly in seclusion.”

Gong Qi’s face darkened at that.

Seclusion. What seclusion. Clearly they simply weren’t willing to send their most capable elders to deal with this jiangshi. Was it that they didn’t take the creature seriously, or was it simply their own selfishness?

The thought sent fury rising from the depths of Gong Qi’s chest. His face flushed deep red, and his eyes began to show a faint, creeping redness too — as though something within him was on the verge of awakening.

Gong Shiliu noticed the wrongness and called out softly: “Seventh brother?”

Gong Qi turned his head. Gong Shiliu saw the reddened eyes, and his heart gave a startled lurch. Right — past midnight, the fifteenth had begun. Seventh brother’s condition was due to flare.

“Seventh brother — your medicine?”

Gong Qi reached into his robe, and his mind seemed to clear slightly. He gave the tip of his tongue a small bite — a faint, salt-tinged sweetness spread through his mouth — and then asked: “Who else went with fourth brother on the scouting party?”

“There was also Daoist Mingcheng, and Lu Qian.” Gong Shiliu said. “The young master said they’d be coming as well.”

Gong Qi finally relaxed a little.

It was just that Cong Bian’s scheme had been in the making for so long, with every conceivable flaw sealed off — all to ensure the demonic creature of both Yin and Yang could be born into the world without obstruction. The lengths he had gone to were exhausting to contemplate.

Then what kind of terrifying thing would the jiangshi he’d placed all his hope in have become after a hundred years of refinement?

He wasn’t being defeatist — it was simply that whether these Mystic Clan members had any real ability was something everyone with eyes could see. Sending them here was perhaps just sending them to die for nothing.

Gong Qi furrowed his brow, and something like genuine worry surfaced in his eyes.

“Ugh.” Someone suddenly let out a moan, their expression twisting in pain, and they began to tilt sideways.

The group tensed.

“It’s the miasma — there must be marshland up ahead.” Someone called out.

Everyone immediately sealed their senses.

Gong Qi looked to Lang Jiuchuan at his side. She appeared completely composed — not the slightest sign that the miasma had touched her. He quietly let out a breath.

Somehow, he thought, his heart had taken on this inexplicable feeling — that so long as this ancestor of theirs came to no harm, everything else would be fine.

“This miasma carries Yin killing energy as well. Dense as ink. There may be poisonous vapor seeping into the lungs — and the illusions may return. Use cleansing fire talismans to open the path, and have everyone recite the Heart-Clearing Mantra together. Watch your footing.” The words landed softly in Gong Qi’s ear.

Gong Shiliu had sharp ears. He caught every word and glanced toward her — and found the young woman blinking at him.

Gong Shiliu’s ears went red. But he unhooked the Three-Pure Bell from his waist and called out loudly: “Everyone, follow me and recite the Heart-Clearing Mantra! A heart clear as water; clear water is the heart; if the heart stills like motionless water, not even waves can disturb it—“

As he recited, he rang the Three-Pure Bell in a steady rhythm. Others began to join in, and soon dozens of voices rose together in a surging, resonant tide that swept through the trees and cut through the dense miasma, rippling outward in all directions.

Gong Qi, meanwhile, took the cleansing fire talismans Lang Jiuchuan quietly passed him and used them to open the path ahead.

The chanted words carried within them the protective power of the Dao — and combined with the purifying fire lighting the way, the miasma seemed to encounter something it utterly feared. It withdrew and parted of its own accord, refusing to so much as touch anyone in the group.

The Heart-Clearing Mantra carried far through the still of the forest. Deep in the marsh among the white-boned trees, Gong Si and the others felt their souls jolt. Kong Xu Zi looked out past the edge of the marsh at the jiangshi watching them with predatory stillness, and said: “Join in the recitation.”

He rapidly formed hand seals, reinforcing the barrier he had cast over the group.

The jiangshi stirred, as though to fly toward them — then abruptly halted. Its ears twitched. As though it had heard some summons, it turned and swept away in another direction.