"Spirits don’t coordinate like this naturally, Tang Bo," Ji’an said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "They are being directed by something or someone. Look at how organized they are, despite lacking consciousness. There must be a stronghold backing them up. I’m going to go find whoever is playing conductor for this ghost choir and shove my spatula down their throat!" 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Before Tang Bo could protest further, Ji’an stepped over the threshold.

The moment her boots hit the foggy cobblestones, the spirits shrieked, converging on her like moths to a blinding, golden flame.

Ji’an didn’t flinch. She took a deep breath, circulating the entirety of her Harmonious Five-Grain Qi through her meridians.

"Culinary Art: High-Heat Wok Toss!"

She swung the Black Iron Spatula in a massive, upward arc. A literal tidal wave of golden, searing Yang fire erupted from the heavy iron, crashing into the front line of the spectral horde.

The spirits didn’t even have time to wail; they were instantly incinerated, purifying into harmless white steam that smelled faintly of toasted sesame.

Ji’an didn’t stop. She became a blur of gray and gold, carving a path of absolute culinary destruction through the center of the dilapidated village.

Every swing of the spatula was a masterclass in efficiency. She wasn’t fighting like a traditional swordsman; there were no elegant thrusts or complex footwork.

She fought like a seasoned head chef working a Friday night dinner rush.

Chop! Dice! Parry! Flambé!

Behind her, watching from the safety of the warded hut, Su Wan’s eyes were wide as saucers. Even Zhang Min, a proud Inner Sect hopeful, watched in silent, terrified awe.

But Mo Wuchen didn’t stay in the hut.

As Ji’an carved her path down the main street toward the ominous, sagging silhouette of the village’s ancestral hall, a figure in wet, willow-green robes stumbled out of the fog directly behind her.

"Senior Brother Lin! Wait for me!" Wuchen cried out, his voice a perfect octave of distressed panic.

Ji’an nearly tripped over a broken cart wheel. She spun around, parrying a ghost’s claw and glaring at the assassin. "Are you insane?! Get back in the hut, you sickly idiot! You don’t even have a weapon!"

"I... I couldn’t bear to let you face the darkness alone!" Wuchen gasped, clutching his chest dramatically and coughing into his fist.

He tripped over a loose cobblestone, falling to his knees just as a headless spirit lunged for his back.

Ji’an cursed loudly.

She executed a flawless backflip, landing between Wuchen and the ghost, and smashed the spirit into oblivion with a fiery backhand.

"You are actively making this harder!" Ji’an yelled, hauling him to his feet by the collar.

"Ah! Senior Brother, you’re so strong!" Wuchen squeaked, hiding behind her shoulder and peering out with wide, frightened amber eyes. "There’s another one on the left! Eek!"

Ji’an incinerated the spirit on the left.

What Ji’an couldn’t see, however, was Wuchen’s left hand.

Hidden completely from her line of sight beneath his long, trailing sleeves, the Shadow Assassin was forming microscopic, needle-thin shards of concentrated Yin Qi.

Whenever a spirit managed to flank Ji’an from a blind spot, Wuchen would let out a terrified, high-pitched scream and simultaneously flick a needle directly into the ghost’s core, shattering it instantly before it could touch her.

"Oh, Heavens, Senior Brother! That one just exploded on its own! Your aura is so terrifyingly majestic!" Wuchen cheered, clapping his hands like a helpless maiden.

’I am going to strangle him,’ Ji’an thought, her teeth grinding together as she pushed forward. ’He is a walking liability! A screaming, delicate, useless liability!’

They reached the courtyard of the ancestral hall. The fog here wasn’t just thick; it was a physical, viscous substance that stuck to the skin like wet cobwebs.

The temperature was so low that Ji’an’s breath was freezing into ice crystals in the air.

At the center of the courtyard, sitting cross-legged on a ruined stone altar, was the source.

It was a man, or, at least, it used to be. He wore the tattered, moth-eaten robes of an ancient Daoist sect that had likely been eradicated centuries ago.

His skin was stretched tight over his skull, gray and completely desiccated like ancient parchment. In his lap rested a massive, jagged black flag, a Ten-Thousand Soul Banner.

"A Ghost Cultivator," Ji’an breathed, her blood running cold.

In the cultivation world, Ghost Cultivators were abhorrent.

They abandoned the mortal path, shedding their physical vitality to cultivate pure Yin and death energy, enslaving the souls of the dead to fight for them.

"Flesh... warm flesh..." the Ghost Cultivator rasped. His eyes snapped open, revealing two hollow voids burning with sickly, neon-green hellfire.

He slowly raised his skeletal hand, pointing a rotting finger directly at Ji’an. "A body brimming with Yang Qi... an exquisite vessel. I shall take your skin, boy."

"Take my skin?" Ji’an scoffed, trying to mask her genuine panic with bravado. "Buddy, you need a moisturizer, not a skin-suit. And I am not on the menu."

"Senior Brother!" Wuchen shrieked, grabbing Ji’an’s sleeve and burying his face in her shoulder. "He’s so ugly! And he smells like old cabbage! Don’t let him touch me!"

’This dramatic bastard! Even if you are acting, there still has to be a limit! If you don’t let go of my dominant arm, we are both going to die!’ Ji’an internally screamed, prying Wuchen’s fingers off her robe. "Just get behind a pillar and stay down!"

The Ghost Cultivator slammed the base of his Soul Banner against the stone altar.

BOOM!

A shockwave of concentrated death-aura exploded outward.

The remaining fog in the courtyard coalesced, forming three massive, towering Yin-Demons, hulking monstrosities made entirely of screaming faces and jagged, spectral blades.

"Kill them," the Cultivator hissed.

The battle joined.

Ji’an was fast, and her Yang fire was potent, but the sheer disparity in cultivation base was staggering.

She was at Foundation Establishment Stage 5, but this ancient corpse was emitting pressure equivalent to a Late-Stage Golden Core master.