The days that followed passed in a blur.
Yi Zhen returned to the graveyard each night, and Ling Xi appeared without fail. Bound by their contract, she guided him through the first steps of a cultivator's path—not the orthodox techniques taught in sects, but the forgotten way of the Spirit-Bound.
"Normal cultivators draw qi from the earth and refine it," she explained, her blade slicing through the air with sharp precision. "But you draw from the spirit realm. From me. Our bond allows your body to channel my strength. But it comes at a price."
"What kind of price?" Yi Zhen asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Strain. Conflict. If your will weakens, you'll lose yourself to the spirit's rage. You are the vessel. But you must always be in control."
Yi Zhen nodded. His body ached from the drills—sword forms that danced like fire and stung like lightning—but he endured.
Each night, Ling Xi showed him more: how to gather spiritual essence, how to form a core within the dantian, how to suppress pain and embrace clarity. Her methods were brutal. She pushed him to his limits, and beyond.
One evening, as crimson light bathed the sky, she stopped him mid-strike.
"You're improving. Faster than most." Her voice softened slightly. "Why do you fight so hard, Yi Zhen?"
He looked up, eyes fierce. "Because for once, someone needs me."
Ling Xi smiled—a rare, sad thing. "You'll go far. But know this: the Sect of Falling Leaves is not what it once was. If you challenge them now, they'll crush you."
"Then I'll grow stronger," he said. "No matter what."
That night, as he meditated beside the old shrine, the locket pulsed again. Ling Xi stood guard beside him, her spectral form still as stone.
In his vision, the gate of the spirit realm flickered again. A new voice echoed in the mist:
"My name... was Mo Ren. Alchemist. Poisoner. They buried me alive..."
Yi Zhen's breath caught. A new spirit was awakening.
Ling Xi turned, sensing it too. "The locket is choosing again. Another broken soul is calling out."
"Am I supposed to help them all?" Yi Zhen asked.
"Only if you can bear it. Each one will change you. Each one leaves a mark."
He gritted his teeth. "Then let them come. I'll carry them all."
From that moment on, Yi Zhen's path was no longer just one of vengeance. It was one of healing. Of forging bonds with the dead—and bringing their stories to light.
He was no longer just Yi Zhen, the orphan.
He was the Spirit-Bound.
And his journey had only just begun.