The deck of the flying vessel was slick with the remains of the mistborn phantoms, their twisted, ashen bodies sprawled where they had been struck down. Though the ghosts had taken on something more tangible in death, their flesh had an unnatural, rubbery texture, leaking an eerie, dark mist that coiled into the night air before dissipating. The acrid scent—metallic and wrong—clung to the cold wind as the ship drifted above the Immortal Fang Forest.
Far below, ancient pines stretched endlessly, their dark silhouettes shifting beneath the silver glow of the moon. Mist wove between the trees like living veins, creeping up the mountain range that loomed ahead—a vast, jagged silhouette against the night sky. That was their next destination. Somewhere within those peaks lay the Jade Serpent Hollow, hidden deep in a valley shrouded in legend and secrecy.
Fang Meilin exhaled, planting a foot against one of the corpses before shoving it toward the railing. The dead thing was unnervingly heavy for something that had once been so ethereal, its flesh sagging unnaturally as it slid across the deck.
"These things stink." She wrinkled her nose. "Let's get rid of them before they start sticking to the ship."
She crouched, grabbing another corpse by what remained of its arm, and with a sharp motion, hurled it over the side. The movement caused her robe to shift slightly, moonlight catching the sheen of sweat on her skin. The curve of her waist, the flex of her muscles beneath silk—Fang Lee noticed. He hesitated for half a second before glancing away, tossing a heavier corpse overboard with a grunt.
She caught his glance as she turned back, one brow arching. "What? Don't tell me the great Fang Lee is afraid of ghost corpses."
He scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "Not afraid. Just making sure you don't tire yourself out before we even reach the herbs."
Fang Meilin snorted. "I should be saying that to you. Weren't you the one bleeding earlier?"
Fang Lee tapped his chest with a grin. "Barely a scratch."
The vessel drifted smoothly through the night sky, cutting through the mist as it approached the looming peaks. The jagged mountain range stretched endlessly before them, bathed in silver moonlight, its ridges sharp and imposing. The air grew colder the higher they ascended, the scent of pine giving way to something crisper—an ancient, untouched purity that clung to the wind.
Fang Lee stood at the helm, his jade-green eyes scanning the terrain below. Nestled deep within the range was their first destination—the Jade Serpent Hollow, a spirit plant garden cultivated by the Fang Clan for generations. There, the serpent flowers thrived, their roots birthing white jade-skinned snakes that slithered across the sacred soil.
"We should be close," Fang Meilin murmured, her violet gaze flickering toward the valley beneath them.
The landscape shifted—the dense forests giving way to a wide, circular hollow. At its heart, a pale mist coiled above the earth, undisturbed by the mountain winds. Massive stone formations jutted from the ground like the ribs of an ancient beast, their surfaces lined with intricate carvings—wards and seals laid by past generations to protect the delicate ecosystem.
Fang Lee guided the ship lower, its enchanted sails shifting to slow their descent. As they neared the ground, the mist parted, revealing a breathtaking sight.
A palace.
Not just any palace, but a grand structure built for the cultivation of spirit plants. Towering spires entwined with flowering vines, wide courtyards lined with luminous herbs that pulsed with soft, verdant radiance. Dark jade walls inlaid with silver runes shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Bridges of carved white stone arched over pools filled with glowing water plants, their leaves swaying gently in unseen currents.
Yet, for all its beauty, something was wrong.
Figures moved between the flower beds—mortals, gaunt and exposed, clothed in little more than thin rags. Their backs were striped with fresh welts. Some crawled on their hands and knees, carefully pruning the delicate flowers with trembling hands. Others carried buckets of thick, dark nectar, their arms straining under the weight. And standing over them—overseers.
Tall, humanoid figures with serpentine lower halves, their jade-scaled tails coiling idly as they watched the laborers with cold, slitted eyes. Their upper bodies were human, dressed in dark green silk embroidered with silver serpent patterns. Each held a whip coiled at their side—a symbol of authority rather than necessity. Because no one here dared to resist.
Fang Lee's gaze flickered. He knew these beings. They were spirit beasts, bound to the Fang Clan not by blood, but by oath—an ancient pact that granted them dominion over this land in exchange for their service. They were not slaves, but they held power over those who were.
As the flying vessel descended toward a circular stone platform at the heart of the palace, the overseers noticed them.
A ripple of movement spread through the crowd. Their sharp gazes turned skyward, fangs glinting as they took in the crest upon the ship's sails. Recognition dawned instantly. Their expressions shifted—first to shock, then to reverence.
One by one, they bowed.
"We pay our respects to the Fang Clan!" Their voices rose in unison, hissing and smooth like a whispering tide.
Above them, a group of Foundation Establishment cultivators soared through the air atop various treasures—floating swords, jade lotuses, and spirit cranes. Their robes fluttered as they descended toward the palace grounds. Their auras pulsed with restrained power, but none carried the presence of someone in the Core Formation Realm or beyond. This was a place of servants and caretakers, not true rulers.
Fang Meilin folded her arms, her sharp eyes scanning the scene. "Haven't been here in a while," she murmured. "Looks like they've been working hard."
"Or being worked hard," Fang Lee replied dryly, his gaze drifting back to the mortals.
Before she could respond, movement at the far end of the platform caught their attention.
A figure approached, her steps light and deliberate.
She was small, barely reaching Fang Lee's chest, but her presence was undeniable. Her lower body was human, slender legs wrapped in intricate silk bands that shimmered like iridescent scales, her feet bare against the polished stone. Yet her eyes—large, golden, and slitted like a snake's—marked her as one of the spirit beast clan.
And her dress…
Fang Lee took a moment to appreciate it.
Thin, near translucent, it clung to her curves like mist over water, revealing just enough to entice, yet not enough to be indecent.
The fabric shimmered with faint enchantments, designed to ripple like liquid jade, emphasizing the delicate curve of her hips and the smoothness of her shoulders. A faint, floral fragrance clung to her—soft yet intoxicating.
His eyes lingered—just a moment longer than necessary—before meeting her gaze.
She noticed.
A flicker of amusement passed through her golden irises. Her full lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile as she dipped into a graceful bow.
"This lowly one greets Young Master Fang, Young Mistress Fang, and honored guests of the main branch." Her voice was melodic, smooth as silk, with the slightest trace of a hiss beneath the words.
Fang Lee smirked, tilting his head. "And you are?"
She straightened, placing a delicate hand over her chest. "This servant is called Xian Rui," she said, "guardian of the serpent flowers, keeper of the valley's purity."
Fang Meilin raised an eyebrow. "Keeper of purity, dressed like that?"
Xian Rui chuckled, unbothered. "The flowers bloom best in the embrace of the moon," she said lightly. "Would it not be fitting for their caretaker to reflect their beauty?"