The mist seemed thicker the deeper they went. It clung to the ground in pale coils, curling upward around ankles and calves before breaking apart in the faint breeze that stirred between the trees. Overhead, the canopy was so dense that even the strongest beams of sunlight were fractured into thin, shifting slivers. The forest below was bathed in a dim green twilight, the air heavy and still. Each step sank softly into a carpet of moss and damp leaves, and sometimes into the hidden grip of roots buried under the soil.
The smell here was layered. There was the wet, earthy scent of rotting bark, the sharp green of crushed plants, and underneath it all, the faint metallic tang of something older and more unsettling, like old blood dried into woodgrain. Far away, a sound broke the quiet — a long, hollow call that didn't belong to any bird they could name. It echoed briefly, fading into the stillness until even its memory seemed absorbed by the mist. Afterward, only the faint, uneven rustle of movement remained, as if the forest itself was shifting in its sleep.
Yun walked at the head of the group. Her iron-plated puppet, easily a head taller than any of them, moved beside her without a sound except for the low hum of its joints. Its blank face caught stray glints of light, its featureless gaze fixed forward as though nothing in the forest could surprise it. Behind Yun walked Lian, his bladed puppet's shoulders rolling with each step. The weapon it carried — a curved sickle attached to a chain — swung lazily, glinting faintly whenever the light managed to pierce the canopy. Feng brought up the rear, his brawler puppet's heavy footfalls sinking slightly into the damp earth, each thud muffled but still felt through the ground.
The juniors, including Gu Muye, moved in the narrow space between the three seniors. It felt less like protection and more like containment, but at least it kept them together.
Every so often, one of the seniors would signal for a stop and point out a plant growing low by a root or half-hidden under a stone. The juniors would crouch, cutting stems carefully or digging around roots with short knives. Their movements were slow, deliberate, and they kept their voices down as though afraid the forest might be listening.
"Careful not to damage the core," one junior whispered to another as he eased a pale-green root from the ground, brushing soil from its thin, branching tendrils. "If you do, it loses half its value."
Muye knelt nearby, his eyes catching on a small cluster of mushrooms that seemed to glow faintly even in the dim light. Their caps were the color of cold moonlight, thin enough that their gills were visible from above, and when he leaned closer, the faintest silver sheen seemed to cling to them.
"What are those?" he asked quietly.
"Ghostcap fungus," a junior whispered back without looking up. "Good for corpse Qi recovery pills, but dangerous to eat raw. Makes your blood sluggish. Some say it can stop your heart if you're weak."
Muye plucked one carefully, the stem damp under his fingers, and wrapped it in cloth before tucking it into his pouch. The cool texture seemed to cling to his skin even after he let go.
The forest here had its own kind of life, one that did not welcome strangers. Thick vines hung from branches like coiled serpents, and sometimes they twitched just slightly, as though aware of the people passing beneath. Insects, no bigger than a fingernail but with shells like polished stone, darted along mossy bark, their bodies catching dull flashes of green and blue. Twice, Muye noticed shapes watching them from the edges of the path — once, a fox-like creature with eyes too human to be natural, and once, a bird the size of a child, its head tilting in silent curiosity. Both vanished without sound.
"Don't look too long at the bigger ones," another junior muttered when he caught Muye staring. "They remember faces. Some remember the ones they don't like."
Lian's hand rose in a sudden halt. His gaze swept the treeline, sharp and calculating, before landing on a patch of low shrubs heavy with clusters of blood-red berries.
"Collect those," he ordered.
The juniors hesitated, shifting uneasily. "Corpse Berries," someone whispered. "If they're this ripe, there might be feeders nearby."
"They're worth five silver coins a pouch," another said quickly, already moving forward despite the tension in his shoulders.
They worked fast, ignoring the pricks of the thorns as they plucked the berries and dropped them into their pouches. The air here was warmer, almost feverish, and Muye noticed that the soil beneath the shrubs was littered with insect husks. Their shells were brittle, hollowed out as if something had drained them dry.
"Enough," Yun said, and they moved on.
Hours passed like that — moving forward, stopping briefly to gather something, moving again. The deeper they went, the heavier the air felt, as though the forest were leaning in on them. The mist no longer clung only to the ground but drifted between the trunks, slow and deliberate. The distant calls they had heard earlier grew fewer, replaced by that steady, subtle rustling sound, always just beyond sight.
It was during one of these pauses that it happened.
They had stopped to harvest the petals of a tall flower whose pale, narrow shape resembled a hand reaching toward the canopy. The seniors stood a short distance away, speaking in low voices about the route ahead.
Muye's attention was drawn to Han Qiren, a quiet junior who often stayed at the back. Qiren had stepped away slightly, crouching near the base of an old tree whose roots twisted together like knotted rope. His hand brushed against something half-buried in the dark soil. His eyes widened for the briefest heartbeat before his expression smoothed over into calm disinterest. Without hesitation, he dug it free and slipped it into the inner fold of his robe.
From Muye's angle, he caught a glimpse — a shard of deep black jade, its surface etched with curling patterns that shimmered faintly before fading. The thing pulsed, almost like a heartbeat, faintly warm against the air.
Qiren glanced around. The seniors were still speaking. The other juniors were focused on the flowers.
Only Muye had seen.
Their eyes met briefly. Qiren's face gave nothing away, but there was a subtle tilt of his head, a silent plea for secrecy.
Muye looked away, returning to plucking petals, his hands steady. He did not acknowledge what he had seen.
Then the shadow passed.
It was not cast by the canopy or by a bird. It was something moving between the trees — tall, thin, its shape more suggestion than solid form. The mist seemed to cling to it, and when it moved, it left only a faint shiver in the air.
Lian stiffened immediately, scanning the trees. Feng's brawler puppet shifted its stance, metal gauntlets rising.
"Something's watching," Feng said. His voice was even, but the quiet edge to it carried through the clearing.
The juniors drew closer together instinctively. The rustling that had followed them all day was gone now. The silence was worse. It felt heavy, pressing against their skin.
"Keep moving," Yun ordered.
They obeyed, but the pace quickened. No one looked back for long.
Muye walked with every sense on edge. The bone in his dantian was quiet, but not asleep. It felt aware, as though it too had noticed the shadow in the mist. He did not know if that was a good thing.
No more plants were gathered. The seniors did not call for any more stops until the canopy above grew even darker and the air cooled noticeably. Somewhere nearby, there was the sound of water moving over stone.
"We rest here for a short while," Yun said.
The juniors sat where they could, leaning against roots or crouching on flat stones. They adjusted straps, checked pouches, and spoke in low voices about the day's finds. Qiren sat apart, his expression unreadable. Muye wondered what the jade shard was and how much trouble it would bring if the seniors saw it.
Feng's brawler puppet stood watch at the edge of the clearing. Lian's bladed puppet swayed faintly, the metal chain of its weapon catching what little light remained.
Muye leaned back against a thick root. The shadow had not returned, but the unease it brought had not faded. The forest seemed to breathe slowly around them, and in the distance, water whispered over stone.
For now, nothing moved.
And that stillness was almost worse.