The wind swept gently across the bamboo grove as Lang Tieu made his way to Vong Son Hamlet, a secluded place nestled at the foot of a mist-covered mountain. Rumors spoke of an ancient temple deep within, abandoned after a series of strange events five years ago: villagers losing their minds, children born without tears or laughter.
Lang Tieu stood at the village gate, eyes narrowing.
"A foul aura, laced with blood… This Soul Remnant is unlike the last."
He drew a golden talisman and pressed it to his forehead. As his spiritual sense spread outward, it collided with a thick, black mist buried beneath the ground.
The second Soul Remnant.
But unlike the first, it wasn't merely a memory echo—it bore a will of its own, corrupted and filled with madness, as if betrayed by the heavens themselves.
Inside the ancient temple, sunlight slanted through broken tiles, illuminating a man sitting cross-legged in the center of an ancient formation.
He was young—not old—and dressed in pitch-black robes. A strip of crimson silk covered his eyes.
"You're late," the man said as Lang Tieu entered.
"Who are you?" Lang Tieu asked.
"I am… the Soul Remnant Hunter."
Silence stretched between them.
"I don't slay demons or save people," the man said flatly. "I collect what's been scattered from the Heavenly Way. You absorb them for power—I seal them for balance."
Their gazes locked across the dim temple, like twin blades drawn but not yet clashed.
Lang Tieu turned his attention to the center of the formation—where an enormous, swirling Soul Remnant was bound by three ancient pillars.
"This one was a rogue Celestial who defied the heavens. His death wish was to destroy fate itself. Absorb him, and you'll leap three realms—but if you fail, you'll become a demon."
A sudden interruption: Ngo Van Tin, a local official, barged in from the back. Son of the village chief, he had long resented Lang Tieu for "bewitching" the villagers and corrupting the children with his "talisman nonsense."
"So it's just tricks and drawings, huh? I've brought the provincial news crew. Let's see how you explain this!"
Lang Tieu spared him only a glance.
But in that moment, the Soul Remnant pulsed violently, breaking one of the seals.
"No time."
A burst of black fog exploded outward. A ghostly figure shrieked, diving straight for Ngo Van Tin.
Lang Tieu moved instantly, drawing a Blood-Sealing Talisman and chanting:
"Heavenly Lightning, strike upon the false—disperse evil, purge illusion!"
A bolt of lightning cracked through the ceiling, tearing the spirit in half. But Lang Tieu staggered backward, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Only half of the Soul Remnant had been neutralized.
"You intend to absorb it?" the Soul Hunter asked, beads of darkness circling his palm.
"If I don't, it will take another host."
Lang Tieu sat cross-legged and began channeling energy.
Dark thoughts stabbed his mind, not just the remnant's—but his own: the betrayal of comrades, the lonely descent through heavenly tribulation, the pain of falling from grace.
Then—a soft voice in memory:
"Master! Is my talisman good?"
Little An, the first child he taught in the village. Pure, innocent, and always smiling.
Lang Tieu's eyes snapped open—bright, determined. He reversed the flow, refining the darkness into fuel.
Half an hour passed.
The Soul Remnant disintegrated. The formation collapsed.
Lang Tieu stood, his aura denser, his foundation steadier. A trace of darkness lingered within him—but he had tamed it.
The Soul Remnant Hunter spoke:
"You're no longer mortal. But no longer celestial either."
"I fell from the Heavens," Lang Tieu said. "Now, I rise again—from the mud."
There was no duel between them. But a thread of fate had been tied—neither enemy nor ally.
That night, in a modest bamboo hut at the village edge, Lang Tieu handed Little An a brush.
"Draw one talisman a day. Not to fight ghosts, not for power—only to keep your heart clear."
"Yes, Master!" Little An beamed, scribbling a lopsided talisman, full of sincerity.
Lang Tieu chuckled—his first true smile in years.