Deep within the Wildlands, the gray-white mist suddenly turned blood-red, and the air filled with the iron-like stench of blood. As the four advanced, the mist seemed to possess consciousness, slowly twisting into thick crimson veils that blocked their sight. Every breath Ye Chenyu took felt as though he were inhaling sharp blades, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.
The wind grew low and sluggish, as if the Wildlands itself were whispering: something was watching, something was judging. In his vision, vague colossal shapes emerged from the mist. Towering shadows stood like mountains, yet rolled and twisted in the air, as if ready to consume everything. Within the remnants, enormous and grotesque beastly forms flickered in and out, their skulls twisted into unrecognizable shapes. The sensation of being watched sent chills down Ye Chenyu's spine—as if his very soul had been seized, every breath scrutinized and stripped away.
The bloodmist surged like a tide, forcibly separating the four. Ye Chenyu was swept into a deeper crimson fog, feeling his consciousness slowly consumed. The surrounding scenery warped into fragments of blurred memories. He saw distorted images of his youth, his parents' faces fading, his own name carried away by the wind, and his memories flowing away like water in the bloodmist—his sense of existence stripped from him.
Xuan Ye was trapped in another patch of fog. The rune shard in his hand flickered faintly, barely illuminating his surroundings. He sensed the space around him losing all rules, each step landing on unstable void; the air itself seemed solid, pressing upon him until his breaths came short.
Liyue Ying was ensnared by the bloodmist, a flicker of unease passing through her usually icy gaze. It seemed the first time facing such horrifying illusions, even she could not fully control her mind. Xing Lan closed her eyes, as if resonating with the bloodmist. Her breathing quickened, as though part of her existence was being drawn away, yet she maintained a thread of calm, striving to sense Taowu's movements.
The bloodmist continued to coalesce, forming vague colossal shapes—the true body of Taowu did not appear, yet the sense of being watched radiated, as if the Wildlands itself responded to its will. Ye Chenyu felt his memories being slowly pulled away by an invisible hand; each thought fragmented and drifted in the bloodmist. Fear rose in his heart—not just for his body, but for the very denial of his existence.
He raised his hand and gripped the rune shard, attempting to use reason to resist the bloodmist's erosion. Its glow was faint, but enough to discern the warped illusions around him. He saw his own figure stretched and twisted, seemingly merging into the Wildlands' bloodmist, becoming part of the sacrifice. Within the illusion, countless voices called his name, while simultaneously denying his existence, his mind teetering on collapse.
At the heart of the bloodmist, Taowu's gaze became ever more distinct. It did not act directly, but every vibration of the air reminded him: the powers deep within the Wildlands were beyond ordinary reckoning, and existence itself was fragile. A sense of helplessness surged through Ye Chenyu, yet fear forced him to focus all his consciousness. Only by doing so could he maintain his selfhood and avoid being completely consumed.
At last, under Ye Chenyu's indomitable will, the bloodmist receded slightly. He realized he could still breathe, still think. Looking into the distance, Xuan Ye, Liyue Ying, and Xing Lan gradually emerged from the haze, each wearing different expressions—fear, calm, resolve—but all enduring the deepest pressure of the Wildlands together.
Though the mist dissipated, Taowu's threat had not vanished. Its gaze seemed rooted in every inch of the Wildlands, constantly observing, waiting to strike again. Ye Chenyu drew a deep breath, adjusting his breathing and steps. He understood: the Wildlands were far more perilous than the South, West, or East Mountains. Every step risked confronting unpredictable illusions and forces, and Taowu was only the first trial of this primeval expanse.
The four silently regrouped, continuing deeper into the Wildlands. Though the bloodmist had withdrawn, the oppressive presence remained. Every gust of wind, every wisp of dust seemed to warn them: there was no absolute safety here, only the courage and resolve to continuously confront the unknown. Ye Chenyu looked toward the end of the bloodmist. The gray-white wasteland stretched to the edge of the void; remnant shadows and echoes intertwined, seemingly whispering: the true Wildlands were only just beginning.