Chapter Fifteen: Mist Enshrouds the Dimming Gold (Part One)

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The dense fog churned and flowed in utter silence, thick as clotted milk, wrapping the herb garden, the fences, and the distant cliff face in a shroud of lifeless gray and white. The air was cold and heavy with moisture; each breath stung with bone-chilling cold and the pungent tang of decaying earth.

Lin Mo froze where he stood, his fingertips suspended just above the muddy ground, separated by a hair’s breadth from several specks of dark golden fragments, smaller than grains of rice. The chill seemed to seep upward through his fingers, carrying the same oppressive heaviness and brutality as the “stone” lodged in his chest.

Fragments of the Void Heaven Scripture!

The realization struck him like thunder in his chaotic mind. How could these be here? Had they fallen when he tumbled into the valley that night? Or had the stone-scaled worm-lizard brought them here? Either way, it meant deadly exposure.

But even more lethal was the cold, piercing gaze that came from behind, slicing through the thick fog.

He jerked his head up, eyes wild like a startled beast, fixed on the shadow beneath the sheer cliff opposite the herb garden.

The fog billowed like an invisible curtain. Deep within that gray and white chaos, a faint, nearly indistinguishable pinkish phantom stood silently.

Vague and ethereal, like a reflection on water, yet it bore a tranquil, indifferent air as still and cold as an iced-over lake, as though it could see through everything. There was no face, no detail, only the faint pink outline, flickering in and out of view with the shifting mist.

Su Li!

Had she not left? The image of her spirit vessel slicing through the clouds was still fresh in his mind! Why was her… spiritual sense? Or perhaps some kind of projection… appearing at the very edge of this forbidden rear mountain? Was she tracing the disturbance in the mountain-guarding array? Or… had she sensed something here?

Lin Mo’s heart pounded so fiercely it threatened to shatter his ribs. Terror, cold as a surging tide, drowned him in an instant. The wound on his back, still unhealed, throbbed with agony under extreme tension, warm fluid seeping through the fresh bandages, clinging stickily to his skin. The icy “stone” in his chest seemed enraged by the powerful, threatening gaze, its pulsations suddenly violent and savage. The oppressive stagnation became a torrent of icy fury, battering his organs with tearing pain and suffocating pressure.

Escape!

The thought exploded in his mind like instinct. He had to get away—away from these deadly dark golden shards, away from that frigid gaze.

But his body was frozen, as if encased in invisible ice, immobile. His fingertips were dangerously close to the golden fragments—any movement, whether to touch or withdraw, could trigger unpredictable consequences. Would it be the wrathful strike of Su Li’s spiritual sense? Or a violent eruption from the “stone” within?

Cold sweat streamed down his temples and spine, soaking his thin clothes. The fog wrapped around him in silence, clammy and cold, like a vast, icy shroud for the dead. Beneath the shadow of the cliff, the pinkish phantom still stood in silence, its frigid “gaze” locking onto him through the mist. Time seemed to freeze; each second was agony on the edge of a knife.

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What to do?!

As Lin Mo’s mind teetered on the brink of collapse, and the cold, violent throbbing within him threatened to break free—

“Mo brat! Where the hell did you go to die?!”

A hoarse, brash voice, raised deliberately and edged with impatience, split the deathly stillness of the fog like a thunderclap. The source was just up the mountain path above the herb garden.

Zhou Xiaoxiao!

Lin Mo’s heart clenched, then abruptly loosened. The voice was so sudden, so… timely?

Beneath the cliff’s shadow, the pink phantom flickered, as if a stone had disturbed the surface of water. The icy gaze, for a brief instant, wavered, distracted by the unexpected noise.

A chance!

Almost on instinct, Lin Mo flung himself sideways the moment the voice rang out. The movement wrenched his wounded back, the pain blinding him, but he forced himself on, crashing heavily onto the cold, wet earth at the edge of the herb garden.

With a splash, muddy water and sludge covered his head and face, thoroughly concealing the spot where his fingers had hovered—along with those deadly golden fragments, now hidden beneath overturned mud and decaying leaves.

Almost simultaneously—

Whoosh!

A fist-sized, jagged stone shot through the fog with a shrill whistle, as if it had eyes, striking with perfect precision at the very spot beneath the cliff’s shadow where the pink phantom had just been standing.

Crack!

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The rock smashed against the slick, moss-covered cliff, shattering instantly. Chips of stone and moss flew out in a spray of muddy water.

The sudden impact sent the fog swirling violently.

And the pinkish phantom, disturbed like the fog itself, blurred at the moment of impact and then vanished without a trace, as silently as a bubble bursting in the rolling gray mist.

The icy sense of being watched receded as quickly as a retreating tide.

“Dammit, this rotten rock!” Zhou Xiaoxiao’s voice, grumbling and exaggerated, came nearer, his figure emerging from the mist on the mountain path above. He carried an empty slop bucket in one hand, his pants splattered with mud, his face wearing his usual insouciant, slippery grin—though his eyes quickly swept over the muddy ground where Lin Mo had fallen and the spot on the cliff hit by the stone.

“Mo brat! You nesting in the mud to hatch an egg?” Zhou Xiaoxiao rushed to the edge of the herb garden, exclaiming at the sight of Lin Mo sprawled filthy and soaked in the mud. “Your wounds aren’t healed and you’re running to this cursed place, and then you go and fall flat on your face? If Skinner Wang finds out you ruined the newly planted herbs again, he’ll have your hide!”

He went on ranting as he bent down, his movements rough but steady, grabbing Lin Mo’s arm and hauling him out of the cold, muddy ground. Lin Mo, drenched and smeared with mud and dead leaves, felt his back wound burning where the filth had soaked in. He gasped for breath, still shaken, his gaze instinctively flicking to the spot where he’d fallen—now just a muddy mess, a few pitiful Red Sun Grasses crushed and askew, with no sign of the golden shards.

“What are you staring at? Did you knock yourself stupid?” Zhou Xiaoxiao gave him a hard slap to the back, making the wound sting. “Damn it, I just dumped the night soil and heard you’d been sent to this ghost place again! I knew you’d get into trouble! This isn’t somewhere you should be! Get your ass back with me! Or you’ll end up getting dragged off by some snake again!”

Without waiting for argument, he half-dragged, half-carried the trembling, mud-caked Lin Mo back toward the mountain path, still grumbling, his voice echoing through the fog: “…This damned rear mountain is cursed! Even the rocks are out to get me—nearly smashed my foot! Bad luck! Damn bad luck!”

Supported by Zhou Xiaoxiao’s strong arm, Lin Mo stumbled along the slippery path. The fog closed in behind them, swallowing the herb garden and cliff wall completely. When he looked back, only a rolling, lifeless gray remained.

The icy “stone” in his chest, now that Su Li’s spiritual sense had vanished, gradually calmed its furious pounding, settling back into its usual heavy, sluggish rhythm, though the sense of blockage persisted. The golden fragments, as if they’d never existed, were buried deep beneath the cold mud.

Zhou Xiaoxiao’s grip was steady and sure. His incessant griping filled Lin Mo’s ears, driving back some of the fog’s deathly silence. Yet out of the corner of his eye, Lin Mo caught a detail clearly—on the edge of Zhou Xiaoxiao’s mud-stained, rough palm, at the knuckles, there were faint, bluish-purple marks, as if left by severe frostbite, stark and conspicuous against the dim mist.