Chapter Nineteen: Ashes

Darkness. Thick, cold, heavy as lead.

Consciousness lay submerged at the bottom of an endless icy abyss. Each attempt to rise was dragged back by an invisible force. Only boundless cold and a dull ache—the sensation of a body slowly dissolving.

His back felt as if countless searing grains of iron sand were grinding it down, each fragile breath tugging at the ravaged flesh. Deep within his chest, a cold “stone” beat heavily, each pulse bringing an uncanny tearing pain—as if something grew and expanded inside, forcing apart shattered meridians. The weight remained, but beneath its sluggish heaviness, there was a faint—yet pure—thread of cold vitality. Like a root, cold and alive, piercing through lifeless frozen earth.

The chill seeped up from the gaps in the wooden boards beneath him, gnawing at numb flesh through thin clothing. The air was thick with the familiar stench of sweat, mold, and cheap herbal medicine; now, it pressed down with a suffocating oppression.

Lin Mo’s eyelashes quivered, like the dying flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Heavy lids lifted to let in a sliver of light, stabbing his eyes with needle-like pain.

Through blurred sight, he saw the low, ruinous roof of the dormitory—webbed with dust and cobwebs. In the corners, a few laborers curled beneath torn quilts, snoring dully. The air was cold and viscous; every breath grated against his chest, laced with the thick taste of blood.

He was alive. Still in Greenwood Sect. Still in this foul-smelling labor quarters.

This realization brought no relief; only deeper exhaustion and the numbness of one who survived disaster. The shattered cliffs of Ghost Cry Ravine, bone spikes thrown by mist, relentless shadows, plunging into despair… The pink phantom, the explosion of dark gold fragments, the subterranean roar, and… the boulder falling from the sky…

Scenes tore through his mind like splintered shards of ice, stabbing into chaos. Su Li’s divine sense—shattered? That cold, dark gold powder he touched with his fingertips…

The “stone” in his chest seemed to respond to his thoughts, sinking suddenly, sending a surge of cold, pure energy outward—weak, yet unmistakably present. It had indeed been “replenished.”

A muffled groan escaped his throat, breaking the dormitory’s stagnant silence.

“Yo? Awake?” A familiar voice sounded beside him, deliberately light but unable to conceal its underlying rasp and fatigue.

Lin Mo struggled to turn his stiff neck, like a rusted hinge. Zhou Xiaoxiao sat beside his bedding atop an overturned bucket, holding a stained rag and absentmindedly wiping a chipped firewood knife. Its blade glimmered coldly in the dim light.

His face wore its usual unruly grin, but his eyes were sunken, his complexion unnaturally pale, lips cracked. Normally sly, his gaze now resembled a pair of bottomless icy pools, piercing Lin Mo’s face with sharp scrutiny.

“Tough to kill, eh, Mo?” Zhou Xiaoxiao paused his cleaning, resting the knife casually on his knee, blade pointed toward the door. “That hellhole Ghost Cry Ravine—first laborer to crawl out alive is you.” His tone was flat, as if stating an everyday fact, but the words “first one” struck Lin Mo like cold stones.

Lin Mo opened his mouth, his throat dry as tinder, managing only a raspy hiss. He wanted to ask, to confirm, but terror and dread choked off all words.

Zhou Xiaoxiao seemed not to need an answer. His gaze swept Lin Mo’s paper-white face, lingered on the thickly bandaged, blood-seeping back, then quickly shifted to the gray light at the door, voice lowered and icy with mockery: “Zhao Qing, that fool, finally bit off more than he could chew.”

Lin Mo’s heart jolted.

Zhou Xiaoxiao’s lips curled in a cold smile, eyes sharp as knives: “He thought tossing you into Ghost Cry Ravine to feed the Rockbone Lizard would settle things? Ha—never imagined the old coffin beneath the forbidden ground in the back mountain would suddenly come alive last night! The commotion nearly tore up half the mountain, sent the warding array into hysterics!” He paused, gaze returning to Lin Mo, sharpened further. “Zhao Qing and his lackeys are probably being interrogated by inner sect elders right now, treated like thieves. No time to worry about a laborer ‘dead’ in Ghost Cry Ravine.”

Back mountain… subterranean unrest… warding array…

Lin Mo’s foggy mind flashed with memories: that deafening roar, the violently shaking stone platform. That! That terrifying power shattered Su Li’s divine sense! The “old coffin” Zhou Xiaoxiao mentioned… Was it the thing buried deep in the Burial Immortal Abyss? Or… the force guarding the forbidden grounds?

His throat worked, forcing out a few words: “…that…powder…”

“Powder?” Zhou Xiaoxiao’s brows shot up, his gaze suddenly razor-sharp, locking onto Lin Mo. “What powder?” He leaned forward, an invisible pressure filling the air, voice low and chilling. “What did you see down there?”

Lin Mo’s scalp tingled under his gaze, cold sweat soaking his back. Terror seized him—the word “powder” nearly slipped out, but he clamped it between his teeth. He could not tell! Su Li’s divine sense was shattered… and that dark gold powder… Any leak would spell doom! He snapped his mouth shut, eyes darting away from Zhou Xiaoxiao’s penetrating stare, his body trembling uncontrollably with fear and pain.

Zhou Xiaoxiao stared for a dozen breaths. Silence—save for the snoring laborers in the corner. His knife-like gaze seemed to peel Lin Mo’s soul bare. Finally, the sharpness receded, replaced by deep, unsettling calm—like a bottomless lake.

He straightened, picked up the rag, and resumed wiping the knife, its soft scraping breaking the silence.

“Don’t look where you shouldn’t. Don’t touch what you shouldn’t.” Zhou Xiaoxiao’s voice regained its slick tone, but with a cold metallic edge, like the blade he polished. “The back mountain’s a cursed place. Those seven laborers—think they just slipped and died? They were ‘eaten’! Not even scraps left!” He snorted, mocking.

The word “eaten” bit Lin Mo’s heart like a venomous serpent. He recalled the shadow that pursued him in Ghost Cry Ravine, the bone spikes… Was that the monster that devoured the laborers?

“Rockbone Lizard?” Lin Mo asked hoarsely, his voice rough as sandpaper.

“Rockbone Lizard?” Zhou Xiaoxiao paused, glanced at Lin Mo with a strange look. “Savage, yes—thick-skinned, bones sharp as spears, king of Ghost Cry Ravine. But to silently ‘eat’ seven people, leaving no trace…” He shook his head, sneer deepening. “It’s not up to the task.”

Not the Rockbone Lizard?

A deeper chill swept Lin Mo. Was there something even more terrifying lurking in the mist?

“What is it…” he asked, unable to stop his voice from trembling.

Zhou Xiaoxiao didn’t look at him, only kept wiping the now gleaming blade. His rough fingers brushed cold metal, knuckles marked by deep blue frostbite glaring in the dim light. After a long silence, he spoke in a near-whisper, weighted with heavy sigh:

“It’s the ‘mist’.”

“Mist?” Lin Mo was stunned.

“Yes. Mist.” Zhou Xiaoxiao lifted his head, eyes drifting to the gray, oppressive fog hanging over the labor quarters, his expression unusually grave. “The back mountain’s mist isn’t water vapor. It’s miasma, resentment, the ‘death energy’ the cursed place itself exudes. Too much, and your mind grows clouded; worse, flesh dissolves, bones turn to mud!” His voice dropped further, chilling to the bone. “Those seven laborers were ‘eaten’ by the mist, piece by piece. When they vanished, not even a scrap of clothing was found.”

Flesh dissolving… bones turning to mud…

A cold rush shot from Lin Mo’s feet to his crown! He remembered the rot-laden, icy dampness he breathed in Ghost Cry Ravine, the strange comfort his chest “stone” felt in that environment… Could the mist itself be the deadly poison seeping from Burial Immortal Abyss, devouring life?

He instinctively held his breath, as if the omnipresent air itself had become lethal.

“So,” Zhou Xiaoxiao’s voice pulled him from his shock, slick tone returning, laced with a subtle warning, “until you’re healed, stay away from the back mountain. If Skinner Wang tries to send you again…” He hefted the gleaming knife, grinning wide, white teeth bared. “This blade hasn’t tasted meat in a long time.”

Lin Mo looked at Zhou Xiaoxiao’s chipped knife, then at his unruly, cold-eyed face, a complex emotion rising. Was it a threat? A warning? Or… a twisted form of protection?

He couldn’t tell. Exhaustion and pain surged anew. The “stone” in his chest, after absorbing the dark gold powder, seemed to be “digesting”—cold vitality and sluggish heaviness interwoven, each beat a slow, tearing growth.

He closed his eyes, burying himself deeper into the cold, musty straw mat. The scraping of Zhou Xiaoxiao’s knife continued, a monotonous requiem.

The dormitory door creaked open, letting in a wave of damp, chilly mist with late autumn’s sting.

A laborer hunched in, stamping his feet against the cold, grumbling, “…Damn weather! The back mountain’s mist is even stranger! Patrol passed by, said the forbidden zone near Ghost Cry Ravine had a huge landslide last night—rocks everywhere! Looks like it was struck by lightning!” He rubbed his hands, leaning in for warmth, but seeing Zhou Xiaoxiao’s gleaming knife and Lin Mo’s shattered state, he fell silent and retreated.

Ghost Cry Ravine… the cliff collapsed…

Beneath Lin Mo’s tightly shut eyelids, his eyes shifted. Was it the subterranean roar? Or the boulder that shattered Su Li’s divine sense?

Zhou Xiaoxiao’s knife never paused, as if he hadn’t heard the laborer. Only his deep, cold eyes flashed with a subtle, icy clarity.