The Enigmatic Death Domain, as Master Mo Jian had explained, was formed from the remnants of an ancient battlefield. Hundreds of cultivators had fought and perished there, and somehow, instead of dispersing, the lingering qi had become dark and twisted. Drawn to this corruption, ghosts and jiangshi—the dreaded hopping corpses of legend—began to gather, until the entire region transformed into a realm steeped in terror and death.

  Enticed by rumors of opportunity, ghost cultivators and demonic practitioners flocked to the domain in droves—only to underestimate its horrors and meet their own ends. Thus began a vicious cycle: death feeding upon death, resentment upon resentment, until the island was utterly overrun by malevolent spirits and the restless dead, its air thick with yin qi and forever swept by ghostly winds.

  For mortals, merely approaching the island meant certain death. Even cultivators had to remain constantly vigilant; a single moment of carelessness could cost them their lives.

  Centuries ago, a powerful cultivator had erected a grand formation around the island to contain its corruption. That formation opened once every ten years, granting cultivators the chance to enter and seize whatever opportunities the Domain offered. The Pure Yin Winds, for instance, were said to be able cleanse one’s meridians, while defeating enough jiangshi or ghosts might yield an Umbral Bead—a rare natural treasure born of ghostly energy, capable of enabling travel through shadows.

  And those were just the benefits for orthodox cultivators. For unorthodox ones—especially those who followed the Ghost Dao—the Domain was a treasure trove. The dense yin qi could dramatically accelerate their cultivation or even help break through bottlenecks.

  For all these reasons and more, every decade, when the formation opened, hundreds of cultivators gathered near the Enigmatic Death Domain to test their luck and hunt for fortune.

  This time, Bai Ning would be among them.

  Master Mo Jian had brought her along because she was at the threshold of reaching the Foundation Establishment realm and this could be the very thing that pushed her to achieving it. His reasoning was simple: to grow properly, she couldn’t just cultivate in seclusion—she needed to experience the outside world.

  Bai Ning didn’t argue. Master Mo Jian rarely allowed her to participate in such events, so any opportunity to step beyond his secluded cave residence was one she eagerly welcomed. Before their departure, he had lectured her for over an hour on the dangers of the Domain, making her promise repeatedly to stay cautious. The island would be crawling not only with deadly natural hazards, but also with power-hungry and immoral cultivators. Death could come at any moment.

  As a final measure of protection, he had given her a Vast Yang Firebird Talisman—a fifth-grade talisman—strictly for emergencies. He would wait outside the Domain for the entire month it remained open, while she was to go in and test herself.

  They had traveled to the region atop the Heaven Enshrouding Ding, and upon arrival, Master Mo Jian had established a temporary cave residence on a nearby island. Now, they were sitting within that cave, a Farsight talisman hovering before them, projecting scenes from outside. Bai Ning watched closely as more and more cultivators gathered in the distance. They arrived on all kinds of flight tools—swords, fans, disks—and some even rode spirit beasts.

  Most of them were in the Qi Condensation realm like her, either at the peak of it or close to it, but she also spotted a few cultivators still in the lower stages, like the third or fourth stage of Qi Condensation. She winced at the sight. For them, the Enigmatic Death Domain would be unimaginably dangerous. Entering it was no different from gambling with certain death.

  She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as the Farsight talisman shifted to show a wider view of the island. The Enigmatic Death Domain loomed in the distance—an expanse of land veiled in eternal gloom. From afar, it seemed as though the world itself had been scorched and abandoned. Twisted black trees clawed at the sky, their gnarled limbs reaching for the heavens, while faint, pale lights flickered within the swirling mists—likely the restless souls of the departed. Even through the talisman, the yin qi was tangible—cold and suffocating invisible fingers dragging against her skin.

  Bai Ning had read about such places in ancient scrolls: domains so saturated with death and resentment that even the laws of nature twisted. But reading about them in a dusty tome and standing at the very edge of one were two vastly different experiences.

  She stole a glance at Master Mo Jian. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, his breath steady and deep. His aura was vast, calm, and unfathomable—like a still lake that could not be disturbed. For a Core Formation cultivator like him, she supposed a place like the Enigmatic Death Domain would be of little consequence.

  How did father put it? Bai Ning wondered. The trash of a higher realm cultivator is worth more than the treasures of a lower realm one.

  In some ways, that was a comfort. No Core Formation or even Foundation Establishment cultivators would bother to set foot in a place like this, so the most formidable opponents she’d face would be on her level, in the Qi Condensation realm.

  Her fingers brushed the cool surface of the storage pouch hanging at her waist, and she felt the Vast Yang Firebird Talisman inside with her spiritual sense. The talisman pulsed faintly, filled with spiritual power—enough to incinerate any threat she might encounter on the island, if used properly.

  A sudden, sharp cry snapped her out of her thoughts. The Farsight talisman shifted once more, focusing on a young man riding a silver crane, his voice loud and angry as he yelled at another cultivator who had nearly collided with him mid-air. Words were exchanged, tempers flared, but neither drew a weapon—at least, not yet. Bai Ning frowned.

  The Domain hasn’t even opened, and already they’re acting like this?

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  “Master,” she said, breaking the silence, “what kind of opportunities should I be seeking inside? Beyond the Yin Winds and Umbral Beads.”

  Master Mo Jian opened his eyes, his gaze sharp. “The most important thing is experience, Bai Ning. Don’t tether yourself to a single goal. The Yin Winds are common enough that you’ll encounter them sooner or later, but Umbral Beads are rare. Getting one will be a matter of pure luck. Instead, focus on exploring. As long as you come out from this experience having learned something, I’ll count it as a success.”

  Then, taking another look at her expression, he snorted, and added. “If you really want a goal that badly, then try looking for Soul Stones. They’re like spiritual stones, but infused with pure ghost qi. Neither of us can use them, since they’re incompatible with our cultivation, but they’re worth a small fortune on the market. Soul Stones are typically found in areas where ghost qi pools near dragon veins. On an island that size, there should be at least one or two places where they form.”

  He paused, growing more serious. “But Bai Ning, the most important thing for you is to come back alive. Opportunities can only be seized by those who are still breathing. Don’t take unnecessary risks. Be cautious and prioritize your safety above all. And above all else—be careful of demonic cultivators. If you encounter one, just turn around and walk away. It’s not worth the trouble to engage.”

  Bai Ning nodded, the weight of his words sinking deep into her heart. She would remember them. She would stay sharp—and above all, she would survive.

  The skies above the Enigmatic Death Domain began to change.

  Bai Ning stepped outside the temporary cave-dwelling, the Farsight talisman still humming softly behind her. A heavy wind swept across the surrounding islands, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something more unsettling—an undertone of decay and stagnant death. Over the main island, dark clouds churned like ink in water, and the light dimmed unnaturally, as if the sun itself was reluctant to touch the cursed land.

  Cultivators were gathering in the air, forming loose clusters and isolated duos. Most stayed silent, watching the Domain from a distance, while others conversed in hushed tones or postured with thinly veiled arrogance. A few wore black robes with talismans stitched in bone thread, clearly unorthodox cultivators. Ghost Dao and Demonic Dao followers mixed freely here—after all, in a place like this, morals were a luxury, not a standard.

  Bai Ning hovered in the sky beside Master Mo Jian, away from the crowd of cultivators, held aloft without any tool as he maintained a barrier of qi around them and kept them flying. Core Formation cultivators could take to the sky unsupported, their qi dense enough to fly and make constructs with. Bai Ning couldn’t wait for the day she was able to do the same thing. Though, right now, she turned her attention to the island. Her robes fluttered in the rising wind, and she had to steady herself as the spiritual pressure in the area suddenly deepened.

  It’s starting.

  A massive formation—a great circular seal etched into the very sky—began to glow high above the Domain. Thousands of intricate glyphs flared to life, forming concentric rings that turned slowly, each movement releasing waves of qi that rippled across the air. A deep, resonant hum echoed across the sea, shaking even the bones of the cultivators present.

  Then, with a blinding pulse of silver light, the seal cracked open.

  The air twisted. The island moaned. A jagged tear in reality spread open over the Domain like an eye awakening after centuries of slumber. A tunnel of storm and light yawned wide above the land—an entryway to the Domain.

  The opening would last one month.

  “Go,” Master Mo Jian said quietly. “And remember what I told you.”

  Bai Ning turned to him, gave a respectful bow, then slapped her storage pouch. A handkerchief shot out, expanding in a blink until it was the size of a rug. She leapt onto it without hesitation, and it surged forward, blazing a path across the sky.

  She wasn’t alone. Dozens of cultivators burst into motion, some racing ahead with wild abandon, others hanging back to observe or let the reckless ones thin the path. Bai Ning charged forward, the wind pulling at her robes, a grin slowly tugging at the corners of her lips.

  This was it.

  The moment she passed through the rift, the world changed.

  Mist swallowed everything. Thick and unnatural, it blanketed her vision, leaving her surrounded by endless grey. She could see nothing, sense nothing—only herself and the cold. The mist clung to her skin like wet silk, its clammy touch dragging down her hair and robes.

  She poured qi into her flying tool, accelerating carefully, hurtling toward the ground with as much control as she could manage. The space within the rift was warped; when she finally emerged, she was miles away from where she had entered. The air tore away as she broke through the mist, revealing a landscape steeped in death.

  Below her stretched a forest of withered, blackened trees, shrouded in mist. The trees stood like skeletal sentinels, their bark glistening like old obsidian, their branches twisted and bare. Amid their desiccated frames, ghosts roamed in wild abandon, diving in and out of the mist in vaporous trails. They were pale, pearlescent, and translucent figures with blurry, melted faces that drifted through the trunks as if they weren’t there. Their forms shimmered with a subtle glow, and their constant moans echoed like wind through hollow bone. Aimless—until they saw her.

  The moment Bai Ning swooped overhead, they shrieked in unison. Dozens of ghosts surged upward, hurling themselves at her path.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  Slapping her storage pouch again, she summoned an umbrella—wood and paper, etched with crimson talismans that shimmered with a sacred light. With a flick, it unfurled, and a blazing red barrier flared to life around her, the spiritual light burning away the first wave of ghosts that reached for her.

  They screamed, recoiling as the barrier scorched their incorporeal forms, then swarmed around her in a frenzy, circling like vultures trying to find a gap in her defenses.

  Bai Ning dove lower, landing at the forest’s edge. Her handkerchief folded itself and shot back into her pouch with a flick of her wrist. As powerful as the tool was—suitable for even a Foundation Establishment cultivator—it consumed far too much qi to use constantly. And with a full month ahead of her, every thread of spiritual energy counted.

  The crimson umbrella floated gently above her, maintaining its protective aura and warding off the encroaching spirits. Bai Ning narrowed her eyes, scanning the forest.

  I knew it would be dangerous, Bai Ning scowled. But if the ghosts are this aggressive already… I’ll need to keep a barrier up the entire time I’m here.

  She moved forward, at first with slow, cautious steps. But as minutes passed and nothing new emerged to challenge her defenses, she settled into a more natural pace. The blackened trees creaked faintly in the windless air, and ghostly wails echoed like fragmented memories drifting through the gloom. Shadows flitted between the trunks, but none dared approach too closely.

  She spread her spiritual sense as far as she could, though the thick yin qi in the area suppressed her range severely. Still, she pressed onward, following a trail worn into the earth by either cultivators or something far older.

  Ghosts continued to circle around her, their pale forms gliding soundlessly through the mist. Occasionally, one would hurl itself against her crimson barrier, only to be burned back with a shriek and sent tumbling into the fog. They never stopped—only hovered and watched, as if waiting for her to slip.

  Bai Ning pressed on, resolutely marching further into the haunted land. She had come here searching for a way to break past the bottleneck keeping her from Foundation Establishment, and one way or the other, she was going to find it.