On the vast blue expanse of the sea, a small boat drifted like a leaf on the current. Bai Shuo lay asleep within it, surrounded by tiny turtles and frogs pushing the vessel steadily southward with patient determination.
Curled in a corner of the boat, Bai Shuo's brow furrowed in her sleep, as if haunted by shadows she couldn't escape.
"You've acted so convincingly, even I nearly believed it. Such a cunning mortal—I've never seen your like before."
A youthful figure stood amidst a sky full of flaming arrows, his sharp brows furrowed with suspicion and fury. Before Bai Shuo could speak, his hand closed around her throat like an iron vice.
"Dare to play word games with me? Speak! Who are you? Immortal or demon?!"
The dream shifted, fragmenting like broken glass. The youth's eyes turned icy, laced with faint mockery. In that moment, Bai Shuo felt not just terror, but an inexplicable sense of familiarity she couldn't place—something ancient and buried deep.
In the boat, Bai Shuo clutched her throat, her body drenched in sweat, trapped in the nightmare's suffocating grip.
The scene changed again. Outside the imperial mausoleum, the youth had grown into a taller, more imposing young man—aloof and bewitching, dangerous in his beauty. He leaned down, those mocking eyes filled with detached indifference that cut deeper than any blade.
"I owe no debts, least of all to mortals. Since I saved his life, consider your aid to me at Mu Xiao Mountain repaid. We're even."
"If we're even, then there's no need for you to remember anything else."
His slender hand reached toward her, fingers splayed, imprinting itself on Bai Shuo's trembling pupils like a brand...
"No!" Bai Shuo jolted awake with a gasping scream. She looked around frantically, heart hammering against her ribs, relieved to find herself still adrift at sea with only the gentle rocking of waves beneath her.
That bastard again... She wiped cold sweat from her brow, gritting her teeth hard enough to ache.
"Jerk! Stinking demon! Daring to knock me out three times! If I ever see you again, I'll beat you senseless every single time!" She punched the air with furious conviction before slumping against the boat's side, energy spent.
"Never mind. A-Zhao mustn't know I still remember. If we meet, I'll have to pretend not to know him."
Thinking of Chong Zhao, Bai Shuo sighed heavily. Strangely, though that demon had used his Demonic Technique on both her and A-Zhao, A-Zhao had forgotten everything after leaving the capital. Yet she remembered every detail with painful clarity—even the taste of the wild fruits the damned demon had picked to placate her lingered vividly on her tongue, sweet and tart.
But she couldn't speak of it, especially not to A-Zhao.
Resting her hands behind her head, Bai Shuo gazed at the vast tapestry of stars above. After three years on Misty Isle, even someone as ignorant as her understood what the Moonlight Palace and Cold Spring Pavilion represented—the most formidable powers in the Yao Realm. Against them, not just A-Zhao, but the entire Misty Isle would be like eggs thrown at stone—shattered before impact.
Not that she had much to fear anyway. With her mediocre aptitude, merely staying on Misty Isle long enough to cultivate into an Earth Immortal would be the greatest stroke of luck her Bai ancestors could bestow...
Thud!
"Oof!"
Lost in melancholy thoughts, Bai Shuo was suddenly thrown against the boat as it collided violently with something solid, sending her sprawling face-first into the wooden hull.
"What the—!" Cursing colorfully, she scrambled up, rubbing her nose—then beamed with delight. "We're here!"
Well, not quite. The boat had struck a protruding reef, still a hundred meters from shore. It now circled the rock stubbornly, like a horse refusing a jump, refusing to advance further.
Bai Shuo peered overboard into the dark water and shouted, "Go on! We're not there yet!"
But no matter how she yelled and cajoled, the little frogs and turtles beneath refused to surface, offering no response to her increasingly desperate calls.
These guys usually adore her so much—why are they slacking off today? Bai Shuo scratched her head in confusion and glanced at the shore. It wasn't too far. Floating over on a cloud would do.
She scrambled to her feet, puffed her cheeks dramatically, and blew out a big breath. A medium-sized immortal cloud appeared in midair, wispy and uncertain. Bai Shuo leaped onto it with more enthusiasm than grace and clung tightly.
"Quick! Fly, fly to the island!" Bai Shuo gestured wildly toward the shore and shouted encouragement.
The cloud seemed to understand, wobbling uncertainly in the direction she pointed. Just as they neared the island's edge, the cloud grew fainter, gossamer-thin, as if it might dissolve into nothing any second.
"Yikes!" Bai Shuo jumped and landed on solid ground with an ungraceful thump. She patted her chest in relief, heart still racing. "Finally made it."
Tightening the medicine pouch at her waist, she glanced back toward the sea. Strangely, the vast blue expanse had darkened abruptly, and the island behind her was eerily silent—oppressively so, as if even the wind held its breath.
"Why so quiet?" A shiver ran down her spine despite the lingering heat. Just then, a few crows cawed overhead, their harsh voices breaking the silence as they flew past the island in frantic haste. Bai Shuo's face darkened. "Well, it's a deserted island. What else would you expect?"
Muttering to herself for comfort, she turned and headed deeper into the island, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The East Sea was renowned for its rich Spiritual Qi, and most islands were lush paradises, fertile and teeming with life. Yet this one was barren—nothing but yellow earth and jagged rocks, utterly devoid of any greenery. If there was anything special about it, anything at all, it was that this was the very island where she and Chong Zhao had found Sect Leader Songhe three years ago.
Though Misty Isle was no longer as powerful as in its golden age, Songhe had been an Upper Realm cultivator for five hundred years—ancient and formidable. Yet three years ago, he was found gravely injured and unconscious here, nearly drained of his immortal essence. After returning to Misty Isle, he refused to speak of who had wounded him so severely—an oddity that had never sat right with Bai Shuo.
She pulled out the book she'd swiped from the library and flipped to the last page, squinting at the faded text.
South of Misty Isle, heavenly fire descended suddenly, burning an island to ashes. All life was destroyed, save for a single spring in the southeast. Over a decade has passed since.
This passage wasn't part of the original text—it had been handwritten in a familiar, elegant script. Over the past three years, Bai Shuo had secretly combed through all the library's notes and recognized the handwriting as Songhe's distinctive hand. If the island had been scorched bare by heavenly fire, why had Songhe appeared here three years ago? And what was the significance of that lone spring he singled out with such care?
The old tortoise was Misty Isle's chief Alchemist. Though merely a Spirit Beast and never allowed into the inner halls, it continuously supplied Inner Sect Disciples with Spirit Pills for Foundation Establishment, earning the grudging respect of successive Sect Leaders. It was quite the tyrant on Misty Isle—if there were any first-grade heavenly treasures on the island, it would've surely snatched them for Alchemy by now. Yet, it had only ever produced second-grade Medicinal Pills at best. Still, when Bai Shuo had questioned it earlier, she sensed the old tortoise likely knew where to find first-grade treasures—it had that sly look about it.
Years ago, Sect Leader Songhe had divined that his third Heavenly Tribulation was imminent. Success would elevate him to the final tier of the Upper Realm, granting him power beyond measure, while failure would reduce him to ashes scattered on the wind. But he had long hit a cultivation bottleneck, trapped and stagnant. The only thing that could help him survive the Tribulation was a first-grade Immortal Pill. Three years ago, with his Tribulation approaching like gathering storm clouds, he still left seclusion to come to this cursed island—perhaps because what he desperately sought was here.
Bai Shuo stuffed the book into her medicine pouch, trudging step by laborious step across the scorching yellow earth, her face drenched in sweat despite the evening hour. Though the mountain fire had been extinguished for years, the entire island inexplicably retained residual heat, as if flames still smoldered beneath the surface, waiting to erupt.
Following the spring location described in Songhe's notes, Bai Shuo headed southeast into the depths of the rocky terrain. Suddenly, she halted mid-step, stunned into stillness by the sight before her. In a rocky clearing ten paces ahead stood a dense grove of trees that hadn't existed three years prior—she was certain of it. Hidden deep within the island's heart, this forest was invisible unless one ventured inside.
How could trees thrive on an island with such extreme, unnatural heat? Could it be because of the spring? Heart racing with equal parts excitement and trepidation, Bai Shuo dashed toward the grove. The moment her foot crossed the threshold into the woods, a faint celestial glow flickered around the trees like fireflies waking.
In a hall behind Misty Isle's main palace, Song Feng's eyes snapped open, all traces of meditation vanishing.
"How did someone breach that place?"
Frowning deeply, he transformed into a streak of brilliant light, shooting toward Bai Shuo's island with the speed of a falling star.
On the desolate island, Bai Shuo wandered aimlessly through the vast forest, finding no trace of the spring despite her increasingly frantic searching. A rustling sound suddenly erupted behind her—branches cracking, leaves whispering. She whirled around, heart in her throat—only to find empty air and branches swaying innocently in the wind.
The deeper she ventured, the scorching heat faded, replaced by an eerie chill that seeped into her bones. Bai Shuo swallowed hard, rubbing her hands together as unease prickled across her skin like invisible insects crawling. This island bore no resemblance to the one from three years ago—it was fundamentally wrong, deeply unnerving.
Footsteps abruptly sounded behind her—deliberate, unhurried. A hand clamped onto her shoulder with iron strength, and she froze, eyes wide with primal terror.
Meanwhile, Song Feng landed on the shore like a shooting star burning through atmosphere. His face paled dramatically as he took in the island's ominous aura, reading what others could not.
"Such potent demonic Qi!"
While Bai Shuo remained oblivious to the danger, his spiritual senses revealed the island shrouded in a thick, oppressive black mist—neither celestial nor demonic in origin, but reeking of bloodlust and violence barely contained. Had his cultivation been deeper, had he reached the heights of his predecessors, he'd have recognized this Qi as teetering on the very brink of demonic possession—something or someone about to fall completely into darkness.
"How did this happen?" Muttering urgently, Song Feng swiftly formed a complex hand seal, conjuring a glowing compass in his palm. The needle pointed unwaveringly southeast, trembling with the force of whatever it detected. Without hesitation, he soared into the air.
The next instant, he materialized at the forest's edge, robes still settling. Before he could enter, a shadowy figure flashed past with inhuman speed, striking his shoulder with a vicious palm strike. Blood sprayed from Song Feng's mouth as he hurtled backward like a severed kite string, his body ragdoll-limp. The assailant didn't relent—a black sword materialized in its grip with a sound like tearing silk, thrusting toward Song Feng's exposed throat. Moonlight revealed half of the shadow's face in stark relief. Eyes widening with shock and recognition, Song Feng hurled a talismanic incantation from his sleeve with desperate force. Celestial power detonated in a blinding explosion, blasting the figure back several steps as Song Feng vanished within the formation's chaotic eruption.
The shadow glared at the empty space where Song Feng had stood, eyes burning with frustrated rage, snorted coldly, and disappeared like smoke dissipating.
A beam of light flashed in the Stellar Hall, where Song Feng collapsed onto a meditation cushion, blood trickling steadily from his lips, face deathly white and drawn. His fingers flew through another hand seal despite their trembling as he flung the spell outward with the last of his strength.
"To the Stellar Hall—now!"
The spell split into a dozen sparks, scattering across Misty Isle like emergency flares.
Chong Zhao, secluded in meditation in the back mountains, and all the island's disciples received the summons simultaneously. Their expressions darkened with alarm as they transformed into streaks of light, converging upon the hall with desperate speed.
Chong Zhao pushed open the heavy hall doors first, moving with immortal swiftness, only to find Song Feng unconscious on the meditation mat, looking far frailer than he ever had. Er Yun and a dozen other disciples rushed in behind him in a flurry of concerned voices.
"Junior Martial Uncle!"
"Second Uncle!"
"Master!"
Everyone hurriedly helped Song Feng up, supporting his weight, as Chong Zhao swiftly channeled spiritual energy into him with practiced precision. Moments later, Song Feng slowly opened his eyes, while Er Yun's eyes were red with anxiety and unshed tears.
"Second Uncle, what happened? How did you get so badly injured?"
Song Feng had no time to answer Er Yun, gripping Chong Zhao's hand tightly instead, his fingers trembling with urgency.
"Quick, Zhao'er! You and Yun'er, along with all your martial brothers—hurry, activate the Heaven-Shaking Formation!"
"The Heaven-Shaking Formation?" The group paled further, exchanging alarmed glances.
"Second Uncle, what's going on? That's our Misty Island's ultimate protective array! Once activated, it signals to the Three Realms that our sect faces annihilation!" Er Yun exclaimed in shock, voice rising.
"Go! Activate the Heaven-Shaking Formation and report to the Heavenly Court—tell them... tell them an evil force has emerged in the East Sea, one that will bring chaos to the Three Realms!"
Song Feng's voice was strained and ragged, his usual composure completely shattered.
"Second Un—"
"Yes, Sect Leader!" Before Er Yun could question further, Chong Zhao decisively stood up, his bearing commanding despite his youth. "Senior Sister, fellow disciples, follow me to activate the Heaven-Shaking Formation!"
Seeing Chong Zhao take charge with such authority, Er Yun swallowed his protests and hurried after him out of the hall, the other disciples streaming behind like a river breaking its banks.
Meanwhile, in the shadowed woods of the deserted island, Bai Shuo trembled as she slowly turned around. Peeking through slightly parted fingers at the approaching figure looming behind her, she blurted out,
"What are you doing here?"
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