At their feet, a narrow row of stone steps stretched down the valley, twisting into the darkness, where the bottom could not be seen.
Yan Zhengming, holding his ornate sword, glanced around, likely trying to avoid provoking anyone.
The stone steps seemed endless, and as they descended, the oppressive atmosphere grew heavier.
Li Yun, who had remained silent the entire way, finally couldn't hold back and spoke: "How… how did he manage to come down here? How could he have had the courage to venture so deep into a place like this alone?"
Cheng Qian, too, found himself puzzled. In his limited understanding, Han Yuan, who was terrified of dogs, never dared to explore such dangerous places, not even out of anger.
"Nonsense," Yan Zhengming snapped. "On the syzygy night, when thousands of demons face the moon, the stone gate will open wide. Of course, the valley won't remain like this."
His sharp words struck both Li Yun and Cheng Qian into silence. They stood there, stunned, unable to respond.
Suddenly, Yan Zhengming stopped without warning. Cheng Qian, who had been following behind, wasn't paying close attention and bumped into him.
Being only as tall as Yan Zhengming's chest, Cheng Qian was easily caught by his senior brother, who reached out with a swift motion, steadying him at his side.
The faint scent of orchids on his elder brother's robes, which could not be washed away by the cold pool water, almost made Cheng Qian sneeze. Then, he heard a soft "squeak," and when he looked down, he noticed that half of him was smeared with algae and dirt, and the sleeve of his robe had been torn.
Without missing a beat, Yan Zhengming looked at him with mild distaste. "Why are you still carrying it? You don't think it's dirty?"
It wasn't as if Cheng Qian's sleeves weren't soiled by his senior brother either!
Feeling inexplicably forced into "broken sleeves," Cheng Qian couldn't help but think that his eldest brother didn't seem like the prim, delicate person he once appeared to be. If there were such a scoundrel of a girl in the world, Cheng Qian felt that she would never be able to marry.
Before long, the stone steps ended, and in front of them stood a two-person wide entrance. The large stone doors, which should have been closed, were wide open, revealing a dark, serene space inside.
"Strange," Yan Zhengming muttered, "Zipeng Zhenren didn't close the door?"
Humans and demons walked different paths, and Yan Zhengming himself despised having creatures like furry birds around. He was pushing his way forward, feeling uncomfortable with the situation. The strange air of the day made him uneasy—this wasn't a good sign.
Yan Zhengming hesitated for a moment before walking cautiously through the opening of the stone gate. A sweet fragrance wafted in the air, but his keen, delicate nose also caught the faint stench of something fishy.
On the stone wall inside, there was an engraving of a hair, but it appeared faint, the tail nearly indistinguishable. Anyone without any understanding would guess that the one who left the mark might not be in the best condition. The question remained—was she near the end of her life, or had someone killed her?
Zipeng Zhenren was a powerful demon, with over 800 years of Taoist cultivation. Logically, she wouldn't allow someone to sneak in quietly like this. Yan Zhengming, cautious as always, remained silent, observing carefully.
He turned to Cheng Qian and Li Yun, gesturing for them to be quiet. Then, tiptoeing, he moved toward a locked stone door deeper inside and gently turned the mechanism.
Halfway through, he suddenly froze, as if remembering something. He then called out to Cheng Qian and Li Yun, his voice sharp and demanding: "Move aside. Don't stand there like sitting ducks."
Cheng Qian and Li Yun scrambled to move to the sides.
Yan Zhengming continued turning the mechanism until it gave a sharp "squeak," and the stone door creaked open. Suddenly, a putrid wave of blood stench hit Cheng Qian's nose, and a faint ominous wind swept toward them.
Before he could give a warning, Cheng Qian caught a flash of sword light out of the corner of his eye.
In an instant, Yan Zhengming unsheathed his sword. It was a real sword, glowing bright enough to nearly blind anyone who looked directly at it. A rush of cold air followed the sword's light as it activated, creating a small vortex within the stone gate.
But in the eyes of a true demon, the power of the young man seemed insignificant, like ants trying to shake a tree. Before Yan Zhengming could even react, the sword's impact caused a massive shock, and his grip on the hilt loosened involuntarily.
With a "clink," the sword fell to the ground, and Yan Zhengming staggered back, taking seven or eight unsteady steps. His hand, still holding the sword, went numb from the shock.
The three young men stared down in disbelief. On the ground beside the fallen sword lay a single feather, the one that had knocked the bright blade out of its way.
An eerie silence filled the air, and Cheng Qian saw that Yan Zhengming's face had drained of color.
After what seemed like an eternity, Yan Zhengming finally frowned, dusting off his clothes with a huff. "The younger generation, Yan Zhengming of the Fuyao Sect, has come to visit Zipeng Zhenren at the request of my master."
The voice from within the stone hall replied with an angry shout, its echo vibrating through their bones. Cheng Qian felt a sharp pain in his chest, a surge of nausea rising up his throat as if something was trying to choke him.
Then, through the reverberating sound, the voice clearly spoke: "Leave."
The voice was old, grating, hoarse—rough with years of age and steeped in bitterness, evoking the image of a wicked old witch from dark legends.
Cheng Qian rubbed his ears, still unsure which of Yan Zhengming's words had set the demon off.
Hadn't the senior brother said they were here to offer New Year greetings to Zipeng Zhenren? Could it be that he only intended to bow from a distance?
Cheng Qian turned to look at Yan Zhengming, shock written on his face.
For a moment, Cheng Qian and Li Yun—one too proud, the other full of cunning—had to admit that, in this dangerous situation, their eldest brother, despite his arrogance, was the most competent among them.
He was the oldest, the tallest, the most skilled with a sword, and above all, he had a way with his breath control.
Yet, despite all that, the sword—his best weapon—was knocked away by a single feather from the old demon.
Yan Zhengming's face was ashen, and cold sweat dripped down his forehead. But he didn't back down. Instead, he even managed a somewhat arrogant smile.
...But despite his attempt at bravado, Cheng Qian found the smile irritating. It made him wish he could slap it off with the soles of his shoes. It wouldn't be wise to anger that demon any further.
"It's inconvenient for the real person to receive guests," Yan Zhengming said, maintaining an air of politeness despite his grim expression. "We juniors shouldn't impose. But last night, one of our ignorant junior brothers strayed into the mountains and has been missing for a night."
He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I've heard from my master that when this sect first opened the mountain, the seniors have lived here peacefully for many years. There are many esteemed beings here, and surely, they wouldn't want to disturb the harmony over a child, would they?"
Though his words were somewhat clumsy, Cheng Qian was surprised by the maturity of his senior brother's argument.
He had never expected that the reckless, impulsive Yan Zhengming would have the courage to stand up to a demon like Zipeng Zhenren.
However, despite his well-crafted words, the old demon's response remained unyielding: "Leave."
Twice now, Yan Zhengming had been brushed aside, his words ignored. The pressure from Zipeng Zhenren's presence weighed heavily on him, but he held back his anger—though his face was pale and filled with frustration, he refused to retreat.
Cheng Qian couldn't help but admire his senior brother's resilience. He had never imagined that Yan Zhengming could summon such courage in the face of such overwhelming force.
But the situation was grim. Though Yan Zhengming stood firm, he knew that Zipeng Zhenren was a being far beyond his reach.
Still, they couldn't afford to leave without doing something about their missing junior brother.
At this point, Li Yun, who had been quietly observing, whispered, "Senior brother, she won't let us in. I… I think we should go back and find Master."
Yan Zhengming, irritated but trying to keep his composure, didn't even look back. "It took us nearly an hour to get here. Now you want to go back and have Master identify the body?"
Li Yun was visibly shaken by the harsh tone. The mountain's sinister aura made him nervous, but his conscience urged him to reconsider their next move.
Yet, as Li Yun hesitated, he couldn't shake the thought of Han Yuan, still missing after all this time.