Ouyang Hua’s voice, laced with urgency and bitterness, echoed through the valley. As his words subsided, a group of men emerged, led by Ouyang Hua himself. Though diverse in age, they were all male, their bodies daubed with a verdant sap.

Ouyang Hua halted before Wang Lin, a flicker of conflicted emotion in his eyes. With a sigh, he bowed deeply, addressing the traveler in a tone of utter submission. “I, Ouyang Hua, was ignorant of your celestial nature. I take full responsibility for all that has transpired. I beseech you, O Exalted Immortal, remember the heavens favor mercy! Do not shatter this ward, lest my people be exposed to the ravenous spirits of the night, to become mere fodder for their endless hunger.” Behind him, the assembled men fixed Wang Lin with fearful gazes.

Wang Lin surveyed the group, then raised his right hand. With a flick of his fingers, a spell was woven in the air. Invisible ripples spread outward, distorting the fabric of reality like a canvas in a gale, before fading into nothingness.

The protective ward surrounding the valley began to mend itself. The power that had been draining away slowed its depletion, and eventually, ceased its ebb.

Ouyang Hua visibly relaxed, a hint of reverence mingled with complexity in his gaze. “Benevolent Immortal,” he urged, “the hour grows late, and the night of the spirits draws near. I implore you, enter the valley and speak with us.” He bit his fingertip, squeezing out a single drop of blood, which he flicked onto the cliff face beside him.

Instantly, the entire valley seemed to awaken, like a slumbering giant stirring from its dreams. A low rumble resonated from within. As the sound intensified, the cliff walls flanking the valley shimmered, distorting like an illusion. Then, with a tearing sound like a bolt of lightning, they split asunder, revealing a hidden path.

A straight, narrow passage extended from the depths of the valley, parting the assembled men and reaching to the very feet of Wang Lin.

“Immortal, please!” Ouyang Hua implored, his voice filled with respect.

Wang Lin, without a word, accepted the unspoken invitation. He had many questions, secrets he longed to unravel. He strode forward, his boots impacting the newly formed path.

Within the valley, a hidden haven unfolded. It resembled nothing so much as a crude marketplace, with countless rough dwellings clustered together. But there were no merchants hawking wares, no spirit stones changing hands, only the quiet stillness of a village under siege.

The valley was a sanctuary of green, the trees still lush even as the sun began its descent. Wang Lin’s gaze pierced through the walls of several huts, revealing the figures huddled within.

Nearly every dwelling held a small group of women and children. Unlike the men who greeted him, they were clothed, their bodies modestly concealed.

Some of the children, seizing moments when their mothers weren’t watching, peeked through windows and door cracks, their eyes wide with innocence and a burning curiosity.

Wang Lin paused, his step faltering.

The reality before him clashed sharply with his expectations. He frowned, a flicker of shame crossing his face. Though he walked a path unburdened by morality, his heart now felt a pang of remorse.

He, a cultivator in the peak of Nascent Soul stage, had shattered a protective ward, fearing some great evil, only to find… a simple village.

Every being within this valley, save the elder named Ouyang Hua, was a mere mortal. Wang Lin’s spiritual sense swept through the dwellings.

Ouyang Hua and his people sensed the traveler’s change of pace, his thoughtful scrutiny. Fear gripped their hearts. Some bit back their fear and tightened their fists. This was their home, and they were prepared to defend it with their lives.

Ouyang Hua stepped forward, halting behind Wang Lin. “Great Immortal…?” he asked, his voice strained. Wang Lin turned, his gaze sweeping over the men. He saw their determination, their unspoken willingness to sacrifice all.

After a moment, Wang Lin bowed slightly to the villagers. “I apologize for this intrusion. I will not enter the valley.” He hesitated, then reached into his pouch, withdrawing three jade bottles. He offered them forward, setting them gently upon the earth.

“Within these bottles are a few dozen pills, remedies to strengthen and restore. Take them as recompense for my unwarranted intrusion.” Wang Lin sighed inwardly, and turned to leave the valley.

Ouyang Hua’s eyes shone with an uncharacteristic intensity. He stared at the jade bottles, snatched them up, and inhaled deeply. His expression shifted, and he quickly tucked them away in his robes.

He turned to his people and spoke in a language Wang Lin did not recognize. The villagers nodded, some even offering shy smiles and respectful bows.

As Ouyang Hua finished speaking, the villagers dispersed, returning to their homes. Soon, a murmur of excited voices filled the air.

The children spilled from their dwellings, their laughter echoing through the valley. The women, too, emerged from their hiding places.

In an instant, the desolate silence was replaced with the vibrant energy of life.

“Great Immortal, wait! Please, wait!” Ouyang Hua called out, his face etched with genuine sincerity.

Wang Lin continued towards the exit. He intended to fly westward, seeking the ancient mysteries of this place, especially the Ancient Fiend City, a place rumored to lie thirty million leagues distant.

The thought of interrogating these villagers now seemed distasteful. The innocent gazes of the children, the fearful eyes of the women, stirred memories he’d long suppressed.

“Immortal,” Ouyang Hua pleaded, “Tonight is the night of the spirits! Even with your great power, you cannot hope to stand against their vast numbers alone. Remain here with us. If you still wish to leave, you may do so with the dawn.”
Ouyang Hua, hesitant to approach too closely, raised his voice. This was the second time Wang Lin had heard the term “Night of the Spectral Hordes” from Ouyang Hua. He paused, turning to face the villager.

“What is this Night of the Spectral Hordes?”

“Honored Immortal,” Ouyang Hua hastened to reply, “I would gladly recount all that I know. Perhaps it would be best within the confines of my humble dwelling?”

Wang Lin pondered for a moment, then nodded his assent.

Ouyang Hua’s dwelling stood at the northernmost edge of the valley. A clear space of ten paces surrounded it, isolating it from the other huts and lending it an air of unsettling significance.

The dwelling itself was circular, like an overturned bowl resting upon the earth. A somber gray stone formed its outer shell, covering nearly all of its surface.

Inside, the space was modest, containing a wooden bed, a rough-hewn table, and a few mismatched chairs. Odd trinkets and simple tools lay scattered about, and the walls were adorned with various decorations, including a collection of faded paintings tucked away in a less conspicuous corner.

Entering the dwelling, Wang Lin’s gaze was immediately drawn to the paintings on the wall. He stood silently, lost in contemplation.

The paintings were discolored with age, their edges frayed and brittle. The canvas itself was creased and worn, testament to the passage of countless seasons.

Each depicted a man, perhaps forty years of age, clad in a peculiar robe. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, lost in thought. His right hand rested casually at his breast, fingers forming a strange and archaic mudra.

In the direction of the man’s gaze, where the paintings depicted the sky, a swirling darkness, a nebulous miasma, consumed the heavens. Illusory forms flickered within its depths. However, the ravages of time had rendered the details indistinct, obscuring the true nature of what lurked within the black fog.

Ouyang Hua stood respectfully at Wang Lin’s side, his eyes occasionally drifting to the paintings, a poignant longing flickering within their depths.

“This formation that protects the valley… how long has it stood?” Wang Lin’s gaze remained fixed upon the paintings. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice low and resonant.

“The formation… its origins are lost to the mists of time,” Ouyang Hua replied slowly, “Long before my own memory stirs, the tales say that a man named Huang Long brought my ancestors to this valley and bade them settle. They say that even then, the formation was already ancient, its age beyond reckoning.”

“And this man… is he the one depicted here?” Wang Lin’s eyes did not waver from the painting.

“Yes, honored Immortal. That is Huang Long, the Exalted Celestial!” Ouyang Hua’s eyes shone with a deepened reverence.

“Huang Long… truly Huang Long?” A strange light flickered within Wang Lin’s eyes. After a long silence, he sighed softly, his right hand rising to gently massage his brow.

“Huang Long… What does this mean?” Wang Lin seemed to forget Ouyang Hua’s presence entirely, his gaze never leaving the painting. The man in the portrait possessed a noble bearing and an aura of otherworldly grace. An ethereal power seemed to emanate from him, so much so that one might believe him to be a true immortal.

“Huang Long…” A look of bewilderment crossed Wang Lin’s face, a rare sight indeed. His will was usually as unyielding as the mountains, but upon entering the dwelling and setting eyes upon the portrait, his very soul had trembled.

“How do you know his name is Huang Long?” After a considerable pause, Wang Lin finally asked the question.

Ouyang Hua seemed perplexed. After a moment of hesitation, he ventured, “Do… do you perhaps know the Exalted Celestial Huang Long, honored Immortal?”

Wang Lin frowned.

Ouyang Hua quickly continued, “All that I know has been passed down through generations. The name of Huang Long has come to me in the same manner.”

Wang Lin fell silent once more. He gazed at the paintings, a trace of nostalgia creeping into his eyes. His mind seemed to pierce the Sea of Eastern Spirits, traverse the star-strewn sky, and soar through the clouds, returning to his homeland, the Vermilion Bird Star.

His thoughts traveled through centuries, reaching back to his youth, to a village boy who had not been chosen by the Immortals, and who had been scorned by his kin. That boy, through twists of fate, had found himself drawn to a certain sect… a sect known as Heng Yue…