Feng Jiu'er stood beneath the broken pillar at the edge of the Green Bamboo camp, her crimson-green robes moving lightly in the evening wind.
The sky above Broken Banner City had darkened again. Smoke from pill furnaces drifted between torn banners, and the glow of formation lamps made the ruined square look less like a city and more like a beast pretending to sleep. Cultivators still crowded the market roads. Some were drinking, some were trading, some were arguing over whether a cracked jade bottle was worth repairing, and some watched others from shadows with the patience of people waiting for weakness.
Fang Lin walked into the Green Bamboo camp with the Night Burial Sword at his waist and several new pouches hidden in his storage treasure.
Feng Jiu'er's gaze swept across him once. "You returned later than expected."
"I was choosing carefully."
"What did you buy?"
"A method no one wanted."
Feng Jiu'er looked at him for a moment. "That sounds like something either worthless or troublesome."
Fang Lin smiled faintly. "Usually, the best bargains are both."
She frowned slightly. "You went out alone and came back with something troublesome?"
"I came back alive."
"That is not the same thing."
Fang Lin paused, then nodded as if seriously considering her words. "Fairy Feng's standards are high and her concerns even higher."
Feng Jiu'er did not answer immediately. She had noticed it again. That calm tone. That faint shamelessness. That way of making worry sound like a business dispute. It should have annoyed her more than it did.
Behind her, Murong Yue walked past with a cup of tea and slowed down just enough to hear the last sentence. Her lips curved, but before she could speak, Feng Jiu'er glanced sideways.
Murong Yue immediately continued walking as if she had never intended to stop.
Fang Lin watched her leave. "Your Alliance disciples are very disciplined."
"They become disciplined when necessary."
"Convenient."
Feng Jiu'er's eyes returned to him. "Are you going to cultivate that method?"
"Yes."
"Now?"
"Midnight is best."
Her gaze sharpened slightly. "You want me to guard you."
Fang Lin met her eyes. "If Fairy Feng is willing."
For a breath, the noise of Broken Banner City seemed to move farther away. Feng Jiu'er looked at him quietly. Asking someone to guard during cultivation was not a small request, especially inside the Demon Sealing Ruins. It meant trust. It also meant that whatever he planned to cultivate could not be disturbed.
"You trust me too easily," she said.
Fang Lin replied, "If I trusted easily, I would have asked Zhao Feng."
From somewhere near the food tent, Zhao Feng's spat out the tea and his voice rang out. "Fellow Daoist Shen, I heard that again!"
Fang Lin did not turn his head. "That is why I did not ask."
Several Green Bamboo disciples laughed. Even Su Wanqing, who was checking formation flags near the camp edge, smiled briefly before returning to her work.
Feng Jiu'er's expression remained calm, but the faint tightness around her eyes loosened. "Go in. I will guard the room."
Fang Lin cupped his hands slightly. "Then I owe Fairy Feng another favor."
"You owe many things."
"Then I should cultivate faster. Debt with interest is frightening."
This time, Feng Jiu'er gave him a cold look, but there was no anger in it.
The stone room at the rear of the Green Bamboo camp was the same as before. Half collapsed, thick-walled, quiet enough for temporary seclusion. Fang Lin entered first and placed a few simple concealment talismans at the corners. He did not use anything too rare. Too much protection would attract attention, and too little would invite trouble. The best concealment was always the kind that made others think there was nothing worth seeing.
Feng Jiu'er sat just outside the entrance.
Her sword lay across her knees. The camp barrier glowed faintly around her, and her crimson-green aura remained restrained, but any cultivator approaching within thirty steps would feel it. Not hostile, not heavy, but clear.
This place was guarded.
Zhao Feng came once with a bowl of soup and stopped far away. "Senior Sister Feng, should I also guard?"
Feng Jiu'er looked at him.
Zhao Feng immediately changed his words. "I mean, I will guard the soup. It may be poisoned by loneliness if left unattended."
Li Shan dragged him away by the shoulder.
Inside the room, Fang Lin heard it and almost smiled.
Then his expression slowly calmed.
He took out the black jade slip.
Dew of Ten Thousand Shadows.
The words inside the jade slip were cold and old. They did not carry the fierce oppression of a legacy technique, nor the shining sharpness of a sect's treasured art. At first glance, the method seemed almost disappointing. Slow. Patient. Miserly with power. A cultivator condensed one Shadow Dewdrop at midnight, storing it within a Shadow Lotus Mark hidden near the Spirit Foundation and dantian. One hundred drops formed the Dark Bud. Ten thousand formed the Midnight Lotus. The later volumes were absent, but the first two alone were enough to reveal the shape of the path.
A technique like this would not save a desperate fool tomorrow.
That was why fools disliked it.
Fang Lin closed his eyes.
His breathing changed first. The movement of Qi through his meridians slowed, then deepened. Darkness Qi from the Nine Abyss Shadow Scripture moved like a silent current beneath the surface of a black river. His soul power spread carefully through the room, thin and restrained, never touching the outer formation too heavily. He did not want Feng Jiu'er to feel what should not be felt.
The Night Burial Sword rested across his knees.
At first, it was quiet. Then, as midnight approached, a faint chill rose from the blade. The red lines across its black surface pulsed once, so softly that it looked like a sleeping thing opening one eye.
Outside the room, Feng Jiu'er's hand tightened slightly on her sword.
She felt something.
Not killing intent. Not demonic madness. Not the filthy hunger that some cultivators carried. This aura was deep, cold, and hidden, like a moonless pool under stone. It did not rush outward. It folded inward.
Her brows drew together.
Shen Mo had too many secrets.
Yet for some reason, she did not feel disgust. She felt danger, yes, but not the kind that made her want to draw her sword. It was the kind of danger that made her want to understand why she was not drawing it.
Inside, Fang Lin guided the first thread of darkness according to the method.
The process was far more difficult than the jade slip made it seem. Condensing a Shadow Dewdrop was not simply compressing Qi. It required darkness, soul, breath, and stillness to meet at one point without devouring one another. If the Qi was too forceful, the drop shattered. If the soul pressure was too weak, it dispersed. If the body could not contain the chill, the meridians would ache for days.
For an ordinary Spirit Foundation cultivator, even forming one stable drop could take several nights.
Fang Lin's soul sank. The grey seed shook and glowed lightly.
The Soul Metamorphosis Technique steadied his spiritual sea. The Nine Nether Phantom Body held his meridians firm. The Nine Abyss Shadow Scripture supplied the darkness. The Night Burial Sword gave a thin strand of cold resonance, not obedient, but willing enough to test him.
At the center of his dantian, near his Spirit Foundation, a point of black moisture slowly appeared.
It was smaller than a grain of dust.
Then it trembled.
Fang Lin's face remained calm, but his fingers pressed lightly against his knee. A faint ache moved through his spiritual sea. He did not force it. Force would break it. He waited, letting the darkness settle on its own.
Outside, the night reached midnight.
The noise of Broken Banner City dipped for half a breath, as if the entire temporary city had inhaled at once.
The tiny black point in Fang Lin's dantian rounded.
A Shadow Dewdrop formed.
At that moment, Fang Lin opened his eyes.
The room was unchanged, yet his perception had shifted slightly. The edge of the stone wall felt clearer. The movement of Feng Jiu'er's aura outside became more distinct. Even the faint tremor of the camp formation entered his awareness like ripples on water.
The first drop was weak.
But it was real.
Fang Lin exhaled slowly.
Then the ground beneath Broken Banner City pulsed.
It was not loud at first. A single tremor passed through the stone floor, so deep that many cultivators mistook it for some distant battle. Fang Lin's eyes narrowed. Outside the room, Feng Jiu'er stood instantly.
A second pulse followed.
This one made the formation flags around the Green Bamboo camp flare.
Su Wanqing's voice rang out from the front of the camp. "Formation disturbance!"
A shout rose from the market road. Then another. In the distance, someone screamed as a stall vanished in a column of black light. The ground beneath Broken Banner City began to glow with ancient lines that had been buried beneath dust, blood, tents, and the arrogance of cultivators who believed temporary flags could command old ruins.
Feng Jiu'er turned toward the stone room. "Shen Mo!"
Fang Lin was already standing.
The concealment talismans around the room burned to ash one after another. Not from heat, but from spatial pressure. Black lines spread across the cracked floor beneath his feet, forming half of an ancient circle.
The other half lit up outside the door, directly beneath Feng Jiu'er.
Their expressions changed at the same time.
This was not a small formation.
This was an ancient transfer node.
Broken Banner City had been built on top of it.
Outside, chaos swallowed the camp. Disciples rushed from tents. Formation flags tore themselves from the ground and spun into the air. Someone from Hundred Formation Tower shouted that the ground lines were not modern. Another voice shouted to suppress them. A third voice screamed that suppression made them brighter.
Zhao Feng's cry cut through the noise. "Who builds a city on a formation that eats people?"
Murong Yue's voice came from farther away. "Apparently, everyone!"
A black pillar rose near the food tent, and three Green Bamboo disciples vanished before anyone could grab them. Su Wanqing tried to anchor a formation flag, but the ground beneath her split with light. Li Shan caught Bai Qing's wrist just before another transfer beam swallowed the space between them. Luo Chen drove his spear into the stone, trying to hold his position, but the spear shaft bent under the pressure.
Feng Jiu'er's aura erupted.
Crimson flame mixed with pale-green spiritual light, pressing down on the transfer circle beneath her feet. For a moment, the ancient lines dimmed. Her Peak Spirit Foundation pressure spread across the rear camp, sharp enough that weaker cultivators nearby staggered.
Fang Lin stepped out of the room.
The circle beneath him brightened immediately.
Feng Jiu'er looked at him. "Do not move randomly."
Fang Lin glanced at the formation lines. They were not pulling only bodies. They were locking onto aura, position, and something deeper. Perhaps black marks. Perhaps trial traces. Perhaps the gathered blood and treasures inside Broken Banner City. Perhaps something else.
He did not like not knowing.
The transfer light climbed from his feet.
Feng Jiu'er moved toward him without hesitation.
Fang Lin frowned. "Stay outside the circle."
"You asked me to guard you."
"That request has ended."
"I decide when my guard ends."
Her voice was cold, but her eyes were fierce. She stepped through the edge of the light, and the transfer circle shook as if two currents had collided. Fang Lin felt the spatial force twist. If she tried to tear him free by force, both of them might be injured before the transfer even completed.
"Fairy Feng," he said, "this is not a door you can cut open."
"Then stop speaking and stabilize your aura."
Fang Lin looked at her for half a breath.
Then he laughed softly.
Even in the middle of the chaos, Feng Jiu'er heard it. "What are you laughing at?"
"I am thinking that your guarding service is very thorough."
Her eyes turned cold. "If you speak one more useless sentence, I will charge you after we survive."
Fang Lin nodded. "Fair."
The transfer light surged.
Feng Jiu'er reached forward and caught his sleeve. Fang Lin's hand moved almost at the same time, gripping her wrist to prevent the spatial pull from tearing them apart. The moment their auras touched, the ancient circle beneath them completed itself.
A sound like a bell rang from far below the city.
Every formation flag in Broken Banner City bent toward the ground.
Then the world broke into black light.
Fang Lin felt space fold around him. It was not like ordinary teleportation. Ordinary teleportation was a road. This was a river with broken stones hidden beneath the current. Pressure struck from every side. His soul trembled slightly, and the first Shadow Dewdrop inside his dantian quivered as if it might scatter.
He held it steady.
Feng Jiu'er's fingers tightened on his sleeve. Her aura burned beside him, hot and green-edged, cutting through the suffocating darkness just enough to keep the two of them from being flung apart.
For a moment, Fang Lin saw fragments.
Broken banners twisting in black light. Zhao Feng reaching for someone while shouting something completely inappropriate. Su Wanqing's formation flag snapping. Murong Yue turning with widened eyes. Li Shan and Luo Chen vanishing in separate flashes. Countless cultivators across Broken Banner City swallowed by transfer beams, some alone, some in pairs, some screaming, some silent.
Then even those fragments disappeared.
Cold wind struck Fang Lin's face.
And the scenery changed.
His feet landed on uneven ground.
The transfer force vanished so suddenly that Feng Jiu'er stumbled half a step. Fang Lin steadied her by the wrist before she could fall. Her other hand immediately pressed against her sword hilt, and her eyes swept across the surroundings.
They were no longer in Broken Banner City.
A dead valley stretched before them.
Black stone trees rose from the ground like petrified claws. Their branches had no leaves, only thin hanging strands that looked like dried roots. A low red moon hung above the valley, too large and too close, staining the mist with the color of old blood. The air was cold, and every breath carried a faint scent of damp earth, rust, and something floral that had rotted long ago.
Behind them, the last threads of spatial light faded.
Feng Jiu'er looked down.
She was still holding Fang Lin's sleeve.
Fang Lin was still holding her wrist.
Neither of them moved for a breath.
Then Fang Lin said calmly, "Fairy Feng, your guarding has reached a new location."
Feng Jiu'er released his sleeve at once. "You were the one holding my wrist."
"I was preventing an additional service fee."
Her gaze sharpened. "Do you want to be thrown into that tree?"
Fang Lin looked at the nearest black stone tree. Several pale bones hung between its roots.
"Not especially."
Feng Jiu'er followed his gaze, and the faint embarrassment in her expression disappeared. Her aura steadied. The two of them stood back to back without needing to discuss it, eyes moving across the dead valley.
The mist shifted.
Far ahead, between the stone trees, something dragged across the ground.
Once.
Then again and again.
Fang Lin's fingers rested lightly on the Night Burial Sword.
Inside his dantian, the first Shadow Dewdrop trembled faintly, reflecting the red moon like a drop of black water.
The valley answered with a low, hoarse growl.
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