The growl rolled through the dead valley.
Fang Lin's fingers tightened around Night Burial Sword. The black blade rested at his side without a sheath, its dark surface drinking in the red moonlight. Feng Jiu'er stood behind him, her sword half-raised, crimson-green spiritual Qi gathering silently around her sleeves.
Neither of them spoke for several breaths.
The mist shifted between the black stone trees. Thin roots scraped across the ground, and red-black eyes opened one after another in the darkness ahead. The creatures were low, fast, and patient. They did not rush immediately. They circled through the hanging roots, waiting for a gap.
Feng Jiu'er's gaze sharpened. "Stone-Bark Root Hounds. Burn the roots first. Do not strike the throat resin carelessly."
Fang Lin nodded once.
The first hound lunged.
It came through the mist like a black shadow, roots twisting beneath cracked stone-bark. A red lump pulsed beneath its throat. Fang Lin stepped forward, Night Burial Sword rising in his hand. The blade cut through its front leg, and the creature stumbled.
Feng Jiu'er's flame arrived at the same moment.
The fire struck the opened wound and surged inward. The hound twisted, trying to tear itself away, but the pressure around Fang Lin's body sank outward like a silent mountain. Its limbs slowed for half a breath.
That half breath was enough.
Night Burial Sword flashed beneath its jaw. The root veins around the resin lump were severed cleanly, and the creature collapsed without bursting.
Three more hounds attacked from different directions.
One rushed low across the burning ground. One leapt from a black stone tree toward Feng Jiu'er's shoulder. Another slipped through the smoke toward Fang Lin's side.
The fire around Feng Jiu'er brightened. The dead roots hanging from the branches caught flame instantly, and the crimson light pushed back the mist. The hound above her was revealed mid-leap. Her sword rose, a thin line of fire following the edge, and the creature split apart before its claws reached her robe.
Fang Lin did not look back.
The ground beneath his feet trembled.
Roots were moving below.
"Below." he said.
Feng Jiu'er's foot pressed down. Fire spread in a ring around her, not wild, not wasteful, but precise. Hidden roots curled back from beneath the soil, burning with a bitter smell. The hound rushing low lost its path for a moment, and Fang Lin's pressure caught it.
Its body sank.
Night Burial Sword cut across its neck.
The third hound crashed into Fang Lin's side. The impact was heavy enough to crack the stone under his feet, but his stance did not break. The pressure around his body folded inward, absorbing part of the force. His left palm landed on the creature's chest.
The sound was dull.
Stone-bark caved inward. Root ribs snapped inside its body, layer after layer, and the red light in its eyes vanished.
Feng Jiu'er's eyes passed over his torn sleeve, then returned to the mist.
She did not ask how he had endured it.
The valley did not give them time for questions.
More growls rose from the black trees. The fire had driven back the darkness, but it had also exposed their position. Farther ahead, more red-black eyes opened. Some hounds crawled from behind roots. Some clung to branches. Some moved beneath the ground, making the cracked stone rise in small waves.
Feng Jiu'er drew her flames closer.
Too much fire would call more things over. Too little would let the hounds hide. She held the flames in a narrow field around them, bright enough to reveal movement and controlled enough not to blind them with smoke.
Fang Lin shifted to the edge of that light.
The second wave came faster.
A hound spat red-black resin into the flames. The liquid burst into thick smoke the moment it touched fire. Two shadows rushed through that smoke, claws scraping sparks from stone.
Fang Lin's pressure dropped.
The smoke bent downward.
The two hounds crashed into the ground before reaching him, as if a mountain had descended without sound. Night Burial Sword moved twice. One throat opened. One spine broke.
Another hound struck from the side.
Pain spread beneath Fang Lin's ribs. His breath tightened for half a moment, but his eyes remained calm. The creature tried to retreat, but the weight around it closed in, pressing its limbs stiff.
His palm rose.
The hound's head shattered upward, roots and stone-bark scattering across the burning ground.
Feng Jiu'er's flame swept past Fang Lin's shoulder and burned the twitching remains before they could gather again. Her face remained cold, but her breathing had deepened slightly. Holding fire with such control in a strange valley was not effortless, even for her.
Then the valley pressed back.
The ground groaned.
Roots thicker than arms rose from beneath the soil, twisting toward their ankles. Feng Jiu'er's flames cut through the first wave, but more roots came from below the stone, where fire could not reach easily. Fang Lin felt the weight of the valley pass through his feet and into his bones.
It was pressure from every direction.
The hounds.
The roots.
The red moon.
The dead air.
The hidden force buried beneath the valley floor.
Fang Lin lowered his stance by a fraction.
The pressure he usually released outward suddenly turned inward. It sank into his flesh, his bones, his breath, and his meridians. The Black Mountain Suppression Art had always been useful to him, but until now it had been a borrowed shell, a method taken from another sect and reshaped for concealment.
At this moment, under the weight of the valley, that shell cracked.
What remained did not scatter.
It condensed.
Body force, soul pressure, and dark Qi aligned inside him. The heaviness around him no longer felt rough. It became quiet, dense, and frighteningly stable, like a black mountain buried beneath the earth.
A hound leapt through the smoke.
It struck Fang Lin directly.
This time, the impact did not shake him.
The force slid through his stance and entered the cracked ground beneath his feet. Stone split outward in a ring. Fang Lin's palm landed on the creature's chest, and the pressure passed through its body in one clean line.
Its back burst open.
Feng Jiu'er's gaze paused.
She had seen Shen Mo use pressure before. That was not what made her eyes sharpen. What changed now was the depth. The heaviness around him had become quieter, more controlled, and far more dangerous than before. For a moment, it felt as though his shown strength was only the surface of something buried much deeper.
Then the mist ahead sank.
The smaller hounds stopped moving.
A larger shape walked out between the black stone trees.
This creature was twice the size of the others. Heavy stone-bark plates overlapped down its back, and thick roots formed a mane around its neck. Beneath its throat hung a fist-sized resin core that pulsed with red-black light. Each pulse made the smaller hounds lower their heads.
Feng Jiu'er's voice lowered. "That one is stronger. Keep it away from the resin."
The Red-Resin Root Hound roared.
Root threads shot from its mouth like spears.
Feng Jiu'er's fire rose to meet them. Most burned away, but several pushed through, charred and still moving. Fang Lin stepped across her left side, Night Burial Sword cutting through the remaining threads before they reached her.
The larger hound charged through the opening.
The air around Fang Lin became heavy.
The ground cracked beneath the creature's front legs. Its body sank for a breath, but the resin core beneath its throat flashed, and the pressure broke apart. A dull backlash ran up Fang Lin's arm, opening a thin line of blood between his fingers.
He did not look at it.
Feng Jiu'er moved at the same time. Fire spread along the dry roots beneath the creature, burning its footing and cutting off its retreat. The hound swung its head toward her, resin swelling dangerously.
Fang Lin's eyes turned cold.
The pressure around the hound's throat tightened.
Its resin pulse slowed.
Night Burial Sword pierced beneath its jaw and cut sideways, avoiding the core itself. The root veins feeding the resin were severed one by one. The hound thrashed, and its tail smashed across Fang Lin's side.
His ribs shook.
For half a breath, his breathing stopped.
Feng Jiu'er's sword arrived during that opening. A line of fire cut across the hound's foreleg and burned through the root joint. The creature fell forward, and Fang Lin stepped in with it.
His palm landed beside the wound opened by Night Burial Sword.
The force entered.
The resin core tore free from its root bindings and dropped beneath the creature's throat, still pulsing violently. Fang Lin's pressure closed around it before the unstable energy could burst. Feng Jiu'er's flame sealed the torn flesh and burned away the leaking miasma.
The Red-Resin Root Hound collapsed.
The smaller hounds scattered into the mist.
Neither Fang Lin nor Feng Jiu'er chased.
For several breaths, only fire and smoke moved.
Fang Lin stood still, letting the change inside him settle. The Black Mountain Suppression Art had crossed a threshold. Its pressure was no longer merely heavier. It was steadier, more obedient, and far more efficient. It could descend without spreading too wide, guard without wasting force, lock movement with greater precision, and carry palm strength deeper into an enemy's body.
Small Mastery.
He kept the change buried beneath Shen Mo's calm face.
Feng Jiu'er extinguished most of the flames with a sweep of her sleeve, leaving only a few small fires near the roots. The valley darkened again. Smoke drifted low across the ground, and the red moonlight returned to the stones.
"Your side," she said.
Fang Lin looked down. His robe had torn near the ribs, and blood had darkened the cloth.
"Not deep."
Feng Jiu'er took out a small pill bottle and tossed it to him. "Then do not wait until it is."
Fang Lin caught the bottle and swallowed one pill.
Warmth spread through his chest, dulling the pain enough for movement. He adjusted his breathing quietly. Feng Jiu'er watched the mist while he recovered. She did not ask about the change in his pressure. She did not ask why his body had endured so much.
That restraint was more useful than spoken concern.
Fang Lin stepped toward the fallen creatures.
"Fast," Feng Jiu'er said.
He nodded.
They collected only what could be taken safely. Three smaller hounds had intact black root cores. The larger creature's resin core had cracked during the fight, but one clean red-black drop had condensed inside the burned throat.
Fang Lin stored them separately.
The rest remained where it fell.
A greedy cultivator might have tried to strip every plate of stone-bark and every root tendon. In this place, greed would need to outrun the next growl first.
The last ember near Feng Jiu'er's feet flickered.
Farther ahead, beyond the black stone trees, a faint red light appeared for a moment and vanished.
It was not a beast's eye.
It was too steady.
Fang Lin and Feng Jiu'er looked in that direction at the same time.
Neither spoke.
The dead valley had shown its claws.
Now it was showing them a path.
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