"Up," Zhāng Wei's voice cut through the misty dawn like a blade. He was already on his feet, rolling his blanket with crisp, disciplined motions. Behind him, the embers of last night's fire smoked faintly, refusing to die.
Hú Lì groaned as he stumbled out of the carriage, hair jutting wildly in every direction. "Do mornings always have to come this early?"
"Time waits for no man," Zhāng Wei said flatly, cinching the horse's harness.
On the ground, Xiǎo Yǔ stretched like a cat, her twin tails flicking through the mist. She yawned so wide her voice came out half-slurred. "Senior Brother Hú, you complain too much. Didn't you once boast about wrestling a Copperback Boar barehanded? What's a little morning dew compared to that?"
"That was different," Hú Lì muttered, glaring at her. He flung an arm at the mist clinging damply to his robes. "The boar was warm. This is just cold."
Duō Yī remained silent, fastening the last strap on his pack. His eyes lingered on the fog curling over the riverbank. It clung too heavily, almost reluctant to disperse with the rising sun.
By the time they set off, the sect's peaks were lost behind cloud and distance. The road wound through plainer lands,tilled fields, plumes of smoke from cooking fires, barefoot children playing at the edges of villages. The closer the carriage rolled, the faster the children froze, retreating behind their mothers' skirts. Women bowed stiffly, their eyes avoiding the disciples' robes.
"Why do they look at us like that?" Xiǎo Yǔ whispered, pressing her face to the window. "It's not like we bite."
"They don't understand us," Zhāng Wei said from the driver's bench, never slowing. "Fear is only natural."
Hú Lì smirked where he reclined. "Or maybe they heard about the disappearances that have been happening ."
The sun fell low when a village came into sight. Wooden houses huddled close around yellowing fields of grain. A narrow dirt road ran straight through it, ending at a central well. Smoke should have curled from chimneys. Chickens should have been scuttling underfoot.
Instead, there was nothing.
Zhāng Wei slowed the horses, jaw tightening. "Stay alert."
The wheels groaned over the empty dirt road. No farmers, no dogs, no voices. A door banged lightly in the wind, its hinge shrieking.
Xiǎo Yǔ's playful tone was gone. "Where is everyone?"
The three disembarked. Dust stirred with each of their steps. Inside the nearest home, bowls of porridge sat crusted and cold on the table, abandoned mid-meal. A stool lay overturned beside a half-mended fishing net.
Hú Lì tried for a laugh, but it came out brittle. "Maybe they're… all celebrating in the fields?"
"No." Zhāng Wei's hand rested on his saber, his gaze sweeping the shadows. "This isn't celebration. This is absence."
Duō Yī entered one house. The sunlight filtering through the cracks caught the dust in drifting beams. His foot knocked against something small, it rolled with a hollow clack. A wooden toy horse, its paint chipped, its head worn down from countless hands. Beside it lay a single cloth shoe, too small for any grown foot.
He stood very still, before carefully placing the toy back where it had fallen.
At the well, Xiǎo Yǔ's voice trembled. "Brothers… look."
On the wood, carved deep and jagged, was a symbol, a delicate tessellation of intertwined circles forming a mandala-like rosace. split down the middle, its halves twisted apart.
Zhāng Wei's eyes narrowed. "Not mortal work."
The wind stirred suddenly, rattling a shutter loose. For an instant, it sounded like a whisper crawling through the empty streets.
The sun was no more than a pale smear behind the clouds by the time the disciples left the silent village behind. The emptiness clung to them, its weight pressing with every mile they put between themselves and the abandoned homes. Even Hú Lì, who rarely lacked words, kept uncharacteristically quiet.
By dusk the land changed. Fields gave way to paved roads, stone markers rising along the path like guardians of an older age. Lanterns glowed faintly ahead, leading them toward Jiāng Lí, the provincial seat of the region.
The city walls loomed tall, their gates banded with bronze. At the sight of the sect's carriage, the guards straightened sharply, weapons snapping to attention. A horn was blown, its echo carrying far into the heart of the city. Within moments, the gates creaked open, and a wave of officials in silk robes hurried out, their expressions taut with both fear and reverence.
"Immortal Masters!" one cried, dropping to his knees on the packed earth. The others followed, a ripple of bowing bodies spreading down the road.
The carriage rolled slowly into Jiāng Lí. Lanterns flared to life along the main avenue, painting the stone streets in gold. The smell of incense drifted faintly, hastily lit offerings burning from roadside shrines. Mortals pressed themselves flat against doorways and windows, heads lowered, not daring to meet the disciples' eyes.
At the palace gates, the king himself awaited. He was not young—silver touched his temples, and the weight of the crown sat heavy on his shoulders. Yet when he saw them, he all but stumbled forward, robes dragging across the stone as he bowed low, sweat shining along his brow despite the evening chill.
"Honored Immortal Masters," he said, his voice trembling with the effort to keep steady. "To think my humble Jiāng Lí would be graced by your presence. This lowly one…" He hesitated, as though afraid even his own name might offend, "…welcomes you with all that we have."
Zhāng Wei dismounted first. His gaze was cool, his tone sharper than steel. "We are not here for courtesies. The Sect does not dispatch disciples for parades. We are here for the disappearances."
The king froze, his back still bent, then nodded rapidly. "Y-yes, of course. Forgive me. I only… it is rare for Immortal Masters to descend to these lands."
Xiǎo Yǔ stepped forward, her twin tails swaying faintly, eyes narrowing as she cut in. "We passed through a village today. Not one soul remained. Food left half-eaten, tools abandoned, doors swinging in the wind. An entire place emptied overnight."
The king paled, his sweat shining thicker under the torchlight. His hands wrung together helplessly as he spoke. "Yes… yes, it has been like this for months now. A village full of life one day—vanished without a trace the next. No bodies, no blood, no sound. As though they were swallowed by the air itself."
Hú Lì's brows furrowed. "And you did nothing?"
"I tried!" the king blurted, dropping lower, his forehead nearly touching the stone. "I sent soldiers, my bravest men, but… they too vanished. Not one returned. I had no choice. That is why I begged for aid from your exalted sect. Jiāng Lí is drowning in dread, and I—I am powerless."
A heavy silence fell. The four disciples exchanged looks, each carrying their own shadowed thought. What they had assumed a local disturbance had already revealed itself to be something far more vast.
At last, Zhāng Wei broke the silence. "Very well. We will investigate. Prepare quarters for us within the city. Do not disturb us with empty ceremony."
"Yes, Immortal Master!" the king cried, bowing again and again, as though each motion might stave off unseen calamity.
Servants rushed forward at his command, leading the disciples deeper into the palace grounds. The air was heavy with incense, with fear, with expectation.
And as they were shown to their quarters, the night pressed down over Jiāng Lí.