Morning in the Thousand Shadows Sect appeared deceptively ordinary.
Steel clashed against steel in the training yard, laughter echoed among the disciples, and instructors barked out orders with stern voices. To an outsider, it was peace—routine, disciplined, harmonious.
But Yan Zhi knew something was wrong.
He stood at the edge of the yard, observing. Shadows that should have followed their owners faithfully… flickered. For a split second, some disappeared entirely, only to return clinging to their disciples' feet as though nothing had happened.
Worse still, the voices around him sounded broken.
When an instructor shouted, "Grip your sword tighter!" another echo followed—not the natural rebound of sound against the walls, but a false echo, a voice mimicking the order with an unnatural delay.
"... tighter... tighter... tighter..."
The sound drifted away, yet pressed against Yan Zhi's skull as if whispering directly inside his mind.
The whispers of the corridor had begun to stain reality itself.
---
At noon, a young disciple collapsed mid-swing. His sword clattered against the floor as his body went rigid, eyes wide open, staring into nothing.
"Ming'er!" A senior rushed forward. Masters hurried in, assuming exhaustion, dehydration—ordinary causes.
But Yan Zhi froze.
The boy's lips moved, and from between his clenched teeth slipped a murmur:
"Corridor… corridor… corridor waits…"
It was a phrase Yan Zhi had heard whispered in the dark nights. A phrase no one else should have known.
The boy's body convulsed, then stilled. Moments later, he blinked awake, confusion etched across his face.
"Why are you all staring at me like that?"
He looked normal. Almost.
Yet when Yan Zhi met his eyes, he saw a glimmer—an abyssal shimmer that reflected the void of the corridor itself.
Yan Zhi's fists tightened.
The thing waiting in the shadows was no longer whispering to him alone. It was touching other souls.
---
That night, Yan Zhi sat cross-legged in his cultivation chamber, but his focus was splintered.
Inside him, the Vein of Devourer pulsed hungrily, its energy gnawing, restless. At the same time, the alien whispers grew sharper, no longer faint—they spoke as if from within his own mind.
"Open the door for me… you and I are the same…"
His eyes snapped open, chest tightening.
Had that been the corridor's voice, or his own thoughts twisted against him?
His body jerked forward slightly without his will, as though another intent had seized his muscles.
"I… do not belong to you…" he hissed under his breath, gripping his knees until his nails cut skin.
---
Later that night, he passed through the training hall. It should have been empty, silent—only lanterns swaying gently in the breeze.
Then the lights flickered.
One flame snapped out, as if pinched by an invisible hand.
And in the wavering glow, shadows remained on the walls—lingering, even though their owners had left hours ago. Those silhouettes writhed, stretching unnaturally, clinging to stone like stains that refused to fade.
A chill spread across Yan Zhi's spine.
From the walls came laughter. Not one voice, but dozens. Children giggling, adults groaning, all overlaid into a grotesque chorus.
"Hhhhhh—hhhhhahaha—hhhhh—"
The very stones trembled with the sound.
Then the wall split. Cracks spread outward, jagged veins of darkness tearing through the hall. From within the fracture seeped not shadow, but a depth—a blackness that had its own weight, its own space.
And from that blackness, voices spoke in unison:
"Two doors have opened…"
Yan Zhi staggered back, breath caught in his throat.
The first fracture had shaken him to his core. This second one… was undeniable, undeniable proof that the thing beyond was closer than ever.
---
Yan Zhi realized with dread: The One Who Waits was no single being.
It was a mass—a legion of voices overlapping, hands clawing, hungry spirits pressed together into a single will.
And all of them were straining against the barrier to step into the living world.
He closed his eyes, steadying his breath.
"If the third fracture comes… this sect will no longer be a home for men. It will become a corridor for shadows."
---