The journey to the mortal village took mere minutes at our cultivation speed, but each second felt weighted with anticipation.
Zhang Wuji led us through the air like a steel-gray comet, his qi signature radiating that familiar controlled lethality that made even hardened cultivators step aside.
As we descended toward the cluster of ramshackle buildings that barely qualified as a settlement, I could smell it—the stench of spiritual decay mixed with human desperation.
The kind of place where hope went to die slowly, one disappointment at a time.
"There, Master," Zhang Wuji pointed toward a structure that looked more like a shed than proper shelter. "The villagers have quarantined her in that building. They're... afraid."
I landed softly on the packed dirt, my enhanced senses immediately picking up the wrongness that permeated this place.
