Dawn broke at the western pier of Mistveil Island.
Ji Bochuan arrived first.
He stood atop a smooth reef polished by years of tide and salt, gazing toward the sea where the morning fog was slowly retreating. Spiritwind Cliff lay to the island's southwest—an hour by boat if the currents allowed it. According to the charts, the place was hemmed in by mountains on three sides, with only one sea entrance, where violent currents and jagged reefs interlocked like the fangs of a beast. No ordinary fishing vessel dared to approach.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Liu Qing had arrived.
She wore a fitted ash-green combat outfit, her usual wooden staff replaced by an iron rod etched with runes. A cloudy yellow crystal was embedded in its head, and a bulging leather pouch hung at her waist.
"You're early," she said, nodding.
Her eyes lingered on Ji Bochuan for a moment longer than necessary.
Too steady.
Far too steady—for a Qi-Nurturing Stage cultivator on his first mission.
"First job," Ji Bochuan replied calmly as he hopped down from the reef, landing without a sound. "Didn't want to be late."
The rest of the team arrived soon after.
Wang Dahui—nicknamed Hammer—still carried his thick-backed cleaver, the cloth-wrapped hilt stained with old, dark blood. Li Flyingblade had added more throwing knives to his belt—twelve now, each handle tinted a different shade, proof of varied poisons. Zhang Xiaoshu looked pale, fingers clenched in his robes, lips pressed tight with nerves.
"All present," Liu Qing said sharply. "One last reminder before we depart."
Her gaze swept over them like a blade.
"On mission, you follow my commands. No solo heroics. Spot danger, call it out. Loot is split by contribution—no one gets greedy. And if anyone thinks about stabbing a teammate in the back…"
Her voice dropped.
"I'll handle it personally."
No one questioned her.
A wooden boat pulled in at that moment—about fifty feet long. The boatman was an old man with one arm and a scar that ran from his left temple to his jaw. His left eye was milky white and blind.
"Spiritwind Cliff?" he rasped. "Five spirit stones per person. Round trip. I stop at the entrance—no farther."
"That's robbery," Wang Dahui muttered.
"Then swim," the old man replied flatly. "Three teams died there last month. Bodies weren't even whole. You going or not?"
Liu Qing handed over twenty-five spirit stones without hesitation.
"Cast off."
The boat glided smoothly despite the rough waters. The old man knew the currents by instinct, avoiding whirlpools and submerged rocks with uncanny precision.
Half an hour later, three jagged mountain peaks emerged from the mist.
They stood like inverted swords, enclosing a sunken bay.
Spiritwind Cliff.
The closer they drew, the stranger it became.
The sea itself was calm—but within the bay, greenish currents of air twisted violently through space, screaming as they smashed against the cliffs. Occasionally, a stray gust escaped and skimmed the water, slicing open long white scars in the waves.
"That's spiritwind," the boatman said, stopping the vessel. "Boat goes no farther. You swim from here. Shield up immediately—spiritwind and seawater make windblades. Even a third-stage shield lasts ten breaths, at most."
"You're not coming in?" Liu Qing asked.
"I'll wait three days," he said, anchoring behind a reef and pulling out a wine gourd. "If you're not back by then, I report you dead. Compensation… depends on luck."
Mistveil Island's rules were simple.
Boatmen ferried bodies—or names.
They prepared quickly.
Wang Dahui activated an earth-shield talisman with blood. Li Flyingblade coated his knives in a silver fluid—Spiritbreaker solution, potent against ethereal life. Zhang Xiaoshu plastered himself with so many protective charms he glowed like a lantern.
Ji Bochuan did none of that.
He steadied his breath and circulated the Reversed Qi to True Essence Art. With the heart-lamp flickering inside him, a thin veil of pale gold light spread over his body—not a shield, but an extension of his aura. Light, efficient, and perfectly synchronized with his breathing.
Liu Qing noticed—but said nothing.
"Spirit Recovery Pills," she said, tossing each of them a bottle. "Three each. Use sparingly."
Then—
"Into the water!"
The sea was freezing.
Spiritwind struck instantly.
Water exploded into razor-sharp arrows.
"Shields up!" Liu Qing shouted.
Five defenses flared. Ji Bochuan twisted through the water like drifting kelp, letting most attacks miss entirely. Only three struck him—ripples formed, then vanished.
He saw the bay differently.
To his senses, the wind wasn't chaos—it was structure.
Lines. Spirals. Curves of lethal intent.
"This way," he said suddenly, veering left.
The others hesitated—then followed.
They reached the inner bay.
Black metallic sand. Twisted trees. And climbing the cliffs—
Spirit-Eroding Vines.
And worse.
Higher up, a patch of vines had turned violet-black. They pulsed. Breathed.
Ji Bochuan's heart sank.
Shadow-Eroding Vine.
"Not in our mission zone," Liu Qing said instantly. "We avoid it."
Too late.
Black tendrils burst forth.
They smelled life.
They struck.
Chaos erupted.
Zhang Xiaoshu collapsed, shield gone.
Three tendrils lunged.
Ji Bochuan stepped forward.
No blade.
No shield.
He reached out.
The tendrils froze—three inches from his palm.
Invisible pressure screamed.
"Cut them!" he barked.
Steel flashed. Tendrils severed.
Then the rest came—all of them.
Liu Qing slammed her staff into the ground. Verdant light erupted, vines and grass binding the shadows long enough for retreat.
They escaped.
Barely.
Later, as the wind screamed behind them, Liu Qing stared at Ji Bochuan.
"That wasn't beginner's work," she said quietly.
"Family taught me," he replied.
She didn't press.
But nothing felt the same anymore.
Ji Bochuan clenched his hand. Faint red marks burned across his palm—cold, venomous.
He hid them.
Some poisons didn't kill fast.
And the deadliest hunters never rushed the kill.