Sword already drawn, Lin Feng dropped into low horse stance without thinking.
Meridians creaked like old doors after months of disuse. Qi moved sluggishly through channels he hadn't pushed this hard in too long. The room felt ten degrees colder than it had thirty seconds ago.
Four, no, five, wispy shapes had fully coalesced.
Humanoid only in the loosest sense.
Semi-transparent bodies trailing black yin mist like smoke from dying incense.
Claw-like hands stretched too long.
Mouths open in permanent, soundless screams.
They drifted forward in erratic jerks, drawn to the faint yang heat still leaking from his body.
Behind him, the girl had shrunk even smaller against the wall, arms wrapped tight around her knees, eyes wide with something older than fear. Recognition.
"Stay there," Lin Feng said without looking back. "Don't move."
The first ghost lunged.
He sidestepped, barely, and brought the sword around in a flat, economical horizontal cut.
Black mist exploded outward.
The two halves writhed on the floor like cut worms before slowly starting to knit back together.
Lin Feng clicked his tongue.
"Persistent bastards."
...
He didn't have time to be annoyed.
The remaining four came in a loose wave.
He met them with the same Righteous Alliance forms he'd drilled into muscle memory twenty years ago. Precise, no flourish, no waste.
Slice. Pivot. Step back. Cut again.
The first strike felt rusty, half a heartbeat too slow. A claw grazed his left forearm.
Cold fire raced up the nerves.
Yin poison. Numbness already spreading toward the elbow.
He hissed through clenched teeth.
Twenty years of night raids and I'm getting scratched by janitor ghosts. Pathetic.
He adjusted.
Used the narrow doorway and corridor as a natural choke point. Footwork became more deliberate, herding them, keeping them from flanking toward the girl.
He pulled a thin stream of pure yang qi from his dantian and channeled it down the blade.
The edge glowed dull orange.
Next cut.
The ghost shrieked as the yang-charged steel carved through its misty core.
This time it didn't reform.
Two more followed the same way, slash, channel, dissipate.
But the last three had learned.
They shrieked in unison.
The sound wasn't just noise, it pressed against his eardrums like physical weight, made his vision blur at the edges.
...
Then the girl spoke.
Voice shaky, barely above a whisper:
"They… fear light… warmth…"
Lin Feng risked a glance back.
She had crawled forward half a pace, still on her knees, one pale hand outstretched.
Thin threads of yin qi peeled away from her fingertips like spider silk.
They wrapped around the nearest ghost, not attacking, but binding.
The creature froze mid-lunge, limbs locked in place.
Lin Feng didn't hesitate.
One clean beheading stroke.
The head dissolved before it hit the floor.
The girl gasped, sharp, pained, and the threads snapped.
She curled forward, clutching her own wrist like it had been burned.
"I told you to stay put!" he growled.
She lifted her head just enough for him to see her face.
"…didn't want… you to die… here too…"
The words landed heavier than the claw wound.
He didn't have time to process it.
...
The last two ghosts rushed together, desperate, screaming.
Lin Feng met them head-on.
A claw raked across his shoulder.
Fabric tore.
Blood welled instantly.
He powered through the pain.
Roared a short, yang-qi infused shout, basic technique, almost forgotten.
The sound wave rolled outward.
Both ghosts staggered, forms flickering like candles in wind.
The girl, still trembling, lifted her hand again.
This time the yin thread didn't bind.
It simply touched one ghost's chest and lingered, marking it.
A faint silver glow appeared right over the creature's core.
Lin Feng saw it clearly.
He thrusted.
Sword pierced straight through the glowing point.
Instant dissipation. No reforming.
The final ghost panicked, shot upward toward the broken ceiling, trying to flee.
Lin Feng kicked off the wall, used the last dregs of his lightness skill, and caught it by the misty neck mid-air.
Slammed it to the stone floor.
Drove the blade downward through its core in a single, brutal motion.
Silence captured.
Only his ragged breathing and the soft drip of blood hitting the floor.
...
He stumbled back until his shoulders hit the wall.
Slid down half a step before catching himself.
Shoulder burned.
Arm numb from elbow to fingertips.
Qi reserves noticeably lower than they should be after such a short fight.
The girl approached slowly, hesitant, like she expected him to swing at her.
She stopped an arm's length away.
Very carefully, she reached out.
Fingertips brushed the shallow cut on his forearm.
A faint cool sensation spread.
The black lines of yin poison slowed.
Didn't vanish.
But stopped crawling deeper.
She whispered:
"Thank… you…"
Before he could answer, the system windows detonated in his vision.
[Minor yin ghost outbreak resolved]
[+45 Sect Contribution Points]
[Candidate trust increased significantly]
[Disciple Acceptance Interface partially unlocked]
[New option available: Provisional Disciple Contract]
[Warning: Contract requires mutual consent and at least one shared resource / bond]
[Time remaining on main mission: 6 days, 2 hours, 17 minutes]
Lin Feng stared at the glowing text.
Then at the exhausted, shivering girl in front of him, still half-transparent in places, eyes huge and uncertain.
He rubbed his face with his good hand.
Sighed so deeply it hurt his ribs.
"If I die of overwork before I even get the sect running… I'm haunting this place myself."
...
The girl suddenly stiffened.
Looked past him toward the broken roof.
Eyes wide again.
"More… coming. Far away. Stronger."
Lin Feng tensed instantly.
"How many?"
She closed her eyes.
Concentrated.
Small hands curled into fists.
"…three… at least… one feels like… Core Formation."
New system text appeared, colder, more clinical than before.
[Secondary threat detected approaching sect territory]
[Estimated arrival: 2–3 days]
[Recommendation: Fortify. Or flee.]
Lin Feng stared at the empty doorway.
Then back at the girl who had just risked what little qi she had left to help him.
He rolled his wounded shoulder once, testing the pain.
Let out a short, tired laugh that had no humor in it.
"Guess retirement is officially canceled."