By the time Su Miaoqing stirred from her unconsciousness, the rest of the party had already awakened. The group stood before a colossal, looming gateway. Beyond it lay a bluestone path, roughly two meters wide, uneven and ancient, winding into an abyss of unknown destination.
The environment was stifling. A dense, spectral mist choked the air, bringing with it a pervasive, bone-deep chill. It bore no resemblance to a blessed Immortal Abode; rather, it felt like a grave. More unsettling was the suppression of their cultivation—spiritual sense was completely confined within their bodies, leaving them blind to invisible dangers. Flight was equally restricted; at best, one could hover barely half a meter off the ground, and even that meager feat drained a torrential amount of spiritual energy.
"Hehe. Well, since we’ve come this far, there’s no turning back now, is there?" Wang Laoxie let out a rasping chuckle, his yellow teeth bared in a grin that lacked any warmth. Without waiting for a consensus, he took the lead, slouching forward into the mist.
Seeing this, the others exchanged guarded glances and followed. The alliance was fragile, held together only by the unknown terrors ahead.
They walked in silence for a quarter of an hour as the fog thickened into a solid, grey wall. Suddenly, a dark silhouette emerged from the gloom—a stone stele embedded in the earth.
"There is a monument ahead," Su Miaoqing whispered, leaning closer to Xiao Yifeng.
The cultivators quickened their pace, gathering around the pitch-black, circular rock. Its surface was smooth, save for three large, blood-red characters that seemed to drip with malice:
Yellow Springs Road.
Beside the main inscription was a line of smaller, chilling text: When the Higanbana blooms, do not look back on the Yellow Springs Road.
"First the Gate of Hell, and now the Yellow Springs Road? The master of this abode certainly has a flair for the macabre," Liu Yue remarked, his voice dripping with cold disdain.
"Let’s get one thing straight," Wang Laoxie sneered, slapping several high-grade defensive talismans onto his robes. "Since looking back is forbidden, nobody tries any funny business behind anyone’s back. If your hand slips and you 'accidentally' hurt me, don’t blame this old man for being ruthless."
The others nodded, the tension palpable. They mirrored his actions, layering themselves with defensive artifacts and shimmering barriers.
" Giggle... This humble girl is actually quite curious to see what lies ahead," Mo Shuiyao said softly, her voice like silk wrapping around a blade.
"Since Fairy Mo is curious, we shall satisfy that curiosity together," Lin Xiao declared. He snapped his folding fan shut and placed his hands behind his back, projecting an air of scholarly confidence now that his defenses were up. He stepped onto the bluestone path first.
As the group filed onto the road, Xiao Yifeng lingered by the stele. His expression remained stoic, but his eyes gleamed with calculation. With a swift palm strike, he dislodged the heavy stone. Swish. In a blink, he swept the "Yellow Springs" monument into his storage ring. Good materials were hard to come by, after all.
"Miaoqing, let us proceed," Xiao Yifeng said calmly, guiding the bewildered girl onto the path.
Stepping onto the Yellow Springs Road felt like stepping into a freezer. The mist here was not just damp; it was heavy with Yin energy, seeping through their pores. Shadowy figures appeared in the periphery of their vision—indistinct silhouettes walking alongside them. It felt as though they were merely a few souls among a marching army of the dead, yet whenever they tried to focus on the shapes, there was nothing but fog.
Su Miaoqing trembled, her knuckles white as she gripped her sword. She unconsciously pressed her shoulder against Xiao Yifeng’s arm.
Xiao Yifeng, who had traversed the true Underworld in his past life, remained unmoved. He leaned in, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "Fear not. They are merely residual souls, echoes of the past. Remember the rule: do not look back."
"It smells... wonderful," Su Miaoqing suddenly murmured, her eyes glazing over slightly.
A faint, intoxicating fragrance drifted through the mist, sweet and narcotic. A few steps later, the grey world was violently interrupted by a sea of crimson. The path was suddenly flanked by endless fields of fiery red flowers, stretching out into the void.
The Higanbana. The Flowers of the Equinox.
They burned like fire against the gloom, looking from a distance like a carpet woven from fresh blood.
"Blossoms leaves never meet; when the flowers bloom, the leaves fade. Is this the legendary Higanbana?" Luo Yun spoke, her voice taking on a haunting, ethereal quality. "It is said that because these flowers burn as red as fire, this path is known as the Path of Illumination. It is the only color allowed in the long journey of death. The departed tread upon these flowers, guided by their scent into the Netherworld Hell."
"Does Fairy Luo, a cultivator of the Dao, truly believe in such myths?" Liu Yue asked, arching a brow.
"I merely read them to pass the idle hours. I hope Fellow Daoist Liu won't mock me," Luo Yun smiled, though the expression didn't reach her eyes.
They stepped into the flower sea. The visual splendor and the heavy scent induced a mild vertigo, blurring the line between reality and hallucination.
"Senior Sister," Xiao Yifeng’s voice cut into Su Miaoqing’s mind via spiritual transmission, sharp and commanding. "Focus. The fragrance is a neurotoxin. No matter what happens, do not turn your head."
Su Miaoqing started, glancing at him with wide eyes before giving a microscopic nod.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Footsteps.
Clear, heavy footsteps echoed from directly behind them. The eight cultivators froze. There were other people here? Instinctively, muscles tensed, and heads began to turn.
"Do not look back!" Elder Lingyun roared, his voice cracking with urgency. "The stele! It is a law of this place!"
The warning froze them in place. A cold sweat broke out on their backs. For cultivators accustomed to 360-degree awareness via spiritual sense, being blind to their rear was a form of torture.
The presence behind them grew bolder. They felt phantom hands tapping their shoulders, cold fingers tugging at their ankles, and wet, rasping whispers slithering directly into their ear canals.
"Ah! Something grabbed me! Get off!" Su Miaoqing screamed, her composure shattering. She thrust her immortal sword backward blindly, the blade slicing through empty air.
"Miaoqing! Stabilize your mind! It is an illusion!" Xiao Yifeng barked, grabbing her wrist to stop her from flailing.
She froze, trembling violently, but the torment didn't stop.
"Qing'er... why are you here?"
A voice drifted from the mist behind her. It was gentle, filled with maternal worry. It was her mother, Lin Ziyun.
Su Miaoqing’s breath hitched.
It wasn't just her. Every member of the group heard voices—the people they loved most, or the enemies they hated most—calling out to them, pleading, mocking, demanding they turn around.
Xiao Yifeng heard them too. The voice of Liu Hanyan, cold and regal. The voice of Lin Qingyan, full of sorrow.
But who was Xiao Yifeng? He was the Immortal Slayer. He had walked this path when it was real, let alone this counterfeit construct. His heart was like a mirror, reflecting everything but holding nothing.
To him, these were parlor tricks. He marched forward with an even cadence, his attention entirely focused on preventing Su Miaoqing from falling for the trap.
"Watch out! Movement ahead!" Liu Yue’s shout broke the trance.
The group snapped their attention forward. The sea of flowers was churning.
From beneath the blood-red petals, bleached white bones floated into the air. With a sickening clatter, they snapped together, forming complete skeletons. Jawbones clicked into place, and eerie green ghost-fires ignited in their eye sockets.
These were the remains of cultivators who had perished here, their bodies turned into fertilizer for the Higanbana. They still clutched their rusted spiritual weapons, their movements shifting from jerky spasms to fluid, predatory sprints.
They charged.
"We must break through together!" Liu Yue shouted, positioning himself at the front. "I will say this once: If I see anyone backstabbing during the fight, I will kill them myself. Are we clear?"
"Hehe, no objections here," Wang Laoxie grinned, his twin hooks appearing in his hands. "I just hope the geniuses from the Starry Sky Holy Temple watch their aim. Don't mistake this old man for a skeleton."
"Hmph. This humble girl knows the weight of the situation," Mo Shuiyao said, her tone hardening. "Infighting now means death."
"Good. I will take the vanguard. Follow close and break through!"
Liu Yue roared, drawing a massive golden broadsword from his back. He surged forward like a cannonball, his blade erupting with golden light. He slashed horizontally, a wave of saber Qi pulverizing the leading rank of skeletons into bone dust.
The group moved as one, a formation of destruction plowing through the undead horde.
Lin Xiao flicked his wrist, his folding fan spinning out like a razor-sharp discus. Elder Lingyun’s horsetail whisk extended like steel wire, whipping heads off shoulders. Mo Shuiyao moved like a dancer, her small dagger flashing with lethal precision, contrasting sharply with her delicate appearance.
Wang Laoxie was the most vicious, his twin hooks tearing through ribcages with brutal efficiency.
But the most captivating was Luo Yun. She floated amidst the carnage, plucking the strings of a yaoqin zither. Invisible soundwaves sliced through the air, shearing the skeletons apart before they could even get close.
Su Miaoqing watched in awe, her fear momentarily replaced by admiration for the elegant style.
"Focus, Senior Sister," Xiao Yifeng reminded her, his long sword darting out to pierce a skeleton's skull. He kept his movements simple, efficient, and distinctly average for a Golden Core cultivator, secretly crushing hidden sword Qi talismans in his palm to augment his strikes without revealing his true power.
"Yes!" Su Miaoqing rallied, her sword joining the fray.
Blade light, fan shadows, and zither notes wove a net of death. Despite the horror of the Yellow Springs Road, the group was composed of elites. Like a sharp knife through butter, they carved a bloody path through the sea of flowers, racing toward the end of the road.