The mist beyond the stone gate surged without cease, like layer upon layer of gray-white gauze curtains silently unfurling. Chen Wuya stood before the gate, the bronze key in his hand still warm. Rather than fading, its warmth rose and fell faintly with his breathing, as if resonating with some hidden pulse. He did not push the gate open at once. Instead, he raised his left hand and held the key to his ear—a threadlike tremor passed through the metal, as though something deep underground was turning.
Bai Zhi stood half a step behind and to his right, her flexible sword still held across her body, its tip slightly lowered but never relaxed. Her gaze swept across the seven narrow paths laid side by side ahead. Every one was paved with identical bluestone slabs engraved with chaotic symbols; even the traces left by the wind passing over them were exactly alike. Just as she was about to step forward, Chen Wuya stopped her with a low shout.
"Don't touch the ground."
His voice was quiet, yet carried an unquestionable force. He crouched and ran his fingertips along the edge of a stone slab. There was an almost invisible scratch there, uneven in depth, as if some hard object had scraped it over and over. He studied the mark for several breaths, then suddenly sneered. "These symbols aren't markers. They're a smokescreen."
Mo Feng stood a little farther away, his folding fan opened once more. The map reflected on its surface was still slowly writhing, newly emerging lines crooked and distorted like a child's scribbles. He frowned at the paths ahead. "The ancestral map recorded only one main route... but with these seven paths, which one counts as the 'main' one?"
"None of them." Chen Wuya slowly rose. Misaligned Force circulated