The Plight of Mortal Martial Arts

The candle flames in the inn's main hall flickered wildly a few times, then all went out at once.

Immediately after, a foul-smelling gray-white fog swallowed the doors and windows.

The tables and chairs, once faintly visible in outline, were now completely lost in the pallid haze, so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

"Playing tricks! Kill them!"

Several imperial guards, unable to bear the suffocating dread any longer, were on the verge of breaking. The oppressive atmosphere pushed them to the edge.

With furious roars, they brandished their finely forged steel longswords and charged recklessly into the depths of the mist.

"Ahhh--!"

"Help! What is this thing! My leg..."

Piercing screams erupted from within the fog, only to be abruptly cut short, as if severed by something unseen.

Then came the sounds of chewing and the crisp crack of bones breaking.

The hall fell into dead silence, leaving only those spine-chilling, grinding noises echoing through the air.

Chen Ping didn't move.

From the moment the candles went out, he had already silently retreated to the stairway leading to the second floor.

With his back against the wall and the high ground, he could advance to attack or fall back to defend.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he pushed the Longevity of Pine and Crane to its peak within his body.

A warm current surged into his eyes, and in the pitch-black darkness, faint outlines gradually emerged.

They were several blurry gray figures.

Bodiless, formed from condensed smoke, they drifted through the thick fog with ghostly speed.

Chen Ping watched helplessly as one gray figure rose from the corpse of a dead guard, the body visibly shriveling as if its essence had been drained.

"This is no mere martial arts trick..."

Chen Ping's heart pounded wildly, his palm gripping the sword hilt slick with cold sweat.

Just then, one gray figure sensed Chen Ping's gaze. It twisted sharply in midair, carrying a chill, rancid wind, and lunged straight at the stairway!

The strike was lightning-fast.

Chen Ping had no time to think. Years of grueling practice had forged muscle memory that reacted instinctively.

He shifted his stance slightly, and his longsword, whistling through the air, slashed fiercely at the gray figure's "head."

He put all his strength into that blow—enough to split a rock.

"Whoosh!"

The blade passed clean through the gray figure's body, as if cutting through air, with no resistance at all.

"What?!"

Chen Ping was stunned. A wave of unprecedented helplessness washed over him.

Physical attacks were useless?

The gray figure's severed body quickly reformed, and it swung a claw back at Chen Ping's chest. Though made of mist, the claw carried a bone-piercing chill.

In that critical moment, his mastery of the Light Body Movement Technique saved his life. He tapped the stair railing with his toe, bending his body backward at an impossible angle.

"Rip--"

The fabric over his chest was torn open, revealing several bloody gashes.

Though he avoided being disemboweled, a wave of icy, sinister energy seeped into his skin through the wounds. Half his body went numb, and even his blood seemed to slow.

"Damn it!"

Chen Ping's heart raced in terror. The cold was corroding his inner energy!

The gray figure, having landed a hit, let out a sharp screech and lunged again.

This time, Chen Ping had no escape. The wall behind him blocked his retreat, and the invading chill had slowed his reactions by a fraction.

Just as all seemed lost.

"Humm--"

The door on the second floor burst open. A soft yet resilient milky-white barrier expanded outward, enveloping Chen Ping and the few surviving guards at the stairway.

The gray figure slammed into the barrier, hissing like oil splashed onto snow, sending up thick plumes of black smoke.

"Squeal--!"

The gray figure shrieked in agony, recoiling in terror as if facing its natural predator, retreating into the dense fog and daring not to approach again.

Chen Ping gasped for breath, still shaken, and turned to look back.

Ye Muqing stood at the doorway, clutching a glowing jade pendant tightly in her hand.

The pendant floated above her palm, radiating a warm, gentle light—it was this radiance that had driven back the ghostly creature.

Ye Muqing, with none of her usual noble composure left, was pale as paper, her forehead dotted with fine beads of sweat. It was clear that maintaining this barrier was draining her immensely.

"This is the Exorcism Technique."

Ye Muqing's voice trembled slightly.

"The things outside are vengeful spirits, controlled by an Evil Cultivator from the Cultivation World. Mortal weapons can't harm them at all—only a martial artist with extremely strong blood vitality, coating their blade with their own essence blood, can barely put up a fight."

"Cultivation World... Evil Cultivator..."

Chen Ping's mind churned with shock.

He'd suspected as much, but seeing it with his own eyes and hearing it with his own ears—the impact of his worldview crumbling made his scalp tingle.

Even a mortal martial artist who'd trained to the peak had no right to fight for his life against such ghosts?

"Nonsense!"

A furious roar cut off Chen Ping's thoughts.

The Imperial Guard commander, gripping a heavy sword, had bloodshot eyes.

Watching his men die horribly, he was already burning with rage and refused to believe in gods or demons.

"What Evil Cultivator, what ghosts—it's just some street magician's trick! Let this commander cut down that pretentious scoundrel!"

"Don't go out!"

Chen Ping shouted instinctively.

But it was too late.

To steady the troops and prove his own bravery, the commander charged straight out of the light barrier's protection, swinging his sword at a dark shadow deep in the mist.

"Whoosh!"

The fog churned as a pitch-black Bone Nail emerged from the void, ignoring the commander's protective inner energy, and pierced straight through his brow.

His forward momentum halted abruptly.

His eyes were wide, with only a red dot on his forehead—blood hadn't even begun to flow.

"Thud."

His body fell stiffly to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

A martial arts master with deep inner energy, dead without any resistance?

The remaining Imperial Guards completely broke down. Some dropped their weapons and trembled, others sat on the ground in despair.

"It's over... we're all going to die here..."

With the group leaderless, panic spread within the light barrier—more deadly than the fog outside.

Chen Ping forced down his fear.

Can't panic! Panic means death!

He glanced at Ye Muqing, who was swaying on her feet, then at the gray shadows lurking outside, and quickly recalled the terrain map he'd studied during the day.

"Everyone, get up!"

Chen Ping spun around, grabbed the nearest Imperial Guard by the collar, and barked, "If you want to live, listen to me! This post station is full of holes—we can't hold it!"

He turned to Ye Muqing, speaking fast and firm:

"Miss Ye, how much longer can your light barrier last?"

Ye Muqing looked at him in surprise, never expecting this usually timid third-place scholar to show such decisiveness.

"At most half an incense stick," she gritted out.

"Enough!"

Chen Ping's gaze cut like a blade as he swept his eyes over the group.

"Three li east, there's a Broken Temple built against the mountain. Only one path leads up, and it backs onto a cliff—easy to defend. We'll use Miss Ye's light barrier to break out and head for the Broken Temple!"

"But the commander—"

"The commander is dead! I'm in charge now!"

Chen Ping no longer hid his Sha Qi. The cold ruthlessness forged in seas of blood and mountains of corpses chilled the Imperial Guards, and they instinctively obeyed.

"Move!"

Chen Ping took the lead, supporting the weakened Ye Muqing. Under the light barrier's cover, he led the remaining troops out of the post station.

In the fog, the gray shadows were deeply wary of the barrier, only circling and howling nearby, daring not to approach.

As they passed the commander's body, Chen Ping's steps faltered slightly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the pitch-black Bone Nail lodged in the commander's brow.

At the nail's base, faintly carved twisted and eerie blood-red runes glowed with a dim light.

"So this is... a Magic Artifact?"

Chen Ping's heart tightened. He didn't dare linger, only searing the pattern of that talisman deep into his memory.

The mountain path after the rain was a quagmire; the group stumbled and sprinted, each step a gamble.

The mist behind them clung like a bone-deep curse, relentless in pursuit. From within the fog came bursts of eerie laughter—a death warrant straight from hell.

At last, the broken temple's crumbling gate appeared in sight.

"Inside the temple! Now!"

Chen Ping bellowed, kicking the last imperial guard through the doorway, then slammed shut the two rickety wooden doors behind them.

No sooner had the group stepped into the broken temple than the Jade Pendant in Ye Muqing's hand let out a sharp crack, a thin fissure splitting across its surface.

The light barrier enveloping them flickered twice, then dimmed.

"Pfft!"

Ye Muqing's body went limp. A mouthful of blood sprayed from her lips, staining the front of her robes crimson.

The pendant in her hand had lost all its luster—clearly, it was already a spent bolt at the end of a Strong Crossbow's flight.

Outside the temple, the mist immediately encircled the entire broken shrine.