Spirit Cave Mountain lay three hundred li northeast of Taicang Prefecture. Though called a mountain, it rose no more than a hundred zhang, yet its contours were decidedly strange.
Pitch-black rock lay exposed like the spine of a giant beast. Where grass grew, it was yellow and withered; where none grew, the stone shone black. From afar, the mountain resembled an enormous beast crouching on the ground, half hide and half bleached bones.
According to legend, an exceptionally powerful rogue cultivator had secluded himself here years ago and laid down a rule: anyone who trespassed without cause would be killed without mercy.
That rule had endured to this day. Not a soul lived within a hundred li, and even woodcutters and hunters gave the place a wide berth. Weeds had long since swallowed the official road at the mountain's foot. Only a barely discernible trail wound upward, vanishing into the year-round mist halfway up the slope.
Qu Yong flew on his sword. The Cangwu Sword became a streak of white radiance, trailing a pale blue-green wake above the clouds.
Fan Dazhi stood behind him, both hands clamped tightly around his belt, his eyes narrowed to slits. Frigid wind howled past his ears as the mountains and rivers spread beneath them like a chessboard, then slipped away. He buried his face behind Qu Yong's shoulder and mumbled, "Slower, slower..."
Upon reaching Spirit Cave Mountain, Qu Yong sheathed his sword, and the two landed steadily at its foot. The mountain was steep and jagged, its black rocks appearing and disappearing amid the swirling mist. Withered vines dangled from cracks in the stone like scorched hair.
Dry grass and wormwood reached past their knees, breaking beneath their feet with a brittle crunch.
Their surroundings were unnaturally quiet. No birds sang, no insects chirped.