Little Grove Town. Zhao Yan and Du Hu were spent; Ling Chuan carried Zhao Yan. On the road back to the center, only Jiang Chen could fight.
That suited him. He had grown skilled at slaying ghosts, and the endless combat had polished the Violet Dawn Sword Art to a new edge.
Fatigue was not a concern. Since his return from Tangshe Town, he had been cultivating his channels and had banked over seventy Dao essence crystals. Every crystal spent before the Dao vortex formed was one less for the foundation — but in a true crisis, each one bought him enough strength to keep fighting at this pace. These crystals were the real reason he had volunteered his brothers for the Xun Palace. He simply had not expected Zhao Yan to be ambushed, or Du Hu to be so decisive.
"Come on, why the long faces?" Zhao Yan spoke up as they walked. "Burned a little lifeblood, that's all. There's a fix."
"What fix?" Du Hu had not spoken, but Ling Chuan had, shaking the man on his back. "Tell us!"
Jiang Chen, busy clearing ghosts, shot him a look. He really wanted to run the little schemer through. Had a fix this whole time and kept his mouth shut.
"Careful, you're shaking my handsome head off." Zhao Yan calmed his "temporary mount" and went on: "I happen to know that someone recently bought a Gu Yuan Pill from the State of Yun at a high price, and it's up for resale. That pill is miraculous for nurturing lifeblood and stabilizing the foundation. Some noble sons take one before opening their meridians, so their meridian spirits awaken even more lively! It would fix Du Hu's little blood problem in a snap."
"Only..." he smirked, "I wonder if certain someone is willing to pay."
Du Hu paused. "I have no money."
"You can borrow from me. Standard terms — nine in, thirteen out." Zhao Yan beamed.
"Usury is fine. Brother Tiger loves usury." Du Hu grinned, looking simple.
"Enough." Jiang Chen's head ached. Every usurer in Maple City knew Du Hu as the man who borrowed and never repaid. Du Hu's logic: usurers were all bastards anyway, might as well swindle some drinking money out of them. Only his Academy standing kept him out of the moat.
"Little Five. Who is this man, and how much does he want?"
Jiang Chen had already decided: whatever the price, he would find a way to raise it.
"This Gu Yuan Pill buyer happens to share my surname, Zhao. What a coincidence." Zhao Yan sighed theatrically. "And what a coincidence that he happens to be a retainer of my house! Such a coincidence!"
Jiang Chen took a deep breath, reminding himself that Little Five was badly wounded and too easy to kill. That was the only thing holding him back.
The little wretch had circled for half an incense stick just to say his family owned a Gu Yuan Pill that could fix Du Hu. One sentence, and he had strung four brothers along.
Even patient Ling Chuan's teeth ached.
Still, the promise settled everyone's minds. Talking, they returned to the center.
Li Yun and Zhao Lang were already there, deep in talk with Wang Hao. The other disciples were in rough shape. Wei Feng had gone to reinforce the Dui Palace — the last anchor still standing.
"Good work, Junior Brother Jiang." Li Yun nodded in greeting.
Wang Hao nodded too.
"You flatter me. It was Brother Hu and Zhao Yan who did the real work." Jiang Chen smiled ruefully.
Before the senior disciples, he gave the credit away without hesitation. The important thing now was to get them their meridian openings. He left out Ling Chuan because Du Hu and Zhao Yan's condition made a better case.
Ling Chuan did not mind.
The veterans took one look at Du Hu and understood — and silently marveled at the strength of his lifeblood.
"When Wei Feng returns, we go into the center." Wang Hao said. "You all fought fiercely today. Maple City will not forget your service, and the Academy will not forget your merit."
"Right." Wei Feng emerged from the fog as he spoke, three disciples behind him. Two more did not appear. Lost, by the look of it.
The slaughter had not stopped at the Xun Palace. Wei Feng and Li Yun had cleared their anchors almost unscathed, but the other squads had paid in blood. Eleven dead — nearly half the force. The survivors were wounded almost to a man. Zhao Lang himself had nearly been gutted; an ugly gash ran across his belly.
Without Wang Hao's steady direction from the center, the whole operation would have collapsed.
"If we make it home, I will be the first to petition for your rewards." Wei Feng spoke gravely. "This battle was more dangerous than I imagined. But Maple City's strength is thin, and only you could have answered the call."
He bowed, low. "In the name of the dead of Little Grove Town, in the name of the people of Maple City — thank you for bleeding."
"Too much, Brother Wei." Li Yun said.
The others turned aside, unwilling to accept the bow.
"Come now, Wei." It was Du Hu who spoke, disapproving. "You are a man of Maple City. Are we not born and raised in the same soil? Drop the ceremony. There's no time."
Wounded to the bone, the man still burned with spirit.
Wei Feng looked at him a long moment, then turned with his saber. "The brother is right. Follow me! Let us see who dares to poison our hometown!"
With the eight palaces broken, the wall of fog at the center lost its foundation and dissolved without a sound. The fog itself remained, blind and thick.
Wei Feng led. Li Yun and Wang Hao guarded his flanks. Zhao Lang, wounded but still whole, took the rear. The column crept into the center, every sense straining.
Everyone knew what the center would hold. Having fought through the other eight palaces, they could imagine its horrors. Whatever evil had done this to Little Grove Town would be waiting at its heart.
This column was the hope of Maple City's younger generation. If they died here, the Academy would go empty for a generation.
No one spoke of turning back. The road was terrible, but this was their home soil. They had been born here, raised here, learned here.
And they were willing to die here.
Besides Zhao Yan and Du Hu, three other disciples were spent. The town was too dangerous to leave them behind, so Ling Chuan carried Zhao Yan in the column, and Huang Azhan, Du Hu's old drinking buddy, watched over him.
Huang Azhan, unlike the nearly collapsed Du Hu, was full of vigor. One of the few to come through the fighting untouched — there was real strength in him, not just stink.
The column stopped. Huang Azhan had frozen mid-step, sniffing.
"I smell something good." He breathed deep. "Rouge... no. Perfume of the skin."
Everyone turned to stare.
"It's a beautiful woman," he announced.
"You've got a dog's nose," said Du Hu, unimpressed.
"A beautiful ghost-girl!" Zhao Yan lit up. "I told you! Du Hu, you owe me a romance!"
Nobody paid the two jokers any mind. They had reached the exact center of Little Grove Town.
A vast, turning vortex filled their sight. Nothing else. No woman in red, no white-haired elder, no black-robed cultivators. As if they had never been.
Not just them. No people. No livestock. Not a single brick or tile. Only the endless fog — and this strange, lonely vortex.
"Where is the town office? What in the world is this thing?"
No one could answer. Only Wang Hao stared, eyes wide, horror on his face.
"You recognize it, Brother Wang?" Wei Feng's saber was up, his voice low.
The answer came on its own.
From the deep black at the vortex's heart, something black emerged.
To see black against black is a strange thing to describe. But this thing was like the center of the darkness itself — somehow everyone could see its shape. It rose slowly from the vortex, revealing itself degree by degree.
A stone archway. Not grand — three bays, four pillars, seven tiers. Were it not for the black stone, were it not for where it stood, it might have been any archway in any town.
But the plaque at its center said everything.
Three characters, in a script no one present could read. Yet every man understood them at first glance.
— Ghost Gate.