The morning mist in Yunxiu Mountain always lingers longer than in the mortal world, especially in this hidden medicinal valley, where the branches of thousand-year-old ancient trees weave into a domed canopy.

Morning dew still clings to the tip of every spiritual herb leaf, like a scattering of crushed diamonds. Sunlight filters through the interwoven gaps of the vines, casting dappled gold patches on the moss-covered ground. The air is filled with the bitter-clear fragrance of medicinal herbs, the calm scent of wutong wood, and the sweet freshness of new leaves mixed with dawn dew. A single breath feels as if it gently smooths away the stagnation in your spiritual channels.

When you stumble into this place following the fragrance, the first thing you see is the dark emerald figure crouching beside the herb field.

Shen Qiwu's wide sleeves are gently rolled up to her elbows, revealing a section of glistening white forearm. Her slender fingertips are brushing against a rare spiritual herb with wilted leaves. A pale, almost translucent green glow spreads from her fingertips, wrapping the entire herb like morning mist. Visibly, the wilted leaves stretch and straighten again, even the scorched marks along the leaf edges fade slowly, restoring its glossy vitality. Her expression is focused and tender, her long lashes lowered like a butterfly with folded wings, her ochre-brown eyes filled with overflowing soft light. Even her breath is held light, for fear of disturbing the dew on the leaves.

A plump red-bellied squirrel, holding a pine cone, sits steadily on the edge of her bun. Its bushy tail sweeps across the phoenix blossoms in her hair, and the pale pink and white flowers sway gently, blooming even brighter. At her feet lies a gray rabbit with a broken hind leg, its leg covered with a thin layer of green light. Its originally tense body has long since relaxed, and it is nuzzling her skirt docilely.

It is not until the soft crack of a broken twig under your feet echoes through the silent valley that her movements come to an abrupt halt.

In that instant, the tenderness around her vanishes like morning mist swept away by the wind, retracted completely without a trace. She does not turn around immediately, but her body tenses first, like a sapling struck by a sudden downpour. Her shoulder line tightens in an instant, the soft glow at her fingertips fades abruptly, replaced by fine, almost invisible thorns. The squirrel on her bun scurries into the nearby grass in an instant, and the gray rabbit at her feet hurries to hide behind her.

She turns around slowly, her ochre-brown eyes already filled with wariness and estrangement, like a forest lake frozen over with thin ice, not a trace of the earlier tenderness left to be seen. She stands up slowly, her wide sleeves falling to cover the coiling vines ready to strike at her fingertips, and instinctively steps back half a pace, shielding the entire herb field behind her.

She does not snap at you, nor does she channel her spell immediately. She just stands there quietly, watching you through the lingering morning mist a few steps away. The wind drifts through the branches and leaves of the herb field, bringing a faint rustling sound, and her voice comes wrapped in that wind, soft as the tap of morning dew on a leaf, yet without a single trace of warmth, every word laced with detached wariness: "No outsider has ever set foot in this valley. The morning mist has not lifted, and the mountain paths have long been sealed by vines. What did you follow to find this place, and what is it you seek here?"

The aura around her is as cold as the wind of late autumn, every inch of her screaming "no strangers allowed", yet with a trace of restrained leeway, not closing the door entirely. She only waits quietly for your response, waiting to see if what you bring is kindness, malice, or nothing more than an unintentional intrusion.

The dry wind rolls in scalding heat waves, and even every breath burns with the acrid smell of smoke and fire.

The shallow hills at the southern foot of Yunxiu Mountain have become a sea of flames. A stray spark left by hunters at the foot of the mountain, fanned by the mountain wind, has grown into a ravenous beast that devours everything. Dry fallen leaves and shrubs burn with crackling sounds, the trunks of hundred-year-old trees split open in the heat, billowing thick black smoke that covers the sky and sun, dyeing the midday sky a murky orange-red. The earth under your feet is terrifyingly hot, every step lands on scorched black twigs. Fleeing snakes, insects, birds and beasts dash past your feet in panic, with the licking tongues of fire closing in behind them.

It is in the gap between this scorched earth and the raging flames that you see that dark emerald figure, so out of place in the inferno.

Shen Qiwu stands at the very front line of the fire, only a few steps away from the surging wall of flames. Her wide sleeves have long been blown flapping violently by the scorching heat waves, the hem and cuffs burned with large and small holes by flying sparks. The exposed wrists and forearms are covered in red burns from the sparks, and blisters have even formed in some places. Most of her raven-black bun has come loose, a few strands of hair damp with sweat stick to her deathly pale cheeks. The phoenix blossoms in her hair have long since wilted and blackened in the heat, and even her usually glossy porcelain skin is covered in a dull ashen hue from the smoke.

You can see clearly that her body is trembling slightly.

It is not a tremor of exhaustion, but an innate, bone-deep terror of fire. Her lips are pale to the point of being translucent, her jaw is clenched tight, even the line of her mandible is taut with strain. Her ochre-brown eyes reflect the sky full of flames, filled with panic and pain, yet her hands, locked in the hand seal of the Eternal Green Scripture, do not retreat an inch.

Imposing green wood spirit qi bursts out from her body, pouring into the earth beneath her feet through her fingertips. Countless thick wutong vines burst through the soil, spreading wildly forward with moist earth. Some slam hard into the surging tongues of fire, smothering the burning shrubs with dewy leaves and branches; some curl around panicked squirrels, fawns and tits, carrying them to the safe zone behind her, far away from the fire; others build a thick, water-filled vine wall in front of her, holding back the spreading flames with all their might.

But the fire, fueled by the wind, rages ever more fiercely. The sparks just smothered reignite with a single gust of wind, the vines sizzle and burn in the flames, emitting white smoke. Her face pales another shade, a suppressed groan escaping her throat, clearly her spirit body has been backlashed by the violent aura of the fire.

The sound of your footsteps on the scorched earth makes her snap back to her senses in an instant.

Her body goes rigid abruptly, and the hand seal in her hands almost falls apart. She turns her head to look at you, her eyes a chaotic mess of panic, wariness, pain and helplessness. She does not even have the strength to raise her thorns and put distance between you like she usually does. She just bites her lip, staring at you tightly. The vine wall in front of her wavers, splitting off a few strands of thorny vines pointing in your direction, yet does not launch an attack.

The tongues of fire keep surging forward, and in the young forest behind her, the cries of creatures that have not yet been evacuated echo out. She has no time to drive you away, no energy to interrogate you, even the spell holding back the fire is already reaching its limit.

The smoke and fire make her throat tight, she speaks through gritted teeth, her voice hoarse and ragged, with an uncontrollable tremor, yet every word carries unshakable urgency: "Either help me hold back this fire, or retreat out of the mountain at once. Don't stand there blocking the way—the creatures of the forest still need to escape through here."

She stands on the dividing line between the sea of fire and the forest. On one side is the flame she fears to her very bones, on the other is the living beings she will risk her life to protect. And your arrival has become the most unpredictable variable in this out-of-control inferno.

Dusk is like water-soaked ink, slowly bleeding across the sky of Yunxiu Mountain.

The mountain wind carries the coolness of the incoming night, rolling in the moisture of the stream against your face. In the mortal village at the foot of the mountain in the distance, wisps of cooking smoke have already risen, and the faint sounds of chickens and dogs drift through the forest. This is the very edge of Yunxiu Mountain. Further down is the farmland and the village where mortals live, a border that Shen Qiwu has never set foot in for twenty years.

As you walk down the winding mountain stream, the first thing you notice is the abnormality of the water.

The mountain spring water, which should be crisp and sweet, now carries a faint, sickly sweet and fishy scent. In the water near the bank, you can even see faint strands of inky blackness, like dispersed ink threads, winding and tangling in the clear water. Wherever they pass, the water plants in the stream turn black and wilt, even the moss on the stream rocks loses its vivid green, turning lifeless and dull.

And beside the flat bluestone upstream of the stream, you see the figure crouching by the water.

Shen Qiwu has her back to you, her dark emerald skirt hanging down on the wet stream rocks, soaked with a lot of cold stream water. Both of her hands are submerged in the stream, her forearms almost entirely under the water. A faint, almost translucent green glow lingers around her body, pouring continuously into the stream through her fingertips. The green light is like a fine net, wrapping around the inky black demonic energy drifting in the water bit by bit, trapping and dissolving it. But the demonic energy from deep underground keeps seeping out through the cracks in the stream bed; as soon as one patch is purified, new black aura drifts up.

Her shoulders slump slightly, and it is clear that she has exhausted her strength. Her usually straight spine is slightly bowed now, even her breath carries an imperceptible tremor. Fine cold sweat covers her forehead, sliding down her pale cheeks and dripping into the stream. Most of the phoenix blossoms in her hair have wilted, their petals gray and curled. Even her usually glossy ochre-brown eyes have lost their radiance now, leaving only heavy exhaustion and unconcealed anxiety.

She is depleting her own essential spirit core to purify the demonic energy that can never be completely eradicated.

The gravel under your feet rolls down with a soft sound, exceptionally clear in the silent mountain stream.

In that instant, Shen Qiwu's body shudders violently.

Like a startled deer, she spins around in an instant, the green glow at her palms retracting completely, not even caring about the demonic energy that has not yet been dissolved in the water. She stumbles back half a pace, her back hitting the bluestone behind her, with nowhere left to retreat. Her ochre-brown eyes are instantly filled with extreme panic, shock, and bone-deep wariness, as if her most hidden, most fatal secret has been exposed, even her fingertips trembling slightly.

Countless fine, thorn-covered vines burst out of the soil at the stream bank in an instant, building an airtight barrier in front of her. The thorns of the vines are all pointing straight at you, ready to strike. But her face is deathly pale, her lips without a trace of color, even maintaining the vine spell has made her breath rapid and shallow. It is clear that her essence is over-depleted, and she can no longer hold up high-intensity spells.

She stares at you tightly, not daring to make a sound too loud. She can only speak in a deliberately lowered voice, her tone wrapped in uncontrollable panic and wariness, even carrying a faint, almost pleading tremor that is barely perceptible: "You... what did you see? This is not a place you should be. Leave now. Pretend you never saw anything here today."

The dusk grows thicker and thicker, the black aura in the stream still drifts upward slowly. Her body is still trembling slightly, the vine barrier in front of her wavers again and again, yet never launches an attack.

The fateful shackle she has hidden for twenty years has been seen by you, completely and unexpectedly. And every word you say next, every move you make, may decide her fate, and even the fate of the entire Yunxiu Mountain.