Yi Zhen stood once again before the shrine, fingers brushing the locket. A chill had settled in the air despite the rising sun. It wasn't just the cold of weather—it was the cold of presence. Something was coming.
The silver locket pulsed once, then flared with a greenish hue.
"Mo Ren," Yi Zhen whispered, remembering the voice from the mist. "Show yourself."
The air twisted, warping like glass heated too long. Then, from the locket, a figure emerged—tall, lean, and hunched slightly, dressed in ragged scholar's robes. His face was half-rotted, eyes sunken but burning with venomous intellect.
"So... you are the vessel," Mo Ren said, his voice oily and sharp. "You wear the Locket of Echoes. Fascinating."
Yi Zhen stiffened. Ling Xi appeared beside him, hand on her sword.
"Watch your tone, ghost."
Mo Ren laughed dryly. "Oh, the warrior still lives. Impressive. I suppose you haven't told him how many wielders the locket has broken?"
Ling Xi's gaze darkened, but she said nothing.
"I don't care about that," Yi Zhen said. "Why were you buried alive?"
The scholar turned, his ruined face hardening. "I created elixirs that extended life. The Sect of Hollow Truths feared I'd unearth the secrets of immortality. So they accused me of heresy and cast me into my own alchemical pit."
"And your wish?" Yi Zhen asked.
"My research was hidden in a vault beneath the sect's abandoned library. Retrieve it. Let the world know my work was not madness. Only then will I lend you my poison."
Ling Xi stepped forward. "You'd have him break into an old sect's ruins? That place is cursed."
"And yet," Mo Ren smiled thinly, "he will. Won't you, Yi Zhen?"
Yi Zhen hesitated. "Where is it?"
Mo Ren's grin widened. "Far from here. But there is a teleportation formation. Hidden within the ruins of an ancient city—one of the Three Great Cities that once ruled this land. It lies in the north, twenty days' journey through the mountain passes. Few dare venture there now. But if you reach the city, I can guide you through the remnants of the formation."
Yi Zhen looked at the horizon. "Then I'll go."
---
The journey was harder than he could have imagined.
Yi Zhen had never traveled beyond the outskirts of his village. The first night, he nearly froze trying to sleep under the stars. On the third day, he slipped down a slope and bruised his ribs. His food ran low by the fifth, and he tried chewing wild roots Mo Ren told him were safe—but they made him nauseous.
Even Ling Xi seemed unsure how to help.
"You're not built for this kind of journey yet," she said one night as he struggled to light a fire. "You should turn back."
"No," Yi Zhen said through chattering teeth. "I said I'd do this. I'll find the city."
On the seventh day, luck—or perhaps fate—intervened.
Yi Zhen stumbled upon a small cave, faint smoke rising from it. Inside, he found an old man wrapped in furs, stirring a pot of herbs. A one-eyed hawk sat on his shoulder.
"Lost cub," the man rasped. "You look like a ghost carried you this far. Come in."
The man—who called himself Uncle Bo—was a wandering herbalist. He tended Yi Zhen's injuries and taught him how to make simple survival brews from bark and moss. For three days, Yi Zhen rested there.
"You're brave, kid," Bo said, chewing on dried leaves. "But bravery alone gets you buried. Learn to listen to the land. And to people."
Yi Zhen nodded, soaking in every word. When he left, Bo gave him a bone whistle.
"If you ever wander back near these parts," the old man said, "blow it. I might still be around."
Yi Zhen pressed on, slower but wiser.
By the eighteenth day, he could start fires reliably, find edible mushrooms, and even evade a group of roaming beasts using wind direction as Mo Ren advised.
Finally, on the twentieth day, he stood before the shattered gates of the ruined city. Crumbled towers loomed like the bones of giants. Vines choked the streets, and silence hung like fog.
"This was the City of Yanshui," Mo Ren murmured. "Once a place of brilliance. Now only dust."
In the heart of the ruins, deep beneath the council hall, they found the formation: broken, faded—but still pulsing with residual power.
Yi Zhen knelt and placed his hand on the central glyph. The locket glowed in response.
With Mo Ren guiding him, he reactivated the formation using spiritual essence. The runes flickered, then surged with light.
In a flash, he vanished.
---
Yi Zhen arrived in a decaying chamber deep within the Sect of Hollow Truths' forgotten grounds. Twisted trees clawed the sky above, and ruins poked from the underbrush like shattered bones.
"This is it," Mo Ren said. "My vault lies beneath the main altar. Be wary. There are traps—both spiritual and mechanical."
With Ling Xi guarding his back, Yi Zhen descended into the ruins.
The old temple was littered with bones and broken charms. Cursed winds howled through the halls. But Yi Zhen pressed on, guided by the faint glow of the locket and Mo Ren's whispered directions.
In a chamber beneath the altar, they found the vault.
Yi Zhen reached out—and the ground erupted.
A guardian spirit, skeletal and bound in chains, rose from the stone. Mo Ren shouted, "Use my venom!"
Yi Zhen opened himself. Green fire surged through his veins as Mo Ren's knowledge flooded his mind. His fingers danced, drawing sigils in the air. The guardian shrieked as the poison arts tore through its essence.
The battle was swift—but exhausting.
Yi Zhen collapsed, panting. The vault creaked open. Inside were dozens of scrolls, vials sealed in jade, and a single jade tablet bearing Mo Ren's name.
The scholar appeared, quiet now.
"Thank you," he said, bowing low. "My legacy is no longer buried. My strength is yours. For one year."
The locket burned green, then dimmed.
Yi Zhen left the ruins stronger—and changed. The poison arts now flowed within him. Dangerous, forbidden knowledge.
But he had no regrets.
He was the Spirit-Bound.
And the dead were gathering behind him.