It was night.
Li Qiong and the Red Army fought in the dark.
Flashes of steel clashed, followed by long moments of silence—no one knew where anyone was; the fog swallowed everything.Darkness pressed against their minds, playing with their senses,making them weary and afraid.
Sometimes, poisonous spiders leapt from the trees, landing on soldiers' faces.Fire ants crawled beneath armor, biting through flesh.Their torches died under sudden rain.The forest became a graveyard of shadows.
In the midst of it all, someone moved like a phantom—a shadow bleeding through mist, striking unseen, killing without sound.Soldiers vanished mid-step, throats slit, hearts gone cold.Panic spread like disease.The Red Army began to whisper through chattering teeth—"He's here… the Demon… the Demon!"
They believed he hid among the trees.So—they burned them.
But the "Demon" was not running.He was watching.Always watching.
From outside the forest, beneath a lonely pine,Li Qiong sat on a wooden chair, fanning himself lazily.A stick of incense burned beside him, thin smoke curling in the breeze—not for cultivation, but to ward off mosquitoes.
He had been there from the start.He never once stepped into the forest.
The Red Army's panic was not real.Their escape was not real.The very wind, heat, and light around them—were all part of his illusion array.
No grand mirages or phantom beasts—Li Qiong never wasted effort on spectacle.He used sound, temperature, direction, light, touch, balance, and fear.He silenced one man's breath from another,made them feel utterly alone—as if even their comrades had turned to ghosts.
Then he released faint sounds—screams, footfalls, the clang of steel on bone.And in their panic, the soldiers imagined the rest.
Even the insects—the spiders, the fire ants—were illusions born from terror.They thought they were being hunted.They thought they had fled the forest.They thought that burning it would save them.
But the truth—they never left.
The array bent their senses, twisting space into circles.They ran until their legs bled, believing they'd reached open ground.Then they burned everything around them—never realizing it was still the same cursed patch of soil.
And the "Demon" they fought,had never even been there.
The commander stood amid the smoke, trembling.He could no longer see where the forest ended.The fire spread wildly, devouring everything.Men screamed and fell, their cries swallowed by the roar of flames.
He saw shapes in the haze—familiar silhouettes of comrades—only for them to vanish when he called their names.
His hands shook around the sword hilt.He didn't know if it was blood or sweat dripping down.The forest spun.The heat clawed at his throat.
"Where is everyone!?" someone shouted,"The Demon! He's here!"
Another voice screamed, "Help!"
Then came the crash of burning trees collapsing,roots bursting, ash raining from the heavens.Armor melted, flesh blistered, men rolled in the dirt begging for mercy.But mercy did not exist in this forest.
Li Qiong opened his eyes slightly, fan pausing mid-air.The black fog coiled like a living thing,reflected in his calm, indifferent gaze.
"The mind," he murmured,"is the easiest prison to build—and the hardest to escape."
He placed a formation seal upon the incense burner.The array around the forest tightened.Heat surged like a furnace awakening.Beneath the earth, natural fire veins flared red,turning the entire forest into a refining cauldron.
The commander felt his knees weaken.He could taste blood in the air.He saw a soldier clawing at his face as it melted.He saw another stab himself to die faster.And for the first time in ten years of battle,he felt fear crawl up his spine.
"What kind of… demon…" he whispered.He wanted to run, but the flames surrounded him.Even the sky looked sealed.
"Hold your ground!" he roared hoarsely,but his voice vanished under the inferno's roar.The ground split open, glowing red.Men fell into the cracks, their screams fading like echoes into the underworld.
"Maybe the heavens have already decided," he murmured,"Maybe… we were never meant to leave this forest."
Then everything turned to light.
When the last flame died,the forest was nothing but ash and smoke.And within the scorched circle,a thousand crimson pills floated in the air—each radiating faint spiritual light.Vitality. Soul Cleansing. Berserk. Marrow Cleansing. Blood Qi. Blood Essence. Body Tempering.
Li Qiong rose, brushing dust from his sleeve.
"One thousand and twenty-three," he said softly."A decent harvest."
To others, this was impossible.But he held knowledge five thousand years into the future—an alchemist, illusionist, and warrior beyond comprehension.To him, armies were not enemies—they were ingredients.
He glanced toward the horizon, where dawn bled through the smoke.
"Heaven raises men as crops," he whispered,"and harvests them without sorrow."
He turned away, the incense finally burned to ash.Behind him, the dead forest sighed like an mangled corpse.And in the wind—the faint scent of pill fragrance mingled with the stench of smoke.