Wandao 005
The Ambush Shadow · The Battle of Wind and Thunder
In the shadowed depths of the northwestern forest beyond Niupu Village, the season teetered between late summer and the cusp of autumn.
The cicadas had long fallen silent; a brittle chill now threaded through the woodland breeze. Sunlight slanted from the zenith sky, filtering through layered canopies in threads of gold, cascading over moss-laden branches and damp earth like scattered strands of molten silk.
Occasionally, a pale bird cut through the treetops, its wings stirring rustling echoes—as if phantom winds whispered through the woods.
The forest exhaled mist with each breath of air. A trace of early autumn's bitterness clung to the wind, mingling the tang of decaying leaves with the mineral scent of damp loam and sharp wild grasses. It was a scent both ancient and ominous—like incense smoldering at the altar of some forgotten rite, prelude to a coming battle.
Wan Xiaochuan and Lin Qixian stood side by side upon the outstretched limb of an ancient blood-elm tree. Its branches were broad and time-worn, cloaked in patches of moss and veined with cracks like old calligraphy.
The two figures were hidden beneath the thick canopy, their presence shrouded in shadows.
Xiaochuan's frame was tall and lithe, his features etched with the sharpness of a drawn blade. He wore a robe of pale cyan, threaded subtly with silver patterns that resembled storm-swept clouds. A pendant of violet jade pulsed faintly at his chest, its surface trembling as if echoing some unseen rhythm.
At his waist hung the Wind-Thunder Sword, its blade forged of storm silver and dark steel, with dragon bone inlays gleaming along its spine. Twin bells of thunder steel adorned the hilt; they chimed with each passing breeze—low, deep, and wild, like a beast murmuring in slumber.
One hand rested on the bark beside him as his eyes, keen as flint, pierced through the foliage ahead, locked on a shifting shadow among the trees.
Beside him stood Lin Qixian—slender, composed, his expression like still water. He wore the crimson robes of an alchemist, the insignia of a third-tier pill master pinned at his chest.
Pouches and talisman rings jangled lightly at his waist—each one filled with fire sigils, herbs, or concoctions of subtle power. His fingers, long and delicate, bore the faint stain of alchemical ash; they shimmered with latent spiritual energy.
Now, he held between those fingers a fragment of an insect wing—thin as cicada silk, charred black and brittle. Faint thunder-patterns pulsed dimly across its surface, but the edges curled as if scorched by a corrosive shadow.
"This isn't natural…" he murmured. "It's not some wild beast—it feels like a demonic creature's breath. My spirit locust lost contact with me right here. Severed clean."
Even as his words fell, a soft snap cracked through the underbrush—a dry twig crushed beneath some unseen weight. The next instant, the wind turned cold, and a wave of yin energy surged forward like a crashing tide.
From the undergrowth, a shadow shot forth like an arrow loosed from the void—its speed a blur, its presence wreathed in chilling dread. It moved with a screeching rush, tearing through brush and air with razor edges of sound.
Xiaochuan's reaction lagged by half a breath, but Lin Qixian was already in motion. With a flick of his fingers, he unleashed several crimson spirit leaves—each one glowing faintly.
They spun midair and erupted into a drifting mist, forming a red-hued barrier thick with the bitter fragrance of medicinal herbs—at once cleansing, suppressive, and soul-stilling.
Fsshh—!
The shadow slammed into the mist, letting out a guttural hiss. A claw, sharp and black as obsidian, pierced through the haze, swiping with lethal speed.
Xiaochuan's sleeve flared as he moved—lightning flickered.
The Wind-Thunder Sword leapt from its sheath.
Blade met sky. Thunder answered.
"Eight Forms of Wind and Thunder—Stormbreak Rend!"
The Swordlight exploded—air tore like paper as storm and thunder cleaved through forest and branch, blasting the shadowed assailant back nearly ten paces. Leaves burst into a cyclone, the ground seared with a smoldering gash.
The figure twisted midair and landed heavily, revealing its true form:Soul rend Demon fox: Night fang.
Its frame resembled a wolf, yet bore the cunning head of a fox. Mottled fur of sooty black and rust-red clung to its gaunt form; violet flames burned within its eyes.
Jagged bone-spikes jutted from its back, claws curved like hooks. A pall of death and resentment curled around its body—an apparition that seemed to have clawed its way out of the underworld itself.
Wan Xiaochuan and Lin Qixian exchanged a single glance—no words needed. Both moved at once, unleashing their countermeasures.
"Lightning Mirage Slash!" Xiaochuan's body blurred into the wind—his blade cleaving thrice in rapid succession. Thunder arced in every stroke, afterimages weaving a cage of light around the demon fox.
Night fang howled. Its right claw swept through the residual thunderlight, striking Xiaochuan and sending him hurtling into a nearby tree. Pain erupted from his shoulder—bones cracked, robe torn, blood beading through the rents in his clothes.
Lin Qixian reacted instantly, flinging a Clearmind Vital Pill through the air."Xiaochuan, take this! Now!" he shouted.
The pill melted on contact with his tongue. A cool energy coursed through Xiaochuan's meridians, soothing the spasms in his breath. His strength returned—eyes burning with defiance."Flame Cycle Burst!"
Three rings of crimson flame shot forth from the Crimson Ember Coffer, roaring through the air like blazing halos. One struck the demon fox along its flank, charring fur and scorching flesh—but the beast pressed forward unfazed.
"Weave the Storm cage!" Xiaochuan's blade wove arcs of wind and thunder into a lattice across the forest—barriers within barriers, sealing the demon's escape.
Demon fox Night fang shrieked. Three phantom clones burst from its body, attacking from all sides. Its true form flattened against the earth, lunging low toward Lin Qixian. One claw pierced his sigil-shield and sank into flesh—blood spattered across the leaves.
"Flame guard Shell!" A protective blaze flickered around Lin Qixian, absorbing part of the blow. But the force flung him backward, three full strides, blood seeping from the corner of his lips.
Xiaochuan's fury erupted."Thunder blade Domain!"
Clouds gathered overhead—blades of pure lightning cascaded from above, coiling like vipers around Night fang and crashing down in unrelenting waves. Its limbs buckled, one claw snapped clean off. Blood soaked into the forest floor. The demon growled low, unbroken—still exuding its deadly aura.
Then its eyes flashed. A glimmer of malice flared—and it spat out its demonic core, detonating it midair. Magical sigils ignited along its chest, releasing a burst of black flame that scorched the sky.
"Crimson Ember Coffer Fire seal · Soul pin Nail!"A black-gold spike tore through the air, slamming into the demon's heart. Glyphs ignited in a brilliant surge of light.
"Storm and Thunder As One—World-Sunder Slash!" Xiaochuan fused wind and thunder into a single, devastating strike—driving his sword deep into the earth.
"Boom—!!"Thunder cracked like heaven's wrath. The mountain trembled. Before Night fang could launch its final retaliation, it was obliterated—its form dissolved into ash, scattered in the storm fire and thunderlight.
Lin Qixian knelt, fingers brushing the warm remnants of ash. A strand of green light flickered across his palm as spiritual energy pulsed outward.From the gray remains rose a demonic core, its hue a twisted violet-grey, wreathed in curling black mist. When gazed upon closely, faint wails echoed from within—like splinters of a soul crying out from the void.
"The soul has not dispersed. Its resentment still lingers," Lin said grimly. "With a third-grade Soul purge Flame, we could refine this into a Wraith cleansing Pill.
It would clear the filth from our spiritual awareness, even open the nodes between meridians… With Amethyst Vine Essence and Morning dew Aurelian Leaf as catalysts, it might help us both breach the bottleneck of Foundation Establishment."
Xiaochuan remained silent, sword still in hand. The Storm blade hummed faintly with residual heat, its surface trembling. His breath came uneven. Blood stained his robe, shoulder raw, droplets painting bark and soil in vivid red.
He inhaled deeply. The wind and thunder qi within his dantian still churned painfully. His meridians throbbed—a reminder that his final strike had nearly pushed him past his limits.
Lin Qixian sealed the core within a violet-etched talisman pouch, light flickering as it vanished into his robes. Rising slowly, he wavered for half a step before steadying himself. His eyes met Xiaochuan's, somber.
"Night fang wasn't wild. Its energy was twisted—forcefully altered. There were hex sigils laced through its mind. Most likely... it was a beast slave, bound and controlled."
Xiaochuan's brow tightened. His blade lowered slowly to the ground, its tip sinking into the soil."If that's true," he murmured, voice low as thunder,"…then this battle wasn't the end. It was the beginning."
No sooner had the words left his lips than a chill wind rose. The forest stirred—leaves whispering like ancient tongues.From the farthest ridge of the distant peak… a shadow moved.
Far to the west—atop Azure Cliffs Peak, thirty li beyond Niupu Village—sunset bathed the sky in slanting rays, and a lone figure sat cross-legged, cloaked in gray. His face was veiled by the shadow of his cowl, save for a single strand of silver hair slipping past his temple, dancing faintly in the breeze.
Upon his knees rested a black bone prayer-orb, its surface etched with grotesque sigils—some laughing, others weeping—dim ghost fire flickering from within.
"The Wind-Thunder Sword… still intact."
His voice was rasped and brittle, as though ground through stone—a whisper barely more than breath.
"Ancient lightning script… dual-resonance intact… the silver vein's pulse remains stable. Within that boy's body… he's hiding it—the dormant 'Spirit Current.'"
His fingers—knotted and dry as dead branches—grazed the orb's surface. A glimmer rose from within and took shape in the air: a lingering echo of the technique Wan Xiaochuan had just unleashed—the Boundary-Shattering Style. At the moment the thunder blade struck the earth, the very heavens trembled; even the gray-robed man nodded faintly.
"Not yet at Foundation stage… and yet this sword-intent already distorts the firmament. If given the right catalyst…he may awaken that deeper truth…"
The voice halted. A flick of his fingertip, and the prayer-orb screamed—the sound of a soul crushed under immense pressure, shattering into wails.
His expression did not change. His eyes were fathomless—like an zenith.
"No matter. If he takes three more steps forward in cultivation… I will test him myself."
He rose. The gray cloak billowed as if caught in unseen wind. At his feet, cloud stuff coiled into wheels of motion, rotating slowly around him. Above, storm-thick clouds gathered like bleeding silk, casting a bloody hue over half his face—half divine, half demonic.
His five fingers curled subtly, as though calculating fate.
"The wind and thunder have not settled. Night is falling.These forests will not remain peaceful."
With a cold laugh, he snapped his fingers. A single strand of black mist coiled forth, transforming midair into a ghost-winged Umbral Moth. Its wings beat without sound.
The man himself faded, dissolving like vapor into the wind—leaving behind only trembling pine needles, as if what had stood there was nothing but illusion.
Below, at the edge of the mountain, Wan Xiaochuan stood gazing toward the forest awash in golden light.
On his hip, the Wind-Thunder Sword hung still, yet its twin-belled hilt quivered. A pulse of near-inaudible thunder hummed within, like slumbering wrath awaiting release—as if the heavens themselves sensed something awakening.
His eyes narrowed.
From some distant peak, an unseen pressure licked across his skin—like a blade to the throat. His heartbeat quickened. He could not explain why.
Lin Qixian stepped up beside him and murmured:"We should return. Someone was watching that battle from the shadows."
Xiaochuan gave no answer—only a slight nod. As he turned, his eyes lingered on the silhouette of the farthest peak.
Twilight deepened.
Clouds pressed low upon the mountain spine. Wind stirred, and the breath of thunder vanished—hidden, but not gone.
Above Niupu Village, a single strand of thunder-thread curled silently through the air, already tearing through the veil of night.
The wind had risen. The thunder hushed.And the long dark… began.