The Summit of Ghost Corpse Mountain

Perhaps it was the glimmer of pity in Yang Fan's eyes that provoked him. In an instant, the hideously ugly youth sprang into action, his figure moving with the swiftness of wind and thunder as he launched himself directly toward Yang Fan. Lightning flickered at his fingertips, crackling softly, yet to the onlookers, it echoed like the roar of a tempest.

Just before the youth's strike, Yang Fan had already sensed a strange and growing danger, an instinct that only heightened when the boy made his move. The feeling was not unlike the shadow of death descending upon him, a great weight pressing heavily on his chest.

Still, between them lay some distance—no small one—and in that gap stood none other than Chu Qiuran and others.

"Stop!" came a sharp cry from Chu Yuyan. Her voice rang out like a bell, and in an instant, her delicate hand lifted, summoning a radiant umbrella that burst open with a soft crack. A shimmering arc of light unfurled before her and Yang Fan, forming a barrier between them and the advancing threat.

"Hu Fei, do you dare defy orders?" Chu Qiuran's voice, laced with fury, cut through the courtyard. His figure blurred as he intercepted Hu Fei's attack mid-flight.

*Boom!*

Fist met palm with a thundering impact. Chu Qiuran's hand blazed with azure light, clashing violently against the electric charge in Hu Fei's fist. The air itself trembled from the clash, leaving the ears of those nearby ringing and their blood surging.

Both men staggered back three steps, their expressions intense. Chu Qiuran's face darkened, lips twitching with suppressed rage, while Hu Fei stared in confused disbelief, lightning still crackling faintly around his clenched fist.

The ground beneath them lay shattered and scorched, dust swirling into the air. A strange odor of burnt earth filled the courtyard.

"Chu...Chu Qiuran… Why...why did you stop me?" Hu Fei's grotesque face contorted with rage, his bared teeth only accentuating his confusion.

"Yang Fan is an honored guest of our Rain Mist Manor," Chu Qiuran snarled, his voice tight with anger. "He's here to aid us in the trial at Ghost Corpse Mountain. How dare you attack him without cause!"

Hu Fei's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You…you say he's a guest? A...a mere physician? Do you think...I'm...I'm an idiot?" His voice stammered with frustration, and he shot another venomous glance at Yang Fan.

"Whether you believe it or not, it makes no difference. Remember this well: he is our esteemed guest. Not only must you refrain from harming him, but when we reach Ghost Corpse Mountain, you are to protect him with all your might," Chu Qiuran commanded, a cold sneer on his lips.

"Protect him? Never!" Hu Fei spat defiantly before plopping to the ground with a huff, crossing his arms and closing his eyes in a show of stubborn indifference.

Yang Fan, standing quietly to the side, could not help but feel a mix of amusement and exasperation at the bizarre youth. To have someone so volatile among the ranks of Rain Mist Manor—whether he would be a blessing or a curse was anyone's guess.

"My apologies, Physician Yang," Chu Qiuran said stiffly, his voice betraying a touch of frustration. "Hu Fei is...unpredictable."

Yang Fan offered a faint smile. "No harm done, and I'm grateful for your swift intervention, Master Chu."

Lowering his voice, Chu Qiuran continued, "Hu Fei's talents are extraordinary. It seems he possesses some unusual sensitivity—he can sense hostility or even the faintest slights from others. He has already crippled a few of our disciples for far less."

Yang Fan couldn't help but shudder at the revelation. A monster indeed, he thought to himself. He quietly resolved to keep a wide berth between himself and Hu Fei during the upcoming trial, preferably staying close to Chu Yuyan and Chu Qiuran.

Just then, two more sedan chairs arrived at the courtyard's entrance. A servant of low cultivation shouted, "Physician Zheng and Physician Lin have arrived!"

As the chairs were set down, Yang Fan recognized one of the elderly figures who stepped out—it was none other than Physician Zheng, as dignified as ever with his medicinal pouch slung over his shoulder. By his side stood a young maiden, strikingly beautiful, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity as they swept over the assembled disciples. She wore a pale pink skirt that fell just to her knees, revealing a pair of snow-white legs beneath.

This must be Zheng's granddaughter, Yang Fan thought.

From the second chair emerged a gaunt old man, his face pale and withered. Yang Fan surmised that this must be the esteemed Physician Lin, the one Zheng had mentioned before.

Seeing the two elderly physicians arrive, Chu Qiuran's expression softened, and he hurried forward to greet them with a warmth and respect that far surpassed what he had shown Yang Fan. Clearly, these were figures of great renown.

Standing beside Yang Fan, Chu Yuyan scowled ever so slightly, her luminous eyes betraying her dissatisfaction. After all, it was she who had insisted on bringing Yang Fan, a choice that had been supported by Zheng himself.

"Heh, Physician Yang, I see you've arrived as well," Physician Zheng said warmly, stepping toward Yang Fan. "Allow me to introduce you. This is Rain Mist Manor's renowned Physician Lin."

"Physician Lin, it's a pleasure to meet you," Yang Fan greeted with a respectful bow. "I look forward to learning from you during this trial at Ghost Corpse Mountain."

"Physician Yang, you flatter me. I have heard of your impressive feats in the curing of Gu poison and the resolution of the 'Soul-Binding Art,'" Lin replied coolly, his face impassive and his tone flat.

Though his words were polite, Yang Fan could sense the faint undertone of dismissal. No doubt Lin, like others, found it difficult to believe that someone so young could possess genuine expertise in the healing arts. After all, in their world, experience and years of practice were the true measures of a healer's worth.

Zheng, however, was quick to bridge the gap. "Come, come, Xiao Man," he said to the young maiden at his side. "This is the Physician Yang I've spoken of. Greet him properly."

The girl stepped forward with grace, her voice soft and melodic. "My name is Zheng Xiaoman. Greetings to Physician Yang." She offered a delicate bow, though her eyes, flickering with curiosity, lingered on Yang Fan for a moment longer, filled with both wonder and doubt.

"This is my granddaughter," Zheng explained with a chuckle. "I hope, Physician Yang, that in time you might offer her your guidance."

Yang Fan smiled kindly, gesturing for Zheng Xiaoman to rise. "I've already given my word to Physician Zheng, and I do not take my promises lightly."

This exchange piqued the interest of those nearby, and even Chu Qiuran's eyes sharpened with a newfound appreciation for Yang Fan. Perhaps this young healer was not as simple as he seemed.

In the distance, Hu Fei, who had appeared to be napping, cracked one eye open, watching the interaction with growing curiosity.

"Enough," Chu Qiuran announced, his voice suddenly commanding. "The twenty-four disciples and the four physicians are now gathered. We depart at once for Ghost Corpse Mountain. If any of you lack the courage for the trial ahead, speak now and I will permit you to leave."

A heavy silence descended on the courtyard, no one daring to step forward.

"Good," he continued, his tone growing colder. "But let this be clear: if any of you falter or flee once we've arrived at the mountain, there will be no mercy."

*No mercy.*

Those last two words, cold and final, carried a killing intent that sent a chill down everyone's spine.

Without further ceremony or speeches, and without even a sight of the second-generation elders, the group swiftly set off.

Yang Fan blinked, slightly taken aback by the sheer efficiency of Rain Mist Manor.

As cultivators, their stamina was almost limitless. They rode horses through the day and night, then crossed rugged mountains on foot without pause. From the early morning until the stars lit the sky, they pressed onward without rest.

By nightfall, under a sky full of glittering stars, the dark, looming silhouette of a mountain range came into view ahead.

"That is Ghost Corpse Mountain…" Yang Fan muttered, feeling a strange stirring deep within him. As they drew nearer, the power of the Nine Nether Demon Art in his veins seemed to thrum with life, responding to something within the mountain's depths.

Somewhere in the distance, faint yet undeniable, came a summons—an ancient, dark call, pulling him closer.