Ghosts of the Haunted Corpse Mountain

"This... this is... Ghost Corpse Mountain?" 

A stammering, peculiar voice broke the silence—it was Hu Fei, the grotesque youth, his tadpole-like eyes fixed with curiosity on the eerie, shadowy mountain range stretching endlessly before them. 

Everyone was long accustomed to his strange ways, paying him no heed.

Yang Fan, shaking off his unease, turned his gaze toward the gloomy peaks. The unsettling sensation lingering within him swirled and danced—was this an omen of fortune or disaster?

"I've ventured into Ghost Corpse Mountain twice before, both times by night," Chu Qiuran's voice was calm, yet carried a warning. "Spirits and the walking dead do indeed roam here. Be vigilant, for danger may find us as soon as we enter." 

Hearing this, the Rainmist Villa disciples tensed, their faces hardening with resolve. A fierce energy radiated from their ranks, enough to make even ghosts hesitate.

Within moments, the group of over twenty crossed into the mountain's cursed boundary. The air seemed to thicken, and an eerie chill descended—colder than the world they had just left behind. Every cultivator present felt the icy prickle of danger crawling up their spines.

"Strange... This is my third time here, and it feels as though the deathly chill is heavier than before," Chu Qiuran murmured, a hint of confusion crossing his face.

"Wha-what's there to fear? If a ghost comes... I-I'll make sure its soul i-is torn to shreds!" 

Hu Fei seemed more excited than worried. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a crackling ball of lightning, its violet arcs humming through the air with a sound that sent shivers down spines. 

Indeed, thunder magic was a bane to spirits. Even the faintest thunderclap could send weaker specters fleeing in terror. For those unlucky enough to be caught in the storm, obliteration was almost certain.

Yang Fan's eyes narrowed with interest. **This youth commands the thunder arts, wielding its destructive power effortlessly. Should anyone at his level face him, they'd be in for a bitter fight,** he mused.

As they pressed deeper into the mountains, a thick fog of death enshrouded them. Their vision diminished, as the surrounding chill grew more oppressive. Those in the mid stages of Qi Refining could barely see ten meters ahead—anything beyond blurred into the ghostly mist. Even the stars above, which had been a faint guide, were almost completely swallowed by the unnatural fog, leaving a dim, foreboding darkness in its place.

Far off in the distance, the sound of a woman sobbing, full of sorrow and despair, echoed through the mountains. The mournful cry cut through the silence, raising the hairs on the back of their necks.

"Ah!" 

A cry of fear suddenly pierced the night.

All eyes turned toward the source, where a middle-aged man stood pale and trembling. His eyes were wide with terror, still reeling from the shock. Yang Fan recognized him—it was Hu Ren, the man he had previously cured of a sinister curse.

"Hu Ren, what is the matter?" Chu Yuyan, who was standing next to Yang Fan, asked with concern.

"Miss... I-it's the same female ghost I encountered the last time!" Hu Ren replied, his voice trembling with lingering dread.

The others exchanged uneasy glances. 

At that very moment, the wailing intensified, more piercing and tragic than before. An icy wind swept through the group, sending an involuntary shiver down their spines.

Whoosh! 

In the distance, a white shadow flickered just beyond the edge of their vision—a fleeting glimpse of a woman, clothed in white.

"A ghost?" Yang Fan's curiosity was piqued, though he remained calm. He extended his spiritual sense, probing the darkness for answers.

The sobs grew louder, each cry filled with untold sorrow. Cold gusts of wind danced around them, their presence unsettling.

Chu Qiuran merely chuckled coldly, "Just a mere specter. We are cultivators—what need is there for fear?"

Indeed, the group slowly regained their composure. A lone ghost was hardly a cause for concern.

Yang Fan, observing through his extended senses, saw everything. In truth, he hoped that some of the cultivators would suffer injury; it would present a perfect opportunity for him to hone his skills and enhance his cultivation.

"You-you're asking for it!" 

Hu Fei, growing impatient, shot forward with startling speed, covering several meters in a flash. As he leapt toward the specter, his hand crackled with electrical energy. With a swift movement, he hurled a bolt of lightning toward the source of the sobs.

Sizzle! 

The purple lightning cleaved through the air, dispersing the ghostly fog and colliding with a nearby boulder. The rock shattered with a deafening crack, sending fragments flying.

A mournful scream echoed through the night as the white figure reappeared—a woman with deathly pale skin and flowing white robes, her eyes filled with resentment. Yet, behind her anger lurked a hint of fear.

With a sharp hiss, the ghost retreated into the shadows, her form vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, clearly wounded by Hu Fei's attack.

Just as he was about to give chase, Chu Qiuran stopped him. "Never pursue a cornered enemy," he cautioned.

Yang Fan remained silent, deep in thought. He had observed the entire exchange. The ghost had been clever, hiding in the night and moving swiftly. Yet, Hu Fei had somehow pinpointed her location and struck with precision. Though a boulder had absorbed most of the attack, the lingering power of the lightning had still managed to wound her.

With the ghost driven away, the group pressed on, their confidence bolstered. Chu Qiuran withdrew a worn map from his storage bag, occasionally scanning the terrain, leading them deeper into the heart of Ghost Corpse Mountain.

"Yang Yaoshi, you've remained rather calm. Have you been here before?" The question came from the ever-smiling Zheng Yaoshi. His granddaughter, Zheng Xiaoman, stood beside him, gazing at Yang Fan with curiosity. Her bright eyes shimmered with wonder.

Yang Fan smiled. "This is indeed my first time visiting Ghost Corpse Mountain, but I'm not particularly afraid of spirits. That ghost from earlier was likely a former cultivator, skilled in some form of spiritual art. Her movements were swift, but in the end, she's still just a specter. If she were to face a higher-level cultivator, she wouldn't stand a chance."

Zheng Yaoshi nodded in agreement, impressed by Yang Fan's keen insight. "Well said, well said."

Nearby, Chu Qiuran overheard the conversation and glanced at Yang Fan with newfound respect. **It seems this young man's knowledge and experience run deep.** Though, remembering Yang Fan's past reputation as a genius cultivator at the Congealing Spirit stage, it wasn't entirely surprising.

Chu Yuyan, who had been walking alongside Yang Fan, couldn't hide her admiration. Seeing him speak so confidently gave her a sense of pride. She shot a triumphant glance at her brother, as if to say, **See? The one I recommended isn't someone to be underestimated.**

Chu Qiuran hesitated, then smiled slightly. Through spiritual sense, he replied to his sister, "True, his past achievements in cultivation are undeniable. But medicine and cultivation are two different paths. He's still young—no matter how talented, he can't yet match the likes of Lin Yaoshi."

"Hmph." Chu Yuyan gave a light huff, slightly irritated but unwilling to argue. She only hoped that Yang Fan would prove his worth in the trials ahead.

As they journeyed deeper into the mountains, a fierce wind rose, howling through the valley. Ghostly faces twisted in the mist, and eerie cries—sharp, mournful, and full of dread—echoed all around.

"This is bad!" 

For the first time, Lin Yaoshi, normally taciturn and expressionless, spoke. "It seems we're surrounded by a large group of ghostly entities. And among them… something much more dangerous lurks—stronger, malevolent spirits."