The surroundings were deathly still, broken only by the faint whisper of the wind. This profound quiet was terrifying; such a vast mountain utterly devoid of any living creature was a reality few would believe.

Putting away the herbs he had just gathered, Zhang Yang felt no joy, only a heavy sense of foreboding. Every sign confirmed that Qu Meilan had been correct, perhaps even understated; there truly was a formidable spirit beast here, one whose power stretched far beyond Zhang Yang's imagination.

It was this very spirit beast that had unleashed torrents of terrifying soul-stupefying mist, enveloping the entire mountain range—a mist that might well explain the absence of all other life. “Chirp, chirp, chirp!” Wuying called out a few times more, inquiring if Zhang Yang still intended to press onward.

It could sense more treasures ahead, but with them came greater peril; even Wuying hesitated now. “Go, slowly, but be extremely cautious!” Zhang Yang gritted his teeth.

Since they had already committed to climbing the mountain, retreat was not an option. Until the Dragon-Guiding Grass was found, he could only advance.

Shandian followed Wuying, both moving forward with measured steps. As instructed, Wuying kept its pace moderate and ceased searching for those rare, aged medicinal herbs.

Those herbs were valuable, but they were not the primary reason Zhang Yang had ventured here. His current and absolute need was the Dragon-Guiding Grass; Wu Zhiguo could not wait indefinitely, and the other herbs could always be collected on a later, less urgent visit.

The sky began to darken, making the search for the Dragon-Guiding Grass even more arduous. Fortunately, Zhang Yang didn't have to search himself; he had fully described the grass's characteristics to Wuying, who would alert him immediately upon discovery.

Night finally fell completely, rendering the already ominous Dragon-Guiding Mountain even more dreadful. “Chirp, chirp, chirp!” Wuying suddenly cried out again, but this time it wasn't a discovery of treasure, but a new finding.

They were now halfway up the slope, where the concentration of the soul-stupefying mist was significantly denser—enough to affect even a cultivator at the third layer of Internal Strength under normal circumstances. Receiving Wuying’s information, Zhang Yang’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

If the halfway point held mist potent enough to cloud the third layer, he dared not contemplate the conditions at the summit. At this juncture, Zhang Yang’s faith in Qu Meilan’s words became absolute.

He believed that even a top master at the fourth layer of Internal Strength who ventured here would never return; the spirit beast coiled within this mountain was simply too overwhelmingly powerful. Carefully examining his own body, Zhang Yang felt a slight measure of relief return.

The mist that could disorient a third-layer practitioner had not affected him, nor had it touched Shandian or Wuying. Zhang Yang surmised that the excessive spiritual medicine they had consumed must have bolstered their inherent resistance to this kind of miasma—a small grace, at least.

After a brief hesitation, Zhang Yang once more ordered Wuying to ascend. Having reached the mid-slope without finding the target herb, he had no choice but to continue upward.

Zhang Yang could only pray to discover the Dragon-Guiding Grass swiftly and, above all, avoid alerting the formidable beast lurking within the mountain. Though he had not seen the spirit beast, its sheer power was enough to instill deep terror in him.

At the parking area near the base of the mountain, Long Feng was frowning down at Long Cheng. The old hag had been buried by her disciples.

Since Zhang Yang had not returned, Long Feng had knocked out all the female disciples and confined them temporarily on the mountain. How to deal with them was Zhang Yang’s affair; Long Feng chose not to interfere.

It was only upon reaching the base that he learned Zhang Yang had departed alone, and Long Cheng had no idea where he had gone. “Senior, surely Zhang Yang will be fine?” Seeing Long Feng’s grim expression, Long Cheng asked cautiously.

He already regretted allowing Zhang Yang to leave on his own, especially with the late hour approaching and no word from him. “I cannot say for sure.

He didn't inform you or me, which implies he didn't want us accompanying him. You wait here; I’ll return and inquire,” Long Feng replied, shaking his head before heading back up the slope, from which he soon brought down one of the female disciples.

Only after rousing this particular disciple did Long Feng begin his interrogation. In truth, even before questioning the girl, Long Feng had already divined Zhang Yang’s destination: he must have gone to that so-called Dragon-Guiding Mountain to search for the Dragon-Guiding Grass for Wu Zhiguo.

Long Feng was usually icy, but he was far from foolish. The old hag, before her death, had not only destroyed the Dragon-Guiding Grass but had also repeatedly mentioned Dragon-Guiding Mountain, clearly maneuvering them toward it.

If she went to such lengths, it meant Dragon-Guiding Mountain was anything but simple. Alternatively, it meant some elaborate trap awaited them there.

Zhang Yang must have suspected something, which was why he deliberately shook them off and went alone. After a short period of questioning, the expressions of both Long Feng and Long Cheng grew grave.

While they were unfamiliar with the legends surrounding Dragon-Guiding Mountain, in the Southern Frontier, the tales were known by virtually everyone, etched deep into their collective consciousness. Long Feng’s suspicion mirrored Zhang Yang’s: he did not believe in the existence of a dragon, positing instead that a powerful spirit beast occupied the mountain.

The old hag had lured them up the mountain, intending to use the spirit beast to annihilate them. “Senior, perhaps you should wait here, and I will go to Dragon-Guiding Mountain to retrieve Zhang Yang!” Long Cheng immediately offered.

Long Cheng was not a native of the Southern Frontier and felt less dread regarding Dragon-Guiding Mountain; he reasoned that a mountain so large could not pose a major risk simply by entering a small part of it. “Do not go anywhere!” Long Feng responded coldly, glancing dismissively at Long Cheng.

Long Cheng paused, surprised by Long Feng’s response, but he dared not contradict his senior and fell silent where he stood. “Zhang Yang told us not to follow for a reason.

If you go now, you’re likely to cause him trouble. Wait here.

We will reassess at dawn,” Long Feng added slowly. Long Cheng looked at him with astonishment, then nodded silently.

It had to be admitted that Long Feng maintained remarkable composure, avoiding any rash actions. Had he agreed to let Long Cheng search, Long Cheng, given his current strength, would have become lost upon entering the mountain, likely meeting the same fate as all others who ventured in unauthorized: vanishing without a trace.

While waiting, Long Feng took the opportunity to offer Long Cheng some pointers on cultivation. This development greatly excited Long Cheng.

Long Feng had mentioned mentoring him previously, but time had never permitted it; Zhang Yang leaving them behind had unexpectedly created this chance. While the two Long family members waited below, Zhang Yang had made significant progress upward.

Dragon-Guiding Mountain was vast rather than exceedingly tall, and he had now climbed three-quarters of the way. The mist in the air here was even more potent; Zhang Yang could now distinctly perceive its scent.

This concentration of mist was sufficient not just to affect, but to completely disorient a third-layer Internal Strength practitioner. This implied that with nothing more than a released gas, this terrifying spirit beast could effortlessly slay masters of the third layer.

Zhang Yang refused to contemplate the sheer magnitude of such a creature's horror. “Wuying, how is it?” Having reached this altitude, Zhang Yang dared not climb higher, content to have Wuying scout along the mountainside, hoping to locate the Dragon-Guiding Grass here.

“Chirp, chirp, chirp!” Wuying chirped several times, then shook its small head. Its speed had increased considerably, and it had located many valuable items, but none were celestial treasures, nor was the Dragon-Guiding Grass Zhang Yang sought.

Zhang Yang collected the various herbs Wuying encountered, reasoning that since they were on the way, they were a bonus worth taking. By now, his canvas bag was nearly full.

“Let’s go!” Zhang Yang whispered. Wuying immediately bounded forward again; since nothing here suited their needs, they had to continue onward.

The night was remarkably clear, studded with many bright stars. The system data upgrades had sharpened Zhang Yang’s vision considerably, allowing him to perceive much detail on the mountain slopes.

“Chirp, chirp, chirp!” After walking for about half an hour, Wuying’s calls suddenly grew more urgent, and it sprinted ahead. Zhang Yang and Shandian hurried to keep up.

Wuying ran a short distance before darting into a cave—the first inhabitable cavern Zhang Yang had encountered on Dragon-Guiding Mountain. There were clear signs of human interference around the cave mouth.

Taking out a flashlight—a precaution taken at the start in case he was delayed overnight—Zhang Yang followed Wuying into the cavern. It appeared to be a tunnel that had been deliberately excavated.

The tunnel was not deep; after only a few steps, they reached the interior, where the flashlight beam illuminated everything with stark clarity. Seeing what lay inside, Zhang Yang froze abruptly.

The interior space was somewhat larger than the tunnel but still limited, roughly equivalent to a small room of about ten square meters. Within this small area lay several skeletal remains.

Judging solely by the color, these bones had weathered for a considerable time. The skeletons were arranged somewhat neatly, but closer inspection revealed that many were disarticulated—an arm separated here, a thigh bone there, and two skulls lay detached beside their torsos.

Wuying darted in quickly, leaping onto the hilt of a long sword that lay without its scabbard, clinging tightly to the grip. This long sword was laid flat on the ground.

Beside it lay the skeleton of what appeared to be the most complete of the group, positioned in a seated posture against the wall, suggesting this person had died in their final resting place. “Chirp, chirp, chirp!” Wuying rested on the sword hilt for a moment, then called out when Zhang Yang remained motionless.

Zhang Yang’s focus finally shifted from the collection of bones to the long sword Wuying clutched. The sword was sheathes, its blade layered with thick dust.

Zhang Yang walked over, lifted Wuying, and simultaneously picked up the long sword. “So cold!” The moment the hilt met his hand, Zhang Yang felt an intense, chilling sensation, like gripping a block of ice in deep winter—an uncomfortable coldness.

However, this icy feeling was quickly followed by a refreshing clarity; Zhang Yang felt his spirits noticeably lift. Slowly, the icy grip on his hand transformed into a comfortable, cool sensation.

This enveloping comfort was profoundly satisfying. With astonishment in his eyes, Zhang Yang gently blew the dust from the blade.

Under the light, the sword’s surface shone brilliantly, seeming to emit faint tendrils of cold vapor.