The little one, Li’l Rascal, felt his scalp numb from anxiety. What could a lifeless elder mean by such an obstinate obstruction? He shuddered; gray hair stained with ancient dark blood, which clotted and dried untold centuries ago. The ancient broadsword—once razor-edged—is now worn and rusty at the grip, bearing testament to an incalculable age.
“Why do you halt and not speak? Tell me now, honorable elder,” Li’l Rascal called out warily. Mao Ball instinctively hid behind him, tightly gripping strands of hair as her large eyes scanned the old specter fearfully. Unperturbed and motionless stood the ancient guardian, visage hollow as a wooden effigy, eyes void, yet resolutely blocking all passage forward.
The youth, with great difficulty and trepidation bypassed and circled him; yet, in an instant the figure vanished and reappeared ahead with a soundless teleport, once again sealing the route.
“Honor sir, do you intend fright with silence? Why the relentless halt—such mischief defies explanation!” He complained in unease.
It seemed impossible an age-warped specter should so arise before sacred grounds safeguarded by a Divine Spirit! With an exasperated decision, he fled toward the backyard. Perhaps the Celestial Vine still soaking under gentle lunar starlight held dominion greater than this undead wraith? Thus far Li’l Rascal had exercised restraint—it felt unnatural, the presence of something neither alive nor fully departed.
In back courtyards eternally wilted, the ancient sacred vine, recipient of stellar blessings, remained quiet. Despite desperate entreaties and urgent pleas—”Esteemed Guardian, there’s this old elder who blocks my path repeatedly, why not speak with him instead of causing me this dread,”—his words found silence. Leaves dimmed without motion as the old guardian’s gaze stayed unrelenting; blocking escape in death’s hush still.
Frustration surged within the small frame of the child warrior as he dashed toward stone mounds, intent on awakening the great Celestial Vine Spirit. Approaching its jade calabash, he invoked its power—but in response surged chaos energy with thundering reverberations, the vessel exuding ancient, powerful glyphs. The aura surged forth, forcing Li’l Rascal’s retreat momentarily, the air rippling with primeval energy, cosmic birth-still yet electric.
Meanwhile, the silent, ghostly specter shook and spoke finally—a hoarse echo from an age past—”Return… my sword.” A chilling sound pierced the night. “Your grave holds your answer,” he replied, astonished but determined.
A tense interaction followed with the ancient warrior continuing with haunting repetition, “Return my soul blade.” The situation overwhelmed poor Stone Hao. “Would you permit removal?”
“Clang!”
Metal answered; a single black drop wept. A terrible realization crept over Rascal: “Plunge its depths into darkness?”
Still murmuring hollow phrases amidst spectral winds, it became clear: no dialogue could resolve things here. Thus reluctantly:
“Alright, I will help you seek lost honor, return the forsaken blade!”
An unearthly hush then, all natural rhythm stilled in cosmic awe! Celestial tempest stirred—the ghost vanished forever into forgotten times. A chill ran again through the youth—the fact that such drama had transpired within the very spirit grove suggested a chilling reality… kinship?
Terrified nearly beyond wits, clutching Mao Ball’s fur as if clinging to dear life itself, he ran. The world of celestial splendor shimmered under moon beams as towering mountain temples cloaked themselves once more in quiet mist.
Hundreds of li back home within a quiet dormitory compound—relief! For countless nights no return of horror haunted. Nighttime forsook explorations; only still hours in silent cultivation punctuated evenings until the dreaded sixth day. Awakening abruptly drenched in icy trepidation.
Yet again—there arose the black blood streaming ghost before dawn!
A shriek echoed throughout enclosures: “Spit it out again, phantom fool!” Awakening dormitories like shaken honeycombs sent sleepy wanderers seeking sources.
The startled Mao Ball crashed into the wraith headfirst, meeting hollow sightlessness—a piercing yowl, then frantic scrambles. Rascal bolted upward—clutching her tail with desperation—before shattering out night air in wild escape through window shards.
“Come all you cowards!” the young one proclaimed in exaggerated calm while inside screamed another battle for reason and bravery. Specter still unmovingly approached like fate itself while curious boys murmured skeptically at claims until:
“Tangible chill gripped fingers that found icy void no eyes but all hearts could feel.” The stampede began in panic. Screams tore the tranquil silence—fearsome and palpable!
In short hours, entire districts ablaze with lanterns stirred, summoned elder disciples tremblingly emerged questioning chaos. As elders Bear Soar and Zhuo Yun prepared for restfulness they hadn’t yet earned, the commotion shattered their fragile rest.
“Youthful rabble again disturbing stillness?”—they muttered, though dread tightened grips unconsciously recalling ghost tales whispered beneath eaves in restless centuries.
A chilling reality dawned on them from the frantic reports:
Ancient malevolence from legends resurfaced; death’s hand reaping its harvest once again!
But none could fathom a bold child’s final reaction.
Defiance shined as terror gave way.
With fierce determination upon the spirit’s shoulder perched aloft—wielding stone like ancestral warhammer—he shouted promises of vengeance!
Suddenly a sky splitting whistle heralded celestial intervention—a figure flew carrying a glowing yellow calabash wreathed in swirling chaos.
And distant mountains thundered with awakenings—immense presence converged upon ancient peaks, the great protectors stir from repose. The entire domain raged into awakening.
Thus commenced confrontation unlike any before!
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