Mo Fan’s fingers tightened around Lei Yushan’s throat until cartilage cracked like dry bamboo.
The Lei God Spear shrieked, violet runes flaring in rebellion. It tore free of his demon qi, a comet of thunder that punched a hole through the night and vanished toward Phoenix Cry Mountain.
Mo Fan didn’t chase.
He only smiled, tiger tattoo on his brow blooming black.
“Memory first, toy later.”
A wisp of ghost smoke, the伥鬼, slipped between Lei Yushan’s eyes.
Three breaths.
A lifetime of schemes, thunder tribulations, and the old monster’s bedchamber secrets flooded Mo Fan’s sea of consciousness.
He exhaled frost.
“Done.”
Lei Yushan clawed at empty air, voice a broken flute.
“The Ancestor will flay your soul, toad! I’ll wait in hell!”
Mo Fan swallowed him whole.
No blood, no echo, just a faint burp of ozone.
Black fog peeled back like theatre curtains.
Bai Shuang drifted out, moonlight wheels dimming to candle stubs.
“Lei Yu Zidian’s last dog is dead. One left.”
Mo Fan rolled his shoulders, feeling the patriarch’s refined essence settle in his dantian like molten iron.
“Regret the spear?” she asked.
“Nothing that runs from me is ever lost.”
He tapped his belly. “It’s napping in my inner world. When the old freak comes, I’ll hand it back, point first.”
Bai Shuang’s eyes widened a fraction, respect, fear, maybe both.
Ghost fog funnelled back into the Soul-Devouring Banner, a black whale drinking the sea.
Mo Fan stepped through the last gate, boots crunching on scorched earth.
Ten li away, the Worm Mother chased a dwindling swarm of ghost wolves in lazy circles.
“Simple minds, simple tricks,” he said.
Bai Shuang snorted. “Simple for the man with ten thousand ghosts to spare.”
Mo Fan rolled his eyes. “Fine, you’re the genius. Now shut up and ride.”
The banner unfurled into a midnight carpet.
They shot uphill, cloaked in ghost domain, invisible to dragon-blood eyes.
Lower slopes: teeming larvae.
Mid slopes: scattered monks, wary glances at the black streak overhead.
Upper slopes: empty wind and the smell of ozone.
One full day of flight.
Then, a familiar scent, lotus and blood.
Through the ghost-gate, Mo Fan saw them.
A twelve-man magus array, crimson runes locking a writhing sphere of devil qi.
Inside the sphere, someone still fought.
And twenty paces off, lounging on a floating lotus of mirrored shards, Thousand Phantom Prince, Jiang Wu.
Hair like spilled ink, smile like a cracked mirror.
Mo Fan’s grin split wide enough to show fang.
“Old friend,” he whispered. “Didn’t think I’d see you before the dragon’s grave.”
Bai Shuang’s hand brushed his sleeve. “Trap?”
“Opportunity.”
He flicked the banner.
Ghost domain folded, spat them out ten paces behind Jiang Wu.
Mo Fan’s voice drifted over the prince’s shoulder, soft as silk, sharp as scalpels.
“Jiang Wu.
Still collecting faces, or did you finally run out of pretty ones?”
The lotus shattered into a thousand reflective butterflies.
Jiang Wu spun, twin pupils splitting into four, then eight.
“Mo Fan,” he purred. “I smelled your ghosts from three ridges away.
Come to watch me peel another mask?”
He gestured at the trapped sphere.
“Inside is a little saintess, nine yin meridians, perfect for my collection.
Care to bid?”
Mo Fan stepped forward, Soul-Devouring Banner twirling like a lazy baton.
“Bid? No.
I’m here to collect a debt.
Remember Black Wind Mountain?
You left with my sister’s face in a bottle.”
Jiang Wu’s smile faltered for the first time.
Behind them, the magus array flickered; something inside roared loud enough to crack runes.
Mo Fan’s eyes never left the prince.
“New plan,” he said to Bai Shuang without turning. “I break the cage, you break his legs.
Then we let the saintess choose who keeps breathing.”
The banner unfurled to full length, a black dragon roaring toward the array.
Jiang Wu’s thousand butterflies condensed into a single mirror shield.
“Try it,” he laughed, voice cracking like glass. “I’ve worn stronger monsters than you.”
Mo Fan’s answer was a grin and a single word.
“Race.”
Ghost wolves poured from the banner.
Wind-thunder moons ignited overhead.
The trapped saintess screamed, and the mountain answered.
The hunt for the true dragon’s lair just gained three new players, and none of them were leaving without blood on their hands.
