Zhi Xuan channeled a bit of the Azure Holy Flame into his eyes again, strengthening his Divine Sense as hard as he could to penetrate the low-hanging black-purplish mist.

  He could not pierce the thick layer of mist. The mist was not just water vapor; it was a pure substance radiating dense Essence of Death, a substance that paralyzed spiritual consciousness. However, in the fraction of a second when he forced his gaze, he saw something in the dense layer of mist: thousands, perhaps millions, of thin golden threads.

  These threads extended downwards, entering the roofs of the huts, and, most horrifyingly, were connected to the back of the neck of every man and woman in the village—including the old woman and the young man sharpening his axe.

  They were all puppets. Puppets woven with golden threads that radiated an ancient, decaying aura, connected to an energy source within the mist.

  Zhi Xuan took a slow breath. This was a different kind of horror. Not merely Devils, but high-level manipulation of life and death, the Weaving of Souls.

  "Weavers... yes," Zhi Xuan muttered, shifting his gaze away from the golden threads, as if he had seen nothing. He had to remain polite, but he could not allow his investigation to cease. "And what do the Weavers weave after the Mist falls? Is there anything that can be offered to a traveling cultivator?"

  The old woman glided closer, her grin widening. "We weave many things, Young Master. Silk cloth for cold robes... and... seeds."

  She raised her wrinkled hand, and this time, she pointed to one of the small huts. In front of the hut, a worn clay container was placed. Inside, several shiny black seeds lay on very wet soil.

  "Seeds from the resting place," the old woman continued. "They flourish in the mist and blood. If the Young Master wishes to cultivate here, we can give you our best seeds."

  Zhi Xuan stepped towards the container, his eyes remaining calm. He looked at the black seeds; they radiated a very strong Life Essence, like high-level spiritual plants.

  However, there was the same layer of sickening aura as the surrounding mist. The seeds had been nourished by Decaying Spiritual Blood.

  Zhi Xuan knelt beside the container, channeling a bit of Essence to his fingertip, without touching the seeds. He sensed the black seeds, although radiating life, pulsed with a corrupt will.

  "Extraordinary seeds," Zhi Xuan praised, with a touch of smooth admiration in his voice. "I can feel the abundant vitality. But... why must they be planted near resting places?"

  The old woman chuckled, her bone-scraping laughter echoing between the huts. The young man sharpening his axe stopped, and all the mortal puppets behind them tilted their heads, listening.

  "Resting places are where essence flows, Young Master," the old woman explained. "When the spirit returns to the earth, the spiritual blood remains. Our seeds feed on that spiritual blood. We merely help them grow."

  Zhi Xuan rose slowly, his gaze shifting from the seeds to the mounds of wet earth that were protruding with frail hands nearby. He understood the implication: Mist Chaser Village was a hidden sacrifice field.

  They did not hunt beasts, but cultivators. The decaying spiritual blood was the residue of failed or lost cultivators, whose Spiritual Blood had been absorbed and solidified by the soil and the mist.

  Only one thing was the point of his suspicion, and if they were puppets embroidered with thread, then these seeds must be the same concept as harvesting life from death, but with life that is not life, death that is not death.

  'Necromancy...' Zhi Xuan muttered in his thoughts. 'Not Devils, but living Death.'

  Necromancy, Zhi Xuan had heard of it from the stories of the star villagers only during festive feasts, nights when they would sit around a large bonfire. Stories about creatures that had the ability to resurrect dead souls, turning them into a puppet army that would not perish as long as the puppet master lived.

  Zhi Xuan turned, facing the old woman again, a faint smile on his lips. He had to confirm his hypothesis about the golden threads, and there was only one way to test the puppeteer behind this village of puppets.

  "Grandmother, these seeds are too valuable for me," Zhi Xuan said. "Instead, I am looking for Wild Blood Grass Root for alchemy. And I see, this village must be abundant with it. Can Grandmother take me there?"

  The old woman did not answer immediately. Her grin twitched, and her cloudy eyes seemed to reflect a shadow behind the mist. The sudden silence that descended upon the village felt heavier than before.

  "Wild Blood Grass Root... Of course, Young Master," she replied, her voice like stones being stirred in bloody water. "But it grows near the field of thousand-night mushrooms."

  The old woman glided to the side, pointing to a field on the outskirts of the village, which was shrouded in the thickest black-purplish Mist, almost as thick as a dark puddle.

  Zhi Xuan nodded with a fully professional smile, as if their conversation were a polite market bargain, rather than a negotiation with dead puppets.

  "Thousand-night mushrooms. An honor for the eyes to behold," Zhi Xuan praised, following the old woman's gesture.

  As he moved towards the designated field, he made sure to step between the mounds of wet earth, his every step ignoring the hands protruding from the earth, a violation of mortal ethics that only the dead or an indifferent cultivator could commit.

  The old woman glided ahead, and Zhi Xuan took this opportunity to test their limits. He suddenly tilted his head, as if interested in a hut to the left, which looked very well-maintained.

  "That hut looks lovely, Grandmother. Did Grandmother weave the moss herself?" Zhi Xuan asked.

  The move was a quick test, a subtle and unpredictable feint. The old woman did not react to the question. However, the ten puppets behind her, who should have only been following, suddenly turned their heads in unison toward the hut Zhi Xuan pointed to, as if receiving irrelevant instructions that the puppeteer had to follow.

  Zhi Xuan smiled coldly behind his polite expression. That unnecessary synchronized movement confirmed his suspicion; they were collectively controlled. The old woman might be the pointer, but the puppeteer was a single entity controlling every small detail in the village.

  "A very beautiful hut, Young Master," the young man sharpening the axe interjected. He raised his axe, and its cold light reflected in Zhi Xuan's eyes. "But it is better not to touch it. It is home to our Head Weaver."

  The young man never left his position in front of his well-maintained hut. His position, Zhi Xuan now understood, was the gatekeeper—closest to the actual puppeteer.

  Zhi Xuan nodded, acknowledging the warning, and refocused his attention on the old woman who was gliding towards the mushroom field.

  "Gatekeeper," Zhi Xuan praised, with a slight nod of respect. "I appreciate the sharpness of your eyes."

  Zhi Xuan did not let his encounter with the "Gatekeeper" bother him. He followed the old woman to the outskirts of the village. As they approached the designated area, the smell of decaying spiritual blood mixed with a strong mushroom aroma, producing an intoxicating and consciousness-threatening scent.

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  The intended Thousand-Night Mushroom field was in a shallow depression covered by the thickest black-purplish Mist, almost as dense as a dark pool of water. The mushrooms grew in a strange formation; their color was not white or brown, but pitch black, shimmering with moisture and Essence of Death.

  Among the mushrooms, Wild Blood Grass Root flourished, its red veins contrasting with the surrounding darkness.

  Zhi Xuan felt a subtle pull in his Sea of Consciousness—the mist was trying to siphon his Soul Essence. He clenched his jaw, secretly condensing his own Black Jade Essence, which was pure and dense, acting as an invisible shield.

  The old woman stopped at the edge of the field, her grin directed straight at the pile of large black mushrooms. "Take it, Young Master. Take as much as you need. We are Weavers; we do not take from our fields."

  Zhi Xuan stepped forward, his clean feet treading on the wet, mossy ground. He did not immediately harvest the grass. He knelt beside the largest Thousand-Night Mushroom, observing the small seeds growing on the mushroom cap surface.

  "Why does this mushroom radiate the Essence of Death, Grandmother?" Zhi Xuan asked with an innocent voice, as if he were merely a novice alchemist.

  The old woman chuckled, her bone-scraping laughter now sounding satisfied. "Death is the densest life, Young Master. We weave the Spiritual Blood that returns to the earth into Mushrooms and Grass. We ensure nothing is lost. It is a perfect cycle."

  "A perfect cycle," Zhi Xuan repeated, he touched the mushroom cap. As his fingertip, which was covered with a slight layer of Black Jade Essence, touched the mushroom's surface, he felt a cold, corrosive current, trying to plunder his Essence.

  'Be careful, Monkey! That mushroom is corrupting Soul Essence!' Ruo Xianxue cried out, unable to restrain herself any longer in the Sea of Consciousness.

  Zhi Xuan ignored the warning. He had confirmed Ruo Xianxue's suspicion. This field was a soul-siphoning device, and the mushrooms and grass were merely biological manifestations of decomposed Spiritual Blood.

  With a faint smile, Zhi Xuan suddenly withdrew his hand. He did not take the grass. Instead, he lifted the Heavenly Trifold Reincarnation Cauldron from his hair, and the Cauldron immediately returned to its original size, hovering in the air above the mushroom field.

  "I understand this perfect cycle, Grandmother," Zhi Xuan said, his voice no longer polite, but cold and full of authority. His eyes shone sharply. "However, I do not take. I purify!"

  WHIR! WHUUM!

  A terrifying vortex of jade-gold Essence formed beneath the cauldron. Instead of siphoning Zhi Xuan's Soul Essence, the cauldron began to draw in the thick black-purplish Mist. The mist, radiating corrosive Essence of Death, was immediately sucked forcefully into the mouth of the cauldron.

  HSSSSSSSS!

  As the mist was drawn in, the sweet-sickening smell of decaying spiritual blood rapidly increased, like an old wound being opened. The pitch-black Thousand-Night Mushrooms began to tremble.

  "Xiao Die!"

  Zhi Xuan roared, and instantly amidst his master's urgent call, the Verdant Titan Moth appeared. Xiao Die shot out from Zhi Xuan's robe pocket, hovering in the air at a size almost matching the villagers' huts, shining with a brilliant rainbow jade light.

  The beat of her wings emitted a sharp flash of light, radiating air pressure that threatened to make the puppets collapse to the ground. A fourth-order heavenly insect, though not as powerful as the top ancient insects, was still no match for these puppets.

  The pressure from the beat of Xiao Die's wings, now the size of a large stallion, felt like a physical shockwave. The surrounding huts creaked, and the wet soil mounds began to crumble.

  The puppets behind the old woman, who had been silent, now began to move unstably. Their movements became jerky, the golden threads controlling them appeared to be strained and vibrating amid the unexpected pressure.

  The old woman, despite not being a cultivator, suddenly let out a shrill, squealing laugh, like a strangled rat. Her grin widened, replaced by a terrifying expression and strange body movements. Her cloudy eyes, which had been empty, now seemed to reflect hunger.

  Zhi Xuan ignored the change in the old woman's expression. He focused his Essence on the Heavenly Trifold Reincarnation Cauldron. The vortex beneath the cauldron grew stronger, pulling the decaying mist at a terrifying speed.

  The entire mushroom field now shook violently. The black mushrooms began to dry, wilt, and crumble into dust that radiated even denser Essence of Death, which was also immediately sucked into the cauldron.

  "YOU DARE!" A deep, resonant roar suddenly shook the entire village. The voice was not from the old woman, but came from inside the most well-maintained hut—the home of the Head Weaver.

  The golden threads extending from the mist to the puppets suddenly tautened. The puppets, who had been twitching, now froze in unnatural positions, as if their entire control system had suffered a severe malfunction. Several weaker clay huts collapsed, raising a cloud of dust.

  The door of the well-maintained hut—which was guarded by the young man sharpening the axe—suddenly opened by itself, revealing pitch black darkness inside. From that darkness, a figure emerged.

  The figure was a man, perhaps middle-aged, but his skin looked as white as dead alabaster, and his long, black hair flowed to his waist, just like Zhi Xuan's.

  His eyes, which twinkled in the darkness, radiated an ancient aura similar to the golden threads, but much stronger and purer—the aura of a Master Weaver who had mastered the art of life and death.

  On his back, thousands of thin golden threads were clearly visible, extending, twitching, and pulsing, connected to every puppet in the village, and extending into the black-purplish mist above. He was the puppeteer. The Head Weaver.

  WHISSSSS!

  With a slow wave of his hand, the golden thread tendrils attacked towards Zhi Xuan, the tendrils coiling like a dragon about to crush its prey.

  The thousands of coiling golden thread tendrils, radiating an ancient and decaying aura, shot towards Zhi Xuan. The threads moved with terrifying speed, not like physical weapons, but like woven will, aimed at binding and crushing their prey.

  HUM!

  Xiao Die, the Verdant Titan Moth, reacted with wild, protective instinct. She did not attack physically, but with Essence. The moth flapped her shining wings with a loud burst, releasing a wave of brilliant rainbow jade light. This light wave radiated a pure and dense spiritual pressure from a high-level Spiritual Beast, a natural defense against corruption.

  BAM!

  Xiao Die's rainbow light collided with the decaying golden threads. The golden threads crackled and recoiled momentarily, not destroyed, but pushed back by the purity of the Verdant Titan Essence. This Essence friction created a sharp ozone smell, momentarily dispelling the odor of decaying blood.

  The Head Weaver, the pale man, frowned. His eyes, radiating the aura of a Master Weaver, narrowed, his focus shifting from Zhi Xuan to the unexpected moth.

  "A Titan-level Spiritual Beast... and you dare to defile our web?" The Head Weaver's voice trembled, filled with cold and calculated anger.

  Zhi Xuan took advantage of the moment of distraction. He did not waste time defending himself. He knew his enemy was the puppeteer connected to every part of the village; he did not know the limits of the weaver's abilities in front of him, and lack of fighting experience would only lead to his death.

  "Return, Xiao Die!" Zhi Xuan waved his hand and recalled the moth. The moth flapped its wings once more with a high-pitched shriek, creating a wave that momentarily pushed back the master weaver.

  Zhi Xuan exploited the gap created by Xiao Die's farewell cry. While pulling the moth back into his robe pocket, he did not flee, but instead executed one final, most brutal action: he shifted the focus of the Heavenly Trifold Reincarnation Cauldron. The jade-gold vortex that had been siphoning the mist now shifted, targeting the nearby soil mound that was protruding with frail hands.

  WHUUM!

  With a deafening roar, the Cauldron unleashed the collected Law of Summer, laden with the newly absorbed Essence of Death. It was a backlash energy attack aimed at the Head Weaver's resource.

  The thousands of hands protruding from the ground instantly withered into dry ash, and the spiritual Essence that had been forcibly extracted from the earth was destroyed. The soil mounds collapsed inward, leaving small craters that emitted a sharp metallic odor.

  "YOU DESTROYED MY FIELD!" the Head Weaver roared, his contained anger exploding.

  The roar was followed by a much more focused and intense attack. The thousands of coiling golden thread tendrils, now propelled by the Master Weaver's fury, swept with unavoidable speed.

  Zhi Xuan knew he could not avoid this. He tried to shoot towards the village gate, but the village environment itself had turned into a dense labyrinth amid the spatial disturbance created by the puppeteer.

  In a fraction of a second, the golden threads arrived. Zhi Xuan channeled his Azure Holy Flame throughout his body, but the threads were not ordinary spiritual weapons. They moved with a corrosive will, not physicality.

  ZZZZZTTT!

  The golden threads wrapped around Zhi Xuan in a flash, binding his arms, legs, and entire body with indescribable strength. They did not cut, but pressed and locked all his Essence meridians.

  The threads radiated a disgusting coldness, penetrating his skin and attempting to bind his Sea of Consciousness. Zhi Xuan felt a cold and decaying sensation spreading throughout his body.

  His Black Jade Essence surged, and he let out a groan of pain. The threads perfectly suppressed his cultivation. He was already a captive.

  The Head Weaver stepped out of the darkness of his hut, his alabaster-white eyes shining with cold, triumphant light.

  He walked unhurriedly past the puppets who were now silent and frozen again, as if the entire village had become mannequins awaiting new instructions.

  "An interesting cultivator," the Head Weaver whispered, his voice returning to flat and monotonous, but filled with absolute authority. "Unafraid of death, possessing a Devil seed and something strange, and daring to defile my field. But your mistake, is your arrogance."