Morning broke with golden light filtered through the trees. Birds sang overhead, and the breeze carried with it the scent of pine, dew, and freshly steamed buns.
Mo Tianzun yawned behind his sleeve, hair half-dried and tied lazily, robes slightly rumpled. He emerged from the forest trail with Crown Prince Longxuan walking beside him, a soft smile lingering on both their faces—too relaxed, too suspiciously at ease.
Ahead, the others were already gathered at the resting pavilion near the roadside: the Liu Twins arguing over who packed the tea set, Fenglie sitting cross-legged while feeding dried meat to Shuiyun's beast form, and Huayin lazily grooming his nine tails as if nothing in the world mattered more than looking divine.
"You two look suspiciously well-rested," Fenglan commented with a grin as he saw them.
Zhenhai raised a brow, "You weren't gone that long, and yet you return like enlightened monks."
Longxuan gave a polite cough. "The spring was… effective."
Mo Tianzun merely sipped tea, ignoring them.
"'Effective,' he says." Fenglan leaned over to Zhenhai. "Translation: They definitely kissed. Or worse."
"You're one to talk," Jiang Fenglie muttered. "Didn't you and your brother fall asleep snuggling with Shuiyun and Huayin like fox cubs?"
Huayin flicked his sleeve dramatically. "Jealousy is unbecoming on you, child."
"I am not a child."
"Mm," Shuiyun said, sipping from a teacup. "But you act like one."
Amid the laughter and teasing, a rare sense of comfort surrounded them. For the first time in what felt like decades, Mo Tianzun allowed himself to smile without restraint. But that peace, fragile and fleeting, was soon disrupted by the shadows of the journey ahead.
After finishing their breakfast, the group resumed their travel.
They followed the mist-veiled road eastward, past mountain streams and abandoned villages. Rumors had begun to take a darker turn. Travelers spoke of lands where crops rotted overnight, of children sleepwalking into the sea, and of shadows that whispered names that had long since died.
At a fork in the road, an old farmer bowed before them. "Sirs, if I may... you're headed toward Chenmu village, aren't you? Please… be careful."
"Why?" Zhenhai asked gently.
The farmer's voice dropped. "It's cursed." He trembled. "Our village was at peace, children playing outside, man doing their work, woman taking care of their husband and wife, but suddenly one night a strange scream was heard on our chief house and saw his daughter was lying full of blood in her face with piece of glasses piercing on her flesh. We thought someone did that to her daughter but it keeps happening and we all started getting afraid looking and seeing a mirror"
The group exchanged glances. Fenglan's smile faded. "Another mysterious village"
Yun Huayin sniffed the air. "There's a spiritual distortion coming from that direction. It's faint… but old. Ancient, perhaps. And deeply malicious."
As they continued down the path, Mo Tianzun trailed at the rear of the group, frowning slightly. In his fingers was a scrap of charred talisman he had picked up from the last abandoned shrine they passed. The energy embedded in it was unmistakable.
Liu Shengjie.
Even now, that name lingered in his thoughts like poison on the tongue. A God of War, yes—but also a usurper of balance. Mo Tianzun's stomach coiled as he realized each cursed village, each distortion in the realm… might not be isolated chaos.
It was a pattern. A trail. One he was following straight toward the heart of the enemy's grand plan.
Longxuan slowed his horse and rode beside him. "Thinking too deeply again?"
"I'm trying to piece it together," Tianzun murmured. "This isn't just about devils slipping through the cracks of the mortal realm. It's about preparing the world. For someone who wants to rule it."
Longxuan frowned. "You think it's him?"
"I know it is."
But before their mood could sour too deeply, Fenglan's voice rang out from ahead.
"Hey! There's a food stand near that bridge! I smell dumplings!"
Jiang Fenglie groaned. "You always smell dumplings."
"We've been riding for hours!" Fenglan whined. "And love makes me hungry!"
Zhenhai rolled his eyes. "You mean lust."
Shuiyun chuckled. "Same thing for mortals."
Mo Tianzun and Longxuan shared a look—one half-exasperated, one half-amused—and followed the chaos of their small, dysfunctional traveling party toward the next unknown.
.
.
.
.
Their next lead pointed toward a northern village known only in whispers and warnings: the Village of Whispering Mirrors.
As they neared its boundary, a strange chill trickled down their backs. Towering trees framed the entrance, their bark covered in frost despite the season. What stood out most, however, were the full-length wooden-framed mirrors placed intermittently along the path—each reflecting distorted images or flickering shadows.
"This place gives me the creeps already," Fenglan muttered, clutching his blade instinctively.
"It's like we're being watched... by ourselves," Zhenhai said, narrowing his eyes at a mirror that showed him smiling—though he was most definitely not.
Jiang Fenglie stepped forward and placed a talisman against one of the mirrors. A shimmer of qi responded, as though the mirror was alive. "Illusion-type curses," he murmured. "But woven with something else. Dream magic? Maybe memory-based."
Mo Tianzun stood behind Longxuan, arms crossed beneath his loose robe. His eyes swept the surroundings with calm intensity. Shuiyun and Huayin glanced at each other, uneasy.
As they entered the village, the locals greeted them with strange hesitance. Heads bowed, eyes averted from the mirrors. The village chief, a hunched man with a large prayer bead necklace, explained in a hushed tone:
"At night, our reflections wander. Sometimes they return. Sometimes... they don't. And if you see yourself move before you do—run."
Fenglan laughed nervously. "Haha, what if my reflection looks better than me? Should I still run?"
"That's impossible," Zhenhai deadpanned. "Your face makes my sword want to commit seppuku."
"You two are still like this after near-death in the zombie village?" Shuiyun sighed, tossing his sleeve.
Longxuan chuckled quietly, hand brushing Tianzun's wrist beneath the table as they sipped tea. The night stretched quietly, too quiet.
—————
That evening, they arranged to sleep in the same inn—each room outfitted with at least one mirror they promptly covered with cloths.
Mo Tianzun didn't sleep. He meditated with eyes half-closed, senses tuned to every disturbance in the surrounding qi.
When midnight struck, glass cracked. A mirror down the hall shattered. Footsteps—bare, slow—echoed unnaturally on wooden floorboards.
Fenglie was the first out of his room, sword at the ready. Fenglan followed, eyes widening as a translucent, ghostlike version of himself turned the corner. It tilted its head in eerie mimicry.
"Not handsome enough to beme," Fenglan muttered, before launching an attack.
The echo dissolved, then reformed. Zhenhai joined him, striking from the opposite side.
Downstairs, Longxuan and Mo Tianzun fought a different reflection—one that copied Longxuan's movements perfectly, even down to the smirk.
"This is getting annoying," the prince growled, swinging Lingxu and burning the entity with spiritual fire.
Just as the reflection lunged, Mo Tianzun stepped in front, letting his spiritual qi explode outward. The mirror-reflection staggered, flickered, then screamed—a human sound that didn't belong in this world.
One by one, they banished the echoes. Huayin and Shuiyun helped the villagers trap and purify the remaining cursed mirrors.
By dawn, the mists began to lift, and the real villagers emerged cautiously from their homes.
—————
The villagers offered the travelers food in gratitude. Long tables overflowed with wild mushroom soup, roasted duck, rice wine, and sweet cakes.
The Liu Twins clinked cups with Shuiyun and Huayin, exchanging teasing barbs and laughter.
Meanwhile, Mo Tianzun wandered away from the group. The tension of the night clung to his skin, and he longed for the stillness of water. He followed a narrow path that led to a cold spring nestled again between stone outcroppings and moss-laced boulders.
Shrugging off his outer robes, Tianzun slipped into the water with a quiet exhale. Steam rose gently around him as the mountain air kissed his skin. The stillness reminded him of a time before all the chaos.
He closes his eyes readying himself to meditate when a sudden splash was heard besides him.
"You better not be meditating without me," came Longxuan's unmistakable voice.
Tianzun rolled his eyes. "You followed me again?"
"I follow my husband wherever he goes," Longxuan replied with a laugh, shedding his own clothes and sliding into the spring.
Tianzun gave him a look. "We're not married."
"Yet," Longxuan said, catching his waist and pulling him close.
Steam curled around them as their lips met, laughter rising between kisses. And for a moment—just a moment—the world feel was at peace.
Mo Tianzun leaned his forehead against Longxuan's and whispered, "Thank you for coming back to me."
Longxuan's arms wrapped around him tighter. "I never left."
As the mist swirled around the spring, their silhouettes blurred, melting into one.
.
.
.
.
Back in the village, Fenglan blinked around. "Has anyone seen the prince and Tianzun?"
Huayin coughed into his sleeve. "...They said something about a spring."
Zhenhai raised an eyebrow. "Ah. They'll come back with matching mosquito bites and satisfied expressions."
Shuiyun raised his wine cup. "To young love and mysterious mirrors."
Laughter echoed, warm and unburdened.
But far, far away—beneath the shifting surface of a silver mirror—eyes gleamed red.
—————
[SEPPUKU] - is a Japanese ritual suicide where a samurai kills himself by cutting into his belly. After one had done so, a second person would cut off his head. It was thought that seppuku was an honorable way to die.