Radiance

Chen Yiming couldn’t see what was under the umbrella, but he was obedient; since Ji Ningzhao told him to hold it, he did so without complaint.

Xie Qingfa, on the other hand, stole glances at Ji Ningzhao as he walked beside her, his curiosity barely concealed.

The closer they drew to Jingtai Mountain, the more restless Chen Yiming became. Ever since the day he remembered what had once happened under the light of illumination, the image of that white shadow gazing down at them from the second floor would haunt him from time to time.

Fortunately, the pendant Ji Ningzhao had given him would grow warm whenever fear threatened to overwhelm him, offering Chen Yiming some measure of comfort.

By the time they reached Jingtai Mountain, the clouds hung low and heavy, shrouding half the mountain in swirling mists so dense that nothing beyond could be seen.

The abandoned school sat on the mountain’s far side, beneath the trees—secluded within seclusion, the very heart of desolation. Xie Qingfa couldn’t fathom why anyone would build a school in such a remote, forsaken place.

The car could go no farther than the main road; they would have to walk a mountain path to reach their destination. Though the school had been deserted for years, the steady stream of urban explorers meant the path was not too difficult to traverse.

Xie Qingfa’s sect was on the mountain itself, so he was long accustomed to climbing up and down these slopes. Chen Yiming, with his regular exercise regimen, found the walk unchallenging as well.

Ji Ningzhao, however, seemed the least robust of the three—almost delicate, with the air of someone perpetually unwell. Yet she walked on without so much as flushing or losing her breath.

She examined the heavily rusted school sign, upon which the characters for “Yuying” could still be faintly discerned.

The campus was indeed small: two classroom buildings standing side by side, a playground in front, and behind them the boys’ and girls’ dormitories. Beyond lay the rear mountain.

“Why would anyone build a school deep in the mountains like this?” Xie Qingfa muttered. “It looks more like a prison.”

He wasn’t wrong. The front slope of Jingtai Mountain had been developed for tourism, drawing many vacationers and boasting all the amenities one could ask for.

But the back slope, where Yuying Middle School was located, was a different story—sparsely populated and rarely kissed by sunlight. The school’s inability to attract students back in the day likely owed as much to its location as to any whispered rumors.

Ji Ningzhao had done her research. Yuying Middle School had charged high tuition fees and advertised itself as a closed-campus institution: students were allowed home only once a month, with all their time strictly managed.

Many parents, too busy to discipline children entering adolescence, saw this arrangement as a godsend and sent their children there for that very reason.

Back when the incident occurred, Ji Ningzhao had checked the records at the Special Bureau, but found nothing. It was possible the case truly had no connection to supernatural entities.

Still, not every anomaly in Hang City would necessarily be noticed by the Bureau. It was far too soon to draw any conclusions.

Mist curled down from the mountain, seeping into the school grounds. Through the iron railings, they could just make out the wild growth of weeds within.

Even standing outside those railings, Chen Yiming felt an oppressive damp and chill. Whether it was his imagination or not, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside was watching him.

“Open the umbrella,” Ji Ningzhao said, pushing the iron gate as she spoke.

Chen Yiming obediently opened the umbrella. In Xie Qingfa’s eyes, the moment the umbrella unfurled, the little dragon coiled around its ribs slid in a circle across the canopy before returning to its perch. As the dragon moved, the surrounding mists seemed to dissipate.

Xie Qingfa stiffened at once. For what could be driven away by pure yang energy was not ordinary mist, but the miasma and gloom exuded by ghosts—and for a place to become a true haunted realm, it would require more than a common specter.

Yet compared to Xie Qingfa’s tension, Ji Ningzhao seemed at ease, as if strolling through her own backyard.

After all, had Ji Ningzhao not become an immortal due to her late husband, by virtue of her cultivation and former status, she could have become something a hundred times more terrifying than the evil presence lurking here.

Xie Qingfa, first disciple of his sect and bearer of the puppet bones, was well equipped for now—nothing Ji Ningzhao needed to worry about.

But before entering the classroom building, Ji Ningzhao turned to Chen Yiming. “Remember what I told you the other day?”

Ever since they set foot on the campus, Chen Yiming had been clutching the umbrella tightly. He nodded earnestly, replying, “I remember. No matter who asks me for the little vial, I mustn’t give it to them.”

Ji Ningzhao smiled softly. “Good. Hold tight to your umbrella and keep your vial safe. Even if I ask you for it, you must refuse. After all, you may not be able to tell if it’s really me you’re seeing.”

Her words sent a shiver through Chen Yiming. He almost wished he could embed the vial into his flesh.

Inside the classroom building, just as Chen Yiming had said, all was clean—no trace of malevolent energy. The only hazard was the thick accumulation of dust.

But when they crossed to the dormitory, Xie Qingfa’s sharp instincts told him something was wrong.

The main door of the dormitory had been shut by someone. The deep green paint on the iron door was streaked with rust the color of dried blood.

Though he still saw no supernatural presence, Xie Qingfa could sense it: something lingered on the second floor, watching the three of them. Whether it was an invitation or a threat, it was impossible to say.

He gripped the wooden sword at his waist and glanced at Ji Ningzhao.

He knew her senses were keener than his own; she must be aware of much more than he.

Yet Ji Ningzhao had brought no magical implements today—only the black umbrella she’d already given to Chen Yiming. Despite the ominous atmosphere, she simply pushed open the iron door without so much as raising an eyebrow.

“Let’s go in,” Ji Ningzhao said, looking at Xie Qingfa, who was braced for battle, and at Chen Yiming, who looked ready to flee. “Whatever’s inside, we won’t know until we see it for ourselves. I’m here; nothing will happen to you.”

Chen Yiming swallowed hard. Though not as practiced as Xie Qingfa or Ji Ningzhao, and unable to sense the supernatural, he felt danger instinctively.

But he knew, too, that this trouble had started because of him. Xie Qingfa and Ji Ningzhao were risking themselves for his sake; he couldn’t back out now.

Whether he stuck his neck out or shrank back, it would come to the same end. Gritting his teeth, Chen Yiming marched into the dormitory, determined to face whatever awaited him.

Inside, he found the building shrouded in thick mist. No matter how much he tried to steel himself, the sheer unnaturalness of it unnerved him.

He opened his mouth to call for Xie Qingfa and Ji Ningzhao, only to find that both had vanished. In the swirling fog, he stood alone, an umbrella in hand.

Meanwhile, as Ji Ningzhao stepped through the door, she realized at once that she and the others had been separated. From deep within the mist, a familiar woman's voice called out to her, using a name she had not heard in many years.

“Zhao Zhao.”