Waking up covered in muddy blood was not pleasant, but the pale sun shining down made up for the festering smell that coated him.

Zhao blinked blearily, rubbing his eyes as he took in the aftermath of their fight. If it could even be called that.

He only remembered dropping unconscious, and the fact that he was alive led him to the conclusion that a main character event had occurred to overturn the obvious outcome.

Tai Yang slumbered loudly near the edge of the cauldron, while Che Fang was passed out with his back against a tree with Gu Hong… sleeping in his lap.

Unsure as to what to make of that, Zhao hoped that at least one of them could recount what had happened.

Gathering his strength, the victorious disciple threw his hands up and let a relieved shout of joy escape him as he jumped up energetically.

Feeling alive had never felt better, especially considering that the haunting side effects of the Myriad Voices seemed to have disappeared with the mist.

Thoughts clicked into place as Zhao gazed at the lifeless villagers sprawled across the clearing.

Each disembodied head looked like an acquaintance; they had been his tormentors for the past month.

He shivered, concluding that his visions may have been ghosts of the victims before him.

The thought made him sick, but a disconcertingly familiar voice called out to him before he could dwell on it. “Over here…” it whispered in a voice that Zhao didn’t recognize but would swear he had heard before.

Walking to the source of the call led him to the lip of the cauldron implanted in the center of the clearing.

Inside a wisp floated eagerly, its ephemeral body a tawny brown that shimmered in the air.

“I saved you, now you save me.” intoned the energy excitedly.

Perhaps sensing Zhao’s confusion, it coalesced into the ruddy face of the mortal who had first warned them to turn around and then later led them to the village.

“You!” he breathed.

Although the help was appreciated, finding out that he had interacted with a ghost set Zhao’s teeth on edge.

The remnant of the soul bobbed in confirmation.

Reluctantly, Zhao sat beside the cauldron. He knew what it wanted, though not how it knew what he could do.

Wielding the Myriad Voices, Zhao began to extricate part of the creature and absorb it into himself.

Roughly an hour passed before the fragment unraveled, a significant piece being inhaled by Zhao while the remainder dissipated into the heavens above.

Integrating the odd energy into his cultivation base would take time, but that would have to happen later as Gu Hong was stirring.

Walking over to him Zhao realized that the boy’s eyes were raw, his face a facade stained with muck that had dried around streams of tears.

“Gu Hong,” he started carefully, “could you tell me what happened?”

Vacant eyes rose to meet his gaze, abruptly followed by Gu Hong launching himself into Zhao’s arms.

“Brother Zhao!” he exclaimed, bawling. “I was so scared- I’m sorry I didn’t help you! I-I…”

Feeling awkward, Zhao rubbed his junior’s head as the words trailed off.

It took the youth a few minutes to pull himself together, upon which Gu Hong managed to narrate the tale of Che Fang’s ancestor saving their lives.

At the end the story stuttered as tears once again returned to Gu’s childish face. “She made me… I had to…” .

Uncertain about how to handle the psychological aftereffects of one’s first murder, Zhao fell back on his knowledge of comforting children and wrapped Gu Hong tightly as he listened.

Stroking his back in a gesture that felt oddly intimate for two individuals that were strangers a month ago, Zhao reassured Gu Hong that he need not blame himself. Though he stopped short of refuting the guilt.

“We should never forget this feeling,” he shared what he hoped was wisdom, “because otherwise we will turn into heartless monsters. Guilt keeps us human.”

While the young disciple sobbed into his robes, Zhao’s visage turned stoney as he considered the implications of the previous day’s events.

Jacob. A name he hadn’t heard in the months since transmigrating into Jianghu.

A quick introspection revealed the speaker. Or, at least, what was left of them.

The spirit fragment lodged inside Zhao fumed, darting around his body erratically but unable to escape or interact with his physical form.

He remembered reaching for it in a desperate attempt to anchor himself to his body when the demonic cultivator’s art had tried to claim Zhao’s mind.

Whatever happened next seemed to have awakened it. Him.

Remnants of the original Zhao Mi.

The fact that a piece of his host body’s mind remained brought a complicated mix of emotions.

Zhao had never considered himself a thief since he understood the body’s prior consciousness had passed on.

Since that wasn’t entirely the case, it brought a question to the forefront: was he obligated to return the body to its rightful owner, if such a feat were possible?

Instinctively Zhao thought it would be the right thing to do.

But self preservation tempered his decision. If there was only one body between the two of them, he was hesitant to give it up.

Furthermore, he wasn’t even sure how he could let the spirit fragment take control again. Nor could he be certain the disembodied wisp could operate normally for an extended period of time.

Though he had apparently interacted repeatedly with the spirit fragment of a dead human, its capacity had seemed limited.

Put bluntly, it didn’t seem stable.

Its first appearance as a mortal shambling through the mist had made it seem insane.

Zhao wasn’t even sure an intent to save them could be attributed to its second visit given it had seemed focused on the spirit fragment that emerged from their horse.

In Gu Hong’s retelling, when the internal spirit fragment possessed Zhao’s body it had referred to a much more powerful cultivator as a ‘babe’ and suggested that he was sleeping with her.

Regardless of whether it was aware of events in the outside world, such behavior was clearly courting death. There was no doubt that the spirit fragment knew as much.

Before Zhao could decide on an appropriate course of action he would need to find a way to converse with the spirit fragment to understand its state.

He would keep it locked away if it was irrational.

In the case it was sane… Zhao would find out a solution satisfactory to both parties.

He shook his head to dislodge the ruminations.

Regardless of the outcome of his unique situation, they were alive.

In addition, Che Fang’s path to ascendency had been made manifest thanks to Zhao’s donation of spirit stones combined with placing the youth against a Foundation Establishment cultivator.

The man in question stirred along with Tai Yang while Zhao was comforting their junior brother.

Each exchanged an unsure glance as they watched the spectacle between Zhao and Gu Hong, but withheld explicit judgment.

Zhao waved them over and, after confirming neither of them remembered the events of the evening, gave an abridged version of their encounter with the villainous cultivator.

Having calmed down, Gu Hong interjected at the end of the telling. “Before she left, a-auntie gave me this.” he said while holding up a bottle.

Through the translucent glass mist roiled like thunderclouds, the tortured face of ‘Jiang Shu’ briefly flickering in the clouds before being consumed.

“It’s a life saving treasure!” Gu Hong clarified upon seeing their interested stares. “Breaking the glass will reproduce the mist we were trapped in, and the spirit of the evil man will fight alongside us.”

As usual, Zhao couldn’t stop his eyebrow from twitching at the demonstration of heavenly favor; not only had their lives been saved but they had also obtained a life saving treasure capable of fighting off a Foundation Establishment cultivator.

Slowly, Zhao realized they might have a problem.

“Listen everyone…” he began, “how about we keep the details of our mission vague in our report.”

He nodded at Che Fang and the bottle Gu Hong gripped. “It would be to our benefit to keep our savior and treasure secret, lest the Elders begin prodding around.”

Tai Yang was the only one who really needed to agree, given that Gu Hong was eager to serve and the secret in question was Che Fang’s.

The beast of a man merely nodded pensively as he flexed his fingers. Such a subdued reaction was unexpected but welcome.

Although the body of the demonic cultivator responsible for their near-death experience had disappeared as a result of whatever Che Fang’s ancestor had done, the decedent’s items lay scattered inside the inert cauldron responsible for the proliferation of the mist.

Sensing no Qi fluctuations from the device, Zhao descended and collected their spoils with glee.

The discovery of a spatial storage bag helped everyone’s mood recover, though even Zhao’s abnormal divine sense wasn’t powerful enough to interface with the tool fully.

After some experimentation he managed to vanish the cauldron into the storage space along with the abandoned robes that fluttered in the breeze.

As Zhao climbed out of the crater Tai Yang spoke quietly. “None of these people deserved this.”

His assertion was met with silence until he continued resolutely, “We should give them all proper burials.”

Ignoring the scale of the task, they came to a consensus to give a proper farewell to the departed.

Gu Hong dispatched himself to retrieve shovels from the town, returning within an hour.

Subsequently, the Misty Cradle disciples thus spent their morning burying the dead and holding a moment of silence in their honor.

Though energetic in their steps as they left the clearing in the early afternoon after hours of labor, an unidentifiable undercurrent of emotion lay undiscussed between the young men.

Even Zhao, who was technically twice as old as he looked, was shaken by what he had seen. He couldn’t imagine what his fellow sect mates were experiencing.

Perhaps after reflection he could muster help with processing the events, but he doubted it. The idea of doing so felt hollow compared to the reality they had undergone.

Making their way back to the village, Zhao outlined what each of them should say upon their return. His goal was to ensure that each individual’s assessment was corroborated across all four of them while also maintaining slight differences between each perspective to avoid rousing suspicion.

They left the abandoned settlement behind and soon came upon Han Lee’s carriage, untouched save for the damage they had previously done to it.

After a quick discussion the cultivators used their superior strength to lift it off the road and hide it in the forest as best they could in hopes of recovering its goods on a subsequent trip.

Zhao also suggested they hide their life saving treasure, given that it lit up like a Christmas tree in his divine sense.

Once it was buried beneath the carriage, the group departed for the Misty Cradle Sect at a respectable pace, not encountering any other travelers.

Thankfully, Che Fang had the wherewithal to point out that all of them looked horrible.

After going so long without bathing, haircuts, or any other form of hygienic practice, their team resembled bandits more than disciples of an honorable sect.

Reappearing in such a state would invite punishment to rectify their behavior in the future, thus a stop was made at a stream that passed close to the road, and each of the disciples did their best to wash their bodies and clothes.

Without replacement robes or supplies only so much could be done to salvage their wild state, but hopefully their efforts combined with a stop at a mortal barber before returning to the sect would preclude any serious reprimand.