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Chapter 35

  Kai left the outskirts of Mungsu behind, the city’s imposing walls fading into the distance as he stepped back into the embrace of the forest. The dense canopy loomed overhead, its tangled branches weaving a lattice of shadows that stretched across the forest floor. He had chosen this route deliberately, knowing no river flowed north from the city to guide his way. The woods, though treacherous, offered more safety than the main roads—one that would lead him to Zan, the spiritual wasteland that now beckoned him like a distant, desolate beacon.

  As he ventured deeper, the forest came alive around him. The rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant calls of birds, and the soft crunch of twigs beneath his boots formed a symphony of nature that both comforted and unnerved him. He had been walking for an hour or two, each step carrying him further from the chaos of Mungsu and closer to the unknown. As he walked along, his thoughts turned to the place he was heading toward—a land that was as forbidding as it was alluring.

  Zan sprawled across the northernmost edge of the continent, a vast expanse that stood in stark contrast to the qi-rich lands to the south. Its name, "Zan," evoked its position—perched at the very top of the continent like a hairpin fixed atop a person’s head. This geographical peculiarity lent the region an air of isolation, as though it existed on the fringes of the world, untethered and forgotten. It was a place that whispered of hardship and endurance, a land that promised nothing but desolation.

  To cultivators, Zan was known as the "spiritual wasteland," a title that spoke to its unforgiving nature. The region was defined by an almost complete absence of ambient qi, the vital energy that cultivators depended on to fuel their abilities and sustain their practices. Without this essential resource, Zan became a barren and inhospitable environment for cultivators, one that no cultivator would willingly venture into, let alone endure for long. It was a place where the very essence of cultivation—the drawing in and refining of qi—became a near-impossible task.

  For cultivators, advancing one’s abilities was a delicate and intricate process, one that hinged on the ability to absorb and harness ambient qi. In Zan, however, this process was not just hindered—it was nearly halted. The scarcity of qi in the atmosphere made cultivation agonizingly slow, a grueling endeavor that tested both patience and resolve. What might take a dedicated cultivator a decade of rigorous training in a qi-rich region could stretch into a century or more in Zan. The lack of qi not only stifled progress but also threatened to erode the very foundation of a cultivator’s journey, leaving them stranded in a state of stagnation.

  For Kai, this meant his cultivation would effectively freeze at its current level, his progress stunted by the barren environment. Yet, he found himself unbothered by this prospect. Cultivation no longer held the same urgency. What mattered now was survival.

  The world beyond Zan had become a treacherous landscape, teeming with threats from both righteous and demonic cultivators. Every step outside its borders carried the risk of confrontation, betrayal, or worse. In Zan, Kai saw a rare opportunity—a sanctuary where neither faction dared to tread. Both sides viewed the spiritual wasteland as a barren, lifeless void, unworthy of their attention or ambition. To them, it was a place of exile, a land that offered nothing but hardship and despair.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  For Kai, however, Zan represented something far more valuable: safety. The thought of escaping the constant vigilance of cultivators, of being free from the fear of pursuit or persecution, filled him with a quiet sense of relief. There, he could disappear, becoming just another shadow in a land that had long been abandoned. The challenges of Zan were daunting, but they paled in comparison to the dangers he faced elsewhere. If he could endure its harsh conditions without crossing paths with another cultivator, he would count himself fortunate.

  The prospect of safety and solitude, of existing beyond the reach of conflict and violence, kindled a fragile hope within him. In Zan, he might find not just refuge, but a chance to reclaim some measure of peace—a rare and precious commodity in a world that had shown him little kindness.

  Zan had initially been Kai’s first choice as a destination, a place he thought might offer him the solitude he craved. However, he had ultimately decided to head south, believing it would be a safer route. While he didn’t think Zan held any particular dangers, the path to reach it posed significant risks. To get to Zan, he would have to cross the forbidden Misty Forest.

  The Misty Forest was a notorious area within the territory of the Ember Sword Sect, marked by strict prohibitions against entry. Kai recalled the hushed whispers among the lower-ranking members about those who had ventured into the forest, only to vanish without a trace. The elders of the sect were convinced that something sinister lurked within its depths, a threat that had claimed the lives of weaker cultivators who dared to enter.

  Despite numerous attempts to investigate, the higher-ranking members sent into the forest always returned empty-handed, reporting nothing amiss. Yet, the disappearances continued, and the elders grew increasingly concerned. They concluded that there was indeed a malevolent force at work, preying on those who lacked the strength to defend themselves. In response, they sealed off the area, forbidding anyone from entering until they could devise a plan to uncover the source of the danger.

  Now, as Kai made his way north, he faced the daunting reality that he would have to traverse that very forest. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He had heard the stories—the eerie mists that rolled through the trees, the unsettling silence that enveloped the area, and the sense of foreboding that seemed to hang in the air. It was a place where fear thrived, and the unknown loomed large.

  Kai knew he had no choice but to confront the Misty Forest; its vast expanse was an impenetrable barrier that he could not circumvent. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, its dense thickets and towering trees forming a natural fortress that would take months, if not years, to navigate around. Reluctantly, he accepted that he had to risk traversing this treacherous territory. With each step, he hoped that fortune would favor him and that he would emerge unscathed.

  As he walked deeper into the woods, a familiar yet unsettling sensation crept over him—the feeling of being watched. It was a nagging presence that had returned to him since he left Mungsu, and now it intensified with every rustle of leaves and every whisper of the wind. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see a pair of eyes lurking in the shadows, but the forest remained still and silent, save for the occasional chirp of a bird or the distant rustle of small creatures in the underbrush.

  Kai tried to shake off the feeling, convincing himself it was merely his imagination playing tricks on him. Yet, the sensation persisted, gnawing at his nerves and making his heart race. He quickened his pace, hoping that the feeling would dissipate before he reached the Misty Forest. The last thing he wanted was to enter that ominous place with a sense of dread hanging over him.

  (Author Note: A “Zan” is a type of Chinese hairpin. And, people will sometimes refer to the place as “the hairpin”.)

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