Han Yu frowned inwardly.
Sothing did not fully align.
Her power was imnse, clearly beyond Nascent Soul, but during the battle, he had not felt the overwhelming presence of a Dao Embryo that he would expect from a Dao Treading realm cultivator.
If she were Dao Treading, Danqing Xun would have been crushed instantly.
But she had fought him.
Struggled, even.
Not lost, but not trivialized the fight either.
"Are you Dao Shell," Han Yu asked cautiously, "or higher?"
Madam Cold Fang did not answer imdiately.
Instead, she turned away, looking toward the distant peaks of the Harrow Mountains.
"Titles are aningless," she said at last. "What matters is survival."
Han Yu accepted that answer, though it left him uneasy.
If she was truly Dao Shell realm, then her remaining lifespan should be nearing its end.
Yet she showed no sign of decline.
Which ant only two possibilities.
Either she had found a way to extend her life beyond natural limits.
Or she was sothing else entirely.
Han Yu watched her in silence, the snow reflecting faintly in her cold eyes, and realized sothing unsettling.
Danqing Xun had once been a High Elder of the Slaughtered Moon Divine Blood Sect.
He had co here.
He had died.
And even after death, he had beco a calamity that terrorized the mountains.
And Madam Cold Fang had been here the entire ti.
Waiting.
Watching.
Surviving.
Han Yu felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.
For the first ti since leaving the sect, he truly understood one thing.
The world beyond the Slaughtered Moon Divine Blood Sect was far deeper, darker, and more dangerous than he had ever been taught.
And Madam Cold Fang was living proof of that.
Han Yu quickly sensed that continuing down the path of Madam Cold Fang's past or her conflicts with the Slaughtered Moon Divine Blood Sect would be a dangerous indulgence. The woman before him was calm now, but the cold in her Qi was like a lake sealed beneath ice, unmoving only because nothing had disturbed it.
If he pushed too far, he had no doubt that she could freeze him solid before his next thought even finished forming.
So he did the sensible thing.
He changed the topic.
His gaze shifted back toward the scorched and frozen ground where the Evil Mountain Spirit had finally been erased, and his brows slowly knit together in thought.
"That thing," Han Yu muttered, more to himself than to her, "what exactly was it supposed to be?"
Madam Cold Fang glanced at him sidelong, saying nothing.
Han Yu continued, speaking aloud as his thoughts aligned.
"It did not behave like a Jiangshi. It had too much intelligence and far too much autonomy. But it also wasn't a natural mountain spirit. Natural spirits form slowly, harmonizing with their environnt, even when twisted. That thing was aggressive, focused, and… personal." He paused. "Even among corrupted spirits, it felt wrong."
He frowned.
"Even for sothing born unnaturally, its structure didn't match anything I know."
At that point, Madam Cold Fang finally spoke.
"He was neither a Jiangshi," she said calmly, "nor a natural spirit."
Han Yu turned toward her imdiately, his eyebrows lifting.
"You know what he beca?"
She nodded once.
"He was a Wraith."
The word struck Han Yu with surprising force.
"A Wraith?" he repeated, genuine shock entering his voice.
Of all the possibilities he had considered, that had not been one of them.
The Slaughtered Moon Divine Blood Sect possessed extensive records on undead beings.
Jiangshi of many varieties, corpse puppets, blood zombies, spirit remnants, resentful shades, and artificial evil spirits had all been studied, refined, and weaponized by the sect over countless generations.
But Wraiths were different.
They were not created.
At least, not intentionally.
"I thought so," Han Yu said slowly. "But it didn't fully fit."
Madam Cold Fang watched him with quiet interest as he continued to reason it out.
"Wraiths are born from complete souls," Han Yu said, his voice asured. "Not fragnts, not remnants, but whole souls that have been utterly corrupted by obsession, resentnt, and refusal to pass on. That already makes them rare. Most souls fragnt before they reach that point."
He took a breath.
"And unlike evil spirits or mountain spirits, wraiths are not tied to natural environnts. Their existence is purely personal. Their hatred is focused."
Madam Cold Fang did not interrupt.
"The sect's records say the sa thing," Han Yu continued. "They also say that Wraiths are nearly impossible to artificially create. Even the Blood Sect does not attempt it, because the conditions required are unpredictable, and the result is often uncontrollable."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"But Wraiths are fully ethereal," he added. "They do not possess physical bodies. Danqing Xun did. At least partially."
Madam Cold Fang's gaze sharpened a fraction.
"You noticed that."
Han Yu nodded.
"The lower half of his body was clearly spiritual, but the u[[er half was anchored by sothing physical. Blood mist, yes, but not formless. It behaved like it was bound."
He paused, then spoke the key realization aloud.
"Wraiths require Anchors."
Madam Cold Fang inclined her head slightly.
"Correct."
Han Yu exhaled softly.
Most cultivators who studied Wraiths knew this much.
A Wraith could not exist freely in the world without an anchor. That anchor was typically an object deeply connected to them in life. A treasured weapon. A piece of jewelry. A cultivation artifact. Sotis even a location saturated with their mories and emotions.
Destroy the anchor, and the Wraith would unravel.
But anchors also limited a Wraith's movent.
"They cannot stray too far from their anchor," Han Yu said. "At most, a few kiloters. So less."
He looked back toward the mountains, his expression growing darker.
"But Danqing Xun road the entirety of the Harrow Mountains."
That was the contradiction.
The Harrow Mountains spanned an enormous area, far beyond what any known Wraith should have been capable of traversing.
Madam Cold Fang did not answer imdiately.
She simply looked at him.
And in that silence, understanding struck Han Yu like a blade slipping between ribs.
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