What they did not expect, after following a majestic white glowing dog through a thick forest with suspiciously sparkly grass, was for the ground to… eat them.
One step too many, and the “solid” adow turned out to be a lie. The grass gave way beneath their feet with the squelch of betrayal, like a sponge that had been waiting its whole life to ruin soone’s day.
It wasn’t a adow. It was a swamp. A sneaky, soul-crushing, dignity-devouring swamp. The kind of green that no honest terrain should ever wear.
One by one, four proud cultivators sank with zero grace and maximum regret into the muck like dumplings into soup.
Shen Zhenyu went first, disappearing with the weary dignity of a man who knew he’d been tricked and was ntally filing a report to no one. He Yuying followed right after, arms crossed, muttering, “I knew it,” before vanishing. Song iyu yelped, reached for a branch, missed by a mile, and faceplanted with an audible splat. Her muffled “I’m fine!” did not sound convincing.
And Linyue… she didn’t scream. She did not flail. She simply sighed—long, tired, and full of disappointnt. The sigh of teachers use when students touch the glowing, obviously cursed artifact for the third ti in one week.
The spirit beast turned around at the edge of the trap, tilted its elegant head... and for a mont, it looked almost amused. Then yes, it definitely did, it bumped its puffball butt once in their direction as if to say, “Thanks for the entertainnt,” and pranced off into the trees like it had just finished a particularly satisfying prank.
If this was a test of character, the swamp had won.
Unanimously.
One by one, they erged from the swamp.
Four cultivators, once elegant disciples of Xuanyi Pavilion—now soaked in mysterious green sli, looking less like proud defenders of the realm and more like seaweed monster that had been fished out by mistake and politely asked to leave. There was no dignity. No honor. Only the sound of wet squelching and the slow, heavy drip of sha.
The swamp, it turned out, wasn’t even that deep. Shen Zhenyu, being the tallest among them, stood up with relative ease. The green sludge reached his chest but that didn’t save him. A fat, globby trail of sli slid down his face with tragic determination, like the world’s most humiliating facial treatnt.
Song iyu and Linyue, however, were not so lucky. Being of... more compact design, they had nearly disappeared into the muck entirely.
When Song iyu finally popped up, gasping, her hair was plastered to her face, her robes dripping, and her spirit visibly shattered. She looked like a soggy cabbage. A furious, sputtering, herb-obsessed cabbage.
“No herbs,” she sputtered, peeling a suspicious-looking leaf off her lip. “Not even weeds! Only sha!”
Linyue erged next, blinking slowly through a curtain of swamp. Her usual calm grace was replaced by a blank, weary expression that said: This is not what I signed up for. She did not scream. She did not rant. She simply stood there, soaked in betrayal and possibly algae.
He Yuying climbed out last, silent, dragging behind him what looked like a living patch of swamp moss that had decided to permanently attach to his sleeve. No one ntioned it. No one had the emotional strength.
For a long mont, they just stood there. Soaked. Slimy. ntally broken.
Sowhere in the trees, there ca a faint rustle. Could it have been the spirit beast?
Laughing?
Of course not. That would be ridiculous.
… But it felt like laughter.
And so, the four once-proud cultivators trudged forward, squelching with every step, dripping in defeat, possibly mold, and slightly greener than before.
And thus, the grand, moss-scented misadventure ca to an end.
No one spoke of spirit beasts. No one dared utter the words “lunar herb.” Even the word “forest” earned wary side-eyes. They walked in silence, not the serene kind, but the heavy, trudging kind of silence that only ca after your pride had been thoroughly marinated in swamp goo and served cold.
The trees behind them stood tall and noble, as if judging them quietly.
If there was any silver lining to this squishy, moss-scented disaster, it was this: Master Yin Xue was not there. Thank the heavens. Thank the stars. Thank the ancient mysterious array and every benevolent spirit still watching over foolish disciples. Had she been there to witness four of them voluntarily stroll into a suspiciously lush, overly green bog under the guidance of a smug spirit beast, the scathing comntary would have beco legend.
They didn’t dare imagine the expression she would wear, sowhere between serene disapproval and barely concealed amusent. Her remarks would have likely turned the entire incident into a teaching scroll titled: “How Not to Pursue Enlightennt: A Case Study in Collective Idiocy.”
She would have included diagrams. Possibly a footnote about moss safety.
And that expression, that perfect blend of serene disapproval and silent laughter, would have haunted them forever.
When they finally reached the edge of the forest, looking less like cultivators and more like soone had cursed a patch of kelp to walk upright and told them to go find enlightennt.
The carriage driver, who had been peacefully napping with a snack, jolted awake at the sound of squelching.
He squinted at them, horror etched into every wrinkle of his face, as if he genuinely wasn’t sure if these seaweed monsters were the sa elegant passengers he'd dropped off mont ago.
Song iyu gave the driver a withering glare from beneath her dripping green bangs.
The driver hesitated. Clearly hesitated. His hand hovered near the reins, eyes darting between them and the road like he was seriously considering fleeing, changing his na, and starting a new life far, far inland where mossy passengers didn’t show up unannounced.
That was when Shen Zhenyu, dripping grace and pond scum, reached into his soaked robe and pulled out a small pouch of gold. He didn’t say a word. He just smiled—a polite, tired half-smile. The kind that said: Pretend this didn’t happen.
The driver’s moral compass spun briefly, then crumbled entirely under the weight of shiny compensation. With a resigned sigh and the speed of a man trying to outrun the mory of what he’d just witnessed, he gave a brisk nod and waved them into the carriage. Not, of course, before throwing down a thick cloth over the seats. Several layers, actually. Possibly enchanted.
And so, off they went.
The wheels turned. The carriage squelched faintly with every bump in the road. Behind them, the forest faded from view along with any trace of pride or dry clothing.
What remained was a trail of damp footprints, a puddle of regret, and the quiet understanding that no one would ever speak of this again.
Probably.
User Comments
0 comments from readers