Descendants of The Dead Kingdom [Under Editing]

/Poison Lake/

...

Morning was breaking over the land, though only the barest glimmers reached into the heart of the Yi Forest. Here, the canopy was so thick that sunlight struggled to find its way through, shrouding the undergrowth in a cool, perpetual twilight. Yet Xueyang, skilled hunter that he was, sensed the shift of time without needing to see it. He knew this forest intimately, every path and hidden trail, even the darkest corners where most dared not wander.

With a wild boar slung over his left shoulder, he forged his way through dense thickets, using his right hand to cut down branches and vines with a quick flick of his dagger.

He was every bit the untamed soul of the forest, fierce and untamed, carving his path with an almost barbaric grace.

At last, he emerged onto a narrow, cleared path winding through the trees. He relaxed slightly, muscles easing as he began to hum, the tune slightly off-key but carefree. This trail was the lone connection between Yi Village and Yunmeng City, but anyone who ventured too deep, who strayed from its narrow confines, would find themselves perilously close to the forest's forbidden zone.

In that place lay the legendary poison lake. Surrounded by a thick, ghostly fog that never lifted, the lake was rumored to hold a curse. No one returned alive once they set foot there, for the poisonous mist clung to the living like a shroud, suffocating breath and snatching life with a speed few could comprehend. The lake was a realm of death, a silent predator lurking at the edge of the forest.

At home, Xueyang saw a young boy, about fifteen, practicing his swordplay in the early dawn light.

“A-Zhen, try not to disturb the neighbors with all that clanging. Look around you; it’s peaceful here, and you’re ruining it,” he teased.

The boy, Zhen, brightened at the sight of him. “Yang-gege, you’re finally back! What did you bring today?”

“Just a wild boar.” Xueyang dropped the boar onto a nearby rock and then shot a playful smirk at Zhen. “But you, your skills are slipping. Why even bother with this circus act?”

Zhen just laughed, glancing nervously toward the house. “Shh! Da-ge is cultivating his qi. He’ll chase me around with that sword if I disturb him!”

Xueyang chuckled, but the mention of Da-ge—a strict figure in their lives—made him look over his shoulder.

“That Taoist is already awake?”

“He’s off on some exorcism mission,” Zhen whispered, eyes wide. “So he woke up earlier than usual.”

Just then, the door slid open, and a tall figure dressed in pure white emerged. With his soft smile and kind eyes, Xiao Xingchen was undeniably handsome. His presence, however, commanded respect; he was the elder brother, often strict with Zhen's antics and eternally exasperated with Xueyang’s wild ways.

“A-ha! Off on another errand, are we?” Xueyang asked with a grin.

Xingchen looked Xueyang up and down, shaking his head in disapproval. “Just don’t think my absence gives you an excuse to spoil him.” He turned to his little brother with a gentle pat on the head.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, just in time for the lantern festival.”

As he mounted his white horse, Zhen waved, calling out after him.

“Be safe, Da-ge!”

The moment Xingchen disappeared into the forest, Xueyang and Zhen exchanged gleeful looks and hugged with mischievous delight.

“He’s gone! It’s our world now!” Xueyang shouted.

“Come on, brat, let’s roast this boar!”

They lost themselves in the preparations until, an hour later, a commotion began outside. Villagers were running toward the depths of the forest, their voices carrying a tone of dread.

Xueyang stopped an elderly man, “Hey, Old Zhu, what’s going on?”

The old man, breathless, clutched his chest. “There’s… another corpse by the poison lake!”

“Another one?” Xueyang frowned, watching Old Zhu shake his head and mutter bitterly as he hurried home.

“Yang-gege, what corpse? Who’s dead?” Zhen asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Probably just another fool who went too close to that cursed lake,” Xueyang replied with a bored shrug. But he faltered when he noticed Zhen’s pleading look.

“Pretty please?” Zhen begged, pouting with all the charm of an eager teenager.

Sighing, Xueyang caved and led the way into the forest with Zhen trailing behind like an excited puppy. As they neared the poison lake, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew damp and heavy, and the sunlight that had warmed them earlier seemed to pale, swallowed up by an eerie blue mist.

When they arrived, only a few villagers were there, along with three violet-robed cultivators from the Yunmeng Jiang sect. The mist thickened around the lake, clinging to the trees and obscuring the ground. The lake itself, shrouded in fog, looked like a portal to another realm—a place where the boundary between life and death blurred.

The rumors claimed that a bloodthirsty ghost, a woman who feasted on the souls of the living, haunted this lake. Children and women avoided the forest, and even grown men whispered of the spirit who ensnared her prey in the deadly fog, leaving only corpses behind.

Two of the cultivators stood talking, bored. “Have they sent word to the imperial palace?”

“Yes, but the General doesn’t have time for every corpse by the lake,” one replied with a sigh. “Let’s close this off quickly.”

“And Senior Wei?” asked another.

“Since he married into the imperial Lan family, he’s left this area to the locals. He wouldn’t waste his time here.”

Xueyang exchanged a smirk with Zhen. Clearly, the dead man wasn’t of any noble house, so there’d be no rush to investigate. “Oi, little brat, what do you think?” he asked, nudging Zhen, who was studying the body.

The corpse was that of an ordinary man, his lips and nails stained a sickly green—a telltale sign of poison.

“He was poisoned,” Zhen murmured. “But not by the lake’s mist. Look closely; the shade of green isn’t quite right.”

“So it’s not the fog,” Xueyang mused. “Who would even try entering the lake with no experience?”

Zhen nodded thoughtfully. His understanding of poisons and medicine was his gift, encouraged by Xingchen as the boy could not develop a golden core to cultivate like other youths. The Xiao family had once served as imperial physicians, and their knowledge lived on in the precious books and prescriptions that Xingchen now shared with Zhen.

“I think this man was deliberately poisoned,” Zhen said, eyes narrowing.

Xueyang shrugged. “But what can we do? We’re commoners. If the cultivators don’t care, we should stay out of it. Wait until the Taoist is back tomorrow and ask him.”

He led Zhen back, though Zhen kept glancing over his shoulder at the corpse, now being carried away to be buried without ceremony. A vague unease settled over them, and even Xueyang, who scoffed at the ghost stories, felt a chill. This death wasn’t just a simple mistake; something malevolent lingered here, hidden within the mist of the poisoned lake.

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