Mystique Soul: A Cultivator's Flame
Chapter 100

Chapter 100: Chapter 100

Darkness. That was all there is everywhere.

Nothingness....

Void...

"Hello?" A voice called out, confuse, bewildered, and lost.

Slowly, as if being woken up, the darkness made room for a faint light, fog so thick, it seems tangible started to be discernable.

Then, a silhouette. A man.

"Is anybody here?!" His voice echoed, as if the void was replying back to him.

His dark robes hung heavy against his frame, the fabric damp, clinging like a second skin. Strands of hair stuck to the back of his neck, unbound and swaying with each step. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to go.

The world around him was neither dark nor light, just an endless stretch of shifting gray. The ground, if it was ground, felt strange beneath his feet, like stepping onto something that wasn’t quite solid yet wouldn’t let him fall.

Had he already passed this place?

No, that didn’t make sense. There were no landmarks, no signs, nothing to distinguish one part of this world from another.

His lips parted, an instinct to call out, to who? To where?

Nothing came out.

His throat was dry. His brows furrowed as he pressed a hand to his neck. That’s strange... He should be able to speak. Shouldn’t he?

The unease settled deeper into his bones.

"...Hello?" He called again.

"Hello..."

"..Hello..."

"...Hello..."

"...Hello..

His own voice startled him. It came out hoarse, uncertain, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time at first but it slowly shifted with each "echo". Turning sharper, higher. More feminine.

He swallowed, licking his lips. "Is anyone there?"

Silence.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "Tch... What am I even doing?"

Still, he kept moving. Because stopping felt wrong. Because turning back, was there even a back?, felt impossible.

Then, a sound.

"Co₩€ to m€"

Faint. Fleeting.

He froze.

It drifted through the mist like a whisper carried by an unseen wind, too soft to grasp, too distant to make sense of.

Yet, it called.

His breath caught. He turned his head sharply, scanning the fog.

Nothing.

The sound came again, a murmur just beyond his reach, slipping away the moment he strained to listen.

"L¤€ Xi-N¡¡ $an..."

His heart pounded despite not understanding a word the whispers where saying, he felt... like it was his, his call, his summon....

He didn’t know what the voice was saying. He didn’t even know if it was real. But the pull was undeniable, urgent, desperate.

He had to find it.

The thought wrapped around his mind, clawing at something raw and instinctive. He wasn’t just walking anymore, he was searching.

His feet moved faster, his strides growing longer.

The whisper brushed against his ear again, closer this time, as if the speaker was just beyond the mist, waiting.

Waiting for him.

"...Who are you?" he called, voice tense. He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but something told him that if he didn’t ask, if he didn’t find out, he would regret it. No, he had to find the source.

No answer.

Only the whispers, intangible whispers, getting more urgent.

"N¡-$@ņ!!!"

His breath hitched. A strange feeling curled around his ribs, something cold, something... painful.

"If you want me to come," he rasped, pushing forward, "then, then say something!"

The mist curled around him, thickening, resisting, as if it did not want him to go forward. It clung to his skin, dragged at his limbs.

But the voice...

It was closer now.

"L¤u X¡ ŊĮÏ-SÆN!!!"

Right there.

So close he could almost touch it.

And still, it did not speak.

"Don’t----!"

Liang Feng jolted awake.

"---Go!!..."

His breath came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling with the force of it. His body felt stiff, burning with heat, yet cold sweat clung to his skin, making his clothes stick uncomfortably.

His arms were outstretched, fingers trembling, reaching for...

For what?

His eyes darted around the dimly lit room, wild and unfocused.

Familiarity slowly settled in. The wooden beams overhead. The faint flicker of a lantern casting shifting shadows along the walls. The cool night air seeping through the slightly open window. The scent of parchment, ink, and a lingering trace of sandalwood from the incense he had burned the night before.

This is his room.

His arms dropped limply onto the mattress. His pulse pounded against his skull, the remnants of his dream, no, his nightmare, clinging to him like phantom hands. He could still feel it, the mist curling around his limbs, the weight of something unseen pressing against his chest.

And that voice.

That whisper.

His fingers curled into the sheets.

Slowly, he forced himself to sit up, wincing as the damp fabric of his sleepwear clung uncomfortably to his back. The cool air sent a shiver through him. He swallowed thickly, his throat dry, as if he had gone days without water.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, brushing damp strands away from his forehead. His skin was clammy. He felt like he had just stepped out of a fevered haze.

What was that dream...?

It wasn’t the first time he had dreamt of strange places, of things he couldn’t explain. But this one, it felt different. It wasn’t just a dream.

It was something more.

Something deeper.

Something wrong.

His breathing had slowed, but the unease in his chest remained. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling, exhaling, willing himself to steady. Before he felt wetness on his lids, a trembling hand reaching out to numbly wipe a stray tear.

It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

And yet...

His hands clenched.

That whisper.

The desperate call.

He could still feel it, lingering at the edges of his mind.

The silence barely had time to settle before a sharp crash shattered the stillness of the night.

"Thud!"

The wind howled through the opening, carrying with it the scent of night-chilled air and the faint tang of dust. Liang Feng barely had time to react before a shadowed figure landed soundlessly within his chambers, sword drawn, presence sharp and unwavering.

"Your highness."

The name was spoken with precision, steady, controlled yet carries a trace of urgency and concern.

The dim lantern glow flickered against the sharp planes of Han Qing’s face. His expression remained unreadable, gaze keen and assessing as it swept over Liang Feng’s disheveled form. His sword did not waver, his stance did not ease. Looking around for any threat.

Liang Feng exhaled sharply, forcing his breath into something more even, more controlled. His pulse still thundered beneath his skin, the remnants of the dream clinging like something tangible, like something unwilling to let go.

"Han Qing, sorry. It’s fine. You may retreat." he said at last, voice hoarse, raw at the edges.

"I heared your scream." Han Qing replied, tone neither harsh nor soft, just matter-of-fact. Looking for any possible cause of said scream. "Is everything alright, your highness?"

Liang Feng opened his mouth, then closed it. His throat still ached from the force of it. He hadn’t even realized, hadn’t felt the sound tear from him. Only now, in the wake of it, did the silence feel heavier, pressing against his chest.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, his fingers shaking slightly before he forced them still. "It was just a dream." He forced himself to smile assuring at the overly concerned night. Combing his fingers through his sweat damped hair.

"Are you sure?" Han Qing asked doubtful.

Han Qing did not move. "Was it the same nightmare?" He asked, his cold voice softening.

The question was quiet, but it did not waver.

Liang Feng’s breath stilled for a fraction too long before he exhaled, slow and measured. He did not look at Han Qing when he spoke. "It was nothing."

"If your highness says so" Han Qing replied, tone clip yet Liang Feng smiled at the concern of his friend and most trusted knight. He can hear the underlying disbelief and concern in his cold tone.

There was no accusation in the words, no demand, just the weight of something that had been seen too many times before.

Liang Feng’s fingers curled against his sheets.

Because Han Qing wasn’t wrong.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

And if the lingering pull in his chest, the unease coiling deep in his bones meant anything...

It would not be the last.

"It’s fine. You may retreat" Liang Feng assured him. "I guess what happened this morning must have caused me to have a rather... uncomfortable dream" he sighed.

"Dare I ask... what is it about this time?" Han Qing asked instead of backing down.

Normally, he knows that his crossing some lines between their role as master and servant but sometimes, he can’t help but be concerned for Liang Feng as the other never shows his weakness if he can help it. Opting to smile and brave through his inner battles on his own.

Liang Feng shaked his head. "I don’t even remember anymore." He replied with a believable smile. "Truthfully, everything’s fine. I want to continue resting. The previous days have been hectic at best" he assured him finally making Han Qing vanish from the room again yet Liang Feng knew he was still nearby, silently protecting him.

He groaned and slumped on his bed after a while. He doubt he can sleep again yet some part of him... longed to return to that dream, to whoever is waiting for him beyond the fog.

He rubbed his chest where his heart should be at the thought.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.