The Weeping Moon: The Moon That Sheds Vermilion Tears

Out of all ten states of the once-mighty Yunyue Dynasty, it was the North and the South that bore the brunt of the nightmare. While the capital hosted elegant tea banquets and wrote poetry about moonlight, the North and South were too busy dodging claws, patching walls, and praying they'd live to see next week.

In the North, where snow blanketed the land and spirits of ancient mountains watched silently, the demons came like avalanches—sudden, crushing, and impossible to stop once they started. The people there had grown hardy, suspicious of warm weather, and completely unfazed by anything that didn't involve fangs or fire. Children in Baiyun and Huayun in the north learned to swing swords before they learned to write their names, and local lullabies included lines like "Hush now, or the wall-eaters will hear you."

Meanwhile, in the South, things were even worse—and stickier. The forest of Shulin and the wilds of Shenlin were dense, humid, and rich with spiritual energy... which was exactly why the demons loved it. Think of it as an all-you-can-suck buffet. They came in waves, shrieking and clawing, and it was up to the Kings of the states, and the occasional wandering lunatic with a glowing sword to keep the walls standing.

So, the North and South endured. Not because they were lucky—but because they had no choice. When your breakfast comes with a side of demon roar, you either get strong… or you get eaten.

And right now, standing a little too close to that wall for comfort, were four cultivators from Xuanyi Pavilion. Their robes still smelled faintly of plum blossoms.

But here? The air smelled like iron, moss, and the not-so-distant memory of screaming.

The ground rumbled.

Steel clanged.

Someone in the distance was yelling something about a missing spear.

Yes, the tales were true.

This was not just Shulin.

This was the frontline.

They came looking for herbs.

They found a history lesson.

And a warning.

This was the edge of a story that might just bite back.

But they didn't flinch. Not even a twitch.

After all, these weren't just any four wanderers with fancy sleeves. They were cultivators—trained disciples of proud, occasionally terrifying masters who believed in trial by fire, thunder, and occasionally by being tossed into haunted caves "for spiritual insight," or casually told to "make friends with the ghost in the well, he has good advice."

This wasn't their first time brushing elbows with danger. In fact, they'd occasionally been sent to the eastern front to help soldiers fend off demon attacks, test their growing powers, and hopefully not get eaten in the process. Master Yin Xue herself had joined them on those trips, healing the wounded with such serene grace that even the demons might've paused out of confusion.

So yes, the roars beyond the wall were loud. Yes, the spiritual pressure in the air felt thick to enough stir your hair without wind.

But did they panic?

Not even slightly.

Linyue, standing at the front like someone who'd wandered into a battlefield by accident on her way to buy steamed buns, simply flicked a nonexistent speck off her sleeve and said, "Let's just find that imaginary herb."

Song Meiyu, already skipping toward a suspiciously glowing bush, nodded like this was all perfectly reasonable. Shen Zhenyu kept his hand near his sword, eyes sharp and sweeping the trees like they might bite. Which, in this forest, they might. And He Yuying muttered something about ghost mosquitoes and stuck closer to the center of the group.

They weren't fearless.

But they were cultivators. And cultivators did stupid, brave things all the time—because sometimes, there was no one else to do them.

And if the wall had stood for four hundred years, then surely it could handle a few more days... right?

Probably.

So, in they went—four cultivators, one highly questionable map that looked like it had been drawn by someone mid-dream, and the name of an herb no one could quite remember. Lunar leaf? Moon root? Glow-weed? Well, whatever it was, it was allegedly somewhere inside this forest.

A very deep forest.

A very quiet forest.

A little too quiet.

The sunlight thinned as they stepped deeper into the forest, the trees knitting themselves tighter above their heads like they were conspiring to block out the sky. Birds had long since stopped chirping, replaced by the soft crunch of leaves underfoot—until it wasn't.

A rustle.

And not the polite kind made by a breeze. The kind that had weight. Intent. Maybe teeth. The kind that made all four cultivators stop mid-step. They exchanged glances.

Then came the footsteps.

Soft, but steady. Measured. Too measured to be a squirrel, unless the squirrels in this forest had learned martial arts. Too graceful to be a boar, and far too quiet to be human.

Shen Zhenyu's hand moved instinctively to his sword hilt. He Yuying narrowed his eyes, already calculating three different escape routes—one through the trees, one through the underbrush, and one that involved using Song Meiyu as a distraction.

Speaking of Song Meiyu, she had already ducked behind a tree.

Then peeked out again.

Then ducked.

Then peeked.

Because for her, curiosity was slightly stronger than survival instinct.

And Linyue… just tilted her head slightly, calm and mildly interested, as if she was expecting a deer to walk out of the bushes and holding a sign that read: Herbs This Way.

But what stepped out of the shadows was… definitely not a deer.

It looked like a dog—if a dog had been styled by an ancient celestial artist with a fondness for elegance. It had a small, curved horn sprouting from its forehead, like a dainty little crown. Its entire body was covered in the kind of fluffy, pristine white fur that fashion designers would probably commit war crimes for. A long, graceful tail flicked lazily through the weeds, stirring petals as it moved. And most notably of all, a soft white aura shimmered around its body, making it look like it had been dipped in moonlight.

They stared.

It stared back.

For a long, breathless second, even the trees seemed to stop rustling. The entire forest just… paused. Like it, too, wanted to know what this fluffy, glowing thing was.

"… Is that a dog with a horn?" whispered Song Meiyu.

"A spirit beast," Shen Zhenyu muttered, his voice low and cautious. His hand hadn't left his sword.

"But those are extinct," He Yuying said slowly. "Aren't they?"

"They were," Linyue replied, already taking a careful step forward. "Or at least, they were supposed to be. Unless history books have started lying."

Song Meiyu, ignoring all caution and reason, leaned forward with starry eyes. "Can we take it with us?"

"No," He Yuying said immediately. "Absolutely not. Last time we took something home, it tried to eat my boots."

"Spirit beasts are highly intelligent," Shen Zhenyu said. "They don't follow people randomly. It probably has a purpose."

Linyue tilted her head. "Well, it's cute and fluffy. Maybe it accepts bribes."

"Right," Song Meiyu agreed quickly. "Candy? Steamed buns? Tea with extra honey?"

Shen Zhenyu just sighed and shook his head, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders—as usual.

Spirit beasts had once roamed the realm freely—mysterious creatures born from pure spiritual energy. They roamed freely when the realm thrived, a symbol of harmony between heaven and earth. But when the demons came, invading the land, the spirit beasts vanished—either corrupted, consumed, or gone into hiding. The few that remained were little more than footnotes in dusty tomes and bedtime stories for overly hopeful children.

And yet, here it was.

Alive. Breathing. Glowing.

It twitched one elegant ear. Sniffed the air like it was trying to figure out who hadn't showered. Then, with a graceful huff, it turned around and trotted off into the woods—calm, confident, like it had more important things to do than deal with confused humans.

Naturally, the group followed it.

Because when a myth appears, you do not go back to camp and pretend it didn't happen. Not unless you want to live a life full of regret and boring stories.

The spirit beast darted deeper into the forest, its fluffy white tail flicking elegantly as it moved. It didn't even look back to see if they were keeping up—it knew. Of course they were. Curiosity is stronger than fear, especially when it has glowing fur.

It moved with purpose, pausing in the middle of a particularly lush, unnaturally vibrant patch of green. The grass shimmered. The soil looked soft enough to nap on. The air smelled faintly of grass and questionable decisions. The whole place screamed "This is probably a trap," but like all good cultivators with questionable impulse control, they pressed on.

The fluffy creature was looking back at them with the distinct expression of, "Well? Come on, slowpokes." Then, with the attitude of a very important creature running very important errands, it turned its nose to the air and trotted forward once more.

 The group exchanged glances.

"This feels like a trap," He Yuying muttered.

"It is a trap," Shen Zhenyu said, but didn't stop walking.

"Ooh, maybe it has friends!" Song Meiyu whispered excitedly. "What if there's a whole herd of them? Like fuzzy deer. Or sparkly wolves!"

"Or what if it leads us to an ancient forest shrine full of forgotten treasure?" she added dreamily.

"Or poison," He Yuying said helpfully.

But they kept following, encouraged by either hope, optimism, or the shared inability to turn down anything that looked remotely legendary. Because let's face it—

Rare spirit beast. Glowing forest.

Suspiciously sparkly grass.

What could possibly go wrong?