My Whole Class Isekai'd to a Xianxia? Good Thing I Can Do Mind-reading

The dark green substance surged over Feng Fan's body, trying to swallow him whole. It blocked his vision and blurred his senses. The illusion array he was working to dismantle was forgotten in an instant as he forcefully circulated his cultivation technique to its limit to increase the performance of his spiritual qi vision.

Through his spiritual qi vision, he glanced behind. What he saw made his scalp prickle. The green fog wasn't moving alone. Thousands of cultists surged forward under its cover, attacking members of the Intergalactic Council.

The fog was terrifyingly intelligent; it could distinguish between friend and foe. Any enemy it touched melted away in mere seconds. Not even a peak Transcending Tribulation expert could survive within it for more than a few breaths. Flesh, bones, artifacts, and even souls dissolved into nothing.

Feng Fan's face darkened. His heart raced. "Qinqin! Xue! Xiao'er! Brother Wei!" he shouted, his voice barely carrying through the miasma as his eyes frantically searched the chaotic battlefield.

A raspy voice suddenly echoed from beside him, startlingly close. "How can a Dao Seeking ant survive for so long inside here?"

Before Feng Fan could react, a skeletal hand shot toward him. It struck the invisible barrier of his defensive array with a clang.

"An array?!" the voice snapped, its owner recoiling slightly. Because the attack carried no killing intent—it was merely meant to grab him—the barrier didn't counterattack; it simply repelled the strike.

"Who are you?"

Feng Fan turned. The man before him was ghastly pale, his skin thin as paper, stretched tight over bones. Black veins pulsed under his skin, and an unmistakable aura of death and plague clung to him.

With a warm, polite smile, Feng Fan asked, "Ah, greetings, my friend. I seem to have accidentally wandered into your… fine place. Would you be so kind as to enlighten me on how one deals with this charming poison fog?"

The sickly man's expression contorted with anger. "Kill this clown!"

Dozens of figures lunged at Feng Fan from the fog, their presence barely visible through the suffocating miasma. But Feng Fan didn't blink. He ignored the incoming attacks completely, instead focusing all his attention on reading the sickly man's surface thoughts.

A chaotic stream of hatred and malice flooded into Feng Fan's mind. 'He can survive in God's poison fog. No matter what, this man must die!'

Feng Fan's pupils shrank. His expression turned grim. 'God's poison fog…'

Only the Demon Venerables would be referred to as gods by these lunatic cultists. 'It's not only the tainted spiritual qi!'

A cold chill ran down his spine. 'If the tainted spiritual qi came from the Soulsucker Demon Venerable… and this poison fog from the Plague Demon Venerable... then there are likely two more artifacts tied to the other two Demon Venerables.'

While Feng Fan's thoughts raced, the barrage of attacks from the cultists slammed into the arrays protecting his body—and bounced back with even more lethal force. Agonizing screams filled the air as bodies were shredded by the very power they unleashed.

"You—You! How is that possible?!" the sickly man stammered, staring at Feng Fan with horror-stricken eyes. A gaping hole had replaced his abdomen, and one of his arms had disappeared. The others who had joined the assault were either dead or had fled in terror.

Feng Fan scowled, glaring at the man as though he were an annoying bug. "Why aren't you dead yet?"

He threw a punch. A sharp sonic crack split the air as his fist connected, turning the man's head into a mangled pulp. Against a body tempered like his, no qi cultivator, especially one already half-dead, could possibly survive a direct hit.

After dealing with the annoyance, Feng Fan moved away from the cultists' formation as he searched frantically for Tan Wei and the others. But it didn't take long for something strange to catch his attention.

'The miasma… It's thinning?'

His eyes narrowed. Not far ahead, barely a few hundred meters, the dense green fog was being devoured at an alarming rate. Whatever was consuming it, Feng Fan knew one thing for certain—it wasn't ordinary. Not even his highest-grade arrays could do more than block the poison, let alone erase it from existence.

'What the hell… is doing that?'

Feng Fan wasn't the only one who noticed. Both the cultists and the army from the Intergalactic Council turned their eyes toward the center of the vortex. Within a single breath, the source of the phenomenon revealed itself—a colossal cauldron, with the word 'Suppression' engraved on its surface. It devoured the miasma like a starving beast, swallowing the poisonous fog with terrifying speed.

Standing behind it was a devilishly handsome man with long red hair, his wild grin stretched wide, teetering on the edge of madness. "What is this?! What is this?!" he roared, his voice filled with excitement and mockery. "You bastards think you can take me down with this garbage poison?!"

Feng Fan stared in disbelief, his mouth agape. His eyes darted between the cauldron and the man. 'Tan Wei?! How can someone change this much…?'

The soldiers from the Intergalactic Council erupted in cheers. A wave of relief washed over them. Moments ago, they were left with no choice but to flee from the poisonous fog, but now, with Tan Wei devouring the miasma, they could finally fight back with their full strength.

The cultists, however, were anything but pleased. If anything, Tan Wei's mockery had driven them into a frenzy. The miasma wasn't just a weapon; it was a divine gift from their god. Hearing it called garbage was no different from blasphemy.

"Burn the heretic!" someone yelled, and the cry was echoed by hundreds. Countless cultists turned their focus toward Tan Wei, unleashing their strongest attacks in unison. Space twisted, fractured, and shattered under the sheer torrent of spiritual qi surging toward him.

And worst of all, Tan Wei wasn't alone. Standing at his side were Huang Xue, Su Xiaoli, and Xue Qiang, all directly in the line of fire.

Feng Fan felt like crying. 'Brother Wei… if you want to court death, can't you at least do it alone?!'