Chu'he froze for a moment, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu.
The old man smiled kindly. "Come, make your choice."
The golden axe gleamed brilliantly, the silver one shimmered radiantly, while the iron axe remained plain and unadorned.
Anyone with greed in their heart would instinctively reach for the golden axe.
And indeed, Chu'he's hand moved toward it.
The old man's eyes crinkled with amusement, laughter lines deepening.
But then Chu'he hesitated, shifting her hand toward the silver axe instead.
The old man's lips curled into an even warmer smile.
After a glance at him, Chu'he redirected her hand to the iron axe.
The old man stroked his beard, chuckling softly.
No matter what choice she made, his expression remained gentle and unthreatening—just like any ordinary grandfather.
Yet Chu'he suddenly recalled the events in Xiaocheng and Canghaizhou. Whether it was Ying Suifeng or Yi Moli's parents, every decision had led to disaster.
She lowered her hand.
The old man asked, "Little friend, why have you stopped choosing?"
Chu'he replied, "They're too far away. I can't see them clearly."
The old man studied her, likely concluding that her eyesight was indeed poor—after all, why else would she be entangled with the Young Master of Miaojiang?
"No rush, no rush. Take another look."
With a wave of his hand, the three axes materialized right before Chu'he.
In one swift motion, she grabbed all three, handing one to the toad, another to the little green snake, and keeping the last for herself.
Lifting her chin defiantly, she declared, "These axes belong to us now!"
The old man's benevolent expression stiffened.
Elsewhere, in another mist-shrouded space, the same river, the same old man, and the same three axes awaited.
The old man urged, "Little friend, quickly now—which axe did you drop?"
Song Tieniu answered, "None of them are mine."
A vein pulsed on the old man's forehead. "Impossible! One of these must be yours."
"I know whether I’ve lost an axe or not," Song Tieniu said bluntly. "Old man, you’re mistaken. None of these belong to me."
The old man took a deep breath. "Even if you didn’t drop one, our meeting is fate. Let me gift you an axe. Which would you like?"
"How could I accept? You’re elderly, carrying three axes can’t be easy. I can’t take what isn’t earned."
Gritting his teeth, the old man insisted, "I simply admire your character and wish to give you one."
Song Tieniu shook his head. "I’d feel guilty."
The old man stamped his foot. "Didn’t you say it’s hard for the elderly? Carrying three axes is exhausting—take one, and I’ll be lighter. Consider it helping me."
After a pause, Song Tieniu proposed, "Then leave all three axes here. I’ll guard them while you fetch your family to retrieve them."
The old man sputtered, "No!"
Recognizing his stubbornness, Song Tieniu relented. "Fine. I’ll carry all three and escort you home."
The old man’s beard quivered with frustration. "You stubborn ox!"
Meanwhile, in a third misty realm:
The old man emerged from the water, grinning. "Little friend, these three axes—"
A youth seething with hostility silenced him as the shrill hum of insects filled the air.
The old man shrank back. "Golden axe, silver—"
"Scram," the youth spat.
"Right away!" the old man squeaked.
The illusions shattered. Purple mist dissipated, revealing the ravaged ground, torn by vines, where bloodstained flowers swayed in the wind. Reality reasserted itself.
"Ninth!"
Chu'he lunged forward, crashing into the arms of the one who stood ready to catch her.
Song Tieniu glanced around, dazed as if waking from a dream.
Chu'he’s eyes widened. "Lan Yingying!"
Amid the rampant vines stood a woman in a warm yellow dress, vibrant and lively, clutching a kite string, her head thrown back in laughter.
Chu'he frowned. "That’s not Lan Yingying—it’s Miss Lin from Canghaizhou."
Though their faces resembled each other, their auras differed entirely. A closer look dispelled any confusion.
The woman in yellow seemed to hear a call. She turned, dashing toward a faint figure—only for both to vanish like mist in the wind.
Chu'he pressed closer to Ninth’s chest. "Was that… a ghost?"
Ninth murmured, "An illusion."
"An illusion?"
"Netherblooms deceive the mind," he said, twirling a purple petal between his fingers, his tone casual. "Decades ago, some fool planted seeds here, fed them with flesh, and cultivated these hallucinogenic flowers. Lose yourself in them, and you’ll see what you desire."
A chill ran down Chu'he’s spine.
How had they broken free so easily?
Lan Yingying gripped Song Chunming’s hand, whispering urgently, "Run!"
Ninth’s gaze snapped to the fleeing figures. A smirk curled his lips. "Escape? Not so simple."
Lan Yingying screamed as agony lanced through her.
"Yingying! What’s wrong?"
Song Chunming steadied her, horror dawning as black tendrils spread from a tiny wound on her arm, reeking of decay.
"You’ve been poisoned!" He glared at the crimson-clad figure from Miaojiang. "If you want us dead, make it quick! Must you torture us? Is cruelty second nature to you? Have you no humanity?"
Song Tieniu bit back his words, recalling how Ninth had once gouged out Lan Yingying’s eye. Provoking him would doom them all.
"Who are you to call him inhuman?" Chu'he stepped forward, shielding Ninth. "Lan Yingying dragged me to drown in the pool! My little green snake bit her in defense—her poison is her own fault! Ninth didn’t lift a finger!"
Ninth nodded. "Exactly. I didn’t."
Chu'he jabbed a finger at Song Chunming. "You’ve no right to insult him!"
Ninth’s smile was serene. "No right at all."
Song Tieniu looked at the furious Chu'he, then at the tall yet timid Ninth hiding behind her like a little wife emboldened by a fox's borrowed authority. His expression was utterly complicated.
When Song Chunming heard Chu'he personally recount how Lan Yingying had nearly drowned her in the pond, his face paled with disbelief as he stared down at the woman in his arms.
Lan Yingying lay weakly, only able to lift her misty, tear-filled eyes to meet his gaze.
Song Chunming pressed his lips tightly together before raising his head again. "Yingying made a mistake, but there must have been reasons beyond her control. I’m willing to atone for her sins. Now that she’s lost a leg and an eye, isn’t that enough repayment?"
Chu'he was livid. "If I were the one who threw Lan Yingying into the water and drowned her, would you be satisfied with just taking my leg and eye?"
Song Chunming stammered, "I… I…"
Of course, he wouldn’t.
In the original story, Chu'he was the villainess—a woman scorned, her love twisted into hatred. She wanted Song Chunming to suffer, and she wanted Lan Yingying to suffer even more.
When the original Chu'he had pretended to have consummated her relationship with Song Chunming, driving Lan Yingying away, he had thrown her into the "Den of Desires," a place filled with men driven mad by aphrodisiacs.
In the end, none of them were any nobler than the other, so there was no point in mocking one another.
Song Chunming gritted his teeth and lowered his stance. "No matter how you want to vent your anger, just torment me. I beg you, please give Yingying the antidote."
Still fuming, Chu'he crossed her arms and turned her face away. "No!"
Ninth mirrored her pose, arms crossed and head tilted aside. "No."
Song Chunming’s expression darkened as he glared at Ninth. He prepared to plead even more humbly, but before he could speak, the young man suddenly recoiled dramatically.
"Ah'he!" Ninth clutched Chu'he’s sleeve, whining, "He glared at me!"
Chu'he whipped her head around, temper flaring. "Song Chunming! How dare you glare at Ninth!"
From behind her, Ninth lifted his chin with a smug grin. "Yeah, how dare you glare at me?"
Song Chunming: "…"
This pair—a madman and a madwoman—were utterly insufferable!
