The ground suddenly trembled—it was the Phantom Fragrance-absorbed Youluo flowers, erupting wildly from the earth. In mere moments, the once-flat terrain cracked apart, rubble and soil tumbling as the vines writhed. The air itself seemed to thicken under the oppressive weight of their frenzied growth, carrying a palpably sinister tension.
"Yingying!"
Lan Yingying staggered, nearly plunging into a fissure when Song Chunming lunged forward and seized her hand.
Just as Song Chunming was about to be dragged down by Lan Yingying's falling momentum, Song Tieniu rushed over and grabbed his arm.
"Chunming!"
Ninth paid no heed to the trio. Cradling Chu'he in his arms, he leaped lightly over the crevices, evading the whip-like, thorn-covered vines lashing toward them.
Pressed against Ninth's chest, Chu'he heard the whistling wind—then a small white figure made her heart clench. "Ninth, it's Chongyang!"
The vines now carpeting the ground were like ravenous beasts, thirsting for living flesh. Any creature still earthbound was swiftly ensnared.
At the center of this tangled mass, the faint outline of a trapped child emerged.
Once, this little boy had escaped such bonds by sheer chance. Now, the frenzied Youluo flowers, sensing his presence, coiled around him protectively, as if he were their prized fruit.
A purple membrane crept up Chongyang's legs. Soon, he would be entirely encased, then dissolved—just like the grotesque, child-limbed "fruits" Chu'he had seen before.
Song Tieniu barely managed to haul the others to safety. Glancing up, he spotted the boy and gasped, "Chongyang!"
Chongyang's drowsy eyes cracked open. "Dad... Mom..."
Ninth set Chu'he atop a toad the height of a man and commanded, "Guard your mistress."
The toad and a small green snake nodded in unison.
Ninth shot toward the vines like an arrow loosed from a bow. The writhing tendrils, sensing threat, pivoted en masse, their barbed tips whistling as they lashed at him.
His feet barely grazed the twisting vines as he darted through, a crimson specter flickering in and out of sight. In an instant, his fiery figure hovered midair.
Silver hair whipping, red robes fluttering, he raised a short flute to his lips amidst the gale. A single note rang out—and the frenetic Youluo vines froze. Their dark purple leaves curled and withered at visible speed.
But then Chongyang screamed. The mutated thorns pierced his skin, feeding on his blood to revive the shriveled vines.
The flute's note faded. Ninth frowned.
Song Tieniu charged recklessly forward, only to be flung back by a spiked vine.
"Fang Songhe—catch!"
Instinctively, he seized the flung sword mid-fall. The moment it touched his hand, his gaze sharpened.
Fissures multiplied. The giant toad leaped clear, unaware of a vine hurtling toward Chu'he.
As its thorns poised to shred her from behind, a youth materialized, gripping the barbed tendril barehanded. Blood dripped, corroding the vine into sludge.
Chu'he whirled around. Seeing danger behind Ninth, she cried, "Look out!"
A cold flash of steel—the net-like vines behind him splintered under a sweeping blade. Standing amid the debris was a tall, poised swordsman.
His robes billowed as his sword gleamed like snow. A flick of his wrist sent arcs of light severing every flanking vine.
Thus, the battlefield shifted intriguingly.
Behind Chu'he stood the crimson-clad Miao youth.
And behind him, the plainly dressed yet noble swordsman.
Ninth let the last remnants of rot fall from his healed palm, eyeing the man with disdain. "Hunting must agree with you. You've grown nimbler."
"Flattery. My sword arm still lacks the steadiness of your flute hand."
Ninth's eyelid twitched.
The swordsman, oblivious to sarcasm, took it as earnest critique.
Chu'he beamed. "Hero Fang, you're back!"
Fang Songhe nodded warmly. "Miss Chu'he, thank you for returning Suixin to me."
"Suixin"—his sect's sacred blade, tempered by centuries of righteousness—was a bane to all evil.
The moment the "lost" man gripped it, virtue reignited his clarity.
Song Tieniu and Fang Songhe were one: the former simple and kind, the latter pine-straight and sharp-edged, his voice crisp as mountain wind, untouched by worldly erosion.
Chu'he gazed at him admiringly, her confidence soaring—until Ninth stepped between them, blocking her view.
Twirling his flute, Ninth's crimson eyes glinted. "If we force our way in, that brat will be drained dry."
Fang Songhe said, "I'll cover you. Rush in and extract Chongyang."
Ninth folded his arms. "Why should I follow your lead?"
Unfazed, Fang Songhe conceded, "Then I'll follow yours. Your plan?"
Ninth smirked. "I charge in to grab the kid. You cover me."
Chu'he: "...How is that different?"
Ninth pursed his lips. "Of course it is. I take point. That makes me the hero."
Fang Songhe nodded earnestly. "Ninth is right."
Chu'he: "..."
Truly, Fang Songhe and Song Tieniu shared the same infuriating sincerity.
With Chongyang's time running out, the two sprang into action.
