Sang Duo recalled how earlier that day, Fang Songhe had sought her out to inquire about events from a century ago. She had told him everything she knew of that history, yet after obtaining the information, Fang Songhe hadn’t hurried away.
He said, "Right now, the enemy lurks in the shadows while we remain exposed. Miss Sang Duo, would you be willing to cooperate with us in drawing out those hiding in the dark?"
Sang Duo was surprised. "How?"
"If my guess is correct, the mastermind behind this is likely connected to Ninth. If Ninth were to leave, they would surely be unable to sit still."
And so, a plan was formed.
Ninth had no intention of involving Chu'he, but everyone knew just how much Ninth relied on her. Chu'he, too, agreed with Fang Songhe’s suggestion—only if she took Ninth far away would those lurking in the shadows be convinced.
Sure enough, they couldn’t resist revealing themselves.
For some unknown reason, Li Furong woke with a start in the dead of night. She sat up in bed, suddenly aware of an eerie silence pressing in around her.
Li Furong threw on her robe and stepped down from the bed. The maid in the outer chamber was fast asleep, impossible to rouse. When she pushed open the door, the flickering candlelight revealed not a single patrolling guard in sight.
A nameless dread gripped her—something was wrong. "Brother!"
She dashed out of the courtyard and into Li Huaijin’s "Tingxin Garden." The door was shut tight, with no sign of Li Huaijin. Instead, a hunched figure stood there—an old man draped in a black cloak, his face hidden beneath a black hood and a white mask. His gnarled hands, wrinkled like tree bark, clutched a cane, its surface exuding an ominous black aura.
The withered, lifeless texture of his skin suggested he was on the brink of death, barely clinging to life.
Suddenly, his cane trembled violently, as if struck by backlash. He coughed, and drops of blood fell from his other hand. Strangely, the blood seemed to possess a peculiar magic—his skin absorbed it, smoothing slightly, and his coughing subsided.
At his feet lay a corpse.
Li Furong recognized the dead man—a servant who had attended Li Huaijin for ten years, a loyal companion.
Terror seized her, and she took two slow steps back.
The old man lifted his face, his murky eyes behind the mask fixing on her. "Wouldn’t it have been better to sleep through the night, oblivious? Why did you have to appear now?"
"You... you killed someone..."
"If possible, I would have spared those within this estate," the old man sighed. "But those outside are watching too closely. I no longer have the strength to seek fresh blood elsewhere to slow my decline. And yet, this servant stumbled upon what he shouldn’t have."
"My brother—where is he?"
The old man chuckled. "Which brother are you so concerned about?"
Li Furong instinctively turned to flee, but the old man moved with unnatural speed, blocking her path. "No need to rush. This play isn’t over—there are still actors yet to appear."
A blade flashed through the air. The old man yanked Li Furong aside, then hauled her onto the courtyard wall, watching coldly as black-clad puppets emerged. He let out a scornful laugh.
"Pathetic."
Compared to whom, exactly, did they warrant such disdain?
The old man didn’t elaborate. With a flick of his cane, hidden swarms of insects erupted from the shadows, a terrifying, overwhelming tide.
Then came the soft chime of silver bracelets. A cascade of silk erupted from a venomous purple spider, weaving a shimmering net midair that trapped the insects, dissolving them into black droplets.
Behind Cang Yan stood the agile Miao girl, Sang Duo.
She stepped forward, sneering, "A half-baked amateur like you dares challenge the true art of Miao gu sorcery? How laughable."
She pointed. "Cang Yan, go!"
Cang Yan moved like lightning. In an instant, the edge of his Miao blade was inches from the old man’s face. The old man twisted his wrist, raising his cane to block the strike.
A metallic clang rang out, sparks flying.
The old man’s expression darkened. With a flick of his sleeve, dozens of needle-thin black insects shot toward Cang Yan’s eyes.
Cang Yan’s gaze sharpened. Without retracting his blade, he drew a dagger from his waist and slashed, cutting down the swarm.
He pressed forward, using the flat of his blade like a whip, forcing the old man—still clutching Li Furong—into retreat.
Yet despite this, the old man refused to release her.
The relentless clash of steel filled Li Furong’s ears, the cacophony making her breath come fast. When the corpse of a spiked insect nearly landed on her face, she screamed.
Two hands—one aged, one young—suddenly reached out simultaneously, shielding her.
Li Furong opened her eyes, stunned.
The old man and Cang Yan locked gazes, their hands locked in combat, fists and palms colliding as the fight turned into close-quarters brawling.
Cang Yan instinctively sought to protect Li Furong, holding back against the old man.
Sang Duo studied the old man, frowning in confusion. Strangely, it seemed he, too, was restraining himself from harming Li Furong.
Both had their reasons to hold back, and as the struggle dragged on, Sang Duo glanced at the tiny spider perched on her hand. "Go."
The spider vanished into the night.
Moments later, as the old man retreated, he suddenly found his movements hindered. Looking down, he saw gossamer-thin threads binding his legs.
Cang Yan drove a fist into the old man’s chest, sending him stumbling off the wall. Kneeling, clutching his ribs, the old man watched in alarm as the girl fell from above.
Cang Yan lunged forward—but another figure seized the moment, snatching Li Furong midair and pressing a blade to her throat.
Cang Yan froze.
Another white-masked figure, this one clearly younger, stood atop the roof, holding Li Furong hostage. His voice was muffled as he spoke down to the old man. "You really have grown useless in your old age. With such a valuable hostage, you didn’t even think to use her."
The old man steadied himself with his cane, silent.
The masked man turned to Cang Yan and the approaching Sang Duo. "I know the Miao have many tricks. Don’t move, or I’ll kill her."
Li Furong struggled, but the blade nicked her neck, drawing blood.
"One more move," the man warned, "and I’ll take a hand."
Li Furong shuddered, going still.
Sang Duo demanded, "What do you want?"
"Hand over the Jade Crystal Puppet Strings, and I’ll spare her."
"We don’t have anything like that!"
The man scoffed. "Years ago, the young mistress of the Cang family was rescued, but the young master—protected by his parents—was left with shattered bones and severed meridians. If not for Shangguan Huanxi’s intervention, he would have died in the flames."
"Even if Shangguan Huanxi took him, injuries that severe were fatal. And sure enough, he died—only to be turned into a puppet by you."
"Even if he's a puppet, broken bones can't heal on their own. Without the Jade Crystal Puppet Thread, how could his bones and meridians have been reconnected, allowing him to stand here perfectly fine now?"
The black-clad man laughed. "Besides, he’s nothing more than a walking corpse now. Without the Jade Crystal Puppet Thread, he’d just be a motionless corpse. Why waste such a precious thing on a dead man?"
Sang Duo retorted, "We don’t have that puppet thread you speak of! It’s true that Cang Yan’s bones and meridians were shattered, but it was my master’s exceptional skill in healing and gu arts that restored him during my puppet refinement. We never used your so-called puppet thread!"
The black-clad man scoffed. "Do you take me for a fool? Unless the sect leader who invented puppet arts a century ago were still alive, no one else could craft a puppet so flawless!"
His patience wore thin as he pressed the blade tighter against Li Furong’s throat. "Since you still care about protecting her, you must be different from other puppets. Cang Yan, the choice is yours. If you want her to live, let me extract the puppet thread from your body!"
Without hesitation, Cang Yan stepped forward.
Sang Duo, frantic and furious, shouted, "Cang Yan, I order you—don’t go!"
An elderly man blocked her path, preventing her from intervening.
Cang Yan glanced back at Sang Duo, and in that moment, she felt something strange—Cang Yan wasn’t just a lifeless puppet. He was a living, conscious being.
His steps never faltered.
Fifteen years ago, as a child, his bones and meridians had been shattered, and he had witnessed the massacre of his entire family. Later, he was refined into a puppet, a monster caught between life and death.
Yet even as a monster, he walked the world with Sang Duo, silently enduring her endless chatter.
And now, as a puppet, he still remembered to protect the only family he had left.
Li Furong had always avoided confronting the brutal past, too afraid to ask. But as she watched Cang Yan approach, fragmented memories from when she was three years old resurfaced.
She had once wanted to see baby birds.
Her brother climbed a tree to fetch a nest for her, never crying out in pain when he fell.
She had begged for sweets.
He sneaked her out of the manor, then knelt in the ancestral hall without complaint when their parents punished them.
She had clumsily swung his wooden sword, cutting her own hand and wailing.
Her brother patted her head and whispered, "I’ll train hard to protect Shuangshuang. You just need to play and be happy."
He was only eight years old when he said those words.
It shouldn’t have been like this.
He had endured so much suffering—he shouldn’t have been reduced to this wretched fate.
Tears blurred Li Furong’s vision. She clenched her eyes shut, then raised her hand and gripped the sharp blade, slicing her palm open. Blood dripped.
The old man realized her intent too late and cried out, "Stop!"
But Li Furong didn’t hesitate. The black-clad man thought she was struggling—until he saw she meant to slit her own throat, removing herself as a bargaining chip.
No one expected this spoiled, arrogant young mistress to act so decisively. Many present were too stunned to react.
The blade cut into her skin, about to go deeper—when the Heart’s Desire Sword shot forth, knocking the weapon from her grasp.
Then, a palm strike landed on the black-clad man’s back. Blood spilled from behind his mask.
"Ninth, over here! Here!"
Chu'he stood below the rooftop, arms outstretched, tracking the falling figure above. Ninth mimicked her, shifting left and right as they adjusted their position.
Chu'he snapped, "You can fly, can’t you?"
Ninth blinked. "Forgot."
Cang Yan lunged forward, fingertips barely grazing Li Furong’s sleeve—but the old man intercepted, his cane clashing with Cang Yan’s longsword. Sparks flew as they clashed again.
Then, a third figure appeared.
Blue robes fluttered like icy light piercing the night. A young swordsman stretched out his arms and caught the bloodstained maiden, landing gracefully.
Chu'he and Ninth exchanged glances before awkwardly lowering their still-outstretched hands.
