Fang Songhe smiled, "You've arrived just in time."
Cang Yan, as always, returned to Sang Duo's side, standing guard like an unshakable mountain.
A violent cough echoed through the night. The Old Man's hunched figure seemed to have aged decades in mere moments, his body trembling more severely than before. His mask fell away, revealing a face covered in eerie black patterns resembling withered tree bark. Dark blood gushed from his mouth, pooling on the ground—each drop teeming with squirming black insects.
"Eugh—" Chu'he's face twisted in disgust.
Ninth covered Chu'he's eyes with one hand, his lips curling into a faint smile as he gazed at the kneeling Old Man. "Don’t be afraid. It’s just a few bugs eating away at your flesh. You won’t die yet."
The Old Man shuddered, barely keeping himself upright with his hands pressed against the ground.
Fang Songhe wasn’t one to advocate torture, but he also refrained from judging others' methods—especially in dire circumstances.
"At this point, it’s time you revealed your identity," Fang Songhe said, stepping forward slowly. "Or perhaps there’s someone else behind you?"
The Old Man’s origins were a mystery, and his mastery of poison and gu (venomous insects) was exceptional. Fang Songhe couldn’t yet confirm whether he was the mastermind behind everything.
Writhing in unbearable agony—unable to live or die—the Old Man remained stubbornly silent.
Sang Duo, however, had no patience left. "If you don’t talk, I’ll have Cang Yan cut off one of your hands!"
Cang Yan obeyed, stepping forward—but as an eerie flute melody drifted through the air, his body froze. His hand trembled around his blade, his muscles locked in place, resisting yet unable to move.
The flute’s haunting notes carried an unseen, spine-chilling power, dredging up the deepest fears of those who heard it. The stronger one’s cultivation, the worse the effect.
Sang Duo clutched her ears, trembling violently.
Fang Songhe’s sword dropped as he braced himself, sweat beading on his forehead.
Chu'he, the only one present without cultivation, remained unaffected. She glanced around, unnerved, then looked up—her heart seizing in dread.
Ninth’s crimson eyes were darker than ever, a terrifying blood-red, like a slumbering beast beneath still waters, ready to awaken and unleash chaos.
What horrified her more was the unsettling movement beneath the pale skin at the back of his neck—as if something inside him, usually stable, was on the verge of breaking free.
"Ninth!" Chu'he stood on her toes, covering his ears. "Don’t listen! Wake up!"
His body tensed further, the unnatural undulations growing more violent.
The light in his eyes dimmed, as if dragged back into the days of mindless slaughter—leaving behind only an empty shell devoid of emotion.
Chu'he watched in horror as a crack split open on his face, revealing glimpses of squirming, unknown appendages beneath.
"Ninth, Ninth!"
The little green snake on her shoulder peeked out, equally frantic.
The eerie flute music grated on her nerves.
Gritting her teeth, Chu'he picked up a pebble and hurled it toward the source of the sound. "Stop playing!"
The tiny stone struck the hem of a shadowed figure’s robe—harmless, clattering to the ground at his feet.
The flute paused. A soft laugh drifted on the night breeze, mocking her futile defiance.
Then the pebble shot back like a blade, aimed straight at Chu'he.
She shut her eyes, raising her arms defensively—only to be pulled into a familiar embrace. A hand shielded her face, catching the lethal projectile.
With a flick of his wrist, Ninth sent the stone flying back, cracking the hidden figure’s flute. The music stopped, freeing everyone from their nightmares.
Cang Yan shielded Sang Duo, gripping his sword tightly.
Fang Songhe raised his blade, sensing an overwhelming killing intent—one he dared not underestimate.
The true mastermind had appeared—too dangerous, too powerful. No one could spare a thought for the Old Man now.
Clutching his chest, the Old Man melted into the darkness. He had more important matters to attend to.
"The emotions you possess now… they exceed my expectations," came an aged, eerily familiar voice from the shadows. "I never thought love could pull you from your inner demons."
The figure mused, half-curious, half-amused. "Does having someone you cherish truly change you so much?"
Ninth kept Chu'he behind him, his crimson eyes glinting with cold amusement. "If curiosity is all you seek, then abandon it. The more you pry, the more pitiful you’ll realize you are."
On the other side, Sang Duo stared at the shadow, her voice trembling. "…Master?"
Her cry of recognition stunned Chu'he and Fang Songhe alike.
As the figure stepped into the light, revealing himself clearly, disbelief spread like wildfire.
Chu'he gasped. "Doctor Wu?!"
Gone was the frail, half-blind old man. Doctor Wu stood tall, his posture straight, his gaze sharp and calculating—an entirely different person.
Sang Duo rushed forward, only for Cang Yan to yank her back. "Master, you vanished years ago! I searched everywhere for you—why are you here?!"
Doctor Wu studied her for a long moment before nodding vaguely. "Ah, yes. I did take a disciple once. My memory isn’t what it used to be."
His recollections came in fragments, his whims dictating where he stayed and for how long.
Chu'he suddenly asked, "Sang Duo, what’s your master’s full name?"
Dazed, Sang Duo answered, "Master’s name is Wu Taizu."
Wu Taizu—the Temple Name "Taizu," the founding emperor of Wu, Sun Zhongmou!
Chu'he’s scalp prickled. "The Lin Yinu from Canghaizhou, the Wu Erlang from Wutong Village—that was all you!"
"Perhaps," Doctor Wu chuckled. "My memory fails me. Though… I believe I was also a monk not long ago."
Chu'he swallowed hard. "That monk… wouldn’t happen to be Tang Sanzang, would it?"
After a thoughtful pause, Doctor Wu nodded. "Indeed."
Good heavens—all four great classics, rolled into one!
Chu'he’s mind reeled. If this man wasn’t a time-traveler himself, he must have been close to someone who was—how else would he know these stories?
Ninth pressed Chu'he's head back behind him, his short flute appearing in hand as he spun it playfully. With a smile, he said, "I recall the elder once foretold—'When kings meet, one must fall.' You've hidden all these years, yet now you reveal yourself. Have you finally prepared to stake your life?"
"I know you don’t wish to die," Doctor Wu murmured, running his fingers over the cracked flute in his grasp, his smile faint. "But neither do I."
His gaze drifted to the night sky, softening as he spoke. "The moon is bright, the breeze gentle—a night of splendid beauty. Why not make a choice?"
The word "choice" sent a chill down Chu'he's spine.
Sure enough, shadowy figures began emerging from the darkness—residents of the city, their faces blank, eyes hollow, shuffling forward until they surrounded the group like lifeless puppets, motionless.
Chu'he spotted a familiar figure. "Father!"
She rushed to Chu Sheng’s side, gripping his hand, but he remained unresponsive. Beside him stood Bai Lian, equally devoid of awareness. Everyone from the Chu family was there, along with the people from the commoners' alley.
Chu'he whirled around. "What have you done to them?"
Doctor Wu chuckled. "This identity of mine is far too convenient. When I offered free medicine during my charitable rounds, not a single soul doubted me as they drank my remedies."
Some time ago, a sudden wave of illness had swept the city amid erratic weather. Doctor Wu had led his clinic in distributing free treatments, especially to the poor who couldn’t afford care—all of whom had willingly taken his concoctions.
Fang Songhe scanned the crowd, tension tightening his expression. "Controlling so many innocent people—what exactly are you planning?"
"Just a simple choice, nothing grand," Doctor Wu replied, his smiling eyes fixed on Chu'he. In a way, he had watched this girl grow up.
In truth, he had watched many in this city grow up.
Like the little flower girl beside him. She had been a difficult birth, her parents too poor to hire another physician—he had been the one to bring her into the world, his medicine kit slung over his shoulder.
Now, Doctor Wu reached out, gently patting the girl’s head as he spoke softly, "Shall this entire city die to spare your beloved? Or shall your beloved die to spare your family and friends?"
His gaze lifted. "Miaomiao, choose."
In an instant, Chu'he turned to Ninth.
Cloaked in moonlight, the red-robed, white-haired youth stood alone, his frame slender and fragile. His fists clenched, then loosened, as if afraid even the slightest force might disrupt something. When his eyes met Chu'he’s, they were calm—deep as still water.
The corner of his lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. "It’s alright. I don’t matter."
