Which is more important—the lives of an entire city, or the life of Ninth alone?
"No one's life should ever become a pawn in your schemes!"
Fang Songhe raised his sword and charged, but Doctor Wu neither dodged nor flinched.
One after another, the puppet-like figures stepped in front of Doctor Wu, expressionless as they faced the oncoming blade.
Fang Songhe’s pupils constricted. He had no choice but to forcibly halt his strike, his feet skidding to a stop as fury and helplessness tangled in his chest.
"If you can't steel yourself to treat innocent lives as expendable, I suggest you refrain from reckless actions."
Doctor Wu brushed the dust from his sleeves and smiled faintly. "Their lives hang on my whim."
Fang Songhe gritted his teeth. "You’re despicable!"
Doctor Wu only laughed. "People are shackled by their attachments. Your powerlessness now is entirely of your own making."
Sang Duo, shielded behind Cang Yan, saw through it immediately. "They’ve been poisoned—they’ve lost their minds."
As if to confirm her words, the mindless crowd suddenly drew weapons, pointing them at one another. A single command, and they would drive blades into their neighbors—people they once greeted with smiles.
Amid the glint of steel, Doctor Wu remained utterly at ease. "My patience is thin, Miaomiao. It’s time to choose."
Sang Duo’s gaze shifted to the silent girl.
Fang Songhe, no longer daring to act rashly, followed her line of sight.
The possible outcomes were clear.
If she chose Ninth, the crowd would slaughter one another.
If she chose the innocent, Ninth would become their target.
Ninth was no longer the lone wanderer from Miaojiang. Unbeknownst to him, he had gained ties—and with them, vulnerabilities.
Yet no matter the choice, Chu'he would suffer the most.
Chu'he stared at Ninth, lips pressed tight, fingers clutching her sleeves.
Suddenly, blades inched forward, piercing chests. Blood spilled, yet the wounded remained oblivious, silent in their agony.
"Stop!" Chu'he cried.
Doctor Wu chuckled. "Hesitate a moment longer, and their hearts will be next."
Chu'he exhaled softly. "Ninth, will you listen to me?"
Ninth’s eyes crinkled at the corners. "Always."
"Then don’t move. Stay right there."
Ninth nodded. "As you wish."
He didn’t even ask why, yielding so swiftly it seemed he’d stand unflinching even if she carved out his heart.
Ninth’s gaze swept the crowd—Chu Sheng, the residents of the humble alleys who’d once shared their food with him, the little girl who’d gifted him a flower, blessing his union with Chu'he.
His lashes lowered. The smile he habitually wore faltered, the effort to maintain it slipping away.
Of course.
This was Chu'he’s home. Unlike him, she cherished it deeply—every person, every memory held meaning.
And he? Just a mere Ninth, insignificant as dust beside them all.
Chu'he stepped past Ninth, her eyes locking onto the old man. She laughed. "You enjoy games of choice? Then let me offer you one."
Doctor Wu’s brow arched, intrigue sparking.
Chu'he advanced, passing Sang Duo and Cang Yan, then Fang Songhe, until only three steps separated her from Doctor Wu.
"You’re curious how people choose when cornered. But if you never see the answer, all your schemes to toy with hearts will be for nothing. What a waste." Her voice sharpened. "So—you choose."
"Watch me die, and you’ll never know my answer. Or save me, force your vile poisons into me, and pry it from my lips!"
In one swift motion, she yanked the hairpin from her bun and pressed it to her throat—then drove it down.
"Chu'he!"
"Sister-in-law!"
"Miss Chu!"
Fang Songhe and Sang Duo lunged, but neither matched the speed of the crimson figure darting forward. Yet the closest was still the one wearing Doctor Wu’s guise.
Warm blood splashed across Ninth’s outstretched hand, its heat sliding between his fingers, thick with the scent of iron.
He froze. Slowly, his gaze lifted, lashes trembling.
Crimson speckled Chu'he’s face like blooming plum blossoms against snow. The hairpin was buried deep—but not in her throat.
The one pierced was another.
Doctor Wu’s neck gushed blood, one hand still frozen in the motion of trying to stop Chu'he from taking her own life.
Yet his outstretched hand had been futile—in the end, he could only retract it and press it against the gaping wound in his throat.
Even as he clutched the injury, nothing could stem the torrent of crimson.
Chu'he had never killed before, but now she found the act no more daunting than this. Calmly wiping the blood from her face, she sneered back, "You said people are shackled by their attachments. But I say it’s their curiosity that blinds them with arrogance."
From the very beginning, she had never intended to die. Instead, she had pieced together the mastermind’s obsession with how people behave in desperate straits—and gambled on it.
She won the bet.
He could never tolerate a pawn defying his carefully laid plans, so his instinct had driven him to stop her "suicide."
And just as she’d anticipated, that moment of unguarded proximity was all she needed.
"Ha…" Doctor Wu, pale from blood loss, swayed on his feet—yet still managed a weak laugh.
The man was a madman, flames dancing in his eyes. "So alike… Truly alike! You… you’re the one who resembles her most!"
Beneath the dissimilar faces, he saw it—her radiant soul. That resolve, that ruthlessness, that unshakable will—it mirrored the very spirit he had chased for years.
His bloodied hand reached out, desire blazing brighter. "I must have you… I will possess you—"
In an instant, blood sprayed as his arm was violently severed, arcing through the air in a crimson parabola.
Staggering back, he barely evaded the flute’s lethal strike aimed for his throat.
A white-haired youth stepped between them, crimson eyes glinting like a beast restraining its savagery—guarding the treasure only he could claim.
