"Ninth!"
The moment Chu'he grabbed the young man's arm, he pulled her into an embrace, his grip so tight it nearly stole her breath.
Wrapped in his familiar scent, she felt an overwhelming sense of safety. Standing on her tiptoes, she clung to him, trembling as she whispered, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
Ninth gently patted her back, nuzzling his face against hers. "I know, Chu'he. I know. You did well."
Between them lay the bond of the Mandarin Duck Gu—her gamble could have backfired, dragging him down with her. That was why she apologized.
But Ninth understood everything.
She was a noble young lady raised in comfort, yet she had willingly thrown herself into danger, stained her hands with blood that could never be washed away—all because she would never choose to abandon him.
A searing warmth surged in Ninth's chest, as if threatening to burn him alive. He had prepared himself for the possibility that Chu'he might give up on him, even rehearsed reasons to console himself.
Yet her unwavering devotion crashed over him like a tidal wave, fierce and unstoppable, scorching through his flesh and soul, leaving him trembling and restless.
Doctor Wu clutched his wound, his earlier amusement replaced by a desperate hunger. As he took a step, Fang Songhe's sword flashed toward him.
He barely dodged, his once-calm demeanor shattered, replaced by rare disarray.
Doctor Wu had lost an arm, and blood gushed from his neck—normally, such injuries would be fatal.
Yet, eerily, worms wriggled at his wounds, slowing the bleeding.
Fang Songhe's heart chilled.
Doctor Wu's patience had run out. His voice turned icy. "Killing me won't be so easy."
Fang Songhe sensed danger. In the next instant, he leaped back, his blade intercepting two townsfolk who were trying to stab each other.
The clash of steel rang out again. Nearby, Cang Yan and Sang Duo were also struggling to stop the mind-controlled citizens from slaughtering one another.
More and more people turned violent, their numbers overwhelming the defenders.
Then came a sharp ding—a short flute knocked the dagger from Chu Sheng's hand before it could pierce Bai Lian, then whirled through the air, deflecting blades left and right before returning to the pale fingers of its wielder.
"The gu in their bodies were nourished by my blood. None but I can undo them. How long do you think you can hold out?"
The voice slithered from the shadows, elusive, impossible to pin down.
"What if you add me to the count?"
A sword’s cold light split the night, its jade-green blade embedding into the ground. The force of its descent sent the brawling townsfolk tumbling like leaves in a gale.
The sword landed, and a woman alighted upon its hilt, arms crossed, robes fluttering—cold as ice, ethereal as a celestial maiden.
"Junior Sister, I've tied them up!"
A white-robed young man hurriedly pinned down a fallen figure, wrapping rope around them in frantic loops. Spotting another struggling nearby, he punched them unconscious before looking up, eyes sparkling with pride.
Murong Meifei turned her face away slightly, as if embarrassed by her brother Murong Meixin’s lack of decorum.
Chu'he lifted her head excitedly from Ninth’s embrace. "Lady Murong!"
Murong Meifei gave a slight nod in greeting. With a flicker of movement, her sword returned to her hand. Passing Fang Songhe, she said, "Leave the townsfolk to me."
Both were swordsmen; they recognized the purity in each other’s blade.
Murong Meifei added, "We should spar someday."
Fang Songhe smiled. "Agreed."
Murong Meixin shot Fang Songhe a jealous glare before whining, "Junior Sister, there’s so much dust here! Protect me!"
Amid the chaos, a flower-selling girl teetered on the edge of falling—only for the flat of a blade to catch her. When she reached for a weapon to stab her rescuer, a whip coiled around her, binding her tight.
A young man sighed dramatically. "Do we get paid for this manual labor?"
Beside him, a woman wielded her blade with controlled precision, careful not to harm the civilians. She rolled her eyes. "Just work!"
Chu'he brightened. "Black Goose! White Dove!"
Black Goose waved, while White Dove grinned, dragging him along to restrain more people.
Black Goose groaned, "We’re out of rope!"
In an instant, coils of hemp rained from the sky.
On the rooftop, a noble youth—somewhere between child and adolescent—fanned himself elegantly. Smugly, he declared, "As expected, nothing gets done without me."
Chu'he jumped. "Su Lingxi!"
Su Lingxi opened his mouth to reply, only to slip. Wuya caught him just in time, though his carefully poised stance was ruined.
The uncontrolled masses were swiftly bound, their movements restricted.
Chu'he squeezed Ninth’s hand, beaming. "Ninth, look! We have help!"
Ninth lowered his gaze, brushing a stray lock from Chu'he’s ear. He smiled but said nothing.
For some reason, unease prickled at Chu'he again.
Then, a leaf flute’s melody drifted through the air. The bound figures thrashed violently, snarling like wild beasts.
The hidden foe could no longer resist revealing himself.
A figure darted forward—a man from the Western Regions flipped his wrist, a black saber carving a crescent of light aimed at the flute’s origin.
"Show yourself!"
The night mist parted under the saber’s gust, revealing a blood-soaked figure. Doctor Wu held a shattered leaf, unfazed as he caught the blade barehanded before it could strike his face.
"What does it matter if I step out?" Doctor Wu chuckled. "You’re no match for me, boy."
"I never intended to fight you. Your real opponent isn’t me."
Another blade streaked through the dark like a meteor, its glacial edge aimed at Doctor Wu’s throat.
Doctor Wu’s pupils shrank. He released the saber and retreated, narrowly avoiding the lethal strike. The mist dispersed once more, unveiling the swordswoman—a figure in crimson, her ink-black hair framing eyes colder than winter frost.
The Heart’s Blade, guided by an untainted will, sang with a resonance that made every nearby sword hum in answer.
Chu'he gasped. "It’s Lady Shangguan!"
Shangguan Huanxi—once hailed as the world’s greatest swordmaster. Tonight, her presence proved that title needed no "former" attached.
Doctor Wu grinned. "Shangguan Huanxi. So it’s you."
"I never imagined the benevolent healer I met years ago would be the very scourge who’s plunged the world into chaos."
Her swordplay never faltered. With a swift turn, her blade swept like flowing fire, each slash tearing through the air with a sharp whistle, as if rending the night itself.
Doctor Wu retreated step by step.
"Sixty years ago, Wutong Village was massacred."
"Twenty years ago, the tragedy of Yi Moli's family."
"Fifteen years ago, the extermination of the Cang Family."
"Half a year ago, the chaos of the Zhao Family's Ghost Flower in Xiaocheng."
"And now, the suffering of the people in Yangcheng."
With each word, Shangguan Huanxi's grip on her sword tightened. Her brows furrowed slightly as she spoke, her voice icy: "You truly deserve death."
Doctor Wu's wounds multiplied. Already gravely injured, his movements grew sluggish.
As the man from the Western Regions landed, his hood fell back, revealing a familiar face that startled Chu'he.
"Third Blade!"
Ninth's eyes curved into crescents. "So it's an old friend."
The young man, tanned from his time in the desert, had a striking figure and handsome features—none other than Heart Knife.
Heart Knife shivered at the chill running down his spine and hastily tightened his loose clothing, covering his exposed abdomen. He sighed in frustration. "After all this time, you still remember me?"
After leaving Canghaizhou, Shangguan Huanxi had been relentlessly pursuing the mastermind behind these tragedies. Yi Moli's journal had provided crucial clues. She investigated Wutong Village and even ventured into the desert to search the ruins of the Cang Family's old estate—where, by chance, she encountered Heart Knife.
Heart Knife immediately insisted on accompanying her, claiming it was to restore his tarnished reputation. By aiding Shangguan Huanxi in uncovering the truth and delivering justice, he could redeem himself!
With this reasoning, he convinced his sect and finally joined her mission.
Along the way, they utilized the intelligence network of the Red Pavilion, eventually narrowing their focus to Yangcheng.
The Murong Manor, upon receiving word, dispatched Murong Meifei to assist Shangguan Huanxi. As for Murong Meixin, she was nothing more than a clingy tagalong.
The presence of the married couple, Black Goose and White Dove, was pure coincidence. Hearing of a merchant gathering in Yangcheng, they came in hopes of finding lucrative clients.
Shangguan Huanxi swung her sword, its energy surging forth, leaving no room to evade.
Doctor Wu landed, clutching his wounds. He chuckled darkly. "Shangguan Huanxi, you wish to kill me to save others, but I want more lives to accompany me in death."
With that, he plunged his hand into his own chest, crushing his still-beating heart.
His lips curled into a grin. "I wonder who will claim victory in the end. I eagerly await the answer."
Doctor Wu collapsed, his lifeless eyes staring blankly. Blood mist seeped from the gaping hole in his chest, a horrifying sight.
Screams erupted, mingling with the sound of coughing blood. Though bound, the townspeople writhed in agony, their mouths open in silent torment. In moments, the air thickened with the metallic scent of blood.
"Father!"
Chu'he dropped to her knees, grasping Chu Sheng's hand.
Like the others, he coughed up blood, his body convulsing as if something monstrous clogged his throat, suffocating every breath.
"Shi—Shimei, what do we do?!"
"Shut up!"
"Wife, would knocking them out help?"
"They're already unconscious! What good would that do?!"
"Wuya—"
"This subordinate cannot break the curse. I am powerless."
Fang Songhe turned.
Sang Duo trembled. "Though he took me as his disciple, he barely taught me anything. I don’t know how to undo his poison."
Heart Knife rushed forward. "Lady Shangguan!"
Shangguan Huanxi crouched beside the corpse and shook her head. "He's dead."
The only one who could undo the curse had crushed his own heart and died—just like that?
Chu'he was lost.
The young man knelt before her, his cold hands cradling her face as he lifted it gently. His lips curved into a faint smile.
"This is Chu'he's home. It holds her family, her friends."
"Chu'he loves this place."
"So I love it too."
Ninth lowered his hand. Unnoticed until now, a fresh wound on his wrist bled steadily, the crimson droplets pooling and spreading like tiny streams, with him as their source.
Chu'he snapped back to reality. "What are you doing?!"
Ninth leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. His laughter was light, pure, and carefree. "Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect everything you hold dear."
The scent of his blood—an intoxicating lure only the poison insects could detect—drew them forth. They crawled from the victims' orifices, swarming toward the source with terrifying speed.
"Ninth, stop!"
Chu'he lunged for his bleeding arm, but he gently pushed her away.
As Fang Songhe caught her, the sky darkened with the onslaught of insects, their writhing mass engulfing the boy's slender frame entirely.
