The moment he sensed the killing intent, Li Huaijin shielded Li Furong behind him. With a flick of his wrist, a short blade slipped from his sleeve and met the sword’s edge with a sharp clang, sparks flying.
Fang Songhe’s expression was stern, his longsword radiating an untainted, righteous aura, as if capable of purging all evil. He advanced again, only to see Li Huaijin suddenly lower his blade, unresisting as he welcomed the fatal strike. Fang Songhe hastily withdrew his momentum, the sword tip grazing Li Huaijin’s cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood.
“What is the meaning of this?” Fang Songhe demanded.
Li Huaijin coughed, wiping the blood from his lips, trying not to appear too disheveled before the renowned young swordsman. Raising his eyes, he let out a low chuckle. “Fang Songhe, I’m dying. But I don’t want Shuangshuang to die. I don’t like you, but right now, you’re the only one I can trust.”
Fang Songhe’s heart clenched as he noticed the streaks of white rapidly spreading through Li Huaijin’s hair.
The night was heavy, the autumn wind biting.
A masked figure draped in a black cloak hummed a discordant tune, strolling leisurely along the mountain path as if on a casual walk. His fingers brushed against the flowers by the roadside, and as if drained of life, they withered instantly, crumbling into dust.
To a madman like him, the fading of life only added to the night’s amusement.
But when he saw the blue spirit insects guiding his way torn apart and devoured by a swarm of their own kind, his humming ceased.
Outside the ruined temple, shadows of trees loomed thickly.
A youth in red sat perched on a branch, gazing into the distance, his eyes reflecting the faint blue glow of the scattered spirit insects. After a moment, the corner of his lips curled, and he raised a short flute to his lips. The crisp notes pierced the night, clear as a trickling spring yet laced with an unsettling chill.
The masked man clutched his chest, struggling to suppress the turmoil within, but a trickle of blood still escaped beneath his mask.
One wanes, the other waxes—the prophecy from years past had been eerily accurate.
Blood dripped from his chin, blooming into a dark crimson flower on the ground. He lifted his gaze, peering through the trees toward the source of the flute’s melody.
“Chi Yan, one day, I will have you.”
The night wind carried fallen leaves past him as he turned and vanished.
Hearing the flute, Fang Songhe knew Ninth had arrived. He sheathed his sword, his guard lowering as he turned back to the man steeped in deathly stillness. “You are Li Furong’s elder brother, and also the old man skilled in poison from the underground prison. What dark arts did you use to become… this?”
Li Huaijin smiled faintly. “You mean this half-human, half-ghost state?”
Fang Songhe remained silent.
“Fang Songhe, if I could, I’d choose a different path,” Li Huaijin murmured.
Moonlight spilled through the gaps in the ruined temple, illuminating everything but him. In contrast, the swordsman before him seemed bathed in its favor, a soft glow enveloping his figure.
Li Huaijin stared at that light, his eyes flickering with something indescribable—envy, longing, and a bitter resignation.
“But there are no ‘ifs’ in this world.”
Fang Songhe pressed his lips together. “You sought the Jade Crystal Puppet Thread. You must know its whereabouts, so why…?”
“I wish I knew why too,” Li Huaijin replied softly, the wind tousling his white-streaked hair, stark against the dimness. “I wanted to live, yet every choice I made led me further astray.”
His fingers twitched, brushing against the hem of the girl’s skirt. “From the day I met her, it seems I’ve only ever made the wrong decisions.”
“As long as it doesn’t defy righteousness, following your heart isn’t a mistake,” Fang Songhe said after a pause. “Taking Li Furong home back then—that was kindness.”
Li Huaijin’s smile was so faint it nearly dissolved into the night. “Kindness? Perhaps. But in this world, kind people rarely live long.”
He withdrew his hand slowly, as if afraid to disturb something. The moonlight still avoided him, yet it cast a gentle halo around the girl’s hair.
“Fang Songhe, I have a request.”
It was the first time Li Huaijin had ever used the word “request.”
“I beg you—don’t tell her about me.”
Fang Songhe was not one to deceive, yet duty and emotion warred within him. He should have cut down this scourge of the martial world, yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill a man who had risked his life to protect another.
And as a man, Fang Songhe could vaguely understand why Li Huaijin would make such a plea.
Li Huaijin’s hair was now entirely white, his hands wrinkled, his back hunched.
At last, Fang Songhe relented. “I promise.”
Li Huaijin’s voice was hoarse. “Thank you.”
He turned, his clouded eyes fixed on the oblivious girl. Summoning his courage, his trembling hand finally touched her cheek.
“After raising you all these years, the thought of you marrying someone else is… unbearable. Let me take a little interest now.”
His gaze lingered on her flawless face as he leaned in—only for a sword to intercept, blocking his path.
Fang Songhe’s expression was stern. “Restrain yourself.”
Li Huaijin chuckled weakly, straightening as best he could. He cupped the girl’s face in his aged, wrinkled hands, the contrast between his weathered skin and her youthful beauty painfully stark.
Fang Songhe was about to warn him again when Li Huaijin slipped a pill into Li Furong’s mouth. Alarmed, Fang Songhe demanded, “What did you give her?”
Ignoring him, Li Huaijin whispered, “Li Furong, forget Li Huaijin.”
Fang Songhe froze.
Bending his stiffened back, Li Huaijin pressed his lips to her forehead and murmured, “You are the cherished daughter of the Li family. You have a father who adores you, endless wealth, beautiful clothes, and jewelry. Every day of your life has been happy, carefree.”
“Remember—your memories hold no Li Huaijin, nor the old man who tricked you into the mountains.”
“And remember, only I am allowed to deceive you. Since I won’t be here, you must learn to be wiser. Don’t let others fool you so easily again.”
Fang Songhe was speechless. He had assumed Li Huaijin’s plea was to conceal his misdeeds—not to erase himself entirely from her memory.
“From now on, go wherever you wish, see the world’s wonders, do as you please. Don’t let my shadow trap you in this small city anymore.”
“Shuangshuang.”
“Farewell.”
The hunched old man closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her breath as if embraced by an unprecedented comfort.
The wind howled through the temple’s cracks, stirring his white hair as it brushed against her cheek. Li Huaijin’s chest rose and fell—once, twice—then stilled, never to move again.
The night grew colder.
Chu’he leaned against the windowsill, staring at the moon, wide awake.
Ninth said he was going to find Fang Songhe and would return soon, but after waiting for a long time, there was still no sign of him. She had grown so accustomed to his presence that she couldn’t fall asleep without him. Tossing and turning restlessly, she lay awake.
The familiar chime of a bell rang softly, clear and melodious.
Chu'he turned around happily and threw herself at the boy who had returned without a sound. "Ninth!"
The young man caught her as she leaped toward him, his eyes crinkling with a faint smile as he gently stroked the long hair cascading down her back. "Why aren’t you asleep yet?"
"I can’t sleep without you!"
Leaning against his chest, Chu'he tilted her head and grinned, her sparkling eyes filled with nothing but him—as if holding an entire galaxy within them.
Ninth bent down, pressing his forehead against hers, and asked with an amused smile, "Ah'He, do you really like me this much?"
"Mhm!" Chu'he held one of his hands against her cheek, nuzzling into it contentedly. "Ninth is so wonderful—I like you so much it’s unbearable!"
He cupped her bottom and lifted her up, making her cling to him like a koala.
"Then, Ah'He, promise you’ll always remember to like me, okay?"
Chu'he raised her face and blinked. "Ninth, you seem a little strange."
His expression remained as innocent as ever. "Do I?"
Chu'he lightly touched Ninth’s forehead, but it was smooth—nothing there.
Hadn’t she just seen a trace of crimson flicker between his brows, vivid as blood?
How could it have vanished in the blink of an eye?
