Fang Songhe finally managed to escape the encirclement of the noble ladies and young misses, hiding in a secluded spot where he let out a ragged sigh of relief.
For some reason, Li Furong’s haughty face surfaced in his mind again. Remembering the embroidered shoe he had picked up but not yet returned to her, his emotions grew subtly complicated.
The sound of wine spilling and a girl’s startled cry caught his attention.
Fang Songhe walked over and saw a maid collapsed on the ground. He vaguely recalled her—she was Aunt Bai’s personal attendant.
"Miss, are you alright?"
Kneeling down kindly to help the badly fallen maid, he was caught off guard as a plume of purple mist suddenly wafted toward him.
With a clang, his sword, Suixin, dropped into the dust.
"Is it almost time?"
"Quick, the red veil must be placed!"
"Don’t rush, take it slow."
Whispers and rustling filled the room until Sang Duo suddenly spoke up in confusion, "I think I smell something… a fragrance?"
No sooner had she spoken than the sounds of bodies hitting the floor followed. Soon, the room fell into complete silence.
The door creaked open as Song Chunming stepped inside, a vial in his hand emitting the same purple mist. Ordinary people wouldn’t detect its scent, but Sang Duo had noticed—though it was already too late.
Song Chunming swept his gaze across the room.
Zhao Shuxing and Li Furong lay unconscious on the floor.
Sang Duo slumped over the table, her awareness fading.
And the bride, clad in her wedding dress, lay motionless on the bed, her breathing slow and steady.
The mist provided by that man was truly formidable—knocking out so many with such ease. Even those from Miaojiang, known for their vigilance, had been defenseless against it.
Song Chunming strode straight to the bed and lifted the red veil. Seeing Chu'he’s familiar face, a flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, but it lasted only a moment.
"I have no choice," he murmured. "That man promised he wouldn’t harm you. Chu'he… I’m sorry."
Scooping up her unconscious form, he leaped out through the window.
The night was dark, the trees swaying in the wind like clawing specters.
Deep in the forest, someone had been waiting for a long time.
Song Chunming laid the unconscious woman against a tree, her face turned slightly to the side. Even in the dim light, her delicate beauty and graceful figure were unmistakable.
On what should have been her wedding day, dressed in red bridal robes, she should have been waiting for her groom to escort her out. Instead, she had been brought into the shadowy woods, her fate now uncertain.
Song Chunming took a few steps forward, addressing the cloaked figure’s back. "I’ve done everything you asked."
"Song Chunming is indeed a man of his word. For the sake of love, you’ve not only risked your life but betrayed everyone, even colluding with evil spirits."
The figure chuckled, turning around. A painted Nuo mask concealed his face, exuding an air of mystery and danger. His voice, distorted by the mask, carried an eerie, hollow amusement.
Song Chunming clenched his fists. "You told me to provoke Ninth, to push him into the abyss of his inner demons—I did it. You told me to find a way to bring Chu'he to you—I did that too. Now it’s your turn to fulfill your promise."
The jade pendant—Chu'he had long stopped caring about it, and with Song Chunming’s "amnesia," its whereabouts remained unknown. Since the annulment papers had been secured, she had let the matter drop.
Ninth finding the pendant at his feet was no accident. Song Chunming knew the demon lurking within Ninth was stirring, and Ninth himself was vengeful and petty. The wise choice would have been to stay far away, let alone provoke him deliberately.
But Song Chunming had no choice.
The masked man had promised that if he could draw out Ninth’s inner demon, let it consume him and strip away all human emotions, then Song Chunming would get what he desired.
He had staked his life on it. Ninth had indeed erupted in fury, but unexpectedly, Chu'he had somehow managed to dispel the demon within him.
Every person had their obsessions, and obsessions easily bred inner demons.
The stronger the person, the more formidable their demon.
Song Chunming had never heard of a martial master’s inner demon being dispelled so quickly—let alone by a seemingly defenseless girl like Chu'he.
With the plan to let the demon consume Ninth foiled, the masked man made a new demand—
Bring Chu'he to him.
Even now, Song Chunming didn’t know the man’s true identity. But his attire matched the evil spirits of Yunhuang’s Undying City, suggesting a connection between them.
Back then, Song Chunming had asked warily, "What do you want with Chu'he?"
The man had only smiled. "Don’t worry. I won’t harm her."
After a long silence, Song Chunming had agreed.
And so, the girl now slumped against the tree, her figure blurred by the shadows, had unwittingly fallen into the enemy’s trap.
Song Chunming’s grip tightened. "Where is Yingying?"
"Song Chunming is truly devoted."
The words sounded like praise but carried a mocking edge. Song Chunming’s face darkened, but he said nothing.
Long ago, while hunting evil spirits, he had repeatedly clashed with a masked female specter. Later, the masked man had struck him off a cliff. By sheer luck, Lan Yingying had found and saved him—though he lost all memory except his name.
Under Lan Yingying’s tender care, he had unknowingly fallen for her. They had even exchanged vows, becoming husband and wife.
During the Wutong Village incident, after being tortured into unconsciousness by Ninth, Song Chunming’s memories had returned.
He realized then that Lan Yingying was the very specter he had once hunted. She had been ordered to kill him, but in their clashes, an unexpected affection had bloomed between them.
They were natural enemies, standing on opposite sides. Yet love was never something one could control. Remembering their past, Song Chunming had to admit—he couldn’t let her go.
In Wutong Village, when Ninth kicked Lan Yingying into the abyss, Song Chunming had been certain she was dead. The pain had nearly destroyed him.
Then, the masked man had suddenly appeared, bringing news that Lan Yingying was alive. Joy had overwhelmed him.
But the man had also proposed a deal.
Raised with orthodox teachings, Song Chunming had struggled with his conscience. Yet seeing Ninth—the man who had harmed Lan Yingying—living happily with the woman he loved, his resolve had slowly shifted.
Song Chunming took another step forward, his voice hardening. "Return Yingying to me. If you don’t, even if it means mutual destruction, I won’t let you go!"
"Why the hurry?" The black-clad man chuckled, his movements graceful as he leisurely approached the bride beneath the tree. "Since we’re partners, shouldn’t we at least have some basic trust?"
