It was obvious that Lan Yingying had been manipulated by someone earlier, forced to approach in the guise of the mastermind behind this scheme to make a deal.
The one pulling the strings had calculated well. If the trade went smoothly, Lan Yingying could have taken Chu'he away directly.
If the deal went awry, then Song Chunming would have to watch the person he loved most die before his eyes. And if things took an even more dramatic turn—if Song Chunming switched sides mid-deal—he would have ended up killing his beloved with his own hands.
How delightfully cruel.
"Chun... Chunming..." Lan Yingying's consciousness flickered back weakly as she called out the name of the one she loved.
Song Chunming desperately tried to stop her bleeding, but his efforts were barely effective.
Shangguan Huanxi tossed him a small bottle. "A rare medicine given to me by Sang Duo."
Song Chunming hurriedly fed Lan Yingying a pill. The bleeding from her wounds slowed slightly, and her breathing steadied.
Shangguan Huanxi cut straight to the point. "Who exactly is that person, and why is he so fixated on Miss Chu?"
Lan Yingying coughed a few times before answering. "He's the leader of the Witchcraft and Gu Sorcery Sect... Chi Yan... What he wants is Chu'he's body... to use it... to awaken someone else."
Shangguan Huanxi's expression darkened.
If Chi Yan hadn’t appeared here in person, there was only one other place he could be.
The front courtyard was lively, the crowd brimming with apparent joy, but beneath the surface, tensions simmered.
The first to draw a sword was Murong Meifei. A flash of cold steel later, a shadowy figure leaping from a tree was cleanly split in two.
This seemed to be the signal—black-clad, masked figures descended from all directions, and in that instant, weapons were drawn.
Yet these masked intruders were bizarre. Even when limbs were severed, they quickly reassembled themselves. Even the body Murong Meifei had split in two merged back together and lunged forward again.
Black Goose and White Dove moved in perfect sync, swiftly escorting Chu Sheng and Bai Lian to safety.
Wuya hoisted Su Lingxi onto his back and tore through the oncoming masked figures with his bare hands. Strangely, no matter how grievous their injuries, not a single drop of blood spilled.
Heart Knife cleaved through several attackers and shouted, "Hey, kid! Weren’t you the one who boasted about knowing everything under the sun? Tell us what the hell these things are!"
Su Lingxi covered his eyes, refusing to look at the gruesome scene of flying limbs. "Miaojiang only has two tricks—poison and puppetry! These monsters are definitely their puppets!"
Heart Knife panted. "They just keep coming back to life! No matter how strong I am, I can’t keep this up forever!"
Suddenly, a soft, haunting melody drifted through the night.
On the rooftop, a young man stood with silver hair and crimson robes fluttering in the wind. The notes from his flute flowed like a mountain stream, carrying an eerie chill.
Where the music reached, the masked figures slowed, their movements growing sluggish as if pulled by invisible strings. Their heads tilted upward.
Then, their white masks shattered. From their withered faces, gaping mouths spewed forth swarms of black, writhing insects, splattering onto the ground like grotesque vomit.
Murong Meixin leaped behind her shimei, shrieking, "I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die!"
The puppets, now emptied of their parasitic insects, collapsed lifelessly—but more kept coming.
Ninth’s gaze flickered briefly behind him.
A puppet attempting to ambush him from the rear was already impaled through the skull by a sword before it could strike, tumbling off the roof.
Fang Songhe stood guard behind Ninth. "Focus on drawing out the Gu worms with your flute. Leave the rest to me."
Ninth’s fingers hesitated for a fraction of a second, but he didn’t turn around.
As the flute resumed, more puppets fell, and the ground grew thick with the expelled black insects.
Then, the music was abruptly cut short by the sickening sound of steel piercing flesh.
Ninth looked down to see a blade protruding from his chest, warm crimson droplets sliding down the metal—drip, drip—splattering like tiny red blossoms on the ground.
Behind him, Fang Songhe’s breath brushed against his ear, his voice laced with a mocking malice never before heard from him. "Little Chi Yan, you’ve truly changed. The old you would never have turned your back on anyone."
Ninth gripped the blade and turned.
Fang Songhe’s eyes were vacant, the silver-patterned sachet at his waist glinting coldly.
In the storage shed, Chu'he’s chest suddenly ached.
Clutching her heart, she struggled against the suffocating discomfort. The sounds of battle outside only deepened her unease.
"What do I do? What do I do? System, should I go out and see?"
The useless system seemed to have gone silent again. No matter how much she called, there was no response.
Chu'he wanted to leave but remembered Ninth’s warning—she must only step out when he came for her. The torment of indecision left her pacing like a caged animal.
Finally, she couldn’t resist peeking through the window.
Just as she pressed her face close, the window swung open from the outside, revealing a pair of familiar ruby-red eyes staring back.
Chu'he gasped in delight. "Ninth!"
He leaned down outside, meeting her gaze at eye level. His head tilted slightly, white hair swaying behind him, his crimson eyes crinkling with a dazzling, enchanting smile.
Yet despite the familiar face and smile, something felt deeply wrong.
Chu'he’s grin faltered as she instinctively retreated—but a strong hand seized her arm.
He chuckled. "Miaomiao, I’m here to take you home. Why are you running?"
