"Ninth, little sister!"
Fang Songhe burst in with a group—Shangguan Huanxi, Dao Laosan, Sang Duo and Cang Yan, the married couple Black Goose and White Dove, and Murong Meifei among them. They had just fought a fierce battle outside against the disciples controlled by Chi Yan, leaving them all wounded and more disheveled than usual.
Chu'he grasped Ninth's hand, her face lighting up with joy. "Brother Fang, everyone’s here!"
Ninth’s lips curved slightly as he gave a soft, "Mm."
Fang Songhe hurried over. "Ninth, are you alright?"
Ninth took out a handkerchief to wipe the blood from Chu'he’s face—his own blood—and replied absentmindedly, "I’m fine."
The handkerchief looked familiar.
Fang Songhe patted his chest and realized the one he carried was indeed missing again. But he didn’t mind. In truth, seeing Ninth covered in blood had his heart lodged in his throat.
That night, when he had been roused from his daze by Sang Duo’s medicinal incense, the first thing he saw was his own sword plunged into Ninth’s body. Frozen in shock, he had stood there, helpless.
It was Ninth who turned his head and said coolly, "Idiot. How long are you planning to keep stabbing me?"
Fang Songhe reflexively yanked the sword free—only for the young man to drop to one knee as blood sprayed from the wound.
Beside them, Sang Duo jumped up in alarm. "Are you stupid?! Pulling out a blade like that will cause massive bleeding!"
Later, it was Sang Duo who helped stop the bleeding. And thanks to Ninth’s extraordinary constitution, he survived what should have been a fatal injury.
Once Fang Songhe realized what he had done, his expression turned resolute. "Ninth, this is my fault. After we rescue little sister, I’ll atone with my life."
Ninth couldn’t be bothered with him. Struggling to his feet despite his unhealed wounds, he staggered forward, following the blue spirit insects guiding him to his beloved.
Ninth had always fought alone, never expecting help from anyone. But after two steps, his body swayed—and Fang Songhe’s hand steadied him.
"We’ll go to Miaojiang together."
Behind Fang Songhe stood the motley, boisterous crew they’d met on their journey back from Miaojiang to the Central Plains.
They were all young, and thus foolishly ignorant—unaware of the dangers lurking in the feared Miaojiang, or the depths of madness possessed by the century-old lunatic they faced.
Armed with nothing but their weapons and the words "friendship" and "justice," they charged headlong into the fire, hearts ablaze.
Wuya flicked open his fan with a smirk. "Don’t look at me like that. I’m not here for you. You and Miss Chu ruined my reputation—I need to drag her back from Miaojiang so the two of you can clear my name."
Murong Meifei hugged her sword, her voice icy. "Back at the inn outside Canghaizhou, that demon Yu Sanniang nearly killed my senior brother. Since that madman founded the Immortal City of Yunhuang, I won’t let him escape justice."
Murong Meixin threw himself at her, moved. "Junior sister!"
Murong Meifei kicked him away. "Scram!"
Black Goose and White Dove were more straightforward, their eyes gleaming with greed.
"We raided the Chu Family’s vault last time."
"There’s still so much gold left to take!"
Sang Duo glanced at Cang Yan. "He killed Cang Yan’s family and countless others. Cang Yan must be itching for revenge."
"Enough dawdling!" Su Lingxi snapped her book shut and leaped forward impatiently. "The story’s almost over—if I don’t see the ending, I won’t sleep tonight!"
With that, she dashed after a distant figure in red. "Sister Shangguan, wait for me! I’m coming with you!"
Wuya sighed and followed.
Fang Songhe took a step forward, then turned back. "Ninth, let’s go. Miaojiang awaits—little sister is still waiting for us."
Beside him stood figures unwavering in their resolve. Each claimed their own reasons, none mentioning "death," yet all knew the peril ahead.
An unfamiliar emotion tightened Ninth’s throat. Gazing at these people with their myriad "excuses," he murmured, "Thank you."
The boy who never said thanks had finally learned.
As the proudest talents of their generation gathered, Chi Yan watched the scene with eerie familiarity.
A century ago, when Miaojiang had fallen into chaos and Gu insects threatened to ravage the land, the Central Plains had sent many—but their purpose had been different.
They came to pressure Miaojiang, to pacify the frenzied Gu in the pool before innocents perished. And so, she had died.
Now, these youths from the Central Plains stood with Ninth—not to kill, but to protect.
Chi Yan suddenly laughed, the sound dripping with mockery. "So I lost. So we lost!"
Staggering back, fragments of his desiccated skin flaked away, revealing withered flesh beneath. The once-arrogant man now stood on death’s doorstep.
When his laughter subsided, he took a breath, his dull eyes fixed on the boy who should have been his mirror. "I lost to fate, not to you. From start to finish, you were just luckier."
Chi Yan whispered, "In the end, you and I are the same."
Yet the difference was stark—Ninth’s wounds were healing, his vitality radiant.
"We’re nothing alike. You never tried to protect anyone. I’ll fight to my last breath to keep those I cherish close."
The boy gripped the girl’s hand tightly, uncaring if his blood stained her. He would never let go.
Chi Yan’s gaze flickered, his form swaying.
What had he protected?
The first thing he saw upon gaining consciousness was a girl—yet he couldn’t stop her from walking to her death.
Then he made the wrong choice, driving even the person she died to protect toward destruction.
His heart had always seethed with hatred and agony.
His master had given him a body, nourishing him with her own flesh.
The girl had talked and laughed with him, awakening his mind.
Thus, he gained life.
They had created him, so he believed they would stay together forever, just as they promised—journeying to distant lands, sharing countless tomorrows.
But she leaped into the Gu pool. His master followed, choosing death beside her.
Why hadn’t they looked back?
He was still there.
Unchosen, abandoned to an eternity of solitude.
For years, he had forgotten whether he ever regretted his choice—if he had never revealed the truth to his master, would everything have turned out differently?
But he had lost his past, blurred his own identity, and clung only to the delusion that if the one he "loved" returned, all would be restored.
In the end, it was nothing but his own madness.
"I know you all want me dead."
He raised his clouded eyes, half his face stripped of skin, exposing grotesque, withered flesh. Yet he felt no pain—instead, he twisted his lips into a ghastly smile.
"I’ve killed so many. Ruined so many lives."
"Countless people want me dead."
"But I won’t give you the satisfaction."
A hoarse laugh scraped from his throat as he glared at the crowd before him. "This time, I win."
Before the gasps could rise around him, he flung himself backward, his body like a severed leaf, plummeting into the churning, bloodied Gu pool behind him.
The murky liquid swallowed his ankles, his waist—tiny Gu insects, drawn to the scent of living flesh, swarmed into his rotting skin.
For a moment, he was back in the past, a century ago.
He couldn’t grasp his master’s sleeve as they fell into the pool together. He had clawed through the writhing mass, desperate to find his master’s body—but found nothing.
He remembered now.
He had regretted it then.
No. He couldn’t have.
Now, as the Gu insects devoured him, his face showed no agony. Instead, he grinned, blood seeping between his teeth.
"I didn’t lose… I… didn’t…"
His whisper drowned in the pool’s gurgling. His final glance at the crowd faded—the hatred and pain in his eyes dissolving into emptiness.
Then the crimson liquid swallowed him whole. Only ripples remained, soon erased by frothing bubbles, as if he had never existed.
The crowd edged toward the pool.
"Did he die?" one muttered, fighting back nausea.
Black Goose’s face was grim. "He won’t crawl back out, will he?"
White Dove retched. "If he does, we’re out of options."
Shangguan Huanxi turned to the woman beside her. "Sang Duo, what do you think?"
Sang Duo shook her head. "His body was already at its limit. There’s no chance he could return."
She thought of the old physician who had once been her mentor—another of Chi Yan’s disguises. Remembering the days she called him "teacher," a pang of loss twisted in her chest.
Perhaps her subconscious stirred the puppet bound to her heart. Cang Yan grasped her hand.
"Ninth—" Fang Songhe turned, then froze.
The boy and girl who had stood there moments ago were gone without a trace.
Under the moon’s zenith, stars scattered like spilled pearls, a silver-haired boy with crimson eyes walked through the poisoned woods. His robes, dyed a deep red—perhaps by blood—clung to him, his silver ornaments chiming with the wind. On his back, a girl’s light frame rested, her presence ghostly, like the Miaojiang legends of demons stealing brides at midnight.
The Elder arrived, breathless. "Young Master, you’ve finally returned!"
Then he noticed the Central Plains girl on the boy’s back. A memory surfaced—a century ago, another young master had brought back a woman from the Central Plains. She vanished without a trace, and the young master, upon inheriting the Witchcraft and Gu Sorcery Sect, became a tyrant.
The Elder shuddered. Watching the girl, he spoke earnestly, "The Sect Leader has gone mad, ordering us to slaughter Central Plains folk. He’s lost his mind. You must take his place—don’t worry about the coup. We stand with you. The Sect needs your leadership—"
He had sent messengers time and again, urging the boy to return, to turn against his father. All for his own gain. But his pleas met only one word.
"Roll."
"Right away!"
The Elder dropped to the ground without hesitation, tumbling once before scrambling up, bones creaking. He dared not make another sound.
The girl on the boy’s back giggled, her laughter bright.
The boy’s icy aura melted. He nuzzled her cheek. "Fun?"
Her fingers brushed the red marks on his face. "Very."
The boy glanced back. "Roll again."
The Elder’s face paled, then flushed.
Central Plains women were enchantresses, every one of them.
A century ago, now—it didn’t matter. Every Miaojiang young master who tangled with them ended up spellbound.
