Finally, the Elder rolled on the ground again, drawing laughter from the girl before scrambling to his feet under the satisfied gaze of the young master.
No one knew what kind of divine power this Central Plains woman possessed, but she had somehow managed to make the once-stoic and emotionless young master go to such absurd lengths—forcing a dignified Elder past his fifties to tumble and clown around—just to coax a faint smile from her lips.
The young man’s eyes crinkled with amusement. "If Ah'He enjoys watching, tomorrow I’ll have him jump off a cliff and climb back up."
The Elder’s heart lurched in alarm, and he hastily dropped to his knees. "Young Master!"
Chu'he couldn’t help but feel that Ninth was acting a bit like a reckless tyrant. She poked his cheek lightly and whispered, "Alright, Ninth, enough teasing. I’m tired. I want to rest."
Ninth blinked. "Fine."
As the Elder watched Ninth carry Chu'he away on his back, his legs gave out, and he slumped to the ground with a long exhale. Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, his heart pounded erratically.
The young master would never have indulged in such absurd antics just to amuse a beauty before. For him to suddenly make such an unreasonable demand… Could it be a warning? Had he already discovered the Elder’s scheme to pit father and son against each other so he could seize control of the Witchcraft and Gu Sorcery Sect?
The more the Elder thought about it, the more convinced he became—and the more terrifying the realization grew.
Since when had the young master become so cunningly profound?
A group of people approached.
Sang Duo tilted her head curiously. "Elder, why are you kneeling on the ground?"
The Elder’s gaze landed on the group of Central Plains folk trailing behind her. He hurriedly stood, dusting himself off and assuming an air of dignified authority. "I was just resting. I’m tired."
During the earlier chaos, these Central Plains warriors had slaughtered many of the sect leader’s loyalists. The Elder had wisely kept his distance, well aware of how formidable these young fighters were.
Those who followed the sect leader had been lured by promises of immortality—their deaths were no great loss. The fewer of them remained, the weaker the sect leader’s influence would become.
But while it was one thing for outsiders to kill Miaojiang tribesmen, why had Sang Duo, a fellow tribeswoman, turned against her own people?
The Elder cleared his throat, adopting a stern tone. "Sang Duo, come here. I have questions for you."
Sang Duo stayed behind with Cang Yan to speak with the Elder while the others pressed ahead to reunite with those waiting beyond the Poison Mist Forest.
Not long after, a shocked exclamation echoed from behind them.
"What?! The sect leader is dead?!"
"The first-generation leader of the Witchcraft and Gu Sorcery Sect… and the current one—they were the same person all along?!"
"He even founded the Undying City of Yunhuang—he was the mastermind behind the evil cult?!"
"If the sect leader is truly gone… then there’s no one left in this world who can stand against the young master!"
This was disastrous. Without the struggle between father and son, how could he, the fisherman, hope to profit from their conflict?
Su Lingxi sat perched on a rock, one leg crossed over the other, hesitating over whether to open the book in her hands.
Wuya stood guard beside her, his imposing presence keeping even mosquitoes at bay. Su Lingxi swung her legs leisurely, utterly at ease.
Murong Meixin, however, was not so fortunate. He smacked a mosquito dead with a loud slap, then paced back and forth in agitation.
Su Lingxi shot him a glance. "Could you stop pacing? You’re annoying."
Murong Meixin glared back. "Then look away and mind your own business!"
The battle deep in the forest was too dangerous, so Murong Meifei had refused to bring Murong Meixin along. In past skirmishes, she could at least protect him, but this time, his presence would only distract her. Surprisingly, Murong Meixin hadn’t stubbornly insisted on tagging along.
He kept glancing toward the woods. "If my shimei doesn’t return soon, I’m going in after her!"
Su Lingxi’s fingers brushed the corner of the book repeatedly before she finally withdrew them. Calmly, she said, "Relax. They’ll be fine."
Murong Meixin pressed his lips together. "How can you stay so composed, reading some musty old book at a time like this?"
Musty old book?
The edges of the pages were yellowed with age, clearly ancient.
Su Lingxi shot to her feet, indignant. "This is a handwritten manuscript left by my great-great-grandmother! Show some respect!"
Her great-great-grandmother—the former master of the Red Pavilion, who had sacrificed her five senses a century ago after peering too deeply into the secrets of heaven to preserve the world’s peace.
Rumors claimed that without her, humanity might have perished long ago.
Though Murong Meixin was often reckless, even he knew better than to disrespect such a venerable figure. Flustered, he mumbled, "I—I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to insult your ancestor."
Just then, the group emerged from the forest. Murong Meixin immediately ducked behind Murong Meifei, clutching her sleeve in relief. "Thank goodness you’re all back!"
Su Lingxi darted forward. "Sister Shangguan!"
Heart Knife stepped in front, arms wide. "I know it’s been so long you must feel like it’s been years—come here, let’s hug it out!"
Su Lingxi halted mid-step, her face twisting in disgust.
Shangguan Huanxi shook her head. "I’m going to rest at the lodging Sang Duo arranged."
Whether it was the gruesome sight of the Gu Pool or not, White Dove still looked queasy. "I need to lie down too."
Black Goose hurried after her. "Wait for me, wife!"
Heart Knife called after them, "Lady Shangguan, wait for me!"
With the dust settled, Murong Meifei eyed Fang Songhe’s sword, her competitive spirit flaring again—but Murong Meixin tugged her away. "Shimei, let’s go rest too!"
Oddly, Su Lingxi didn’t rush to compete with Heart Knife for Shangguan Huanxi’s attention this time. Instead, she carefully sealed the ancient book inside a leather pouch and approached Fang Songhe.
"Great Hero Fang, this is an heirloom left by my great-great-grandmother. She decreed that the Su family must pass it down through generations and deliver it to a hero named Fang Songhe a century later."
Fang Songhe frowned. "Your ancestor… wanted to give this to me?"
Su Lingxi shoved it into his hands. "Take it quickly. She said no one in the Su family—or anyone else—could read it. Only a descendant of the Fang family is permitted. If you don’t take it now, I might not resist the temptation to peek!"
Fang Songhe’s brow furrowed deeper. "Young Pavilion Master, I don’t understand the meaning behind your words."
"You don’t, and neither do I," Su Lingxi admitted. "My great-great-grandmother lost all her senses. Who knows how far into the future she saw? She only left this instruction: that a righteous, principled hero named Fang would appear, and his descendants would inherit his unwavering integrity."
Su Lingxi gave Fang Songhe another thorough once-over, from head to toe. "After observing you all this time, I can confirm your character is indeed trustworthy. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have risked handing this over to you. Hero Fang, remember this well—you are to safeguard this book, but you must not open it yet. Doing so could trigger unforeseen consequences, ones that might even bring about catastrophic changes to the world!"
Hearing this, Fang Songhe held the book with utmost caution. "Did the Elders of the Su family leave any instructions? When exactly can this book be opened?"
Su Lingxi blinked and replied, "It can only be opened and read by your nineteenth-generation descendant."
Fang Songhe’s furrowed brows remained tense as he pondered the deeper meaning behind her words. Suddenly, his expression froze.
His heart had always been devoted to the greater good, and he had never given much thought to starting a family. But a nineteenth-generation descendant? That would mean, one day, he would inevitably marry and have children!
