That very night marked the beginning of the Cang Family's downfall.
Her aunt wanted to send her cousins away, but her uncle refused. Her parents packed their belongings, desperate to flee with her, but by the time her uncle found the Jade Crystal Puppet Threads that could save her aunt, it was already too late.
Mountains of corpses, rivers of blood, and flames licking the heavens—everyone perished.
A silver-haired man with crimson eyes stepped forward, treading over shattered flesh and bone. He kicked aside the entwined corpses of a man and a woman, revealing the little girl they had shielded beneath them.
Drenched in her parents' blood, she trembled, utterly terrified.
With a soft, gentle laugh, his voice as soothing as water, he said, "Didn’t you wish to become as beautiful as my wife? Come with me. I’ll give your life meaning."
A helpless child had no power to resist.
"And so, he took me away," Lan Yingying murmured, her head bowed, her voice strained. "He knew I wanted to kill him, yet he didn’t care. I tried countless times, but he saw through every one of my attempts. Keeping me alive was like keeping a plaything, an insect he could torment at will."
"Day after day, he made me soak in medicinal baths. Those liquids softened my bones until they felt like melting wax. Then he would reshape them with his hands. Over time, my face began to change. Year after year passed… and when I looked in the mirror, I often wondered—was this even me anymore?"
"If this wasn’t me, then what did the real me look like? What foods did I love? What hobbies brought me joy? What color of flowers did I adore? I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember anything…"
Lan Yingying’s entire body shook, her fingers clawing at the hem of her robe until her knuckles turned ghostly white. Even the strands of hair framing her face trembled with the force of her silent anguish.
To lose oneself while fully conscious, only to be remolded into another—this was a torment she would carry for the rest of her life.
"Enough, Yingying. Don’t think about it anymore."
Song Chunming pulled her into his embrace, his heart aching for her.
Fang Songhe had remained silent for a long while. Finally, he spoke. "I understand your suffering, but I cannot condone what you did in Wutong Village—harming the innocent."
Had the icy pool not concealed a hidden passage, Chu'he would have drowned. And if Chu'he were gone, Ninth would lose the only tether keeping him from unleashing unimaginable destruction upon the world.
Lan Yingying lifted her pale face, her voice broken. "I wronged Miss Chu. I was so afraid back then… I couldn’t control myself. When she returns, I’ll kneel before her and beg for forgiveness. Even if it costs me my life!"
"Yingying, no!" Song Chunming interjected.
Fang Songhe said, "You know full well that Chu'he is kind-hearted. She would never demand your life."
Lan Yingying froze.
Fang Songhe turned to leave. At the doorway, he paused, glancing back. Bathed in sunlight, his figure stood as straight and unyielding as a pine.
"Once, you showed kindness to stray cats in the mountains. At the very least, that convinced me your heart still holds some goodness. Miss Lan, I hope you cling to that shred of kindness in the years to come. It can save others—and yourself."
With those words, he departed, the wooden door closing softly behind him, separating the dimly lit room and its muffled sobs from the dawn outside.
Overwhelmed by guilt, Lan Yingying buried her face in Song Chunming’s chest, her cries shaking her entire frame.
She was not a kind person—she had selfishly clung to the fragile happiness she’d gained, even at the cost of others.
Yet she was not entirely heartless either. Every wrong she committed gnawed at her conscience, leaving her in perpetual torment.
Too weak to cast aside morality and live without remorse, yet too stubborn to relinquish her desires and turn back—such a person was both pitiable and absurd.
Fang Songhe no longer wished to involve himself in the affairs between Song Chunming and Lan Yingying. Whatever became of them was their own fate to bear.
Walking down the sunlit corridor, he blinked as dappled shadows swayed across his vision. For the first time in a while, he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of daylight.
For some reason, his thoughts drifted back to Miaojiang—to Chu'he excitedly reading a letter aloud.
"Brother Fang, Li Doudou even asked how you’re doing!"
Fang Songhe shifted uncomfortably at the memory.
Just then, a servant approached with a visitor. "Master Fang, someone from the Li family is here to see you."
"Me?" Fang Songhe frowned.
A Li family guard stepped forward, holding a box. "Master Fang, our young mistress asked me to deliver this to you."
Accepting the box, Fang Songhe opened it—and immediately snapped it shut again, flustered at the sight of a familiar boot inside. "Did Miss Li say anything else?"
"The young mistress said that by returning this, she considers the matter settled. She also mentioned she dislikes owing favors. Since you once helped her, she won’t turn a blind eye if you ever need assistance in the future."
"I saved her without expecting anything in return."
"Of course. Master Fang’s integrity is beyond reproach," the guard said respectfully. "But the Li family insists on expressing our gratitude. This is our token. Present it at any Li establishment, and you’ll be treated as an honored guest."
He offered a jade pendant with both hands.
Fang Songhe declined. "I can’t accept this."
The guard looked troubled. "The young mistress was adamant. If you refuse, my wages will be docked. Master Fang, please don’t make things difficult for a mere servant."
Fang Songhe suspected Li Furong had coached the man to say exactly that. Not wanting to cause trouble, he took the pendant. "Then I’ll return it to her myself."
"The young mistress is no longer in Yangcheng," the guard said hastily.
"She left?" Fang Songhe halted.
"She hit it off with the Zhao sisters. Packed a bag, grabbed a map, and set off for Xiaocheng with them. Judging by the markings on her map, she doesn’t plan to stop at Miaojiang—she intends to explore the deserts and northern frontiers too. As she put it, she aims to follow in the footsteps of Xu Zhenzhi."
The guard sighed. "Who knows when she’ll return?"
Li Furong’s actions never failed to surprise.
In this vast world, their paths might never cross again.
Fang Songhe lifted his gaze to a sparrow darting across the blue sky and smiled faintly. "Perhaps that’s for the best."
That same day, Fang Songhe, Song Chunming, and Lan Yingying prepared to leave Chu Mansion.
Chu Sheng tried to dissuade them. "Master Fang, won’t you wait for Miaomiao to return before departing?"
Fang Songhe shook his head from atop his horse, smiling. "Let’s skip the farewells. Ninth is my sworn brother, and Miss Chu’he is my friend. Even if we’re worlds apart, our bond won’t break."
Bai Lian stepped closer, reluctance written across her face. "Fang Songhe, stay a few more days. There’s so much I still want to say—"
But Fang Songhe tugged the reins and urged his horse forward. "If you ever need me, just send word. I, Fang Songhe, never abandon old friends!"
His back remained straight as a pine standing firm against the wind, the edges of his blue cotton robe fluttering sharply behind him like a clean-cut arc.
Soon, his figure grew distant amid the kicked-up dust, leaving only a resolute, unhesitating silhouette—a testament to the untamed spirit of those who roamed the martial world.
By the city gates, Song Chunming waited with a carriage, ready to part ways.
Fang Songhe asked, "Aren’t you returning to the sect with me?"
Song Chunming replied, "I’ve heard the northern regions have suffered years of disasters. Now, plague spreads, and corpses litter the land. Yingying and I are heading there."
Lan Yingying pushed open the carriage window, her gaze soft as she looked at Fang Songhe on horseback. "We want to help where we can. The gu techniques I’ve learned might be of use. If even one life in the north can be saved, it’ll be a blessing."
Plague—a merciless killer, contagious and deadly. Their journey north was likely an atonement, a way to ease the weight of past regrets.
Fang Songhe didn’t stop them. "Very well. Take care on your journey. If you need anything, write to me."
Before long, the carriage rolled westward beyond the city gates.
Fang Songhe glanced back at the towering walls, suddenly remembering the cleaned embroidered shoe tucked in his bag. He considered returning it, but then—its owner had already walked away without a backward glance. Worldly possessions, after all, weren’t worth clinging to.
This time, Fang Songhe didn’t look back. With a light press of his heels, his horse surged forward with a spirited whinny, galloping eastward.
The wind whipped at his clothes, hooves shattering the last remnants of sunset. His form quickly shrank to a speck at the road’s end, leaving the city’s clamor and warmth far behind.
