After Gao Yuan became one with the Ghostly Luo Flower in a certain sense, his emotions gradually grew more and more numb. If not for the lingering obsession in his heart, he might have long collapsed in some unknown corner, reduced to mere fertilizer for the flowers.
Chu'he and Ninth followed behind Gao Yuan, walking for what felt like an eternity, until they reached a slightly open space where she noticed the marks carved into the stone wall.
The carvings were low, requiring one to crouch down to see them clearly.
Gao Yuan said, "The young mistress said… these were carved by Song Tingxue… eighteen years ago, when he was trapped here."
Back then, Song Tingxue was merely a six-year-old child, imprisoned in this sunless place, his fear with no outlet. He could only silently count the days in his heart.
For every thousand numbers he counted, he carved a mark into the stone wall.
The wall was densely covered in these marks, a testament to the helplessness of that child back then.
But gradually, Chu'he sensed something amiss.
Her fingers traced the carvings—the early marks were neat and orderly, but later, they became chaotic, tangled like a mess of threads, as if brimming with endless resentment and a violent, oppressive aura.
Gao Yuan led them forward. Having merged with the Ghostly Luo Flower, the obstructing vines and blossoms posed no threat to him.
"The young mistress… is ahead."
Gao Yuan brushed aside the curtain-like vines hanging from the stone wall, revealing Zhao Rongyue sitting on the ground.
Her condition was dire—her face pale, her breath weak. Hearing the noise, she struggled to open her clear eyes.
Just as Gao Yuan took a step forward, Song Tingxue's voice rang out: "Hero Fang, the murderer is here! Do not let him near Rongyue!"
Fang Songhe leaped forward, his movements swift and precise. His sword left its sheath in a flash of cold light. Gao Yuan raised his arm to block the strike, letting out a guttural cry. His withered, branch-like arm cracked, but no blood spilled.
Gao Yuan staggered back two steps.
Chu'he, who had been walking behind with Ninth, rushed forward. "Hero Fang, stop! He's not the villain!"
Fang Songhe looked up in shock. "What?"
In that moment of distraction, Song Tingxue had already appeared beside Zhao Rongyue. With one hand, he seized her, and with the other, he struck the stone wall, causing it to crack and crumble.
Song Tingxue slashed his own arm, letting blood spill onto the vines. Holding Zhao Rongyue, he slipped through the fissure in the wall. At the same time, the vines, nourished by his blood, rapidly grew and sealed the gap.
Gao Yuan let out a furious roar and charged forward, tearing at the tangled obstacles with his bare hands.
Chu'he urgently explained to the bewildered Fang Songhe, "Song Tingxue is the real culprit behind all this!"
Ninth extended a finger, and a small spider descended from above on a silken thread, landing on his fingertip. He showed no urgency—in his eyes, Song Tingxue was already as good as dead.
He was merely waiting for Chu'he to ask for his help again, hoping to extract more benefits from her.
Unexpectedly, Fang Songhe—that straightforward fool—frowned deeply upon realizing he had unwittingly aided the villain. His aura turned icy and sharp. He motioned for Gao Yuan to step aside, then gathered scorching yang energy into his sword. With a single swing, the force was earth-shattering.
Not only were the vines obliterated—the stone wall itself was split in two.
Mindful of the cave's stability, he had only used a fraction of his strength.
As debris rained down, the sword's wind burned hot. Fang Songhe stood tall, his robes billowing, his figure as unyielding as a pine tree—a sight of extraordinary grace.
"Move," he commanded tersely.
Gao Yuan was the first to follow Fang Songhe through the breach.
Chu'he cupped her face in her hands, sighing in admiration. "So dashing."
Ninth's grip tightened involuntarily. Had the spider not fled in time, it would have been crushed between his fingers. His expression darkened, and he clicked his tongue in displeasure.
Zhao Rongyue's body grew colder, and she could feel her life slipping away. Yet, strangely, she found the strength to open her eyes and take in her surroundings with clarity. She knew this was the final flicker before the end.
Song Tingxue held her by the waist, carrying her swiftly forward. She had looked upon this man countless times, had been embraced by his hands just as often—yet now, everything about him felt foreign.
In a fragrant stone chamber, atop a bed adorned with vibrant flowers, lay a woman who seemed merely asleep.
Her face was undeniably beautiful, though her pallor lent her a fragile, broken allure.
The woman bore a faint resemblance to Zhao Rongyue, but their temperaments were worlds apart.
Where Zhao Rongyue was serene and dignified, she was lively and playful. One could imagine that, were she to open her eyes and rise, she would be full of energy and laughter.
Song Tingxue released his grip, and Zhao Rongyue collapsed onto the cold, hard ground, stirring dust. Clutching her aching chest, she coughed weakly.
When she lifted her head again, her gaze flickered with realization. "Shuxing."
In this dark world, the flower-laden bed seemed to cradle all that was beautiful, and the slumbering woman was none other than the missing second daughter of the Zhao household—Zhao Shuxing, who had vanished months ago.
Song Tingxue walked over and sat by the bed, gently caressing the sleeping woman's face with the care one would reserve for a priceless treasure.
The affection in his eyes was genuine and profound—the kind of look a man gives a woman, leaving no room for doubt about his feelings.
Zhao Rongyue struggled to her feet, her voice hoarse. "Gao Yuan was right. You killed Shuxing."
"I never meant to harm her. But she tried to leave, tried to protect that insignificant guard. My sword… struck awry."
Zhao Rongyue was silent for a moment before saying, "You are not Tingxue."
The young man's lashes trembled slightly before he finally met the gaze of the woman who was already halfway through death's door. After a pause, he smiled.
The scholarly gentleness vanished, replaced by the twisted malice of one who had walked the darkest paths.
"You truly are clever," he said. "I gave myself the name Ying Suifeng."
"Lamenting your solitary shadow drifting with the wind—where shall your mournful cries find companionship on the return?" Zhao Rongyue's lips curved faintly, as if in understanding. "A lone wanderer, adrift and alone."
He watched her expression closely, expecting devastation or disbelief when she grasped the meaning behind his chosen name. But no matter what happened, Zhao Rongyue remained composed, unshaken.
Unconsciously, the hidden, gnawing frustration within him grew sharper.
How he longed to tear away the mask of calm from her face—to see her weep, hear her wail, then shatter her bones and watch her grovel at his feet, begging for mercy.
