Snow King had been watching the whole scene from the side, waiting for a long time, yet saw no sign of anything unusual in the youth.
It watched, startled and uncertain, as he turned around.
The emotions in those dual-colored pupils suddenly sank, as if plummeting into a bottomless pool.
Wu Li curled a faint smile at it—a shallow arc, but one laced with mockery and icy menace.
"Curious why I haven’t collapsed yet?" His voice rang cold. "Seems the one behind you forgot I was raised as a vessel for nurturing Gu insects. A flower tampered with—how could I not see through it?"
Snow King’s pupils shrank. It fell to its knees with a thud, trembling all over as it begged for mercy. "I was wrong, I was wrong... I didn’t mean to. That person forced me. He said if I didn’t obey, he’d kill all the Snowball Beasts!"
"Heh."
A sneer escaped the youth’s nose, icy to the bone.
"He’d kill you, but do you think I wouldn’t?"
Wu Li leaned down slightly, the dread in Snow King’s face reflected in his mismatched eyes. "Do you know what the Mirror Gu is?"
Snow King shook its head frantically. It had no idea what the Mirror Gu was. All it knew was that the mysterious figure had cast a spell on the flower atop its head. Whether the spell would knock these people unconscious or kill them, it didn’t know. It only wanted to protect its friends, even if it meant betraying its benefactor. It had no other choice.
But it never expected this youth to see through it at a glance. If he’d known all along, why had he let his companions eat those petals?
The answer came the next moment.
"The Mirror Gu on that flower has now been transferred entirely into your body." The youth straightened up, looking down at it. "Since you don’t understand what kind of Gu this is, you might as well experience it yourself."
Snow King froze.
It suddenly remembered that when the youth had taken the flower from its hand, his fingers had touched its own. Yet earlier, he’d said he hated being touched by anyone.
So that touch had been deliberate.
At that very moment, the Gu had already been planted inside it.
"Ahhh—!"
Agony struck without warning. Snow King let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed uncontrollably. It felt its surface freezing cold, while inside it seemed a violent fire blazed—two forces tearing and clashing, nearly ripping its body apart.
"Mercy! Please, spare me! I was wrong, I was wrong!!!"
"Remember this. This is the price of repaying kindness with betrayal." Wu Li glanced down at the Snowball Beast writhing on the ground and kicked it farther away with his foot.
He walked a few steps to the sleeping girl, planting both hands on the edges of the table, enclosing her with his entire body.
"Ingrate. Savor the taste of the Mirror Gu."
The moment the words fell—
"Bang!"
A thunderous blast.
An invisible wave of heat seemed to explode inside Snow King, hurling it into the air. The entire ice cave quaked violently, icicles crashing down in droves, shards of ice scattering and blanketing the ground.
But on Chai Xiaomi’s cloak, not a trace remained—spotlessly clean.
Shards of ice pattered onto Wu Li’s shoulders and hair, yet he didn’t even turn his head. Only a faint, shallow smile curled at the corner of his lips.
He bent down.
His movements were light, as if afraid to disturb something.
A kiss landed on the girl’s cheek, the warmth lingering only for a moment.
"I’ll go deal with the trouble." His voice dropped so low it seemed almost a whisper to himself. "Wait for me."
The crimson serpent crawled out from the tattoo along his forearm, winding its way down. By the time it touched the ground, it had grown to about three feet in length. Seeming to sense the situation, without needing instructions, it obediently coiled beside the sleeping girl, its head raised slightly in a guarding posture.
Wu Li cast a glance at it.
"Guard her well. If you slack off even a little, I’ll fry you up and eat you."
"If she wakes and asks, just tell her I’ll be back soon. Got it?"
Hongjiao blinked.
Though it couldn’t speak, it could act. Whatever its master wanted conveyed, it would play back to Xiaomi without missing a word.
But right now, it didn’t want to nod.
Its snake eyes narrowed, fixed on its master’s eyes. Beneath those mismatched pupils lingered something deep—not the usual indifference, nor the tenderness reserved for Xiaomi, but a murderous, resolute gleam.
It seemed to sense what its master was about to do.
This was something extremely dangerous. If it succeeded, from then on, its master would never again be tormented by the mother Gu, nor beholden to the High Priest.
But it also knew something else.
His master’s ability to control Gu arts might not surpass the High Priest’s. To truly defeat him, he would have to fuse all his killing aura with Gu power. That force—he had witnessed it before in the Starfall Plains, when it had torn open the entire sky and summoned a blood moon.
But if it spiraled out of control, his master could be devoured by his own murderous aura.
Completely.
"Did you hear what I said?"
Wu Li’s voice dropped, carrying an oppressive authority no one could defy.
Instinctively, deep in its bones, Hongjiao was bound to obey its master.
It nodded frantically.
Only then did Wu Li withdraw his gaze.
He lifted his eyes to the sky beyond the ice cave.
In the distance, the heavens were gray, snow already falling. Leaden clouds pressed low, as if about to descend entirely.
The smile on his face had long vanished, leaving only a distant, cold expression.
Like a blade freshly drawn from its sheath.
He didn’t look back.
Step by step.
He walked out into the snowstorm beyond the cave.
...
This was the High Priest’s warning.
A message delivered like this: "I know where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing—every single detail, every single thing—none of it escapes my eyes."
After repeated fruitless summons, the killing intent had finally stirred, targeting the people by his side.
Just as expected.
In the distant snowstorm, a pitch-black figure stood.
A cloak shrouded the person from head to toe, their face hidden in impenetrable shadow. But Wu Li knew that behind that darkness lay a rotted visage.
That was the consequence the High Priest had wrought upon himself, obsessed with refining evil Gu.
Unfortunately, the Gu toxin had burrowed deep into his flesh, taking root. Without pure blood, even the Crimson Blood Silkworm couldn’t restore his face by even a fraction.
As if sensing the youth’s gaze, a burst of laughter seeped from beneath the cloak.
Heavy, sticky, unspeakably gloomy.
"Child."
The voice cut through the storm, landing in Wu Li’s ears.
"It’s time to come home."
"Home?" Wu Li stood in the wind and snow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You mean, your Gu insects are hungry again?"
The very moment his words fell, the air seemed to freeze solid.
A withered hand covered in bulging veins extended from under the cloak, fingers splaying out, then clenching sharply, as if crushing something invisible in its palm.
"How dare you!"
A deep roar carried an oppressive weight. "Is this the attitude you have toward me now?"
In his heart, the mother Gu, sensing that fury, suddenly revived and grew. Fine tendrils dug deep into the flesh, churning violently—not tearing, but a deeper, more venomous surge.
Something seemed to be growing wildly within his meridians, sprouting branches and spreading leaves, stretching every inch of flesh to its limit.
Wu Li knelt heavily in the snow.
He made no sound.
His entire body trembled—his shoulders, his back, his fingers clenched so tightly that the knuckles turned white.
The wind and snow poured into his collar, settling on his brows and lashes, forming a thin layer of white. He did not raise his hand to brush it away; he simply lowered his eyes, as if waiting for the searing pain to pass.
A trace of blood seeped from the corner of his lips.
The warm droplet fell onto the snow, staining a small patch of red.
Wu Li gazed at the bloodstain, then lifted his hand to scoop up a handful of snow, covering that faint crimson.
Suddenly, he smiled.
The smile began at the corners of his lips, spreading little by little, reaching the edges of his eyes, seeping into his somber, mismatched pupils.
He lifted his head and looked toward the black silhouette.
His voice was hoarse, carrying an indescribable submission—a submission that seemed to belong to another person entirely:
"Forgive me, High Priest."
"Since you came to fetch me yourself, how could I refuse to return?"
