Wu Li stood frozen, staring at the scene before him where light and shadow intertwined.
The High Priest's insect swarm attack couldn't even hold out for ten moves under Ji Bai's sword.
Seeing the final, lethal sword stroke descend,
Wu Li immediately reached out and covered Chai Xiaomi's eyes.
As the High Priest's "body" fell, it scattered into a swarm of insects.
It was a puppet temporarily created from a split form.
He had already been wounded by the malevolent energy earlier, and now, struck again by the sword's force, his vital energy was greatly depleted, so he took the opportunity to escape.
Ji Bai sensed this,
but due to excessive consumption of his spiritual pill, he could no longer hold on. That aged, upright figure dissolved like smoke, leaving only a white cat in its place.
Only the shaman and the clan leader truly died under the Calamity-Crossing Sword.
Before their two corpses,
it wobbled over. Its tail, usually held high, now dragged on the ground, covered in dust, as if all its strength was gone. Its once fluffy, clean fur was matted with blood in clumps, and around its cat nose was a dirty ring.
It looked like a stray cat.
Chai Xiaomi moved the hand from her eyes and stood still. This scene was supposed to have been accomplished by Wu Li alone—slaughtering the village, killing his relatives, bearing all the bloodshed, and never turning back on the path to darkness.
But in the end, Old Ji had put an end to it.
This meant—the villain's fate had been rewritten.
The white cat lifted a paw, licked it, then looked up at Wu Li. Its appearance was disheveled, and there was some regret in its eyes: "Ah, I'm old after all, Master has disgraced himself."
"That High Priest is too cunning; I didn't kill him thoroughly. He temporarily split off a puppet double and slipped away. If I could've held my human form a bit longer, it would've been better."
It looked down at its dirty paws, its tone not sounding all that regretful: "Now my spiritual pill is completely ruined. I can't ascend anymore. But it's fine—who says being an immortal is good? Being a cat is pretty free."
Wu Li watched it muttering to itself in that self-comforting way.
Suddenly, he let out a muffled groan and coughed up a mouthful of stagnant blood.
In that pool of blood was clearly a dead mother insect!
Not far away,
from the corpse of the man who died still clutching his scepter, an insect slowly rolled out of his wound.
Wu Li glanced at that corpse.
He vaguely recalled that as a child, he had naively called him "Grandfather," but every time, that scepter would land heavily on him, kicking him far away and beating him until he was bruised and bleeding.
Perhaps the High Priest, seeing this, thought that Wu Li was the least likely to strike at the clan leader.
But in fact, those two words "Grandfather" had long lost all meaning for him. If the white cat hadn't stepped forward, he would have taken the clan leader's life today.
Because now, he understood that true family isn't necessarily bound by blood, but by other, stronger bonds.
Wu Li's straight back slowly bent a little.
Everyone was startled, thinking his injuries were too severe for him to hold on.
Only Chai Xiaomi, her eyes red, glanced down at him, then at the white cat. Without a word, she turned and ran toward the grass under a distant tree.
The long night had receded, and the first rays of morning sunlight pierced the thin mist, illuminating the dew gathered on the grass blades.
She carefully plucked a leaf, holding that clear pool of dew in her hands, and offered it to Wu Li.
"Lili, I heard Old Ji complaining that he's never even had a single cup of tea offered by you. Dew is also water—it can stand in for tea."
Their eyes met.
With just one glance, they could guess each other's thoughts.
Wu Li took the leaf. He pressed his lips together, the words rolling in his throat several times, awkward as if they were trying to kill him.
But he still spoke:
"Master, please have some tea."
The white cat froze.
It stared at the clear dew held in the leaf before it, its cat face full of bewilderment. At a loss, it raised a paw and scratched its head.
"It's clean, Old Man. I used to drink it often as a child," Wu Li said. Seeing it didn't take it, he pretended to pull it back. "What are you spacing out for? If you don't drink it, I'll pour it out."
"Ah, dear me! Master never said he wouldn't drink it!" The white cat immediately stretched out both front paws and, like a treasure, cradled the leaf. "Is that all the patience you have?"
It drank the dew in one gulp, smacking its lips. Inwardly, it grumbled to itself.
Why did it feel so awkward hearing him call it "Master"? The name "Old Man" actually sounded more comfortable.
This time,
both the white cat and Wu Li had suffered heavy losses, their souls weakened.
They decided to settle temporarily in the village to rest and recuperate.
A few nights later,
Chai Xiaomi woke up groggily and instinctively turned her head.
She usually slept like a log—even thunder couldn't interrupt her game of chess with the Sandman.
But ever since the village massacre happened, she would inexplicably wake up in the middle of sleep.
She had to personally make sure the person beside her was safe before she could close her eyes again.
A small dish of tung oil lamp flickered on the table. In the dim light, the young man lay quietly with his eyes closed. His eyelashes were thick and long, like two small brushes resting on his eyelids, casting a tiny shadow.
His breathing was very light and shallow; Chai Xiaomi had to put her ear close to hear it.
When he was awake and expressionless, he looked cool and cold, but asleep, with his brows relaxed and his lips slightly pursed, he was adorably well-behaved.
His silver neck ring was taken off and placed by the pillow, but his earring hadn't been removed. The silver fish earring on his left ear hung down, its tassels brushing against his jawline, reflecting a faint silver shimmer in the dim lamp light.
She stared at it for a while, thinking the earring must feel cold against his skin, so she wanted to reach out and push it behind his ear.
She tried to pull her hand away and realized something was wrong.
Looking down,
well, this guy was like an octopus, both arms tightly wrapped around her waist, one leg tyrannically pressing over hers. He held her in his arms like a child guarding a favorite toy, afraid it might disappear if he let go.
She tried to pull her arm again.
Still, no movement.
Perhaps disturbed by her fidgeting, Wu Li suddenly stirred.
His arms around her loosened slightly, and the leg over hers moved away a bit. Before Chai Xiaomi could breathe a sigh of relief, she saw his lashes gently flutter, revealing a thin slit of an eye.
Those mismatched pupils were still hazy with sleep, misty and unfocused.
In his drowsy state, a soft sound escaped his throat:
"... sister."
His voice was low, hoarse, and tender, carrying a languid dreaminess.
He was clearly still not fully awake; this sound seemed to come out unconsciously from his dream, more like a habit.
After shouting this, Wu Li leaned in.
Half-asleep, he accurately found her lips and gently took them into his mouth.
Chai Xiaomi hadn't reacted yet when he rolled over and pressed on top of her. But he propped himself on his elbows, not putting his full weight on her. Even without being entirely awake, he instinctively controlled himself to avoid crushing her.
He kissed her slowly, as if savoring something fine. Sometimes light, sometimes heavy, but even the heavy was never too much. The most excessive was biting her lip to gently suck, or, when she gasped for breath, tangling with her tongue, softly hooking it so it couldn't escape—that was his victory.
Chai Xiaomi was kissed until she was dizzy, and then felt a large hand slip smoothly underneath her inner garment, slowly caressing her smooth, fair back.
After a while, it began to expertly undo the ties of her bodice.
Chai Xiaomi shuddered and came fully awake.
“Lili!”
She pressed her hand against his wandering one.
The person above her paused, blinking hazily. His misty eyes met hers, as if he hadn’t fully realized what he’d just done.
Chai Xiaomi glared at him, her face burning. “You—you sleep if you’re going to sleep, but why are you groping around?!”
She lowered her voice. “There are people outside. It’s not soundproof in here.”
This small treehouse was by the river in a remote corner of the stockade; it was built by Wu Li himself when he was a child.
She remembered the first night she had transmigrated into this book. She had slept here. It was a tiny space—at the time, that bad-tempered guy had hogged the only straw mat to sleep on, leaving her to make do crouched at a low table all night.
But now, beneath her, lay soft straw he had specially gathered.
He had woven it carefully, stacking the thickest, softest part under her.
Moonlight streamed through the cracks in the wooden planks, and so did the sounds of the outside.
Naturally, no one would stay in those stilt houses of the dead—too eerie. White Cat, Jiang Zhiyu, and Song Yueyao had set up simple shelters under a nearby tree using wooden boards, enough to rest for a few days.
Along the journey, they had often endured sleeping out in the open; no one minded.
But precisely because they didn’t mind, they were sleeping close by.
Chai Xiaomi could even hear White Cat snoring from outside.
Wu Li blinked.
After a moment, he seemed to sober up a little, glanced down at his current position—pressing down on her, his hand held by hers, his other hand still inside her clothes.
He was silent for a beat.
“Mimi, if I said I didn’t mean to, would you believe me?”
Chai Xiaomi: “What do you think?”
Wu Li looked at her reddened ear tips, and the corner of his mouth suddenly curled up.
He slowly withdrew his hand, but didn’t pull completely away. Instead, he rolled over and lay back down beside her, casually pulling her back into his arms. His chin resting on top of her head, his voice still hoarse from just waking up: “Then I won’t move anymore.”
