Inside the room, a medicinal pot simmered over a charcoal brazier. Song Qiming stood by the window, keeping watch.
A figure clad in black embroidered with gold thread passed through the corridor. A complexion so pale it was almost translucent immediately caught his attention.
Has this man never seen the sun? He’s as pale as a ghost.
The pungent, thick scent of medicine wafted out from the window. Phantom walked past Song Qiming with his head held high, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Beneath that calm facade, a stormy sea of excitement was being suppressed.
After the initial surge of excitement, his subconscious made him shake his head.
No, he had searched the world for famous doctors, and all had said they were powerless. How could Song Jinzhao possibly have a solution?
That medicine must be useless. It was a futile effort.
Stopping halfway down the stairs, Phantom’s lips were pressed thin, his heart and mind caught in a desperate tangle of conflict.
But what if it really worked?
Once the medicine was brewed, Song Jinzhao poured a bowl for everyone.
The taste was overwhelmingly bitter, a bitterness so intense it induced nausea.
Song Gaoli forced back the urge to gag, swallowing every last drop in the bowl, terrified that drinking too little would fail to kill the parasites.
"Sister Jinzhao, how many days do we have to drink this?"
Song Jinzhao replied, "One dose at midnight tonight, another tomorrow morning, and then it will be over."
Although the "insecticide" made from poisonous traditional Chinese medicine was fierce in its properties, it could thoroughly kill the parasites. The only thing to watch for was the dosage; a little too little wouldn't kill the bugs, but a little too much would kill the person.
Once the smell of charcoal in the room had mostly dissipated, Song Qiming closed the window.
He whispered, "Sister, what do we do now?"
"The people from the Soul-Snatched Sect must be nearby. If they realize we're fine, they'll definitely strike again."
Song Jinzhao said, "Parasites usually don't take effect immediately after entering the body. Their choice to use poison shows they don't want a head-on confrontation."
"Perhaps even our trip to buy medicine just now was under their surveillance. Since that's the case, we'll beat them at their own game and lure the snake out of its hole."
Song Qiming and the others looked at each other, a chill running down their spines. This feeling of being watched was truly unsettling.
In the middle of the night, the members of the Soul-Snatched Sect, sitting cross-legged in their room, snapped their eyes open alertly.
Rakshasa Ghost opened the door to look out into the corridor. The sound of vomiting was coming from Song Jinzhao’s room.
He closed the door and turned to Phantom. "As expected, it was useless. It's starting to take effect so soon."
Phantom spoke coldly, "Wait for it. All the torment and pain are only just beginning."
He turned over to lie on his side facing the wall. The smile on his face vanished instantly, replaced by endless disappointment and coldness.
To lack the skill yet dare to prescribe medicine recklessly—they truly deserve to die!
Early the next morning, the sky was dim, with a hint of snow in the air.
Up on the second floor, watching the four people—pale-faced and clutching their stomachs—crawl into the carriage, Rakshasa Ghost suggested with a smile, "Song Jinzhao has no power to resist now. I suggest we strike once they leave the city. Let's finish the mission early and head back to report."
Phantom used his fan to press against his itching chest. He had only one Poison Control Pill left; it was indeed time to head back.
"Do as you say."
Inside the carriage driven by Song Jinzhao, Song Shixue sat close to Song Anhao. With one hand, she held the Three Character Classic and read softly to him; with the other, she gripped a long sword, standing ready for battle.
Behind them, the carriage driven by Song Qiming and Song Gaoli followed closely, the distance between the two carriages never exceeding one meter.
Fearing a long-range attack, Song Gaoli had been pushed into the carriage by Song Qiming.
Huzai, who had been sleeping in a bamboo basket, was held in Song Gaoli’s arms, as if doing so could alleviate his fear and tension.
To make the Soul-Snatched Sect believe them, Song Jinzhao and Song Qiming, sitting on the driver's seats, played the part of people suffering from the onset of the venomous curse.
As time passed, their complexions grew increasingly ghastly, and they could barely keep the carriages steady.
The woods on both sides of the official road were deserted. The two-inch-thick snow looked like freshly steamed sponge cakes, glowing white.
The sound of many footsteps treading on snow became increasingly obvious. Song Jinzhao, who was holding her forehead with her right hand pretending to be in pain, felt a dark intensity surging in her eyes.
"Ugh!" Song Qiming groaned. He let go of the reins with his right hand and slumped over, clutching his stomach.
Song Jinzhao stopped the carriage and turned back. "Qiming, what's wrong?"
Song Qiming moaned in pain, "Sister, my stomach hurts. It’s cramping, it hurts so much."
Sitting inside the carriage, Song Shixue and Song Gaoli seemed to hear the signal. One raised her sword to her chest, while the other gripped a crossbow with both hands, ready.
In the path obscured by branches, the assassins stopped.
To avoid drawing attention, they had specifically changed into white clothes to blend in with the snowy ground.
Phantom stared at Song Jinzhao with cold eyes, the killing intent in his gaze so thick it almost overflowed.
"Move. Leave no one alive."
Ten assassins instantly turned into a gust of wind, rushing from the woods toward the roadside. Rakshasa Ghost and Phantom stood on high ground with their arms crossed, watching the battle.
A Song Jinzhao afflicted by the venomous curse was no longer worth their personal intervention; commanding their subordinates would be enough to kill them all.
Song Jinzhao’s palm, which had been resting on Song Qiming’s back, retracted. The two pale-faced youths suddenly turned and looked up.
"Do it!"
The sleeve-arrows held in their hands were like lotuses blooming; silver needles soaked in deadly poison shot out toward the assassins like scattered flower petals.
It happened too suddenly. The unprepared assassins had no time to dodge, and their exposed faces were riddled with silver needles like sieves.
Song Shixue and Song Gaoli, staying in the carriage, pulled back the curtains to finish off the wounded.
Standing on the embankment, Rakshasa Ghost’s expression changed abruptly. "Not good, it’s a trap! They weren't cursed at all."
He immediately drew his blade and rushed forward to help.
Phantom stared intently at Song Jinzhao, his eyelashes trembling, his heart already churning with massive waves.
Caught in a pincer attack, five of the ten assassins collapsed from the poison, while the other five swung their swords at Song Jinzhao.
Song Jinzhao’s toes pushed off hard to the right, using the momentum to flip through the air.
Landing on the carriage frame, she leaned down to draw the Cloud-Soaring Spear and swung it in a horizontal sweep, her momentum as surging and powerful as a tsunami.
"Qiming, catch the sword!" Song Gaoli threw a long sword down from the carriage with force.
Song Qiming looked up, his body moving like an arrow from a bow as he rushed over to catch the scabbard.
Blades clashed. The immense force made it impossible for Song Qiming to keep his footing; he dropped to one knee, his hands trembling as he gripped the sword hilt.
Seeing Rakshasa Ghost’s long blade about to hack into Song Qiming’s shoulder, he gritted his teeth and shouted with a contorted expression, "Sister!"
Three iron needles flew from Song Jinzhao’s hand. Rakshasa Ghost decisively pulled back his strength to dodge.
The remaining five assassins had already been reduced to two by Song Jinzhao.
The two sides quickly swapped positions, and Song Jinzhao and Rakshasa Ghost became locked in combat.
Sitting in the carriage, Song Shixue protected Song Anhao while firing arrows to support Song Qiming.
Looking at the assassins who kept shifting positions, Song Gaoli didn't know where to fire his crossbow; the moment he aimed, the person was gone.
Unable to hold out, Rakshasa Ghost roared heart-wrenchingly toward the man behind him.
"Phantom, what are you doing? Help me!"
Just as the words left his mouth, a spear shaft as thick as an arm struck his neck heavily.
Rakshasa Ghost’s eyes widened in terror. He kicked off with both legs, retreating rapidly.
Pfft!
Rakshasa Ghost looked down in disbelief.
An iron fan had pierced through his back, skewering his stomach.
