Yet as she watched his figure fade into the green mountains, she suddenly felt a chill in her chest and began to cough softly.
“Miss, will this be enough?” Aunt Ning, standing beside her, watched Huo Zhan Bai’s joyful retreat with concern.
“It’s all we can do,” Xue Zi Ye murmured, looking up at the sky with a long sigh. “Heaven willing, Master Qingran is still in Yangzhou.”
I’ve done everything I could… Huo Zhan Bai, please don’t hold it against me.
* * *
While someone rode south, another hurried west.
To avoid suspicion, he and Miao Huo parted ways after leaving Apothecary Valley, each returning separately to the Grand Palace of Light. The Dragon Blood Pearl, said to be capable of killing both gods and ghosts, was cold in his palm, while the Bloodletting Sword in its scabbard vibrated, eager for blood.
The wind and snow cut across his face like blades, washing away the last remnants of weakness from his heart.
Riding through the snow, he gradually distanced himself from the valley that had briefly shaken his resolve. He reined in his horse on the snowy plain, looking around as his heart grew calm and cold. His sharp black-and-white eyes slowly disappeared into the swirling snow.
Ten days after leaving Apothecary Valley, he reached the Kizil Wasteland.
On the thirteenth day, he arrived in Uliyasutai.
By the fifteenth day, he stood at the foot of the Western Kunlun Mountains.
The snow-covered peaks of Kunlun were blanketed in white, and the Grand Palace of Light at the summit remained shrouded in cold year-round.
The steed had collapsed from exhaustion, foaming at the mouth, and with one swift stroke of his sword, he ended its suffering. Standing at the foot of the mountain, he looked up at the towering palace, taking a silent breath before tightening his grip. The dark red Dragon Blood Pearl in his hand silently crumbled into powder.
He reversed his sword, carefully applying the powder to the Bloodletting Sword.
Then, without hesitation, he pulled out two golden needles and, with a sharp crack, drove them into the death points at the back of his head.
He strode up the stone steps, and the palace disciples guarding the gate, upon recognizing him, sprang to their feet and bowed deeply, showing a mix of respect and fear. As he passed, they whispered to each other.
“Did you see that? That’s Tong!”
“The killing god who commands the Asura Field? Too bad I couldn’t get a clear look at him just now…”
“Shut up! If you did, you wouldn’t know how you died—looking directly at his eyes is fatal!”
“Yeah, they say that if you meet his gaze, your soul is taken. He decides whether you live or die with just one look!”
“That’s the infamous Demon Eyes...”
Such whispers, filled with both reverence and fear, followed him every day of his life.
No one ever dared look into his eyes, and most who had were already dead—he had long grown used to these evasive glances and the gaze of those who looked at him as if he were a monster. It was nothing to be surprised about.
He headed straight to the western hall, hoping to get recent updates from Miao Shui, but found it empty—strange. Where was she? Hadn't they agreed to meet and discuss their next move as soon as he returned with the Dragon Blood Pearl? How could she be absent at such a critical moment?
“Miao Shui has been attending to the cult leader at the Grand Palace of Light for the past few days,” her personal attendant explained, noticing Tong's return and lowering his head in fear. “She hasn’t come back to rest for a long time.”
“How is the cult leader?” Tong asked coldly.
The attendant shook his head. “I don’t know—since the cult leader left seclusion, he has remained in the Grand Palace and hasn’t shown himself.”
Tong nodded silently, his eyes narrowing. Not showing himself—that likely confirmed what Miao Shui had relayed: the cult leader had failed in his cultivation and had fallen into zoufuo ruma (a state of madness).
With the leader incapacitated, the other factions within the palace must be stirring, taking advantage of the situation.
Without wasting any more time, he headed directly to the Grand Palace of Light.
Crossing the white jade bridge, the magnificent golden-walled palace came into view at the summit. Step by step, he climbed, tightly gripping his Bloodletting Sword, carefully suppressing the killing intent rising within him.
“Young Master Tong.” However, the one who came out to greet him wasn’t the usual favored disciple, Gao Le, but a new disciple dressed in white who also avoided looking him in the eye. “The cult leader is resting. Please wait a moment.”
Tong nodded. “Where is Gao Le?”
The white-robed disciple flinched and replied in a low voice, “Dead.”
Dead?! Tong remained silent, kneeling at the foot of the stairs to await his summons.
“Hahaha… My dear Tong, have you returned?” After a while, booming laughter echoed from inside the hall, shaking the skies. “Come in!”
Tong trembled slightly, his eyes flashing like snow: the cult leader’s voice was full of vigor, showing no signs of weakness!
“Yes.” He lowered his head, holding his sword, and silently ascended the steps.
There were powerful guards by the cult leader’s side, along with the enigmatic Miao Feng. With his own allies scattered—Miao Huo not yet returned, and Miao Shui under the leader’s control—now was not the time to act rashly.
As he walked, he continued to hide all traces of his killing intent.
“Long life to the cult leader,” Tong knelt before the jade throne, bowing deeply. “I have taken the life of the Hidden Hermit of Tianchi and avenged your old grudge from years ago.”
As he spoke, he presented a jade flute from his sleeve.
The Hidden Hermit of Tianchi hadn’t appeared in the Jianghu (martial world) for many years, so the cult leader might not immediately see through his lie. And this flute had been obtained by Miao Huo a few years ago, said to have once belonged to the hermit.
“Haha, Tong never disappoints,” the cult leader said casually, not bothering to verify his carefully crafted lie. “You’ve just returned from a long journey—come, take a look at this new treasure I’ve acquired: my prized mastiffs. Aren’t they lovely?”
With permission granted, Tong finally dared to raise his head and look toward the side of the throne, where several ferocious beasts were chained with golden collars. His expression changed instantly.
Amid the vicious mastiffs, there was a mangled, bloody corpse.
Judging by the clothing, that… that must be—
“Look at them, such adorable creatures,” the cult leader lightly tapped his fingers on the armrest of the jade throne, smiling. “They’ve just eaten Uma and are quite satisfied.”
Uma!
Even someone like Tong couldn’t hide the shock on his face—
The corpse belonged to the Holy Maiden, Uma!
“What a foolish woman... I had Miao Feng spread false rumors that I had fallen into madness, and she just couldn’t resist,” the cult leader smiled from his jade throne, his hair and beard white as snow, giving him a godlike appearance. On a golden tray beside him lay the severed head of a beautiful woman, recently decapitated. “She allied with Gao Le and others to try and kill me.”
Tong’s palms began to sweat as he stared at the head of Uma, the former Holy Maiden, who had once held supreme power second only to the cult leader.
“She couldn’t handle the test,” the cult leader mused, toying with the head before turning his gaze to Tong. “Isn’t that right, Tong?”
Meeting the cult leader’s eyes with calm composure, Tong bowed deeply. “I regret only that I could not personally behead her for you.”
“Hahaha…” The cult leader laughed heartily, grabbing the severed head by the hair and tossing it to the pack of mastiffs at his feet. “Eat! Eat! This is the flesh and blood of the daughter of the King of Huihu, my precious little beasts!”
The mastiffs tore into the flesh, the sound of bones crunching and ripping flesh chilling to the bone.
“These treasures are far more loyal,” the cult leader remarked, turning back and gently stroking Tong’s head. His fingers brushed over the three golden needles hidden under Tong’s hair, and he smiled in satisfaction. “Tong, as long as you remain loyal to me, you’ll enjoy the finest of everything.”
Descending the steps from the throne, Tong’s back was drenched in cold sweat, his heavy robes clinging to his skin. The cold wind outside stung his entire body.
His grip on the Bloodletting Sword loosened, and a mix of emotions passed through his eyes before he silently sheathed the sword. Was I seen through? Or was it just a test? The cult leader’s mind was truly unfathomable.
Tong exhaled slightly. His luck had spared him this time—his delay in returning had, by chance, allowed him to avoid disaster.
But what about Miao Shui, who had been left by the cult leader’s side? Was she safe? That Loulan woman, rumored to have been brought to the palace by the cult leader to assist with secret dual-cultivation techniques [“合欢秘术,” a mystical practice] in the border regions, had unexpectedly risen in favor. Her martial arts had advanced, and she had eventually become one of the Five Mingzi. That she had agreed to ally with them for this plot had come as a surprise. Tong and Miao Huo had always been uncertain about her.
It seemed that, for now, their assassination plan would have to be postponed.
Better to wait and see how things unfold, and make a decision after Miao Huo’s return to the palace.
As Tong descended the twelve jade steps, he spotted Miao Shui and Ming Li emerging from the back of the grand hall, each heading down different pathways. The cult leader had always trusted Ming Li and Miao Feng the most among the Five Mingzi: Ming Li handled daily affairs, while Miao Feng served as the cult leader’s personal bodyguard.
But where was Miao Feng now?
Tong slowed his pace, seemingly waiting by chance. Miao Shui, with her long robes flowing elegantly, walked toward him, her attendants following close behind. She coughed softly as she passed and greeted him in a gentle voice: “Young Master Tong, you’ve returned?”
Tong, still clutching his sword, gave a slight bow in response.
Miao Shui smiled and continued on her way.
Tong lowered his eyes, watching her walk away. As they passed, he heard a faint whoosh of wind and instinctively raised his hand, catching a small wax pellet in his palm. He glanced up, just catching a glimpse of her robe disappearing around the corner. The woman was already gone, giving him no chance to speak with her.
Carefully, Tong cracked open the wax pellet to find a crumpled white handkerchief inside, embroidered with flame-like patterns at the corner.
That was... the cult leader’s handkerchief?! Tong’s hand clenched around it, resisting the urge to look back at Miao Shui. He kept his face impassive as he continued descending the steps.
The handkerchief was stained with red and black blood, spattered in a burst pattern and mixed with bits of internal organs, clearly the result of an artery’s violent rupture.
“Miao Feng has gone to the Apothecary Valley.”
At the moment their paths crossed, he had heard Miao Shui whisper those words to him through a secret voice transmission technique.
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