The man in pale blue, expressionless, casually discarded the bloodied handkerchief onto the ground after wiping the blade clean.
The blade was sheathed—a round sheath, matching the curvature of the weapon.
The muddy trail on the mountain soon soaked through the silk handkerchief, staining it dark. Only then did the stench of blood begin to spread through the narrow path.
“All you wanted were their heads. But what I want is for them to never dare approach me again, even in their next lives. I want them to be so terrified that they wouldn’t even dream of my face!”
For him, cruelty was nothing more than a reasonable means to an end.
The wind continued to howl, tearing through the mountain pass. The man in pale blue stood with his robe billowing in the gusts.
The pale sun was slowly sinking toward the west.
His hands were clasped behind his back, and his expression, cold and detached, carried a distinct peculiarity.
His eyes.
They were the eyes of a dead man, devoid of any trace of human emotion. When he looked at you, it was as if he were looking at a corpse.
But this time, his gaze fell upon the boy still standing amidst the corpses. For a rare moment, his eyes flickered, a small movement that was almost imperceptible.
The boy trembled. It was unclear whether it was from the piercing chill of the wind or the icy indifference in the man’s gaze.
The woman in pale blue let out a soft sigh.
Her voice, still that mesmerizing, coquettish tone, floated through the air.
–– “You’ve truly made it difficult for us to find you.”
–– “If we’d been any later, it would’ve delayed Grandmother’s plans.”
–– “If Grandmother were to lose her temper over this, no one would be able to save you.”
The pale daylight cast its glow on the boy’s freckled face, highlighting his features as his expression contorted in fear.
* * *
Huo Xiao Di was dreaming—a sweet dream.
In his dream, he was soaking comfortably in a wooden tub filled with flower petals.
The faint floral scent, the warm water, and the gentle murmurs of maids attending to him lulled him into a drowsy, blissful state where he didn’t want to wake.
Then, a mosquito seemed to buzz around him, its droning an annoyance. He swatted at it with a sharp “smack.”
Again, he heard a “smack, smack,” and it puzzled him. How could there be so many mosquitoes here?
Startled, he awoke, realizing it had all been a fleeting dream.
Looking up at the sky, he noticed the sun had already shifted westward.
Though the rain had stopped long ago, the wind continued to whip fiercely, and the heavens remained heavy with clouds.
Then he heard it again—two crisp “smack” sounds, carried intermittently on the wind.
At the base of the slope stood a small grass pavilion, hidden beneath an earthen mound. Unless one climbed to the top of the mound, the pavilion was nearly impossible to spot.
Huo Xiao Di’s head cautiously peeked out from behind the earthen mound at the top of the slope.
In the distance, at the edge of the forest near a mountain hollow, three figures stood. One of them was the boy he had been searching for.
But the boy wasn’t alone—he was accompanied by two adults.
Two people dressed in pale blue robes.
One was a tall man with dead, emotionless eyes.
The other was a woman.
A woman whose collar bore the embroidery of a crescent moon, exuding a soft allure, both captivating and dangerously smooth.
–– Huo Xiao Di detested encountering women like her the most.
Without a word, the man in pale blue suddenly struck. Slap after slap rang out—more than a dozen blows. The boy’s cheeks swelled immediately, and blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.
The boy stood frozen, either paralyzed with fear or incapable of evading the blows. Perhaps it was the man’s overwhelming aura that prevented him from moving at all.
The woman in pale blue remained as enchantingly graceful as ever. Only after the man stopped hitting the boy did she speak, her voice as sweet and cloying as honey, directed at no one in particular.
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