But his voice was softer, gentler, filled with warmth.
“If you couldn’t find me,” he whispered, “then let me come and find you.”
“But I’ve already waited too long,” Wang Cang Hai murmured. “I’ve changed completely. I’m not the same Zhi Nu you once knew. I’m nothing like I was before. Will you still recognize me?”
The Little Immortal sighed softly, shaking his head.
“You are no longer my little Zhi Nu,” he said. “You have changed. Now, you are Wang Cang Hai.”
Panic surged through Wang Cang Hai’s chest. He yelled, “I’m not Wang Cang Hai! Wang Cang Hai is a lie! I am not Wang Cang Hai! I have a name—my real name is—”
But before he could finish—
The dream shattered.
Gasping, Wang Cang Hai jolted awake, his body shaking as violent coughs wracked his chest.
The first thing Wang Cang Hai saw upon waking was Zhang Hai Xing’s face.
“Wan Bao, how are you? Are you seriously injured?”
“I won’t die,” Wang Cang Hai replied, catching his breath. “Where is your clan leader?”
Zhang Hai Xing pointed. “The clan leader used the Demon-Slaying Formation to kill the Ren Mian Niao. He’s over there.”
Qilin stood shirtless beside the massive corpse of the Ren Mian Niao, still gripping the handle of the black-gold blade that was embedded in the creature’s head.
Wang Cang Hai recognized the exact spot—it was where he had just torn out the Ren Mian Niao’s crest feather.
Qilin pulled the black-gold blade free. A fountain of blood gushed from the wound, drenching his upper body in crimson. The contrast was striking—his taut, muscular frame, the vivid red of fresh blood, and the intricate qilin tattoo that marked his skin created an eerie, almost otherworldly beauty.
Yet his eyes, bright and pure as a newborn’s, remained unchanged—
A jarring contradiction.
Wang Cang Hai felt momentarily dazed, then instinctively called out, “Qi—”
Realizing his mistake, he quickly corrected himself. “Qiling!”
Hearing his voice, Qilin turned and, seeing that Wang Cang Hai was awake, smiled brightly. He walked toward him, still holding Zhang Hai Xing’s blood-streaked black-gold blade.
As Qilin drew closer, Zhang Hai Xing suddenly asked, “Clan leader, where is your black-gold blade?”
Qilin answered without thinking, “I left it in Wang Bai Mountain.”
The moment Wang Bai Mountain left his lips, he froze, realizing he had let something slip.
But Zhang Hai Xing and Wang Cang Hai didn’t seem to notice.
Wang Cang Hai asked, “Are you hurt?”
Qilin laughed. “I’m fine. The Ren Mian Niao’s fire only burned my clothes. What about you?”
Wang Cang Hai tried to stand, but the moment he moved, a sharp pain shot through his right knee and ankle. He frowned slightly but remained composed. “I think I broke my leg.”
Qilin’s smile vanished.
He quickly stepped forward, knelt beside Wang Cang Hai, and said with concern, “Don’t move. Let me see.”
Qilin carefully rolled up Wang Cang Hai’s pant leg, revealing his smooth, pale calf and delicate, slender ankle.
Zhang Hai Xing unconsciously inhaled.
How is Wan Bao’s skin even fairer and softer than a young girl’s? he thought. That’s unnatural.
Wang Cang Hai’s knee was darkened with bruising, and a swollen lump had formed on the back of his ankle. The injuries must have come from when he lost consciousness and fell from the Ren Mian Niao.
Qilin gently cupped Wang Cang Hai’s ankle in both hands and, with a swift but controlled motion, set the dislocated joint back into place.
Wang Cang Hai let out a faint grunt of pain.
Qilin sighed. “Your kneecap is fractured. You won’t be able to walk for at least three months.”
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