Xiao Nanhui dug a hole and buried the Xu’e moth, then fed Jixiang some dried mushroom slices.

This lake island was far larger than she had imagined. Looking in all directions, vast and indistinct — how was she to find him?

But just because she could not find him did not mean others could not find him.

Whether it was Lu Songping’s reticent silence earlier, the unusual stirring in Black Feather Camp before she left the city, or the official boats the fisherman had mentioned — all of it hinted that there must be others on this island right now.

Based on past experience in the military, a commanding officer generally would not set up camp in a low-lying area, especially when the mission required concealment. The island’s vegetation was not particularly dense, with rocky and gravelly shoals taking up more space. If they stayed low, any movement would risk breaking cover and exposing their position.

She observed the terrain for a moment, then made her way along a small stream uphill. By sunset she had finally approached the first elevated ground on the island.

The air carried a faint smell of burning wood. She carefully felt her way toward it against the wind, and before long could see the faint glow of campfires at the edge of a camp.

Jixiang caught the scent of fresh beans in the horse trough and disgracefully lurched forward two steps, only to be yanked back by her.

She did not think Ding Weixiang would want to see her right now. She had gone to such great lengths to find her way here — if she were carelessly packed up and sent back, how could she justify that to Jixiang and to the dead moth?

She prepared for a moment on the spot, then tied Jixiang in a concealed location and went toward the camp on her own. The arrow she had taken in Black Feather Camp at Bijiang was still fresh in her memory, so she moved with great caution. But then she also thought the situation today was entirely different, and if she could get close enough to see the camp clearly, any old acquaintances from the military she trusted might be able to do her a favor.

But watching from her hiding spot for a while, she realized every face in this camp was completely unfamiliar. Even the gear they wore looked unfamiliar — neither Black Feather, Bright Standards, Wild Goose Wing, nor Northern Quietude. The camp was not large in numbers, but dozens of tents had been set up, and all the tents were pitch black inside with no lanterns lit, and she could not tell what was inside them.

She thought for a moment, and recalled the Yuezhou Army that had surrendered to the White Crane’s hands during the spring sacrifice at Yu’an. She felt she understood something, but still had her doubts. Finding a gap in the changing of the guard, she secretly slipped into the nearest tent and carefully lifted the edge of the oil cloth, crawling inside.

The tent was completely dark, but packed full of haystacks. Pulling aside the hay she could faintly make out wooden barrels underneath — about waist-height, four feet wide, stacked in two layers, one against the next.

She hesitated a moment, then drew the dagger at her waist and stabbed it into the top of one of the wooden barrels, then withdrew it and gently sniffed the black liquid on the blade.

A pungent smell pierced her nostrils, and her expression froze.

Fire oil.

She moved to check the other side — no exception: the entire tent was stacked with fire oil, without a single one different.

This was just one tent, and a rough count revealed over a hundred barrels. The whole camp had dozens of such tents, and with the other camps elsewhere on the island, that added up to tens of thousands of barrels of fire oil.

Perhaps these haystacks were not there to conceal the barrels at all, but to help them burn.

She suddenly understood the real reason he had chosen to enter the enemy camp alone while secretly arranging for Ding Weixiang to come to this place.

To truly annihilate Pu Huna, one first needed to locate the so-called “god’s” position. But after all the previous encounters, “it” would be even more cautious, and would almost certainly not reveal its true form unless absolutely necessary. And that necessary moment had to be related to the final ritual of divine descent it intended to perform — and he was the target of that descent.

She also knew that “it” could escape through a human form, and had the help of Pu Huna’s believers. Having conducted this operation for over a hundred years, it was mobile, hidden, cunning, and elusive. Tiancheng was like searching for a louse in felt — despite having hundreds of thousands of troops, there was no place to deploy them. This was therefore the final opportunity. To strike and kill in one blow would rid the dynasty forever of this scourge, keeping the realm safe from the desecration of gods and demons. But if it failed, they would make ready to perish together with the enemy. As long as no one could walk off this solitary island, then neither Pu Huna nor “it” could ever return to the human world. The imperial throne would still have capable and virtuous people to fill it, while the legend of the god would here come to its close.

From the moment one set foot on this island, there was no road back for anyone.

And she was the last fellow traveler on this road of no return.

Crawling out of the tent and carefully lowering the oil cloth back into place, Xiao Nanhui looked at the white frost forming on the grass, first let out a sigh, then gave a quiet laugh.

Though it was a road of no return, in the end she was not the only one who had to walk it. There were many fellow travelers, and with that thought in mind, somehow everything no longer seemed quite so heavy. Not only her, but many people who cared deeply about this had made the same choice she had, and were willing to give everything for it.

She looked up at the sky. The moon was near its zenith. The dense dark clouds in the distance would soon swallow the stars and the moon, and a cold, wet smell of autumn rain was rising in the air.

When would they act? Would they wait for daylight?

She did not want to sit and wait passively, and decided to scout out information first. But with so many tents, she was not sure which was the main tent. She was weighing her options when a figure suddenly appeared not far off near a small stream — and she finally caught sight of the first familiar face since arriving on the island.

It was Luo He.

She could not make out his expression clearly, only could see him pacing alone on the rocky bank by the stream, occasionally lifting his hand to scratch behind his ears, looking somewhat restless.

She knew that movement well — it was the distinctive reaction of someone with a craving for wine when they couldn’t get any.

She looked down at her waist.

Perhaps fate truly did guide everything in the shadows, steering destiny toward its predetermined course.

She did not know where this course would lead. But as long as she thought he was just ahead, she was not the least bit afraid.

Xiao Nanhui only paused for a moment before unclipping the wine flask from her waist.

She twisted open the cap, and the crisp, cool fragrance peculiar to Yunye Xian wine drifted quietly out. A cold wind passed, carrying the fragrance downstream.

Sure enough, before long, that restless shadow was like something caught by an invisible hand and led back, drifting involuntarily upstream — walking and stopping, walking and stopping — until it caught sight of the wine flask standing beside a tree root.

Luo He’s eyes lit up. He rubbed his hands together and stepped forward, snatched up the flask, thinking some big official had been sneaking a drink and he’d stumbled into luck. But just as he was about to raise it to his lips, the back of his collar suddenly pulled tight, and in the next instant the whole of him had been yanked up and dragged behind a tree. A voice pressed close to the back of his neck.

“Tell me what you know.”

The man, who had failed to steal the wine and found himself captured instead, struggled wildly. He was just about to cry out when a hand clamped his jaw shut.

“If you make a sound, I will dislocate your jaw.”

The voice was somewhat familiar. He twisted his neck hard to look back, and saw a somewhat familiar face.

“You — you — you — how are you here?”

The other party answered his question with a question.

“When do they plan to move?”

He struggled hard, trying to make his position look less pathetic, but couldn’t move an inch.

How was this woman so strong?

“Earlier they said tonight, told me to wait outside. By now they should already be…”

She asked urgently.

“How long ago did they leave?”

Luo He answered with some hesitation.

“About half an hour ago.”

There might still be time to catch up. She pressed further.

“Which way did they leave, and which direction did they go?”

The other man slowly raised his hand and pointed to the head of the stream.

“The stone gate upstream — after that I don’t know anymore.” He paused, then asked in a low voice, “I think we should just not get mixed up in this, yes?”

This wine-craving man looked at the very least in his forties or fifties, but those eyes holding a hint of timidity and grievance inexplicably made her think of Wu Xiaoliu.

That fat fellow — she wondered how he was doing now.

Working in the military required an unwavering commitment to the mission, and that meant tactics were often necessary. In the past, to guarantee success and avoid exposing herself, the best decision would have been to bring Luo He along as she entered the valley. But after what had happened at Bijiang, she had learned to think more carefully before acting like this.

This was not softness of heart — only learning to understand.

These were just ordinary people. Unlike her, they were not willing to stake their lives, and they truly should not have been dragged into this world of blades and blood.

“If you get the chance, find a boat and leave this island. This matter was never your concern to begin with.”

Xiao Nanhui released her grip. Luo He landed on the ground, and when he looked up, the woman had already taken the wine flask and left on her own.

After a long silence, a sigh drifted over from beside the quietly flowing stream.

“It is not as if it has nothing to do with me.”

Outside the stream valley, weeds reached overhead amid strange, jagged rocks.

Xiao Nanhui crouched in the grass on the downwind side, silently watching the Tiancheng troops resting at the valley entrance not far ahead.

It was a cavalry unit of no more than a hundred men, but even at a quick glance she could tell something was unusual. At the head of the formation was Ding Weixiang, and immediately behind him were more than ten shadow guards, whose skills already noticeably surpassed those she had seen at Black Feather Camp. In addition, three armed officers with feathered cap badges each led a dozen or so of their best men — every one of them an elite from their respective units, and many were young officers who had already accumulated battlefield merits at a young age.

Thinking of what this island would look like after tonight, her gaze drifted unbidden over those young faces one by one. Their expressions were very calm. Only she wondered whether somewhere far away, there were dear ones and loved ones, under a few old roof tiles, waiting for the day they would come home.

“Deputy Ding, there are characters on the stone stele.”

The shadow guard’s voice pulled her thoughts back.

She focused her eyes toward the valley entrance in the night, and only then noticed that beneath the stone archway at the valley entrance stood a bare square stone stele — unadorned, with no divine beasts to support it, weathered and worn, thickly covered in moss. Ding Weixiang brought a torch close, and she could just make out two worn characters in an ancient script on the stele.

“Xia Cheng” — “Dismount.”

Was this the boundary stele of Buxu Valley? And what did “Dismount” mean here?

The officers gathered near the stele were speaking in hushed tones — a dispute was clearly underway. She strained to listen but couldn’t make out anything, so she shifted her gaze to one side.

There was also a carriage parked under the stone archway.

Buxu Valley was rarely visited, much less this desolate valley entrance. But beyond looking strange, that carriage somehow looked rather familiar — it seemed very similar to the kind they had ridden in before. Ding Weixiang paused at the sight of it as well, then quietly gave instructions to the shadow guards behind him. Someone stepped forward to examine it briefly, then led the carriage away.

Seeing the carriage heading in her direction, Xiao Nanhui quickly moved out of the way and returned behind the large rock where she had tied Jixiang.

Jixiang was restless. She hurried to calm her quietly, and while patting the horse’s rump it occurred to her suddenly — she looked back at the empty carriage and became even more certain of what she was thinking.

A hundred paces away, Ding Weixiang and the others had already dismounted and handed the horses to two men. The rest went on foot into the dense undergrowth.

Xiao Nanhui knew there was no time to delay. She turned and removed the gear from Jixiang one piece at a time, and finally, after some hesitation, raised her hand and stripped the saddle and reins as well, leaving only her own Bright Standards Camp identity pendant.

The three-times-round mixed-coat horse felt the weight lift from her body and happily spun in a circle on the spot, then suddenly went quiet, staring at her owner without moving.

She did not dare meet those eyes. She reached out her hand and gave one last pat on the rump she had touched so many times before.

“Go.”

The warm, fluffy horse rump did not leave — it actually nudged closer to her, and when it had finished nuzzling her backside, it turned its head around and tried to nibble her hair the way it always had. In the next instant, the woman snatched up a nearby branch and hit it hard.

“Go!”

Jixiang let out a low, unhappy sound and unwillingly retreated half a step. When it tried to come close again, it got another hit.

She had no horse whip. From the very first day she had met Jixiang, she had never struck her.

The horse finally stopped coming forward, hesitating and backing away to a hundred meters off, hiding behind a date tree and peeking back at her.

Xiao Nanhui forced back the burning sensation in her eyes, and gave one last wave of the branch in its direction.

“Go on.”

She threw down the branch, turned away abruptly, and walked quickly off. She did not once dare look back.

The thick layers of cloud finally swallowed the stars and moon overhead. The wind direction changed, carrying the fishy smell of Minghu up to the island.

Ding Weixiang and the others were ahead in the darkness. Gusts of wind sent the tall weeds rustling, masking the sound of their footsteps. She could only stop now and then to check the marks on the ground and determine which way they had gone.

After walking barely half a li, her foot suddenly sank, and old experience from the northern swamps made her instantly freeze and wait a moment before carefully lifting her foot.

Sure enough — she was now standing on floating mats of grass drifting over a quagmire. The mats had some flexible, tough vines woven and tangled through them, like a net floating over the muddy swamp. An ordinary person or small animal entering would have no great trouble, but for a horse or carriage, no matter how careful, they would eventually sink deep into the mire.

That was the meaning of the stele that read “Xia Cheng” — “Dismount.”

In the next instant, a faint cry for help rang out ahead and to her left.

She tensed, and while carefully watching her footing used a handy tree branch to feel her way toward it.

Parting the dead branches and dry grass, she found a shadow guard at the edge of a mud pit struggling, half his body already sunken into it.

The harder he exerted force, the more frantically he struggled, the faster he sank. Cold, suffocating, hopeless — no one knew that feeling better than she did.

She could not hold herself back in the end. She stepped forward quickly and grabbed his armor, using her strength to pull him out.

Almost simultaneously, Ding Weixiang’s voice rang out above her head.

“You’ve been following this whole way — not tired?”

She released her grip and stood there catching her breath with her hands on her hips. The shadow guard she had just saved wore a perfectly composed expression. Only then did she realize she had walked into a trap.

Like master, like servant. A stubborn master gets a wayward disciple. A clever fox breeds a cunning hound.

Xiao Nanhui had not a single word she wanted to say. She brushed the mud off her boots and stepped forward, one foot deep, one foot shallow. Ding Weixiang behind her gave quiet instructions to someone, then followed.

“Why did you come?”

Why did she want to come? She shot him a glance and snorted.

“Don’t know the way.”

“Not asking about now. I’m asking why you came all the way to the island.”

She stopped, turned her head to look at the guard who had changed into his armor.

“And why are you here?”

“Naturally because—” Ding Weixiang began, and was halfway through when he caught the woman’s look and understood what she was about to say next. He swallowed the second half of his admission. “Never mind.”

Indeed, at this point there were some things that no longer needed to be said.

The mood returned to silence once more.

In the darkness, countless black shadows moved in silence toward the deep reaches of the stream valley, like fireflies that had lost their cold light, charging without hesitation toward an unseen flame.

Beyond the edge of the swamp, the view gradually opened. The tall grass fell away, leaving only a stretch of massive rock shoals — making everything seem all the more wild and desolate.

In the middle of the gray-white rocky expanse stood a blue-black stone stele. It was in the same style as the one seen before, only the characters on it had changed.

When everyone read the characters on that stele, they all fell silent without exception.

On the stele were neatly carved two characters: “Qi Jin” — “Discard Metal.”

Having experienced “Xia Cheng” earlier, “Qi Jin” was not difficult to interpret.

Metal is weapons.

Legend had it that in ancient times during great sacrificial rites, the emperor himself would enter Buxu Valley to pay respects. Yet even the Son of Heaven, upon arriving here, would step down from his palanquin, walk through the mud on foot, and still upon reaching this place, was not permitted to carry weapons.

This was the valley’s first challenge to those who came — a kind of overbearing pressure from the divine, looking down on mortals with near contempt.

“If we discard our weapons here, are we not surrendering without a fight, leaving ourselves at the mercy of others?”

A young officer from the Bright Standards Camp raised an objection. The Wild Goose Wing Camp seconded it shortly after.

“In my view, this broken stone may well have been deliberately placed here by someone to throw us into confusion. We absolutely cannot fall for the enemy’s trick.”

“Please reconsider, Deputy Commander—”

The officers were silent. Xiao Nanhui glanced at Ding Weixiang, who was very calm.

“Disarm.”

The eleven shadow guards only paused a moment before neatly removing their chain mail armor.

The sound of more than ten suits of armor falling simultaneously to the ground sent a great echo through the valley. The others fell into silence. A small number of Wild Goose Wing Camp soldiers followed their example, but the Bright Standards and Black Feather Camps made no move.

In a matter of life and death, the slightest compromise could be amplified into dozens of times greater danger. No one wished to yield.

Ding Weixiang naturally understood this, and said nothing more, leading everyone across the rocky shoal.

Xiao Nanhui glanced at his familiar blue garment now exposed.

“This is more fitting.”

Ding Weixiang turned and glanced at her, just about to say something, when a sound suddenly came from ahead.

The three scouts walking at the front tip of the triangular formation suddenly dropped where they stood. Xiao Nanhui was startled, at first thinking they had been caught in some kind of ambush, but she calmed down, stepped forward to check, and realized — those three had fallen under their own weight.

Pressed down by their own armor and weapons. Not only their armor, but also the swords and weapons each of them carried. Weapons that could ordinarily be wielded to kill enemies were now as heavy as a thousand catties, and no matter how hard they tried, they could not lift them even an inch off the ground. Those wearing the heavy armor of the Bright Standards Camp were even worse off — the heavy plate pressed them down instantly until they could barely breathe and couldn’t stand.

She reached reflexively for the Jiějia sword at her waist, her mind rapidly calculating the reason for all of this.

Something was strange about this rocky ground. It seemed to exert an invisible force on weapons and armor, making them several times heavier than usual.

But for some reason, though Jiějia was also a weapon, it had not become any heavier.

Ding Weixiang nearby was struggling to retrieve his saber. He saw her expression and stepped over to examine the Jiějia sword.

“The one in your hand is a bronze sword cast following ancient methods — quite unlike anyone else’s weapon. Very few people use this kind any longer.”

Xiao Nanhui was taken aback, then realized: this rocky expanse affected iron weapons.

Li Yuan Yuan had spent years forging this sword and drawn on ancient texts as her guide — the texts may have been written around the same time that Buxu Valley was established. And Pu Huna had been around for a very long time: everyone’s weapon was the flying thread. Even if the flying threads contained iron, they would not lose their effectiveness the way swords and blades would in an instant — on the contrary, the added weight would only greatly increase their killing power.

Tonight was certain to see a fierce battle.

But without battle armor, without usable weapons, how were they to fight to the very end against such a formidable enemy?

“This mission is different from all the others. If there is anyone who does not wish to go further, Tiancheng will not pursue the matter with military law. Only I ask each of you to hold the island shore and stand firm to the very last moment.”

Ding Weixiang’s words fell. No one answered for some time.

Finally, the first young officer moved — he removed his armor, propped himself up with his sword, and stood upright.

“We don’t retreat.”

One young figure after another followed suit, each throwing off their heavy plate.

“We don’t retreat!”

Everyone’s resolute voices echoed across the rocky shoal.

Ding Weixiang slowly picked up his blade scabbard to grip in his hand, and only gave a quiet nod.

“Move out.”

The short stretch of less than ten li on the rocky shoal took Tiancheng’s most elite unit a full hour to traverse.

At last, the rocky shoal came to an end. But the force dragging weapons down had not disappeared.

Everyone struggled painfully up the steep slope to find themselves standing atop a flat high ground.

All around was pitch black. Only at the center of the high ground stood an ancient tower. When they drew closer, they saw that it bore seven or eight parts of resemblance to the Lihen Tower in Zhongli. The difference was that this tower was clearly far older, and considerably more crude in form — aside from its rammed earth and stone-stacked tower body, only a nondescript gray stone finial at the top suggested any resemblance to a tower at all.

Ten paces in front of the tower stood the third stone stele since entering the valley. On it were carved two characters: “Tui Fan” — “Depart, Mortals.”

Xiao Nanhui and Ding Weixiang fell into silence at the same moment.

Depart, Mortals — those who are mortal, fall back.

Only gods and the faithful may pass.

This was the sacrificial altar beyond this boundary. The one who erected this final stele had no intention of letting anyone cross this line or set foot in the place of rites.

But she could not yield.

Not only her — no one else intended to yield either.

Ding Weixiang drew his blade, and with a clean, sharp stroke, the already nearly-rotted stele shattered and crumbled.

This was resolve. And also a declaration — that they had rejected the final warning the divine had issued to mortals.

“Zong Hao didn’t come? What a pity.”

A voice suddenly rose across the high ground. Ding Weixiang did not move, only shifted his eyes.

Dozens of black shadows converged from all directions. The woman who had spoken first gradually revealed herself. Her unadorned face bore a striking scar.

Ding Weixiang looked at Xiao Dai, while from the corner of his eye quietly calculating the number of adversaries lying in ambush around them.

“He came to send his regards at Doucheng Ridge. Did you not know?”

Xiao Dai let out a cold snort.

“True to someone who came out of the Andao Institute — the Emperor’s running dog, right up to the end, still able to say such things without blinking.”

Ding Weixiang said nothing more. Beside him, Xiao Nanhui was somewhat dazed.

She looked at the woman’s lonely, desolate figure in the evening wind and suddenly recalled those countless afternoons — the gentle, long hair swaying back and forth on a swing.

She opened her mouth, and her voice came out a little hoarse.

“Aunt Dai, please stand aside.”

Xiao Dai did not look at her. Her voice was without fluctuation.

“Why should I stand aside? I have made a promise — I will not let a single person through.”

Xiao Nanhui had not yet had time to say anything more when a figure suddenly stumbled out and fell heavily to the ground, not clear whether from drink or bewilderment.

“A’Zhu, it is your elder brother who wronged you. Come home with me — come home, and after that you can do whatever you wish. I have spoken with them — they will not make things difficult for you…”

The woman’s somewhat vacant gaze slowly fell on that man’s face. Her voice held no pain, only exhaustion.

“You came too late. We have no more home to return to. Where could we go?”

Luo He yanked off the ill-fitting official’s cap on his head, exposing his whole face, his tongue not entirely under his command as he tried to voice his longing.

“You still have me. I’ve saved up quite a lot of silver. I’ll take you back to Zhongli. We can plant pear trees again, if you’d like…”

“Do not let them deceive you.” Xiao Dai’s eyes slowly narrowed, her voice gradually turning cold. “They say gods and spirits are inscrutable, but it is people who are truly full of lies and utterly untrustworthy. The Xie Clan, to protect the realm and their own descendants, chose to erase those who knew of the prophecy. He not only deceived the Bai Family — he also deceived Pu Huna, making everyone believe the Xiao Family were the people in the prophecy. But Heaven’s retribution comes for all. His bloodline could not ultimately escape the fate that belonged to him.”

When Xiao Nanhui heard this, she finally could not hold herself back and stepped forward.

“Where is he?”

Xiao Dai smiled without a sound, and slowly raised her arms.

“Why don’t you look for yourself?”

The last word had barely fallen when sharp sounds of cleaving air were already closing in from all directions.

She knew that sound all too well. Ding Weixiang had long been ready for it.

After a brief pause, the sound of blades drawn in unison rang out. The hundred courageous soldiers spread out according to the formation they had arranged beforehand, and engaged Xiao Dai and the Pu Huna forces hidden in the darkness.

Heaven and earth fell into chaos. Everyone was red-eyed with battle. Every moment, blades and blood would flash — souls were sent to the hereafter without cease. It was you who would die or I, and the wielded swords and knives never stopped, until the other side fell.

Xiao Nanhui swung Jiějia, cutting a path from five steps to ten, then being pushed back from ten steps to five. Human blood soaked the hilt until it was slippery and she could barely grip it. She had no time to wipe it clean, only waiting for the wind to dry it.

But the old blood had not yet congealed before new blood came.

In a daze, the endless silver light grew slow and suspended, and splattering blood droplets floated in mid-air before her eyes, hanging motionless.

In every one of those fleeting instants just now, she had been so close to death.

If — if her life of more than twenty years were to end this very night — was she prepared to bid farewell to everything she had come to this world for?

“Xiao Nanhui, to the right!”

A familiar voice rang out. She dodged on instinct. A streak of silver light cut in from the right at an angle, just barely grazing her head as it flew past.

She gathered her focus, found the right moment, and with a fierce swing of Jiějia, struck and broke that flying thread. Then, using the force of it, she shot upward and sent the thread-caster flying with a kick, following up with a blade to the throat.

The white figure who had called out rolled and scrambled to her side, grabbing her clothing tightly.

“Thank the heavens, thank the earth, my dear grandmotherly ancestor — keep those eyes of yours open wide. Even if you didn’t sleep last night, don’t be drowsy at a time like this!”

Xiao Nanhui shoved Hao Bai away forcefully, furious.

“Who told you to come here?! And wearing something this conspicuous — stop clinging to me!”

A killing intent shot past overhead. Hao Bai crouched low in an unsavory manner, and simply dropped flat on the ground, arm outstretched to drag someone else out from behind a rock.

Yikong was hugging a sheepskin case, flat on the ground in the same position as Hao Bai.

“This humble monk and Benefactor Hao are different — the reason I came here is that Master Wumi is buried in that stuppa just behind you…”

Wumi?

The murals in the Shen Family cave, the Zhong Li clan’s prophecy, and the Qu Family’s ancient legend all flashed through her mind at once, making her instantly aware of a fact.

None of this was coincidence. Master Wumi had chosen to be buried here after passing, precisely because Buxu Valley had always held something momentous within it. And the reason Yikong appeared here was likely because he had known something for a long time.

Not far away, a shadow guard had his arm severed by the flying thread. Before she could rush to help, the screaming figure was torn to pieces by a wind blade that followed immediately after.

A surge of fury rose up uncontrollably, and she turned to stare fiercely at Yikong.

“You knew all along that Pu Huna would ultimately come here, and yet you said nothing?! Whose side are you on — are you a believer in the Buddha, or in those monsters and demons?!”

The young monk’s eyes were still candid, his voice still unhurried.

“This humble monk had absolutely no intent to conceal anything. I was only constrained by my Master’s instructions — I was not to readily take anyone into my confidence until the very last moment. What is more, this humble monk is hardly an agile warrior like all of you. One false step and I would have been off to see the Buddha ahead of schedule. So though I arrived here long before everyone else, without any of you present, I absolutely dared not show myself. Benefactor Hao can attest for me — that wooden fish at the main hall suffered a dent for your sake that has still not been repaired…”

Xiao Nanhui laughed despite her fury.

“He can barely even look after himself — and he’s going to attest for you?”

Not far away, Xiao Dai’s figure before the ancient tower was swaying, seemingly at some kind of limit. Thinking of what had happened to An Lu earlier, she could not help but feel a tightening in her heart — but she still signaled to Ding Weixiang not far away to make a quick end of it.

Ding Weixiang understood and led the remaining shadow guards to tear open a gap and charge straight for Xiao Dai. Xiao Nanhui cut down a Pu Huna member with her sword, desperately dodging the flying threads in all directions. From the corner of her eye she could see the young monk crawling forward with his case, utterly abandoning any pretense of bearing or appearance.

She now understood how the impoverished Yongye Temple in that remote wilderness managed to scrape by among the great temples of Quecheng. With a住持 this sharp and utterly shameless, it was hard to know how Master Wumi could have ever taken him as a disciple.

Before the ancient tower, black blood flowed from Xiao Dai’s mouth and nose. She raised a hand to wipe it away; the blue veins stood out across her ten fingers, but she still made one last desperate struggle.

The wind blades around her were no longer as dense as before. Ding Weixiang brought his blade forward, found an opening, and swung.

The blade became a streak of light that grew closer and larger in Xiao Dai’s pupils. The fastest blade-user from the Andao Institute had brought out one of the most lethal techniques from the Dou clan’s saber arts against her — and the corners of her mouth curved into a gentle smile.

In the floating and sinking of a life of many decades, release is but a single moment.

In the next instant, a figure shot out from the side and threw its arms around her.

Then she saw that familiar yet unfamiliar face slowly close its eyes before her.

“A’Zhu — it is your elder brother who is at fault. Don’t be angry at me anymore, all right…”

At peace, he still had a faint trace of his former self about him. Only, in the end, there was no way for him to be like before — to take her hand and walk across the field paths through the hills, laughing as he picked a pear blossom and tucked it behind her ear, just to coax a few coins of wine money from her.

Ding Weixiang swiftly drew back the blade. Luo He’s body collapsed heavily to the ground.

“Stand down.”

Xiao Dai, head bowed, let out a sound that was neither quite laughter nor quite weeping, then looked up. Two lines of deep crimson slid down from the corners of her eyes — one could not tell if they were blood or tears.

“Elder brother — A’Zhu is coming to find you and bring you home.”

The woman let out a long, sharp laugh toward the sky, and a vast force poured out along with countless wind blades, severing the nearest shadow guards instantly at the waist in that single moment.

Ten steps away, Xiao Nanhui could only throw herself flat into a hollow in the ground beside her. Struggling against the gale, she forced one eye open, and saw the last figure still standing beside the stone tower.

Yikong had finally crawled to the base of the stone tower. His kasaya was torn to tatters, his face covered in blood and grime — but those clear eyes looked strangely calm and resolute.

He took something from the sheepskin case, stepped onto the tower’s base, and climbed step by step toward the tower’s peak.

“I ask Master to lend this humble monk a hand, to complete this final lesson.”

The black demon-subduing pestle met the stone finial at the top of the tower, and a clear, crisp click rang out.

Like the last sound in heaven and earth, the wind scream full of killing intent ceased instantly.

Then, great fog surged from all four directions, and in what seemed like the blink of an eye enveloped Xiao Nanhui completely. She watched helplessly as Hao Bai’s face disappeared five steps away, as if wiped away by something — no trace of him could be found anywhere.

At the same time, the sounds of everyone’s breathing and footsteps vanished as well. Her own breath bounced back off the fog and returned to her — as if she were trapped in a room whose walls she could not see.

She tilted her head and looked toward the sky. She felt the night sky itself had turned white. She looked down at the ground at her feet, and even the ground was indistinguishable. She had never seen such strange weather — it was as if the sun and moon shone simultaneously, day and night indistinguishable, and everywhere was vast with nothing to be seen, no heaven or earth.

The surroundings were clearly quiet enough that she could only hear her own breathing and heartbeat, yet she could clearly sense that something was drawing near without a sound.

The characters from the shattered stele haunted her mind like a specter.

“Tui Fan” — to depart as mortals — what manner of departing was required?

She worked to steady the violent pounding in her chest. Xiao Nanhui wiped the blood from Jiějia with her sleeve, closed her eyes, stood composed — listening in all directions.

She could not tell how much time passed. A faint disturbance of airflow came from her rear-left at an angle — silent, yet carrying a heavy killing intent. She pressed her lips together, twisted at her waist, and brought the sword in her right arm back at a narrow angle to block. A sharp ringing rang out, and a great force drove her back three steps.

Xiao Nanhui’s eyes snapped open, but her gaze froze in the next moment.

Standing before her was none other than Xiao Zhun.