At the end of the eighteenth year of Changxi, on the eve of the peaceful New Year, just as various government offices were about to seal their stamps and take leave, a wave of petitions to “establish the Crown Prince” rapidly swept through the entire court.

Overnight, the Emperor’s desk was piled high with memorials from officials large and small across various departments and bureaus. They varied in length and tone, but their content was shockingly uniform—requesting that Prince Chu be established as Crown Prince.

The memorials from high officials showed some restraint, only stating that the position of heir apparent was a matter of national importance that should not remain vacant long, requesting His Majesty to make an early decision through sage contemplation. Most officials’ memorials were more direct and frank, filled with praise and admiration for Prince Chu, stopping just short of saying the nation would perish without His Highness.

The first to submit a memorial was a scholar from Wolin. This man was known for his opportunism and was called the “fence-sitting scholar.” Having received a hint from Grand Scholar Wei, he returned to his residence and wrote through the night, his flowery prose and abundant literary talent all used to embellish the future Son of Heaven’s virtue and achievements, hoping only to catch His Majesty’s eye and earn Prince Chu’s gratitude.

When this scholar presented his memorial in court, whether the Tiansheng Emperor’s eyes brightened was unclear from a distance. After a long moment, the Emperor only said heavily: “If beloved ministers have memorials, submit them to Haoyun Pavilion after court. The Cabinet will compile statistics and report to me later.”

At that time, Prince Chu removed his cap and knelt forward, repeatedly declining with modesty. The old Emperor’s face was hidden in shadow as he warmly consoled his son.

What a scene of imperial harmony, paternal kindness and filial piety—the assembled ministers took it all in and felt even more certain they were doing the right thing.

With that one sentence inviting memorials, they came like snowflakes. Grand Scholar Hu counted until his hands went soft, repeatedly smiling bitterly.

Afterward, Haoyun Pavilion’s tally showed one hundred seventy-eight memorials, involving various bureaus and departments, from third to sixth rank officials. Though the weight wasn’t quite sufficient, it was numerous enough to be quite alarming.

Worse still, some peripheral officials in Prince Chu’s camp—those who usually didn’t receive core intelligence—also got swept into this wave of petitions to establish a Crown Prince, making it even harder for Ning Yi to explain himself.

Old Hu counted while lamenting, yet also feeling fortunate—thank goodness His Highness had timely information. That evening when Grand Scholar Wei held a banquet, there had been no advance notice and the invitation happened quickly, so none of the major officials in Prince Chu’s camp received invitations. But somehow His Highness learned of it anyway, and after the banquet dispersed, he directly sent people to visit all the third-rank and above officials who had attended Wei Manor that day.

The timing was urgent then—just finding out the guest list and dispatching people took time, so not everyone could be stopped. Fortunately, in the end none of the senior officials of third rank and above participated, at least preventing His Majesty from believing Prince Chu’s forces could already control the central government.

When he learned of it overnight, he was both shocked and enraged, expressing his desire to submit a memorial impeaching Wei Zhi for inciting officials to presumptuously discuss state policy. However, this only earned His Highness’s faint shake of the head.

“You’re mistaken,” he said, hands clasped behind his back at the window, gazing beyond the clouds with a faintly weathered expression. “What would you impeach her for? From start to finish, she said nothing concrete. High ministers submitting memorials requesting establishment of a Crown Prince is concern for state affairs and good intentions—this has happened in every dynasty and isn’t a grave crime. Moreover…” He smiled coldly. “If you impeach her, you’d probably be playing right into her hands.”

Old Hu didn’t understand this statement, but when he flipped to a certain memorial, his pupils suddenly contracted.

Grand Scholar Wei, who had been at home claiming illness, had finally submitted a memorial. Though it didn’t explicitly say who should be established as Crown Prince, it thoroughly praised Prince Chu.

This was like pouring oil on flames—instantly spreading wildfire.

That day, the old Emperor sat in Haoyun Pavilion personally counting those memorials. When Hu Shengshan tremblingly presented this memorial, the Emperor, whose expression had already darkened from counting the snowflakes of memorials, was finally provoked by that high minister’s name into releasing his long-suppressed fury.

He slammed the memorial heavily on the table, where it scattered across the floor with a crash.

“Good, very good—”

Then he swept his sleeves and left.

Haoyun Pavilion fell silent as death.

Ning Yi sat motionless as before, eyelids lowered, concealing the turbulent, cold expression in his eyes.

You will have to return after all.

And I will wait for your return.

At the end of the eighteenth year, many people couldn’t celebrate a good New Year. The Tiansheng Emperor, under the charges of “conspiring in factions and presumptuously discussing state policy,” demoted a large batch of officials. Most were expelled from the Imperial Capital and sent to remote provincial counties. Prince Chu also received rebuke for “not remaining in his proper position and coveting the honored position of heir apparent,” was relieved of his Six Ministries duties, and told to return to his manor to cultivate his heart and character. Even Grand Scholar Wei was implicated—demoted from the Imperial Capital and appointed as Prosecutorial Commissioner of Mountain North Circuit.

Most unlucky was that Wolin scholar who first proposed establishing a Crown Prince—he was dispatched to a small city in Henei near the South Mo Kingdom as a gate commander, demoted five ranks. That area of Henei was desolate and impoverished with extreme food scarcity. Supposedly the staple food was chaff, with rice as precious as pearls. This lord would likely soon shed his excess one hundred eighty catties.

This series of actions clearly expressed the Tiansheng Emperor’s attitude. The assembled ministers fell into confusion and tucked their tails to behave.

During that period, people left the capital daily, all tearfully bidding farewell and embracing in grief. Some were calm though—like Feng Zhiwei.

“Seeing someone off a thousand li must end in parting—please return, everyone.” At Qiu Evening Pavilion in the capital’s suburbs, Feng Zhiwei bowed in a circle, smiling as she bid farewell to the Qingming Academy students who had come to see her off.

During this wave of establishment petitions, the Qingming students hadn’t been involved. So after court officials were repeatedly demoted, the vacated positions were naturally filled by these students whose family backgrounds and origins were already excellent—almost everyone was promoted a rank.

The students felt deeply moved, knowing their teacher had been demoted while protecting them so well. With tears in their eyes, they were reluctant to part. Feng Zhiwei expended great effort persuading them all to leave.

Turning around, she saw one person still standing in place—it was Qian Yan.

“This student has already resigned his post.” The man smiled and bowed. “Let the Dean take me as an aide.”

Feng Zhiwei looked at him silently. To share wealth and honor was easy; to share hardship difficult. With success and advancement right before his eyes, he could still resolutely abandon it—only someone of great determination could do this.

“This student’s life belongs to the Dean. Wherever the Dean goes, this student will naturally follow.” Qian Yan’s smile held deep meaning. Feng Zhiwei’s heart stirred as she glanced at him. This person was extremely shrewd—could he have guessed something?

For an instant she hesitated, but from the corner of her eye she suddenly glimpsed another person, instantly forgetting what she was about to say.

Not far off by the Qiu Evening River, a man in black light fur and moon-white robes stood leisurely by the water. The morning glow rippled like gold, his reflection in the river elegant and tall.

Qian Yan had already silently and soundlessly withdrawn.

Feng Zhiwei stood in place in silence for a moment, then walked over calmly.

That person didn’t turn around.

“Qiu Evening River in autumn watching evening—most scenic,” he said. “These four sides of maple forest, in deep autumn when red leaves fall profusely, drifting on the jade water, is one of the Imperial Capital’s ten great sights. These years you’ve been rushing about busily, never properly appreciating this place. I only hope next autumn, you can come and see.”

“I also hope I can,” Feng Zhiwei said with a smile, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. “Your Highness coming to see me off at this moment—aren’t you afraid of inviting criticism?”

Ning Yi looked down at the river water. In the rippling waves there truly were paired reflections, but in an instant they would be torn apart to opposite ends of the world. When they met again, even if they could stand together, it would likely be facing each other with drawn blades.

“The one who can plunge me into the greatest criticism has always been only you,” he smiled.

Feng Zhiwei also smiled, but didn’t say anything like “Your Highness is blaming me” or other useless words. Between her and him, it was never simple gratitude and resentment. If it were only personal hatred between individuals, each might not be unable to take a step back. But what opposed them was bloodline, life and death, family and nation—all the towering, heavy mountains impossible to shake.

That year at Ning’an Palace by Mother’s deathbed, under Mother’s final piercing gaze, she swore the most poisonous oath in her ear.

“If I cannot restore the nation and achieve vengeance, then Mother’s and little brother’s souls will never find release, suffering daily the scorching fire of hell.”

Mother understood her so well, knowing that only by swearing a poisonous oath on her own soul after death could she grit her teeth and walk this difficult, painful road.

If the oath had only involved her own life and death, she would have lightly cast it aside long ago.

But she couldn’t imagine Mother’s soul sinking forever, couldn’t imagine her brother who died for her still finding no release after death.

She owed them—she couldn’t owe them endlessly from life into death.

“Forget me…” Long, long after, her whisper like a sigh floated away lightly as a falling butterfly on the river’s surface.

“Whether I forget you or not is my business,” Ning Yi said indifferently. “But I don’t want you to forget me, Zhiwei—even if it’s hatred.”

“Did you move against Helian to make me hate you?” Feng Zhiwei’s words were light as grass, but weighed a thousand jun.

If she had doubts, she would ask. Even from opposing positions, she didn’t want hidden misunderstandings disrupting her determined steps.

“No.” Ning Yi’s answer was also extremely straightforward. “Zhiwei, you shouldn’t have asked that question.”

Feng Zhiwei turned her head away, squinting at the sky burning with red clouds. After a long while she said softly: “But I’m sorry—there’s Xin Ziyan.”

Yes, ultimately they were adversaries.

She must kill Xin Ziyan, but he also couldn’t give him up. What mattered wasn’t just that one life, but also Prince Chu’s camp’s confidence and loyalty to their master. If he couldn’t even protect one loyal subordinate, how could he win so many hearts?

Both were already arrows nocked on bowstrings—not releasing them would first wound themselves. Just as regardless of whether Ning Yi had moved against Helian, she still had to raise her cup and move the assembled ministers before leaving. Only if he temporarily withdrew from central power and earned the Emperor’s suspicion could that plan to excavate Hua Qiong from the Ten Thousand Great Mountains be safely shelved.

Feng Zhiwei crouched down, cupping a handful of river water and spreading her five fingers toward Ning Yi.

The clear river water rapidly drained through her finger gaps, like time rushing away in an instant.

“The past flows away like water,” she said. “What’s gone cannot return, what comes cannot be pursued. With only this, I bid Your Highness farewell.”

The water splashed down, gone without return. Her departing back was thin and resolute.

No one knew that in the moment she turned, among the splashing crystals was one of her tears.

While he stood silently as before, gazing at the flowing water.

The sunlight suddenly withdrew. In moments the sky darkened and actually began to snow. Broken snow fell on the black fox fur, forming a thin layer in an instant—like a youthful man just growing his feathers, accumulated with a whole body of worldly frost.

In a daze he suddenly remembered.

Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve.

This year’s Spring Festival would be spent rushing along the road.

The road led toward Mountain South, not Mountain North.

On the seventh day of the first month, at the bustling gates of Leting Prefecture city, a convoy of carriages rumbled in.

The carriages were quite plain, looking like an ordinary merchant convoy. They entered the city without attracting notice, asking their way to the Leting Prefecture office.

Because of the New Year, the prefecture office wasn’t conducting business and the main gate was tightly shut. The convoy of carriages stopped, but no one came out to inquire or receive them.

“Xin Ziyan lives here?” Feng Zhiwei lifted the carriage curtain to look toward the rear residence, her expression cold and still.

“What do you plan to do?” Zong Chen asked. “Just walk straight through the gate like this?”

“Why not?” Feng Zhiwei said indifferently. “Old Xin deserves the most upright and open death. I want to speak clearly with him before finishing this.”

She descended from the carriage, looked at the sky, and said: “According to Hu Zhuo custom, when the Great King dies, the body lies in state for forty-nine days before burial. I need to hurry back and return to the grasslands before the court’s emissary arrives. Otherwise, even though Grand Consort Feng Zhiwei has been claiming illness and dwelling in seclusion, there’s no reason she wouldn’t appear at the Great King’s funeral.”

Then she walked quite ordinarily toward the prefecture office gate, very courteously slipping the gatekeeper silver, saying she was a distant visitor calling on Lord Xin. The gatekeeper didn’t ask many questions—the lord had many visitors, people constantly coming and going. The lord was also drunk all day and not difficult to serve. Taking the silver, he didn’t inquire further and let her enter.

Feng Zhiwei was somewhat puzzled. She had clearly come to settle accounts with Xin Ziyan, and Ning Yi clearly wanted to save him. She had expected iron walls and traps at every step from entering the city onward, but unexpectedly entered the prefecture office this easily.

She headed straight for the rear residence. During the New Year festival, everyone in the office was slacking off. It was empty without a soul in sight. Feng Zhiwei drove straight in, stopping before the large red gate connecting the office and rear residence. She removed the cloak she’d been wrapped in and handed it to Zong Chen behind her.

Once the cloak was removed, it revealed her black tight-fitting outfit and the three blades on her body!

One blade on each shoulder, one at her waist—all grassland curved sabers.

Then she raised her hand and knocked.

Her knocking posture looked light and calm, but with that knock—BOOM—a large piece of the red gate shattered. Large thick wooden boards crashed down thunderously, raising dust everywhere.

In the dust and smoke, several blades and swords flashed like lightning through the large hole!

Feng Zhiwei tilted her head to evade. The blades and swords grazed past her cheek. At the same time she lifted her foot and kicked—BANG—the entire gate flew up, crashing toward the guards behind it.

The guards hadn’t yet seen who had come when the gate crashed down on their heads.

The instant it crashed down, Feng Zhiwei drew her blade!

Blade light like splashing snow covered the sky and earth, howling from beyond the mountains—like that year on the long street when the spirited Hu Zhuo Prince Heir, leading the Eight Biao, came galloping past in fine clothes on angry horses.

“I’ve long heard that young ladies of great households in the Imperial Capital are all delicately beautiful, utterly different from grassland daughters. How fortunate to meet one—let me look.”

“CRACK!” With one finger, the carriage window glass shattered.

“CRACK!” Feng Zhiwei reversed her blade handle. An arc of light shot out, shattering the wrist of one person holding a blade.

Helian, Helian—that one look ruined a lifetime.

The long blade crossed over. Sword qi filled the air like a net. A crowd surged into the courtyard with a whoosh. Long swords intersected into a sword array net. Under the winter sun, light flowed brilliantly, forcing one to squint.

Feng Zhiwei crossed her hands. CLANG—the twin blades at her shoulders unsheathed, meeting the opponent’s stabbing sword net as she leaped into the air. In mid-air her toes kicked a sword tip. She flipped and spun like a windmill. Landing, her twin blades spread horizontally like a layer of pale white mist, silently and soundlessly extending outward.

Pale white mist filled the golden palace and jade towers at dawn. He wore deep blue robes, a white jade headband, holding a corpse in both hands as he came forward proudly.

“No bringing the plaintiff’s corpse into the hall, you say?”

“SLASH.”

One hand thrust out hard as steel, splitting the heart, hurling the liver into the hall!

“SLASH.”

Feng Zhiwei’s twin blades clashed. Like light smoke she swept past the sword net. Snow light flashed, blood light gleamed—crossing the opposing sword light, her blade light pierced first into the opponent’s throat.

The sound of blade tip entering flesh was subtle yet startling—like that year in the hall, the man firm as iron, each word like a blade edge cutting into an iron frame.

“I’ve only seen her once. This woman has no beauty, yet has talent. I like her.”

Helian, Helian—another’s casual words were your entire life.

A gap broke in the sword array. More people filled in. But the battle formation had already been forced to the base of the steps. Feng Zhiwei’s twin blades spun like a flower covered in thorns. Wherever it landed, agate-colored blood splattered.

Throughout the sky, sword qi was cold as frost. Fallen leaves on all sides were instantly shredded rustling, floating and scattering like fine salt.

A marriage contest broke a grassland prince heir, acknowledged a wronged aunt, ate a mouthful of salt.

“CLANG.” Gu Nanyi’s jade sword pierced through San Sun’s golden hammer, penetrating the grassland eagle’s pride.

“CLANG.” Feng Zhiwei lunged out with blade and body together, ghostlike threading through the tiny gap beneath the opponent’s sword net. Before colliding with the opponent’s blade edge, she pierced her own blade through the opponent’s chest.

“Grassland sons, you’ve truly opened Little Aunt’s eyes today!”

“Forgot to tell you… on our grasslands, a little aunt can also marry a nephew.”

Helian, Helian—that year’s salt now tastes bitter in my heart, so astringent, so bitter.

Sunlight met sword light, scissoring the shattered wind. Cold air flowed hissing on all sides. The steps had already cracked. Fresh blood flowed everywhere across the ground. Mottled blade marks printed on the corridor pillars. The black-clothed guards’ black cloaks rolled up.

The struggle for kingship, the River Valley alliance—dissolved in his and her joined hands. Hu Zhuo’s people sang and danced awaiting his return. The young king’s smile was brilliant at his brow.

“WHOOSH.”

He galloped down from the high ridge on horseback, thundering through the tall grass. His silver cloak and her black fox fur struck each other, wildly dancing.

“WHOOSH.”

Feng Zhiwei twisted her elbow, shifted steps, swung her blade horizontally. Blade light like silk, wild and thundering, smashed three long swords. The shattered sword tips like star pellets shot into the heart of the enemy formation.

In a daze she seemed to hear his great laughter above the clouds.

“Zhiwei! Zhiwei! At this moment with you by my side, I’m so happy!”

Helian, Helian—that moment was so short, so short.

The sword array was contracting—from the gate to the courtyard to the base of the stairs to the corridor. Her twin blades like silk, she pressed forward step by step. The guards, cowed by her ferocity, kept circling. Two brown-robed figures shot toward her like lightning.

You are a mother wolf lurking in the grasslands, every hair tip carrying incurable poison. You are Zha Da Lan’s doom and trap. When he held your arm, it was like holding a walking skeleton.

“CRACK!”

Thorny brambles struck her back. Her skin split into deep furrows. Blood sprayed out silent power. The Hu Zhuo Great King sentenced himself to disobedience flogging. Everyone silently watched him stain his golden royal robe with blood.

“CRACK!”

The two brown-robed figures shot forward like lightning, barely gaining footing when Feng Zhiwei made a great bend in the sword array. Her two blades shot out, knocking over the last two black-clothed guards, carrying their bodies as she pierced into the room, toppling a screen.

She no longer held weapons. The opponent’s eyes showed delight. But Feng Zhiwei gave a cold laugh, black hair scattering across her lips—startlingly fierce and ruthless. As the opponent’s sword strength descended, she suddenly bent and slid on her knees, reaching back to draw the long blade at her waist. Finally unsheathed, the grassland curved saber’s arc flashed, shooting up through the air like the sun piercing the rainbow!

The person about to pounce rolled away in gushing blood. Skin split, flesh torn—a flash of blood.

In a daze it was his back that year, torn skin and split flesh, shocking to behold.

“Zhiwei, I haven’t done anything for you. You must at least give me a chance.”

Helian, Helian—you only thought of giving, never of receiving. The only chance you gave me to give you something in your entire life was to avenge you.

The wind on all sides suddenly tightened, mixed with thick bloody scent. All over the ground lay black-clothed corpses in disarray. On the bluestone floor pooled puddles of blood.

Only one brown-robed person remained, tremblingly holding a sword opposite her. The eyes exposed outside the face cloth showed horror, but he wouldn’t leave. Feng Zhiwei looked at him coldly, transferred both blades to her right hand, dragged the single blade in her left hand along the ground, ascending the steps, entering the corridor, crossing the hall, approaching the screen… Blood dripped thickly from the blade tip drop by drop. She pressed forward step by step; he retreated step by step.

From the gate to the courtyard to the base of the stairs to before the corridor—not a long distance, like her brief lifetime knowing Helian. Their first meeting when the long street window shattered… Presenting grievances by splitting hearts in the golden hall… Defeat in the marriage proposal at Qiu Manor… Playing on the academy wall… Mutual deception all the way to Nanhai… Joining hands to rule the freedom on the grasslands… Secretly rescuing enemies in Great Yue… Cleverly deceiving the Regent Prince in Xi Liang… He accompanied her through so much wind and rain, twenty-four years of life condensing all intensity, dedicated only to her alone.

The last time they met, he promised her he’d soon gather ten beauties for his royal tent—the only broken promise in his life.

Blood dripped profusely, unable to wash away the killing intent in her eyes. Right or wrong didn’t matter now—what she owed, she must repay!

The long blade slanted upward. The blood-stained blade tip pointed grimly at that commendably brave final brown-robed person. That person blocked before the screen. Behind the screen must be Xin Ziyan, who had never shown his face.

“Spare my life—” Just as she was about to take the last step, a large group suddenly poured from the rear hall—men, women, old and young, all dressed as servants and bondswomen. Seeing the corpses everywhere, they all cried out in shock, scattering chaotically in all directions.

Feng Zhiwei didn’t move.

Grievances have their sources, debts their owners—however angry she was, she wouldn’t kill the innocent.

The servants on all sides flowed past her like water. No one dared look twice at Feng Zhiwei, covered in blood like a malevolent spirit.

But one person, as she passed beside her clutching a bundle, very quickly raised her head. A flash of frightened, timid eyes, then quickly lowering her head again, trying to slip past her.

Feng Zhiwei had been staring intently at the brown-robed person opposite and hadn’t noticed these servants. But from the corner of her eye, that one glance suddenly caught sight of that bundle.

The bundle looked quite heavy, revealing some corners—like gold and silver ingots.

Great chaos was imminent, escape was rushed—yet a bondwoman still remembered to pack gold and silver?

How would a bondwoman have large ingots of gold and silver?

Feng Zhiwei’s eyes darkened, falling on the woman’s legs. Though wearing a skirt, one could still see her walking posture was slightly pigeon-toed.

At this moment that woman had already slipped past.

Feng Zhiwei suddenly shot out her hand like lightning, grabbing her collar!

That person seemed about to cry out in alarm, then remembering something didn’t dare make a sound, only struggling mutely. Feng Zhiwei grew even more suspicious. Raising her hand, she chopped off her hood.

The hood fell, revealing a woman’s face covered in black and white spots.

Feng Zhiwei was stunned for a moment, thinking for an instant she’d suspected the wrong person and was about to apologize when the infinite panic in that woman’s eyes caught her attention.

She examined this person’s features carefully. This woman seemed to have applied simple makeup, but her disguise technique was atrociously bad, making her face a riot of colors. She didn’t dare meet Feng Zhiwei’s gaze, shaking her face this way and that, her eyes shooting randomly across the floor in panic.

Feng Zhiwei watched and watched, but slowly narrowed her eyes.

After a long while she suddenly smiled.

The hall full of fresh blood, her body full of killing intent—yet at this time and place she was smiling. It was unspeakably eerie. That woman also forgot to dodge, looking at her eyes and shivering violently.

Feng Zhiwei smiled at her, extremely slowly, in a strange tone: “Long time no see, Meiduo.”

That woman was indeed Meiduo, taking advantage of the chaos to disguise herself as a bondwoman and escape. Hearing this sentence, her eyes rolled back as if to faint in Feng Zhiwei’s hand.

Feng Zhiwei immediately pressed her fingers, gripping the pain point at the back of her neck. Meiduo cried out sharply, tears and snot flowing. She could no longer faint.

“Tell me, what are you doing here?” Feng Zhiwei held her like a chicken, leisurely shaking her in her hand. “Oh, do you know? Helian has died. What, are you going to attend his funeral?”

Meiduo stared straight at her, “Ah, ah” several times, tears rolling down.

“Originally the guard official at Mayu Pass had already been replaced, yet Helian didn’t receive the message. A royal court document went missing, directly leading to his death.” Feng Zhiwei leaned close to her ear, saying softly, “Though it didn’t matter that the royal court document was lost—no one could recognize it. However, Aunt Meiduo, you who were once treated like a princess by the royal court—do you understand it or not?”

“I… I… I… I…” Meiduo trembled in her hand, lips opening and closing but unable to speak a complete word.

Anyone being looked at by Feng Zhiwei with that face full of fresh blood yet full of smiles wouldn’t easily speak complete words.

Feng Zhiwei quietly watched Meiduo’s eyes. In those eyes, timidity, fear, hatred, pain—all sorts of complex emotions were now laid bare. No need for interrogation, no need for investigation. Everything was as clear as the tide over sand—it was Meiduo.

It was Meiduo—actually Meiduo.

Someone thought long dead was still alive, still causing harm.

The proud and spirited Helian had indirectly died at the hands of a woman who once loved him.

A woman’s jealous hatred was so terrifying, and heaven’s will so cold.

“The grasslands raised you with their milk, you wolf.” Feng Zhiwei whispered in her ear. “You repaid them with poison throughout your body.”

“You’re the mother wolf of the grasslands whose very blood is poisonous!” Meiduo at this point no longer harbored any hope. She suddenly raised her head and said fiercely: “Dama Ala said it! You’re Zha Da Lan’s doom and trap!”

Feng Zhiwei closed her eyes.

As if listening to the master’s high and desolate voice carried on the wind.

Then she still kept her eyes closed, using a faint tone to say: “Is that so… perhaps.”

As the first word came out, her hand fell on Meiduo’s upper arm, fingers lightly tightening.

“Ah—”

The sound of cracking bone, accompanied by Meiduo’s piercing shriek shooting straight into the clouds!

Crack crack crack crack.

Four words spoken, four sounds of cracking bone.

Bone cracking sounds from all four limbs.

Feng Zhiwei kept her eyes closed throughout, too lazy to look at that face she deeply loathed. Releasing her hand, Meiduo collapsed at her feet like a rotten sack.

“I won’t kill you…” Feng Zhiwei laughed coldly, bending to look at Meiduo huddled in a trembling ball at her feet, the latter already too pained to speak. Hearing this sentence in her agony, she was just raising her head in surprised delight, gratefully about to grab her robe hem.

Feng Zhiwei flashed aside in disgust, kicking her into the dust with one foot. In Meiduo’s piercing shrieks, she said indifferently: “The severest punishment for a person isn’t death—it’s not even giving you a quick death. Meiduo, you’re merely a grassland bondwoman. The benevolent Grand Consort Mudan and her son, mindful of your kindness, gave you princess-like provisions, raised you to adulthood. If you had any conscience at all, you shouldn’t have moved against Zha Da Lan. Your vanity, pride, and greed harmed Zha Da Lan. Now, use your own blood to wash away the grassland people’s fury!”

She turned, saying to Zong Chen who had been silently following behind her providing support: “Trouble you, sir—keep her alive. We’re taking her to the grasslands.”

Meiduo’s body suddenly trembled violently. She stared wide-eyed in terror, expending her last strength to shriek: “No! No! I won’t go back to the grasslands! No—”

If Feng Zhiwei dragged her back to the grasslands now to face the furious Grand Consort Mudan and the grassland people, her fate would certainly be a hundred times more painful than death.

“Give me back Zha Da Lan!” Feng Zhiwei laughed desolately, extending her blood-stained hand toward her. “Then I’ll let you go!”

Meiduo’s eyes rolled back and she fainted again.

Feng Zhiwei turned her head expressionlessly, saying: “Watch her! Before reaching the grasslands, keep her alive!”

“Yes!”

Meiduo was dragged away. Feng Zhiwei turned her head, staring coldly at the brown-robed person opposite who had been retreating but never leaving.

Her eyes flashed with contempt—though Xin Ziyan was an enemy, he’d always been upright. Today until now he’d hidden behind the screen, letting guards be killed until blood flowed like rivers, letting her press forward step by step, yet not even showing his face—somewhat unmanly.

In the face of mortal crisis, did everyone become this cowardly?

Then why couldn’t that person also be selfish once? Why did he choose to go smiling to his death?

“You should go back,” the brown-robed person opposite suddenly spoke. “We won’t let you kill Lord Xin. If you take one more step forward, we’ll have more people to block you.”

His accent was somewhat strange, as if deliberately kept low.

Feng Zhiwei frowned—Ning Yi chose this hard confrontation method to protect Xin Ziyan? This didn’t seem like his style.

She smiled slightly: “Is that so—”

Still a drawn-out sound. Before the sound ended, she shifted steps and turned, suddenly twisting her waist!

“CLANG!”

A black blade light suddenly shot out from under her ribs at an uncanny angle, like a black meteor flashing across in an instant. The uncoagulated blood on the ground was stirred up by this blade’s edge, scattering in all directions. Crystalline red spread like a peach blossom fan. The fan face had just bloomed so gorgeously when—HISS—the black blade light had already snaked through the hall and across the steps, splitting into the opponent’s chest bone!

Blood spurted, spraying across the screen like a blood-red landscape!

CRACK—the blade seemed spring-loaded with tremendous force, instantly twisting and drilling out from that brown-robed person’s chest bone, piercing straight through the screen’s blood-red landscape painting.

SWOOSH—it shot behind the screen.

A dull thud—behind the screen someone fell heavily. After a long moment, thick blood flowed stickily from behind the toppled screen.

Feng Zhiwei half-knelt in the hall, black hair disheveled, face covered in blood, leaning on her three blades, looking at her fourth blade!

Winter wind blew up snow and blood foam. Her eyes were cold, face like snow, the tips of her flying raven hair congealed with blood beads.

In the hall above and below, dozens of corpses. She stood alone holding her blade, coming all this way—killing one person every ten steps.

All around was silent as death, quiet enough to hear blood congealing.

In the silence—CLANG—Feng Zhiwei cast her blade to the ground, tilting her head back in great laughter.

Laughing until tears came.

Helian!

I used your favorite straightforward method to avenge you!