Oh my goodness, what characters exactly?

Jing Hengbo puffed her cheeks, gritted her teeth, and struggled to endure the tickling sensation in her palm. Just as the assassin was about to thrust his sword, he saw her constipated expression and couldn’t help but pause.

Jing Hengbo looked up, changing to a flower-like smile, and said, “Hero, please wait. Could we make a deal?”

“Stalling for time is useless,” the assassin said indifferently. “No one can come to save you.”

“Don’t you want to know Gong Yin’s martial arts secrets?” Jing Hengbo winked at him. “A master like you—surely you want to know the mysteries of Prajna Snow?”

Almost immediately, that mysterious, ghost-like assassin who seemed devoid of human emotion had light exploding in his eyes.

Jing Hengbo wasn’t surprised and pursed her lips—anyone abnormal with high martial arts would definitely be very interested in others’ mysterious martial arts. This was an immortal truth told to her by thousands of martial arts novels.

A flash of admiration crossed Gong Yin’s eyes—this dialogue sounded simple, but accurately hitting someone’s deepest desires with one sentence was almost a heaven-given ability.

The assassin’s sword paused.

But Jing Hengbo’s mind was racing, half her attention dealing with the assassin, half trying to decipher the characters in her palm.

…Sword… use sword… move…

What the hell did that mean!

Her mind spun rapidly. Seeing the assassin’s suspicious expression, she quickly said, “Whether you kill Gong Yin or not doesn’t concern me. I just want you to give me a way to live. You can have Gong Yin, along with his martial arts secrets.”

“How would you know?” The black-clothed man sneered. “I can interrogate him myself.”

“You think you could get it out of him?” Jing Hengbo smiled. “As for how I know—if I can appear in this great hall, I have reason to know.”

The assassin fell silent, his eyes flickering, seemingly finding her words reasonable.

He knew guards couldn’t enter the great hall. Right now these two—one unrecovered, one without martial arts—were completely under his control. So he wasn’t anxious, actually taking a careful look at Jing Hengbo and saying, “You desperately saved him just now, but now you’re selling him out? You think I’ll believe you?”

“Wasn’t I hoping he could save me?” Jing Hengbo patted Gong Yin’s face. “But now he can barely protect himself. No one’s life is more important than your own, right?”

The assassin raised his hand, sword tip pressing toward her throat.

“Then tell me, where is his Prajna Snow secret? If you’re talking nonsense, I can kill you with a finger movement, and Gong Yin can’t save you.”

Jing Hengbo’s expression remained calm. “Of course it’s in the great hall.”

“Nonsense! Such important secrets—how could they be placed here?”

“If not here, where else? What place could be safer than this?” Jing Hengbo immediately retorted. “If you hadn’t sacrificed a death warrior to see the door’s password and guess it, could you have entered here?”

The assassin fell silent, knowing this was indeed the case. Gong Yin’s door password changed irregularly—this alone blocked countless assassins.

“Hand it over!” The assassin extended his slender, bloodless palm.

“Can’t hand it over.” Jing Hengbo mysteriously shook her head. “The secret is in the great hall, everywhere. Haven’t you discovered it yet?”

She spoke complete nonsense, but didn’t notice that Gong Yin, who had been resting with closed eyes, suddenly opened them and looked at her with surprise.

The assassin’s face was hidden in dense, shifting smoke, his expression unclear, but his tone showed some wavering. “In the hall?”

This great hall did indeed look different from others, quite mysterious.

Jing Hengbo suddenly felt Gong Yin writing in her palm: “Let… use sword.”

She missed the middle character, probably “him.”

“Look at that hall ceiling, and that screen wall behind.” She immediately said, “Don’t you think that big white stone is rather strange?”

Gong Yin looked at her with some surprise again.

The assassin’s gaze turned over, seemingly quite agreeable, making an “mm” sound.

“I guarantee the key to Gong Yin’s martial practice is in those two places.” Jing Hengbo said, “If you don’t believe me, try it with your sword and see what reaction there is.”

The assassin sneered coldly, naturally not adopting her suggestion—if he shot his sword out, how could he control these two in front of him?

He just raised his hand, and the dagger at Jing Hengbo’s waist flew out, striking directly at the hall ceiling’s white stone.

The dagger was given to Jing Hengbo by Gong Yin. She always carried it for self-defense—extremely sharp. With a “ding” it struck the white stone. The stone didn’t even spark, but suddenly emitted a wisp of cold white vapor.

The air seemed to suddenly become several degrees clearer.

“That’s it!” Jing Hengbo shouted loudly. “That’s it—the key to Gong Yin’s martial practice! The purified true energy essence belonging to Prajna Snow! Hey! Go absorb it—passing by, don’t miss this opportunity!”

“What if it’s poisonous!” The assassin’s tone was both excited and worried.

“Are you stupid? Haven’t you noticed this hall is full of this vapor? Different from ordinary smoke—particularly clean and bright feeling. How could this be poisonous smoke? If it were really poisonous, wouldn’t all three of us have died together long ago!”

The assassin still hesitated. Jing Hengbo watched the vapor fade and made a great fuss regretting it. Gong Yin finally couldn’t stand it and angrily said, “Shut up.”

Jing Hengbo gave a “tsk” laugh and said, “Great State Preceptor, hit a nerve? Getting anxious?” Turning to the assassin: “Don’t think this stuff is unlimited. I think it has time restrictions. I came in earlier and only saw three wisps of such vapor appear.”

The assassin’s eyes flickered, quite tempted. Then killing intent flashed in his eyes.

Jing Hengbo immediately said, “You want to cross the bridge then destroy it—kill me then go absorb true energy? I advise you to keep your promise. This great hall has more than one secret.”

The assassin hesitated slightly, pointing his sword at Gong Yin.

“I have no objection to you killing him.” Jing Hengbo smiled. “I’m just a bit worried there might be backup plans in this hall. Keeping him—maybe he could save lives when necessary, right?”

The assassin was silent for a moment, then took out a length of rope from his chest and bound the two together.

“The State Preceptor is well-traveled and should recognize this is made from fire snake skin from the Blazing Swamp,” he said. “Fire snake has two effects—one is that when subjected to internal force counterattack, it burns like fire, like a fire whip lashing the body, extremely painful, injuring tendons and bones. If the State Preceptor doesn’t want his internal organs burned by fire whips, better not act rashly.”

“Oh oh,” Jing Hengbo protested. “Don’t tie me and him face-to-face like this—I’ll feel like he’s taking advantage of me.”

The assassin smiled lewdly and said, “You two can be considered a golden boy and jade girl. I’ll help you have a romantic encounter as compensation for taking your lives, how about that?” He simply tied Jing Hengbo higher up, binding her sitting in Gong Yin’s lap. This position was truly soul-stirring—someone’s figure was too proud, so that Gong Yin’s nose was pressed tightly against her, unable to move.

No matter how bold Jing Hengbo was, she couldn’t handle this now, a red glow flying across her face as she whispered, “Loosen it, loosen it a bit…” Gong Yin didn’t dare move at all. Unable to move yet unable to bear it, breathing in her softness and fragrance completely, he simply closed his eyes, though his ears gradually reddened.

The assassin laughed heartily, his tone somewhat jealous and excited: “I heard the State Preceptor is like ice and snow, never stirring emotionally. This isn’t good—the great number one person of Dahuang, do you plan to never approach women your whole life? Gong Yin, today I’ll help you, let you taste the flavor of painful yet soul-stirring pleasure. When you reach the underworld, remember to thank me.”

Jing Hengbo, red-faced, desperately tried to breathe in to create some space. Hearing these words hazily, she felt something was wrong. What did he mean about not being able to stir emotionally? And why was this guy speaking so suggestively? Wasn’t it just being tied together? Once untied, what could happen…

Having tied them up, the assassin finally seemed relieved, giving a heh-heh laugh before leaping toward the hall ceiling.

“Hey, what do we do next?” Jing Hengbo quietly asked Gong Yin.

She now faced away from the assassin, unable to see his movements. No matter what, they had to kill the assassin on his way to the ceiling—otherwise, if he really absorbed true energy and returned, the first thing he’d do was kill them.

Gong Yin remained silent, his body slightly shifting, looking like he planned to move her to face the assassin’s direction.

The problem was they were tied too tightly. The assassin, fearing Jing Hengbo’s free hands would use true energy to control objects and hit him, had bound her so her fingers couldn’t move. Now they relied on Gong Yin’s leg strength alone. One movement caused trembling friction everywhere. Gong Yin’s nose was blocked several times, the tension and stimulation nearly suffocating him. Jing Hengbo tried hard to shrink her body, turning her face away, not daring to look. For the first time, she resented her measurements, quietly wondering if he’d know her cup size from now on…

After great difficulty adjusting their position, Gong Yin was actually sweating all over, and Jing Hengbo was sweating all over too…

Now she could see the assassin, lying on the hall ceiling fiddling around, but this time no vapor emerged.

Jing Hengbo loudly sneered.

“Dear, you can’t catch wolves without releasing children,” she said. “Don’t you think that weapons striking might be necessary to cause the white stone’s stress response, producing vapor? Can’t you take your precious sword and shoot it up there once?”

Gong Yin’s lips curved slightly.

Jing Hengbo’s cleverness really only flashed in desperate situations—usually she was too lazy. But precisely because of this, her playful ease and cunning schemes in desperate straits were particularly amazing.

The assassin hesitated, thinking of the earlier dagger’s effect. Having to admit Jing Hengbo’s words made sense, he had no choice but to float down from the hall ceiling. First glancing at the two people bound immobile, confirming nothing was wrong, he shot a sword toward the hall ceiling.

“Ding.” A crisp sound as the sword struck the white stone.

Jing Hengbo narrowed her eyes tightly. What happened next depended on Great God Gong’s calculations. She didn’t know what would occur, but since Gong Yin had her do this, she trusted he could succeed.

The black thin sword struck the white stone. In the crisp sound, the white stone seemed to shake, then a stream of jade-colored vapor slowly emerged.

“Success!” Jing Hengbo cheered even more excitedly than the assassin.

The assassin was also infected by her emotion, light flashing in his eyes as he leaped up, pouncing toward that vapor that made people feel particularly comfortable just by smelling it.

He finally succeeded, his mood excited, so he didn’t notice that after the black sword struck the white stone, it didn’t immediately fall.

In the hazy light, the fine white silk that had stuck to the sword earlier when chasing and stabbing Gong Yin, meeting that emerging vapor, suddenly expanded rapidly, wrapping the sword tightly, suspending it in air. It even seemed like invisible hands were applying force, wrapping around the sword hilt and suddenly pulling inward!

The assassin had arrived, his vision affected by the vapor. While greedily absorbing the true energy escaping from the white stone, he casually reached to pull the sword.

The vapor swayed as it was absorbed. The white silk on the black sword suddenly trembled and powerfully sprang outward!

Sword light shot electrically toward the assassin’s chest!

The assassin was greatly alarmed, performing a hawk’s somersault in mid-air. The sword tip grazed his nose, drawing a drop of blood.

The fine white silk adhering to the sword, under the influence of the white stone’s vapor, actually became like a controllable elastic network that could control the sword’s momentum!

The assassin was shocked. His toes touched the hall ceiling as he leaped up, wanting to regain control of the black sword. The silk seemed conscious, suddenly contracting back, then in the next instant, striking down from top to bottom like lightning!

It actually repeated the assassin’s earlier action of trying to kill Gong Yin!

The assassin was terrified out of his wits. Wanting to retreat in mid-air, the vapor suddenly sank, the surrounding air field congealed. He instinctively felt his movement sluggish. To avoid this sword, he had to sink with full force.

He fell.

Just in that instant.

Gong Yin shouted loudly: “Dagger!”

Jing Hengbo’s reaction was almost simultaneous, her eyes brightening.

The dagger that had been shot out earlier by the assassin to test the white stone and fallen to the ground now flew rapidly across the air toward where the assassin was falling!

“Bang.”

The assassin’s chest hit the ground.

“Poof.”

His chest met Jing Hengbo’s treacherous dagger waiting there.

“Ah!”

A scream as fresh blood seeped out. The assassin struggled to rise.

“Ding.”

The black sword pursued downward, piercing his spine, pinning him to the ground. The black sword and the dagger previously inserted in the assassin’s chest—their blade tips collided, piercing him through.

…

“You… you… too…”

Too cunning? Too evil? Or was he saying he was too regretful?

The assassin ultimately couldn’t finish speaking. His throat made gurgling sounds, his eyeballs slowly protruded, his hand slowly moved toward his back, seeming unable to understand even unto death how he’d suddenly fallen into a death trap when he’d clearly held complete advantage.

The bloody hand didn’t reach his back before it fell limply.

The hall was instantly silent. Jing Hengbo and Gong Yin simultaneously let out long breaths.

Today had been a desperate situation. The incomparably safe great hall had become an isolated place blocking rescue. Gong Yin couldn’t move, Jing Hengbo had no combat power, and their opponent was a true master assassin. No matter how you looked at it, it was a death trap.

Fortunately, they still had wisdom.

Two wise people working together—Gong Yin used himself as bait, making the assassin’s weapon stick to the secret heaven silk beside his bed. Jing Hengbo grasped the master’s pursuit of martial arts, bargaining and haggling, disrupting the assassin’s killing intent, tricking him into probing the hall ceiling’s white stone, then tricking him into shooting out her dagger as the next step’s weapon. When the assassin pounced toward the hall ceiling, he was already walking toward death.

Heaven silk meeting the Prajna Snow true energy contained in the white stone would gain contracting and extending power, forcing the assassin down from the hall ceiling to meet Jing Hengbo’s dagger rapidly deployed by mental control at that instant.

An interlocking trap, temptation and crisis coexisting in unperturbed mechanisms. Without prior study and planning, even being in it, one couldn’t see through it. It relied not only on their wisdom but also their mutual understanding—trust needing no explanation, seamless exquisite cooperation requiring no excess words.

Both sighed in relief, then suddenly felt lost and confused. It seemed that after this joint defense against enemies, some atmosphere had changed, some feelings had become different.

The great hall seemed particularly quiet for a moment. Each other’s breathing was somewhat absent-minded. When external crisis was removed, bodily crisis exploded like wildfire. Both felt each other’s blazing body heat, rapid breathing, and each other’s clear, sweet breath. Such contact without distance seemed to meld each other’s skin into their own embrace, making touch incredibly sensitive—like a silk string trembling taut, ready to snap at the slightest pluck.

Jing Hengbo’s face was red as fire. She experimentally struggled a bit and immediately felt the fire-red rope seem to cut into her flesh like a barbed fire whip. Fine, sharp pain burned her heart. She nearly cried out in pain with an “ah ya.”

“Don’t move!” Gong Yin shouted to stop her simultaneously.

He was a step too late. Jing Hengbo had already been constricted until her anger greatly diminished, and she clearly felt that after struggling, the rope seemed to have tightened further. She hissed as she breathed, saying, “What kind of damned rope is this that hurts so much? How can we untie it like this?” Suddenly remembering what the assassin had said before dying, her heart jumped: “Gong Yin, we can’t untie this rope, can we? That guy’s tone seemed like he wanted us to be strangled to death.”

Gong Yin remained silent, shifting his palm to block her constricted arm. Jing Hengbo clearly saw three rope loops immediately wrap around his hand like living things, leaving three marks on his hand that looked like fire burns.

She was stunned, her heart warming. Wanting to thank him but not knowing how to speak, he had already turned his eyes away, expression unmoved, seeming not to feel pain or think this action was any different.

She couldn’t help wanting to laugh. Stuffy people had their own stuffy cuteness.

Gong Yin was slowly moving, extending his arms into the rope, trying to avoid her being touched by the rope loops. This was equivalent to him spreading his arms to embrace her. She had no choice but to press her face against his chest, hearing “thump, thump, thump”—steady heartbeat sounds.

Jing Hengbo felt somewhat resentful: At this moment his heartbeat was actually normal? This really hurt her self-esteem.

But soon she realized something was wrong. It wasn’t that his heartbeat was normal—it was too slow. She carefully counted—not even sixty beats per minute.

What was this called? Could it be that his excitement and tension reacted differently from ordinary people?

Listening to his heartbeat, it had a particularly steady, solid feeling, like mountains in the distance standing majestically, forever shielding her from wind and rain. Jing Hengbo’s mood was peaceful at this moment. If not for her back being increasingly tightly and painfully constricted by that rope, she wouldn’t even mind being tied up like this for a day and night.

Just thinking about it made her want to laugh. Did she and Gong Yin have a feud with ropes? Last time it was nets, this time it was some fire snake rope. Was it really good to always be tied so tightly together?

Then she knew it really wasn’t good.

The burning sensation became increasingly obvious, and the pain increasingly sharp. If she could barely endure it, what about Gong Yin who was blocking most of the rope’s effects?

Jing Hengbo summoned her mental power to retrieve the black sword stuck in the assassin’s back, trying to cut the rope. She nearly broke Gong Yin’s skin but couldn’t cut through the rope.

She was out of options and could only count on Gong Yin. In the dim light, Gong Yin’s face was slightly flushed, but his expression seemed somewhat hesitant.

Jing Hengbo didn’t believe he had no solution, but at this moment he seemed to still be considering something. What was making him hesitate?

Before she could ask, Gong Yin had already spoken: “Find a way to bring over a candlestick.”

Jing Hengbo controlled the nearest bronze candlestick to come over.

Gong Yin turned his head slightly and breathed out toward the black sword.

The breath was white vapor, thick as substance. Striking the black sword, it actually made a “dong” sound. The black sword flew up, grazing the candlestick as it passed, bringing up a trail of sparks before embedding in the wall ahead.

“Quick!”

Jing Hengbo swooped the candlestick over, touching the wick to those sparks. With a “tsk” sound, flames blazed up. Jing Hengbo had just enough time to praise: “Handsome!”

In the hazy smoke, his scene of using qi to strike the sword and suddenly create sparks was beautiful as immortal magic.

Gong Yin extended a finger to support the candlestick, tilting it slightly.

“So it can be burned through?” Jing Hengbo’s eyes lit up. “Then burn it quickly.”

But Gong Yin seemed to be hesitating—whether to burn the rope on Jing Hengbo’s side or his own side seemed to be a very serious question. Even someone as decisive in killing as him paused his hand in mid-air for quite a while.

Jing Hengbo watched in bewilderment. Why such agonizing? Was he afraid of burning himself? This rope was actually very thin—just a slight contact might burn it through, with very little possibility of skin burns.

“If you’re afraid of pain, just burn my side,” she urged.

Gong Yin glanced at her lightly. His clear black pupils were like living water and black stone, flowing with deep blue light like snow.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to control yourself.”

“Is it that serious…” Jing Hengbo muttered. Wasn’t it just a brief burning? Why his serious tone and expression?

Gong Yin didn’t answer her. The candlestick slowly tilted down. His expression was very grave, his finger control very delicate. Jing Hengbo, awed by his serious demeanor, involuntarily held her breath.

The flame touched the rope with a soft “hiss.” Almost immediately, the rope caught fire. The next instant, “bang”—a slight explosive sound. Jing Hengbo’s eyes widened in horror as she saw the thin rope, upon contacting fire, suddenly expand and spread, seeming to transform into a giant red fire snake in a trance, enveloping both Gong Yin and her!

Before Jing Hengbo’s surprised “ah” could emerge, Gong Yin quickly flicked his sleeve. The fire snake broke apart and flew up, transforming into red smoke in mid-air, swirling and circling. Countless tiny sparks scattered, falling like blood-colored star rain in the hazy vapor.

Gong Yin swept his sleeve to block the sparks. Jing Hengbo was suddenly burned by a spark and couldn’t help crying “ah.” Gong Yin turned back to look at her distractedly, and a cluster of already scattered red sparks suddenly pressed close again, falling toward Gong Yin’s back.

Jing Hengbo instinctively felt something was wrong and was about to warn him when Gong Yin suddenly knocked her down, holding her as they slid several feet along the ground, leaving the range of the red sparks’ rampage.

Jing Hengbo watched that brilliant cluster swirl like a snake in the pale white smoke, dancing several times before turning to stardust and gradually fading. Quite magical.

The great hall finally quieted down. She breathed a sigh of relief, suddenly feeling the surrounding atmosphere seemed somehow wrong—slightly fishy yet not unpleasant. After inhaling, there was a particularly expansive, exciting sensation.

This feeling was somewhat familiar…

“It must be nearly midnight. Need to see if the thunderstorm weather has come…” She was concerned about outside affairs and pushed Gong Yin to get up. The moment her hand touched his body, she suddenly felt it burning hot.

Gong Yin’s body was suddenly hot as charcoal. Jing Hengbo looked down to see his hand that had been covered by fire snake fragments, now showing a line of deep red creeping up his arm.

“How are you…” She was about to ask what was wrong when suddenly Gong Yin lunged forward, knocking her down, his cool, soft lips pressing tightly against hers.

…

Heaven collapsed again.

Earth cracked again.

Jing Hengbo was stunned again.

In her past nineteen years, she’d always been the one teasing and flirting with empty gestures. When had she ever truly engaged in real combat like this?

His burning breath pressed close, each intake and exhale like a fire snake, burning against her skin as if to sweep her away in flames. In her daze she remembered the vision when the fire snake was ignited, finally understanding what the assassin had meant to say, and finally understanding Gong Yin’s earlier caution. This fire snake had a second effect—the legendary most melodramatic transmigration essential plot device effect!

Even at this moment she was still distracted, thinking that though he was so burning hot, why were his lips still so cool and soft? The vaguely remembered good taste, clear as flowing springs, carrying the coolness of high mountain snow water and the light fragrance of snow lotus flowers…

She pressed her lips together. At this moment she actually didn’t dare try to tease him further, while he, though burning, was also somewhat stiff, seeming to constantly struggle to control himself, yet also seeming not to know what the next step should be. He was only burning, distressed, wrapped in red, reflecting her snow-white skin and red lips, soft as boneless. Shadowy and graceful, swaying in charm.

He held her deeper and deeper, somewhat frantically and uneasily seeking her coolness, yet retreating in the next instant, then softly moaning due to his burning body. She had never seen him so out of control, couldn’t help smiling as she touched his lips, earning his deeper burial, exchanging and inviting each other’s fragrance.

…

Suddenly her body stiffened as she frantically retreated, calling loudly: “No! It’s not time!”

He raised his head, his black pupils showing traces of confusion and bewilderment.

Suddenly there was a great crash outside. The entire great hall shook, and a jade-like wisp of vapor drifted down from the hall ceiling. Wherever it passed, the air originally dyed pale red by fire snake fragments was immediately cleansed, becoming transparent. That clear, cold transparency rapidly spread, entering directly into his eyes.

Almost instantly, he raised his head, his eyes already slightly clear. Looking down, he couldn’t help but change color.

Jing Hengbo frantically grabbed at her clothes, clutching here and there trying to cover both him and herself, while speaking incoherently: “Actually it’s nothing… actually I understand you… actually it’s all that damned fire snake rope causing trouble… that… this…”

Gong Yin stared at her steadily for a long time. Jing Hengbo was horrified to see red threads spreading bit by bit in his eyes again. Could it be that the vapor hadn’t completely expelled the fire snake’s fiery nature?

But this time Gong Yin wasn’t controlled by the fire snake again. He beckoned with his hand, and that black thin sword came whistling over. Seeing the sword’s direction, Jing Hengbo urgently called: “Don’t!”

But the sword was faster than her cry. With a “tsk” it grazed his shoulder, bringing up a trail of purplish-red blood that splattered in mid-air.

A drop of fresh blood splashed onto Jing Hengbo’s forehead, bright as peach blossoms. She blankly touched that scalding blood, murmuring: “Was it necessary…”

But after cutting out the poisoned blood, Gong Yin floated up. Just then there was another great crash, and Jing Hengbo heard a “crack.”

She was stunned, jumped up, and shouted loudly: “Lightning!”

It was lightning, and particularly fierce lightning, otherwise it couldn’t penetrate this sealed great hall.

A white shadow flashed as Gong Yin had already swept outside. Seeing his thunderbolt-like speed, Jing Hengbo was startled to realize it was already midnight—his restrictions had been lifted.

She compared her fingers, feeling lost and confused, not knowing whether to resent that he’d recovered too late or regret that he’d recovered too timely.

The hall door was already open. She had no time to think more, concerned about her prophecy, and followed him out.

First glance: lightning and thunder outside, with rain like a waterfall.

Second glance: crowds running in the waterfall-like rain, palace lanterns swaying everywhere.

Third glance: Gong Yin had already reached high ground, standing straight in the heavy rain without any shelter, seemingly wanting to use such downpour to thoroughly wash away some inappropriate desires. Meng Hu hurried to hold an umbrella for him but was swept down the wall by his sleeve.

Fourth glance: the Priest High Tower.

Originally the night was pitch black, but just then there was a crashing sound as lightning struck from the horizon, whitening half the sky. Under that white sky was the black, slowly collapsing high tower.

Success!

Distant howls and screams, yet Quiet Court’s surroundings were silent as death. Countless people stood in the rain, staring upward in a daze, watching that tower which had avoided lightning for hundreds of years, stood forever in legend, representing the Priest family’s divine blessed glory and supreme authority—the sacred high tower—shrinking inch by inch beneath the sky.

Like watching a legend end, an era terminate, a family crumble to ruins, a fresh course about to rise from the rubble.

To Jing Hengbo, it was like watching a thrilling apocalyptic silent film.

Never saw him build his tall building, only saw his building collapse. As if with a light push of delicate hands, what was destroyed was this long-standing high tower, also this powerful encirclement, unchanging Imperial Song.

And on this pitch-black night with rain like waterfalls, throughout Imperial Song city, how many people unknowingly walked out their doors, stood at high places, watching the priest family’s collapse and end with complex, shocked eyes and hearts.

Rain poured like heaven’s bucket overturned. The entire court and even all of Imperial Song shook silently in the heavy rain. From the distant direction of the collapsing high tower, a long howl suddenly came.

Sharp, shrill, unbelieving, also like a cold lightning bolt piercing everyone’s hearts.

It was Sang Dong’s voice.

Hearing this sound, Gong Yin, who had been standing quietly in the rain, suddenly moved, sweeping down from the wall and saying to the pale-faced Meng Hu who approached: “Deploy Kang Long, full alert.”

Before the Priest High Tower, Sang Dong knelt on the ground. Heavy rain beat violently on her deep black robe, constantly pulling the black robe’s edges into muddy water. She seemed completely unaware, only lifting her head, staring deadly at the slowly crumbling high tower. On her snow-white neck, muddy yellow rainwater mixed with sand rolled down.

Broken timber and stones constantly fell from the high tower, landing around her, splashing turbid muddy water.

“My lord! This place is dangerous!” A female priest rushed over, grabbing her arm. “Move quickly!”

The female priest urgently tried to drag Sang Dong to safety, but Sang Dong remained motionless. She suddenly turned and grabbed the female priest’s arm, saying hoarsely: “Sang Qiao, the Priest High Tower is finished, the Sang family is finished!”

“No! Sister!” The Sang family’s youngest sister cried loudly in the rain. “As long as you’re here, the Sang family won’t be finished! This is just coincidence! Get up, please get up!”

Sang Dong raised her head, looking at the high tower that had lost its spire. Without needing to check, she knew the lightning-receiving sword that ancestors had secretly buried there was gone.

She didn’t even know how it had disappeared.

She had deployed hundreds of guards, densely surrounding inside and outside the tower, adjusting all mechanisms to maximum danger. Even if a fly flew in, it would be discovered by all eyes and killed by ten mechanisms, shattered to pieces. With such protection, she believed even if Gong Yin came personally, he couldn’t break through silently.

She had long made up her mind—no matter who came, they could come but never leave. If it was Jing Hengbo, even better. The Priest High Tower had buried countless queens and would be happy to bury one more.

But no.

No one, absolutely no one. The guards protecting the tower’s peak were all her absolutely loyal confidants. Everyone swore oaths saying absolutely no one came.

Not one of her guards was injured either.

In the crashing heavy rain, Sang Dong struggled to support herself and stood up.

Behind her, all the guards also stood in the rain, faces pale and bewildered.

Enduring heart-splitting pain, Sang Dong straightened her body.

Her sister was right—she couldn’t fall. If she fell, the Sang family would truly be finished.

The Priest High Tower was destroyed, but could be rebuilt. Though the gods didn’t help her today, the influence the Sang family had built in and outside the court and throughout Imperial Song over so many generations—the gods couldn’t take that away!

The rain sounded violent as war songs. Perhaps collapse was just a beginning. Some things couldn’t be established without being broken. Standing up again from ruins, the starting point was higher than others.

She surveyed her surroundings and suddenly shouted violently.

“Where are the Priest Guards!”

The echo was like thunder.

“All present!”

“Report your numbers!”

“Four hundred and one. One commander, ten bronze leaders, forty iron leaders, forty-nine three-star guards, three hundred two-star guards, plus full cavalry!”

“Where are the heaven-killing weapons!”

“Present!”

In the rain she slowly spread a smile, cold as falling snow crabapple flowers.

Raising her hand, somehow a dagger had already appeared in her palm—snow-bright, rainwater couldn’t stay on the blade surface, flowing off rapidly.

Hand up, blade down.

A blood flower exploded on her chest, dyeing a section of rain curtain like a blood curtain.

“My lord!”

Sang Dong waved her hand. Her pale face had already recovered composed smile.

“The Priest High Tower was destroyed by surprise attack, the Priest was stabbed.” She said slowly. “According to National Law Article 72, this is an emergency affair sufficient to be classified as a first-class national incident. At this critical moment, what should the Priest Guards do?”

“Protect our lord! Pursue enemies! Defend the Priest High Tower!” The response was thunderous.

“Then go!”

Iron armor reflected indigo cold light in the rain. Armored boots with spikes splashed yellow-brown muddy water. Shadowy figures carrying cold sword light rushed out from the Priest High Tower.

Sang Dong, half her body stained with blood, had cold smile frozen at her lips.

“No matter what victory you achieve, when dead…” She lightly flicked a blood-stained wood chip from her shoulder.

“It’s no longer useful.”