When these words fell into the air, a shiver ran through everyone. The wind tonight felt sharper, biting at the soul as if echoing the tension in the room.
Xie Changji stood motionless, his chest tightening, struggling to keep the storm of emotions at bay. He knew—he could not allow himself to lose control before these witnesses. He knew, too, that she would leave.
There had been a glimmer of hope, a small chance, when he had heard her promise, “I’ll wait for you to come back.” But deep down, he knew the truth: she had already chosen her path. And yet, what he had not anticipated was that she would depart with Shen Xiuwen.
They had only spent a few days together…
Prefer gentle?
Just like it?
A flurry of thoughts assaulted him, but he lowered his eyes, gathering what composure he could. After a heartbeat, as though nothing had stirred within him, he gave his orders calmly:
“Yiran, go to the Hall of Eternal Life to see Xiuwen's soul lamp.”
Jiang Yiran hesitated for a moment, then quickly bowed: “Yes.”
“Lingnan, inform Lingbei,” Xie Changji continued, turning to meet Lingnan’s gaze. “Prepare things, wait for me in Mingyang Town at the foot of the mountain, and set off directly to the West tomorrow.”
“Yes… But… But the young master…”
“I will find her.”
With that, Xie Changji raised his hand. A lightsaber shot forth from his palm, flying resolutely in a single direction.
Meanwhile, in the dense forest, Hua Xiangwan clutched Xiaobai and ran alongside Shen Xiuwen. A sudden unease crept over her, and before she could react, Shen Xiuwen’s hand slapped her shoulder.
Hua Xiangwan staggered, eyes widening as she saw a tracking mark detach from her body, flung forward by two paper men sprinting madly in another direction.
Behind them, the wind howled. Shen Xiuwen lifted her with strength born of urgency, collided with a tree, and conjured a magic circle before them.
A lightsaber streaked past their feet. They froze, hearts caught in their throats, watching it pursue the tracking seal relentlessly.
When the lightsaber vanished into the distance, Hua Xiangwan’s gaze turned sharp, suspicion knitting her brow: “What is this?”
“Heavenly Sword Sect Tracking Seal,” Shen Xiuwen replied, frowning. “We can’t linger here. Hurry.”
He pulled her along, leaping from their perch without hesitation. “Run.”
They had no knowledge of Xie Changji’s current position. Deprived of the ability to use their spiritual power, they ran blindly, seeking the nearest town, weaving through the shadowed forest.
But fatigue crept quickly. Hua Xiangwan’s steps faltered; her breath grew ragged. She clutched Shen Xiuwen, gasping: “Wait… wait a minute!”
“What’s wrong?” Shen Xiuwen asked, concern flashing in his eyes.
Hua Xiangwan set Xiaobai down, collapsed onto the ground, waving a hand helplessly. “I can’t… I won’t run anymore.”
“But…”
“Let’s split up,” she suggested, swallowing her fear, pointing decisively. “We’ll have a better chance if we go separate ways. You go that way first; I’ll rest.”
“No,” Shen Xiuwen frowned. “I can’t leave you behind.”
“You’re right,” Hua Xiangwan said, glancing at the white tiger beside her, which stirred and shook itself awake. “Xiaobai is too heavy. Don’t trouble yourself with it.”
Shen Xiuwen remained silent, his eyes flicking between her and the tiger, hesitation tugging at him.
Hua Xiangwan blinked. “Shen Daojun… You can carry it, right?”
She steadied herself, rising to her feet. “Or are you afraid of touching this yin-yang tiger?”
The tiger’s eyes, sharp and discerning, could detect the soul within a body. Only one type of person dared not touch it—the one who had taken the house.
Shen Xiuwen’s lips curved slightly into a smile. “When did you realize?”
Hua Xiangwan’s mind raced. Despite Shen Xiuwen being a core disciple of the Heavenly Sword Sect and their fleeting acquaintance, all signs—his gentle consideration, his willingness to assist, his disregard for danger—pointed unmistakably to it: he was the one who had taken the house.
Shen Xiuwen chuckled softly. “Now that you know, will you still come with me?”
“Could I refuse your help?” Hua Xiangwan cast a glance at the nearly complete formation ahead. “Without your aid, escaping the Heavenly Sword Sect wouldn’t have been so smooth.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’d harm you?”
Hua Xiangwan’s eyes darkened. “Do you know what the people who take the house fear most?”
Her question was sudden, and Shen Xiuwen’s form flashed forward, black gas coiling around his hand as he struck at her.
Hua Xiangwan, prepared, retreated swiftly, drawing a Dharma seal in her hand. “The gods of the ten directions, exorcise evil spirits! Heaven and earth have spirits, and evil cannot be born!”
The seal vanished in an instant. Wind whipped around her, and the magic circle behind Shen Xiuwen ignited. Four luminous vines erupted from the ground, twisting like serpents around him. He struggled, awe in his eyes, but the vines were relentless, dragging him back into the circle.
Hua Xiangwan, seated atop the white tiger, exhaled softly. “Daoist, I may appear weak, helpless, and pitiful, but I am no rabbit. Thank you for clearing the path and sealing the souls along the way. Enjoy your victory.”
She waved, turned atop the white tiger, and vanished into the forest.
Entangled in the magic circle, Shen Xiuwen’s body began to rot under the black energy’s influence. He gazed after her, helpless. “Ah Wan… you are not good. Yet… I still must—”
He raised his hand, summoning a dozen paper figures from the circle. They hit the ground, transforming into grinning corpses, and charged toward Hua Xiangwan.
Shen Xiuwen smiled faintly. “A gift for you.”
Hua Xiangwan’s eyes narrowed. These weren’t ordinary paper men; they were a combination of Yin-Yang Sect corpse control and Witchcraft Sect technique. But she knew their limit—once outside his range, they were powerless.
Riding the white tiger, she dodged the figures deftly, planning detours. But the corpses seemed eerily attuned to her movements.
She noticed her Qiankun bag flickering. Its faint glow acted like a beacon to the paper figures—an unmistakable lantern in the dark.
Abandoning her curve, she drew her jade transmission card. Xie Changji’s name lit the surface. She didn’t hesitate, paddling forward to dodge the paper corpses’ raids.
The card flickered again. This time, it was Xie Wushuang. Rage flared.
“Why have you fled here? Why rob the marriage? Why ruin the perfect ending?!” she screamed, palm striking a paper corpse to open the sound transmission. “Xie Wushuang! You dare transmit your voice to me? Are you human? I treated you as a friend, and you betray me! Even if not for me, think of your sect!”
“Now it’s enough. I am—”
“Hua Xiangwan.”
Xie Changji’s calm voice cut through the air. “Shen Xiuwen may be taken, and you are in danger.”
She froze. “Xie Changji…” Her voice trembled, disbelief mingling with anger. “Two hundred years in the realm of life and death, your face hardened by wind and frost… You dare steal my marriage, use your apprentice’s jade card… Do you even have shame?!”
Xie Changji’s reply was measured. “You did not answer my messages.”
“Do you have something important to tell me?”
“Shen Xiuwen—”
“Shen Xiuwen doesn’t need you!” Hua Xiangwan shouted. “Dangerous? My greatest danger is you! Don’t send your voice again, or I’ll die!”
She flung the transmission jade card aside, hung the golden hook on the white tiger, and launched herself into the fray. A paper corpse pounced, pinning her to the ground. The white tiger intervened, shaking it off. She cast talisman papers, expending her spiritual energy.
Only ten more feet, and the paper corpses would lose power. But they pressed relentlessly. Hua Xiangwan, calculating, used her remaining aura beads to break their assault. A hand grabbed her from behind. Black energy collided with hers; a shock tore through her chest, hurling her backward.
Ice and pine-scented wind brushed her face. She looked up, astonished. A young man in red, golden crown gleaming, held her steady, landing her safely. Without a word, he seized a branch as a sword and leapt into the battle.
His strikes were swift, precise—death incarnate, yet visible as fate itself. Paper corpses froze, shredded, and rained down in blood-red fragments.
Hua Xiangwan stared, stunned, then turned without hesitation. “Run.”
Xie Changji’s voice followed her. “I’ll follow.”
She paused, heart racing. Tribulation awaited, yet… she moved, steadied herself, and finally looked back.
Xie Changji remained, calm as ever, the same magnetic composure she had loved long ago. Yet she no longer relied on him—she was her own still water.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“The face is cold,” he replied in his usual tone. “You go ahead; I’ll make you another bowl.”
“I’m lying to you,” she frowned. “I don’t want noodles. I just want to run.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
He stepped forward, took her hand, pouring spiritual power into her veins. It flowed like a spring, stretching her limbs, smoothing her black energy. Relief washed over her in a long, blissful sigh.
His gaze dropped to her hand, voice slow: “You have lied to me many times. Lie to me as much as you like in the future. As long as you are willing to lie for the rest of your life, I do not mind.”
He raised his head, expression neutral.
“Wanwan,” he said, “we are going to church today… and drinking wedding wine.”
Next
.jpg)
.jpeg)
Comments
Post a Comment