Chapter 39: The Blunt Blade

      

Corpse beetles crawled densely across the road, surging forward in a grotesque tide.

Yan Dan glanced at the two boys behind her, their faces instantly pale, and smiled faintly to comfort them. “It’s alright, I’m here, don’t be afraid.”

Unexpectedly, Shui Xing’s voice trembled with tears. “It’s precisely because you’re standing here now, not Young Master Liu, that I’m afraid…”

Yan Dan was speechless. Did she truly seem so unreliable? In truth, her actions often lacked the precision of Liu Weiyang’s. Raising her hand, she swept the air, conjuring a thin barrier before them. The swarm slammed against it, claws scraping futilely.

She tugged Nan Zhao and Shui Xing forward. “Hurry up!”

Shui Xing stumbled as she was pulled, the barrier stretching further to block the tide. Yan Dan calculated she could hold it for three cups of tea’s time. Enough to escape, though not enough to reach Luo Yue Village.

But why today? They had walked this same path to Fuyun Temple yesterday without incident.

Nan Zhao’s teeth chattered. “These bugs… will they bite?”

Yan Dan, prone to rambling on trivial matters yet dismissive of the important, replied casually, “Generally speaking, they won’t.”

Relief flickered across their faces—until she added, “But judging from their imposing appearance, I think they’d probably eat living people.”

Nan Zhao twisted his ankle, nearly colliding with the barrier. A beetle clung to it, claws sharp and jet black, gleaming in the sun.

“Be careful, don’t break the barrier,” Yan Dan warned, embarrassed. If Yu Mo had set it, even ten Nan Zhaos couldn’t break through.

But the barrier was crumbling. The beetles pressed relentlessly, instinct driving them. Why did they pursue so fiercely?

A hiss split the air. One beetle broke through, lunging. Nan Zhao drew his sword, but too slow—the creature’s claw pierced his shoulder.

Yan Dan saw the second claw poised for his neck. She drew Yu Mo’s short sword, slashing diagonally. Light flashed, the beetle split in two, twitching before falling still.

As she drew, the scabbard pulled free a blood‑stained silk handkerchief. Liu Weiyang’s blood. She had hidden it when treating his wounds.

With lives at stake, she unfolded it. The swarm froze, then scattered in panic, fleeing as if the handkerchief itself were death.

Shui Xing stared, speechless. “Is there anything unusual about this? Why are these insects so afraid of it?”

Yan Dan never claimed credit for others’ deeds. “The blood on this is Young Master Liu’s.”

Shui Xing’s eyes widened, delighted. “I was wondering how you could be so powerful. It turns out it’s Young Master Liu. Truly worthy of being Prince Xuanxiang; even a drop of blood can scare away those annoying insects.”

Yan Dan gritted her teeth. “What? His blood can only repel mosquitoes. Is that something to be admired for…”

They returned safely to Luo Yue Village. Yan Dan’s heart stirred—she had heard the thug’s voice herself.

Tang Zhou leaned against a fence, waiting. Yan Dan approached brightly. “Look, I brought them all back safely, isn’t that great?”

Tang Zhou brushed dust from her clothes. “They look alright.”

Yan Dan stammered. “Tang Zhou… you, you…”

He hummed indifferently, gaze steady.

Even the most disliked person could become pleasing after a while. Tang Zhou’s handsome face, his strange attitude—Yan Dan wondered, but dared not presume.

Yu Mo’s voice came softly behind, asking Nan Zhao, “Could you share a piece of the white sandalwood you have?”

Nan Zhao tried with his sword, but Yu Mo snapped a piece effortlessly.

“Could you give me some pointers on my kung fu?” Nan Zhao asked.

Yu Mo smiled. “You can’t learn my kung fu. Ask Brother Tang or Brother Liu.”

Yan Dan thought bitterly, No one would ever ask me for pointers.

She spoke up. “By the way, I discovered some things at Fuyun Temple.”

Liu Weiyang, playing with his jade flute, asked, “Then, was this thug male or female?”

Yan Dan frowned. “It should be a woman, right?”

“Should be?”

“The tone was delicate, soft, like scolding. She said, ‘Didn’t you once have deep feelings for me?’ Definitely a woman… But her voice was unpleasant. I got goosebumps.”

Liu Weiyang lowered his eyes, silent.

Tang Zhou poured tea, sliding it toward Yan Dan. “Regardless, things are finally starting to look clearer.”

Liu Weiyang shook his head, then stood abruptly. “I’m going to Fuyun Temple to take a look.”

Yan Dan watched his aloof figure. “Does he know something?”

Yu Mo answered calmly, “This matter still needs Brother Liu to solve personally. Among the four of us, only he is the human sacrifice. To escape the Demonic Realm, Brother Liu must solve the mysteries one by one.”

Yan Dan rested her chin on her hand. “I’m not worried. Young Master Liu certainly has the ability, especially since the Luo Yue clan is likely his people. But how did he become the human sacrifice?”

Yu Mo explained, “To break the ancient seal on Chu Mo, a pure soul is needed, and another with profound cultivation must smear their blood on the seal. Brother Liu nourished Chu Mo with his own blood. My trips to the Divine Firmament Palace were for this.”

Yan Dan sighed. “He’s practically an emperor in the southwest, yet insists on making things difficult for himself. In Buddhist terms, he’s fallen into anger and attachment.”

Yu Mo glanced at her. “You’re a demon. How come you’re spouting Zen philosophy?”

“Because—”

Tang Zhou smiled. “The ocean embraces all rivers, its capacity is great, is that what you mean?”

Yan Dan clasped his hand. “A true friend!”

Sunlight dappled the ground, cicadas chirped. Yan Dan sat beneath the trees, watching the young men spar, their movements agile, full of energy.

Then Yi Lan appeared in purple robes, disdain curling his lip. He stopped beside Nan Zhao. “Tsk tsk, you call this martial arts?”

Yan Dan winced. Did he think she was even worse than Nan Zhao?

Yi Lan picked up a sword. “Pick up your sword, let me experience your skills.”

Shui Xing shouted, “My father said we can’t fight in private, or he’ll punish us!”

Yi Lan’s eyes flashed. “I heard you used to be a talent. Now you’re useless. If you don’t dare, you’re just a cowardly bastard.”

Nan Zhao gritted his teeth, picking up a sword. “Whether I’m a coward or not is not for you to decide, and my father is not someone you can insult!”

Yan Dan admired his spirit, ready to secretly help.

But the sparring was pitiful. She had seen Tang Zhou’s elegant sword aura, Liu Weiyang’s lightning‑fast strikes. Compared to them, Nan Zhao faltered.

Yi Lan shouted, slashing at Nan Zhao’s shoulder. Yan Dan flicked her finger—the sword flew from Yi Lan’s grasp.

If it had landed, Nan Zhao’s arm would have been severed.

The sword flew into her hand. She examined it, relieved—it was only for practice, unsharpened. Yet faint red glowed on the blade. She sniffed. Blood.

An unsharpened sword…

Liu Weiyang had said the murder weapon was dull. The wounds uneven, made by a blunt edge.

Yan Dan’s hand trembled. The sword fell to the ground.

She had found the key.