[POV: Meng Rong]

  Roughly two hours ago, I had been searching for Xue Hai when I felt it.

  The barrier formation surrounding Xincheng trembled and then fractured.

  I halted mid-step, spiritual sense expanding instinctively. The formation had been constructed with six anchor points arranged along a modified pentagram array, designed to repel ill fortune and suppress malevolent qi. It was not invincible, but it was stable. For it to collapse so abruptly meant external interference.

  Wary, yet confident in my cultivation, I moved toward the nearest anchor point to inspect the damage.

  The problem revealed itself almost immediately.

  The totem stone that served as one of the anchors lay shattered beside a pair of drunkards. A young man and woman were half-undressed, tangled together in a shamefully brazen display. The woman laughed breathily as the man fumbled with her robes, clearly too intoxicated to realize the damage they had caused.

  “Oh, young master, do not touch me there, it tickles,” the woman cooed, feigning coy resistance while leaning into him.

  A courtesan, most likely from the House of Cherry Blossoms, entertaining some wealthy fool.

  Disgust rose in me instinctively.

  I had always held disdain toward brothels and courtesan houses. Behind the silk curtains and painted smiles, there were always stories of ruined women, abandoned children, and silent suffering. I had witnessed enough of that in my youth.

  That was also why, when my mother once warned me that improper touching could lead to pregnancy, I had taken her words with utmost seriousness. I guarded my chest as if it were a sacred artifact. I had never dared investigate further, partly out of propriety and partly because my master had never corrected me when I confidently explained my knowledge of such things.

  Recently, however, doubt had begun to creep in.

  Yakuza Man’s strange reactions, his confusion, and his restrained amusement whenever the topic came close unsettled me. It made me question whether my understanding of such matters had been flawed all along.

  Wouldn’t touching lead to pregnancy?

  It seemed painfully obvious to me.

  The thought distracted me for a heartbeat too long.

  It happened in that single lapse.

  The drunken pair flickered.

  Their forms rippled like reflections on disturbed water.

  Illusions.

  By the time I recognized it, it was already too late.

  The world shifted around me as a simple yet precise illusion array activated beneath my feet. I had been complacent, and my earlier injuries dulled my reaction speed. My spiritual sense, which should have pierced through such deception, faltered for that fatal moment.

  Needles struck my meridians in rapid succession.

  Cold, invasive qi surged through my channels, sealing them with clinical efficiency. My limbs stiffened as paralysis spread.

  A dark-haired man materialized before me, his lips glistening as he stared at me with grotesque fascination.

  “I wonder how you taste,” he murmured, eyes roaming over me in a way that made my skin crawl.

  Before he could approach further, the illusion peeled away completely.

  A woman appeared behind me, her tone sharp and irritated. “Lang Bo, stop indulging in your perverted hobbies. We are here for the Meteor Child.”

  Her gaze settled on me with thinly veiled contempt.

  “You are the disciple of the Dream King, correct?” she asked. “You do not look like much.”

  I tried to circulate my qi, to break the needle seals, but a heavy pulse erupted beneath my feet.

  A formation array flared to life, ancient symbols igniting in a circle around me. Pressure descended like a mountain, pinning me in place before I could complete a proper incantation.

  The air thickened.

  An old man hovered above, robes fluttering though no wind blew. His presence was oppressive, far surpassing the other two.

  “I have a question,” he said calmly, though the authority in his tone brooked no defiance. “It would be in your best interest to answer honestly.”

  He gestured downward.

  The pressure intensified instantly, crushing against my shoulders and forcing my knees toward the ground. My bones groaned under the weight, and blood rose to the back of my throat.

  His eyes were cold and ancient.

  “Where is the Meteor Child?”

  I was a fool.

  The realization burned more than the pressure crushing my body.

  How many times had my master told me that the world of cultivation allowed no complacency? How many times had I recited the principles of vigilance, awareness, and detachment as though they were scripture?

  Yet here I was.

  Caught in a simple trap because I let my guard down.

  Because I allowed disgust, memory, and stray thoughts to distract me.

  Because I had grown comfortable in Xincheng.

  Comfortable.

  The very word was shameful.

  In this world, comfort dulled the blade. It softened the spirit. It invited death.

  “N-never!” I forced the word out as I straightened my spine despite the crushing pressure, lifting my head to glare at the old man hovering above me.

  He sneered faintly. “Stubborn little girl. Let this serve as a lesson in the difference between our strengths.”

  The weight pressing on me multiplied severalfold.

  My knees slammed into the ground.

  Stone shattered beneath me, spiderweb cracks racing outward as the formation amplified his technique. My meridians screamed under the strain. I tasted blood.

  “Let us try again,” he said evenly. “Where is the Meteor Child?”

  “NEVER!” I shouted, forcing every ounce of defiance into that single word.

  Their qi reeked of corruption.

  They were Demonic cultivators. It was unmistakable. Their spiritual fluctuations were unstable, tainted, devouring rather than refining. If Xue Hai fell into their hands, her fate would be worse than death.

  I would rather she die swiftly by my own hand than suffer at theirs.

  That was the cruel calculus of cultivation.

  My fingers twitched.

  I had prepared for this possibility.

  A spell etched subtly upon the Meteor Child’s body, dormant and silent, designed to end her life instantly should she be captured by demonic forces. It was a last resort, a mercy disguised as ruthlessness.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I raised one hand, struggling against the gravitational suppression, focusing on the connection.

  Before I could activate it, agony exploded through my arm.

  Blood burst from my pores as if my flesh itself rejected me. The qi in my meridians spasmed violently, disrupted by foreign interference.

  Lang Bo’s voice drifted to my ears, light and amused. “We cannot have you playing tricks on us.”

  My raised hand fell uselessly to my side.

  He turned casually toward the woman behind me. “Xin Chin, can you not use your Laughing Demon on her?”

  Xin Chin clicked her tongue in irritation. “She is a cultivator who specializes in illusion techniques as well. Now that her guard is raised, it will not work properly. It would only waste time.”

  The old man watched the exchange with mild impatience.

  “Since you refuse to cooperate,” he said calmly, “we have no further use for you.”

  A chill ran down my spine despite the suffocating pressure.

  “This is what will happen,” he continued. “We will find the Meteor Child. Then we will lay waste to this city. No survivors. Remember that this could have been avoided had you chosen to answer honestly.”

  His eyes were devoid of emotion.

  “Carry that guilt with you as you cross the Yellow River.”

  He raised his hand slowly.

  “Let it be known that your killer is Zhong Fu of the Celestial Blood Cult.”

  His arm fell.

  “Ninefold Gravity Press.”

  The world collapsed.

  Gravity crushed me from all directions at once. It was not merely weight from above, but pressure from every vector from front, back, sides, and beneath. My bones groaned, then snapped in sharp succession. I felt ribs fracture. I felt my spine compress. Blood erupted from my mouth as vessels burst internally.

  The ground beneath me caved as my body sank deeper into shattered stone.

  I could neither breathe nor move.

  My vision dimmed at the edges, dark creeping inward like ink spilled across parchment.

  Darkness did not claim me completely.

  I awoke shortly after to the suffocating weight and the taste of iron thick in my mouth.

  For a moment I did not understand where I was. Then memory returned in fragments from the demons, my bones snapping, my blood bursting from my pores, and the arrogant declaration of that demonic Zhong Fu.

  I should have died.

  At the final instant before my consciousness collapsed, I had gambled everything on one technique.

  An illusion of death.

  Not a simple projection, but a layered construct mimicking the dispersal of qi, the shattering of meridians, even the fading of spiritual fluctuations. I had let my aura crumble convincingly, letting my body go limp as though my soul had already crossed the Yellow River.

  It seemed they had not bothered to verify.

  Their arrogance saved me.

  I pushed upward.

  Stone and soil shifted as I clawed my way out of the crater where my body had been driven. Every movement sent fresh agony through my limbs. Something ground painfully in my chest; several ribs were still fractured despite the illusion masking my condition.

  “Ugh…”

  I spat thick blood onto the broken earth. Dark clots followed, along with the unmistakable fragment of a chipped tooth.

  My hands trembled as I reached into my storage ring.

  The elixir Yao Yazhu had given me.

  Compensation, he had called it.

  If not for this, I would not have a lick’s fighting chance.

  I uncorked the vial with unsteady fingers and drank. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, then blossomed into warmth within my dantian. Qi surged outward, knitting damaged meridians, reinforcing cracked bones, stabilizing ruptured vessels. The pain dulled from unbearable to merely excruciating.

  Color returned to the world.

  I forced myself to stand, though my steps were uneven and my robes were soaked through with drying blood.

  The sun still hung in the sky.

  It was still daytime.

  “Please,” I whispered hoarsely, forcing one foot in front of the other. “Please let it not be too late.”

  As I moved through Xincheng, dread tightened around my heart.

  Bodies lay strewn across streets and courtyards. Many were not merely slain but crushed, their forms flattened against stone as if pressed by an invisible mountain.

  Zhong Fu had not been idle.

  The most disturbing sight was not the corpses.

  It was the barrier.

  I lifted my gaze toward the sky and felt my stomach drop.

  The formation had been restored.

  Not merely repaired, but revised and its function reversed.

  The original pentagram structure designed to repel misfortune had been inverted, its formula twisted to seal rather than protect. Spiritual lines converged inward, trapping the citizens within the city like livestock in a pen.

  I could feel eyes on me as I passed through the streets. Survivors hid behind shattered doors and overturned carts, their gazes filled with fear and desperate hope.

  They were looking to me.

  I clenched my fists.

  “Brother Wu… you must be safe,” I murmured.

  When I reached my younger brother’s residence, the sight that greeted me tightened my chest further.

  The courtyard was devastated.

  Wooden beams lay splintered. Stone tiles were cracked. The remains of a gazebo lay collapsed in ruin.

  I remembered clearly.

  This was where I had left Yakuza Man.

  Among the debris lay a familiar figure.

  The woman who had accompanied Lang Bo.

  Xin Chin.

  She was dead.

  Her body was twisted unnaturally, dried blood staining her robes. Even without examining closely, I could sense her lifeforce had long since extinguished.

  I stared at her in disbelief.

  Yakuza Man had done this.

  She had been at Qi Refinement.

  Not a minor stage.

  When I first met Yakuza Man, he had barely reached Qi Gathering. His progress had been abnormal, but this…

  Had he already crossed into Qi Refinement?

  Or was there something else about him that I still did not understand?

  I suppressed the rising questions and limped toward the main residence.

  Just outside, I found Teng Wen directing injured guards and servants. Bandages wrapped limbs in crude but effective fashion. The scent of medicine mixed with lingering blood as Teng Wen applied a thin strip of peculiar healing talisman.

  When he saw me, his eyes widened.

  “Lady Meng!” he cried, relief flooding his expression.

  I did not waste time.

  “Where is my brother? Where is Xue Hai? Where is Yakuza Man?”

  Teng Wen straightened despite his own injuries. “I believe Lord Meng and Lady Zhu managed to escape through the secret passages.”

  A sliver of relief cut through my dread.

  “As for Little Xue…” He faltered.

  My heart tightened.

  “I am sorry, I do not know,” he admitted. “Yakuza Man… he…”

  “Speak clearly,” I demanded, stepping forward despite the protest of my healing wounds.

  Teng Wen swallowed.

  “He should be confronting that demon.”

  I did not wait for Teng Wen to finish speaking.

  I hurried toward the servants’ quarters, forcing more qi through my meridians as the elixir continued to mend what Zhong Fu had broken. With every step, the limp in my gait diminished until it vanished entirely. Pain remained, but it no longer hindered me.

  As I approached, I cast an illusion technique refined under my master’s guidance, layering concealment over my presence. I erased my scent, distorted the sound of my movement, and bent the light around me just enough to blur my outline from ordinary perception. Even spiritual detection would find it difficult to grasp me unless the opponent’s focus was absolute.

  I slowed near the sliding doors of the servants’ quarters.

  The smell reached me first.

  Blood, thick and overwhelming.

  Then I stepped inside.

  I froze.

  Yakuza Man lay sprawled in the center of the room atop a carpet of corpses. One of his arms was missing entirely. His chest had been torn open, and through the ruin of flesh I could see the pale curve of a lung exposed to the air. Blood pooled beneath him, no longer flowing with urgency, but seeping slowly as though the body had already surrendered.

  His eyes were open.

  It was glassy and unfocused.

  Seated casually atop a mound of cadavers before him was Lang Bo.

  In his hand, he held a heart.

  It was still dripping with blood.

  “Oh, come on,” Lang Bo complained lightly, glancing toward the doorway. “I was just getting to the good part.”

  The shock hit me like a physical blow. I realized my illusion flickered and collapsed under the strain of my emotions.

  I stared at Yakuza Man’s unmoving form.

  His vigor was gone. His flesh had been devoured.

  “H-How?” The word escaped me before I could stop it.

  The Binding Vow around my wrist remained intact. Its mark still circled my skin, unbroken. There had been neither backlash nor severing.

  There was no way he was dead.

  Was there?

  I knew too little about the true depth of the vow’s mechanics. Perhaps it did not function as I had assumed. Perhaps it did not guarantee survival.

  Perhaps I had misunderstood everything.

  Lang Bo tilted his head, observing my expression with naked curiosity.

  “What?” he asked, chewing thoughtfully. “Was he important to you or something?”

  His grin widened obscenely.

  “Oh. I see. Are you two lovers?”

  “Shut up,” I said, my voice low.

  He laughed, gesturing with the heart in his hand. “This is awkward, then. I am eating your lover.”

  “SHUT UP!”

  My sword was in my hand before the echo of my shout faded. The silver fox manifested upon my shoulder, its ethereal fur shimmering as frost gathered along my blade. I rushed forward, rage sharpening my focus rather than clouding it.

  Lang Bo scoffed. “Amateur.”

  Threads of blood erupted from the scattered corpses around the room, spearing toward me from every direction. The technique was identical to the one he had used before.

  The spears pierced through my body.

  Lang Bo burst into laughter. “Ha ha ha! He fell for the same trick—”

  His words ended abruptly.

  His head slid from his shoulders.

  It dropped onto the blood-soaked floor with a dull, wet sound as his headless body remained upright for a brief, stunned moment before collapsing to the side.

  The ‘figure’ he had pierced was not me.

  It was an illusion layered and empowered by the silver fox’s spiritual authority, so refined that even his blood manipulation failed to discern it in time. While he reveled in his presumed victory, I had already moved.

  Even through the turmoil in my heart, I had not abandoned caution.

  Lang Bo’s severed head blinked once in disbelief.

  “Man, you got me,” he muttered faintly. “Can we negoti—”

  I did not allow him to finish.

  I drove my sword straight through his skull. Frost exploded outward, the silver fox’s power surging into the wound. Ice encased his head instantly, crystallizing flesh and blood alike until it became brittle as thin glass.

  Fights between cultivators were often decided by the smallest exchanges, by a single lapse in awareness or a misjudged breath. Wit and technique were tested to their limits in heartbeats.

  He had underestimated me.

  I twisted the blade.

  The frozen head shattered into fragments of ice and gore.

  Silence settled over the room.

  My sword slipped from my grasp.

  I stepped toward Yakuza Man and sank to my knees beside him, gathering what remained of his body carefully, as though gentleness could undo what had been done.

  “Why?” I whispered.

  Where had your audacity gone? Your shameless confidence? Your irritating remarks?

  I touched his face.

  “Hey,” I said softly, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it. “You are pretending, right?”

  There was no response.

  A tear slid down my cheek before I realized it had fallen.

  “Our arrangement was that I would help you find your way home,” I continued hoarsely. “You cannot simply break it like this.”

  He had protected my family.

  He had killed one of the demonic cultivators.

  He had proven himself useful, reliable in his own crude and unpredictable way.

  “Hey, evil spirit,” I murmured desperately, recalling the presence that resided within him. “Are you there? Please… do not do this to me.”

  I did not understand why my chest felt as though it were being crushed again.

  I had endured betrayal, hardship, and humiliation before without faltering.

  Yet this?

  This hurt in a way I had not prepared for.