Chapter 39 (Part 2)

Xiang Feng supported her frail body, his hands instantly coated with sticky blood. “An Ning, An Ning? Stay awake. Open your eyes…”

His lips had lost all color, and his trembling voice carried a faint desperation.

An Ning’s breathing was shallow, barely audible. She struggled to lift her hand, her fingertips brushing lightly against his face. “Brother Xiang Feng, I like you. Shanshui also likes you. Don’t blame her; she was just momentarily confused…”

She gazed at him with a wistful expression, sighed softly, and added, “I’ll give you back to Shanshui now. It’s just a pity… I won’t get to see next year’s forsythias.”

The mention of “forsythias” pierced Xiang Feng’s composure like an invisible blade, utterly shattering his rationality.

Back then, while fleeing from enemies bent on killing him, he had disguised himself as a beggar and hidden in a dilapidated temple in the human realm. Each day, he would wake to find a branch of forsythia and two meat buns placed beside him.

Before he could discover who had been leaving them, his enemies caught up to him. He was severely injured and dragged himself into a coffin shop to hide.

The shop owner was away, and only the young daughter of the family was present. Before he could explain his situation, he fainted from exhaustion.

When he awoke, the coffin shop had already burned to the ground, and he was saved by Xue Xi, a healer known for her benevolence.

It wasn’t until he reached Qingcheng Mountain that he learned Xue Xi adored forsythias above all else.

The branches in the temple—each day a single forsythia—had been her gift to him.

She had told him that forsythias, blooming at the cusp of winter and spring, symbolized hope and resilience. She also said, “If you’re ever lost, come find me where the forsythias bloom.”

In the end, she died in a field of forsythias at the base of Qingcheng Mountain. Her blood spattered the golden blooms, dyeing them a deep red.

Now, as An Ning’s pale face overlapped with Xue Xi’s lifeless visage in his mind, Xiang Feng frantically pulled handfuls of pills from his storage pouch, shoving them into An Ning’s mouth with trembling hands.

Once her bleeding stopped, he gently laid her on the ground and turned, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Shanshui. “Was this your doing?”

Shanshui turned pale, her spine trembling uncontrollably.

She had never seen him like this before.

His face and voice were the same as always, but at this moment, they felt utterly unfamiliar.

Xiang Feng approached her step by step, forcing her backward. “Why?”

Shanshui instinctively retreated. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt her. She… she did it to herself…”

The uneven ground caught her off guard, and she stumbled, falling hard to the ground.

Her palm scraped against a stone, leaving a gash. Blood trickled from the wound, dripping onto the soil below.

Xiang Feng stood before her.

In the past, even the slightest bump or scratch would have him fussing over her with concern.

But now, he merely stood there, coldly observing her pitiful state without the faintest trace of emotion.

He crouched down slowly, tilting her chin up with his finger as he murmured, “So you wanted to kill An Ning because you like me?”

Shanshui frantically shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes as she stammered, “Master, I didn’t want to kill her! She’s a puppet, made from Xue Xi’s body. You have to believe me…”

Before she could finish, his hand lashed out, slapping her across the face. Her head snapped to the side, her cheek swelling instantly.

Xiang Feng’s voice was icy. “An Ning told me you hated her. That you threatened her to stay away from me and even claimed she was Xue Xi’s puppet. I didn’t believe her at first, but now? You’ve become utterly revolting.”

“I regret it. I should never have taken you in!”

Ignoring Shanshui’s trembling lips and ashen face, he delivered his final scornful words and prepared to leave.

But as he stepped away, something coiled around his ankle.

Looking down, he saw countless slender tree roots rising from the ground, writhing like venomous snakes, binding his legs tightly.

The roots climbed higher, wrapping around his waist in the blink of an eye. Their grip tightened, constricting him like a cocoon and leaving him gasping for breath.

Xiang Feng struggled to lift his head, only to see the towering tree behind Yu Zhengzheng swaying violently. Though there wasn’t a trace of wind, its dense branches flailed as if roaring in fury.

Yu Zhengzheng helped Shanshui to her feet, gently wiping the blood from the corner of her lips. She glanced at Shanshui’s swollen face, her own eyelid twitching in agitation.

Then, Yu Zhengzheng grabbed Xiang Feng by the hair and delivered ten sharp slaps to his face. The crisp sound of each blow echoed loudly in the still night.

Not until her hand was red and swollen did she finally stop, though her anger had not entirely dissipated.

“From now on, Shanshui has nothing to do with you. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I’ll chop off your filthy hands!”

With that, Yu Zhengzheng carried Shanshui out of the forest.

Xiang Feng stood frozen, his head bowed, unable to process what had just happened.

Even after they left, the tree roots didn’t recede. Bound and helpless, Xiang Feng turned his gaze toward Rong Shang. “Your Majesty…”

Rong Shang leaned leisurely against the tree, entirely unbothered by Xiang Feng’s pleas. His gaze lingered on the writhing roots, and a faintly maternal smile curved his lips.

It seemed his blood hadn’t been wasted. She truly was a rare wood-element spiritual cultivator, capable of controlling trees even within an illusion.

What intrigued him most was how she could harness this power in a realm where even his divine strength was diminished to a mere fraction.

The others had already lost all their spiritual energy, but she remained unaffected—truly an unexpected surprise.

As expected, she didn’t disappoint.

He paused, startled.

What did he mean by “his woman”?

She was nothing more than a tool, a vessel.

Shaking his head, Rong Shang attributed the strange thoughts to the array affecting his mind.

Wasn’t it about time for his turn in the Warriors’ Tournament?

The timing seemed about right.

With this in mind, he quickly left the forest, entirely ignoring the cries for help coming from behind.

After stepping out of the forest, Yu Zhengzheng realized what she had just done.

She helped Shanshui back to her seat, distracted.

What had just happened?

Why didn’t Xiang Feng fight back when she slapped him?

The forest had been pitch black—she hadn’t seen clearly. She only remembered the blood rushing to her head and instinctively landing several slaps on him.

Was it because the Ghost King had been nearby and Xiang Feng didn’t dare retaliate?

As Yu Zhengzheng pondered, a soft voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Does your hand hurt?”

She looked up to see the source of the voice—it was the Ghost King.

“A bit numb,” she replied truthfully.

Rong Shang glanced at her reddened palm and let out a faint chuckle.

“Thoughtless. Wasn’t there a rock on the ground?”

Yu Zhengzheng recalled that there had indeed been many rocks in the forest, thick and flat, about the size of bricks. Using one might have been effective.

She rubbed her palm. “I was too caught up and forgot.”

After a pause, she asked, “I hit him—aren’t you angry?”

Rong Shang raised an eyebrow. “Angry? About what?”

Nervously, she said, “He’s your subordinate…”

Rong Shang gave a faint sneer. “So what?”

Xiang Feng was nothing more than a pawn he had picked up. And not just him—was there anyone on Mount Guixu who hadn’t been taken in by him?

What was a few slaps? Even if Xiang Feng died, it wouldn’t matter.

Trash didn’t deserve to exist in this world.

Yu Zhengzheng fell silent, glancing at the dazed Shanshui.

In a soft voice, she said, “Believe it or not, but An Ning really is a puppet.”

If Xiang Feng’s words were true, then An Ning had anticipated her actions and preemptively complained to Xiang Feng, claiming that Shanshui had threatened her to stay away. Otherwise, she’d accuse her of being a puppet created from Xuexi’s body.

That was quite the masterful ploy of sowing discord.

Xiang Feng didn’t believe either of them. But what about the Ghost King?

Rong Shang’s lips curled slightly. “I know.”

He had long suspected that An Ning had ulterior motives but hadn’t considered the possibility of her being a puppet.

After all, he had witnessed Xuexi’s death firsthand.

Who could have anticipated someone not only stealing Xuexi from Xiang Feng but also investing the time and effort to turn her corpse into a high-grade puppet?

The only person capable of such intricate work was likely his bored little brother.

He smiled, producing a porcelain bottle in his jade-like hand. “Here, take this.”

Yu Zhengzheng blinked. “What is it?”

Rong Shang glanced at her disheveled hair and the gleaming bald patch on her scalp.

“Hair tonic.”

Yu Zhengzheng: “…”

Hengwu Immortal Lord and Xiao Yuqing returned. Rong Shang placed the bottle on the table and ascended the stage alone.

Yu Zhengzheng stared at his retreating figure, complex emotions brewing in her as she silently accepted the hair tonic, pinning her loose hair into a bun.

A gentle breeze brushed her cheeks, rustling the stray strands on her forehead.

For some reason, her face felt unusually warm.

Rong Shang’s efficiency in killing was unparalleled.

He hadn’t even fully stepped onto the stage when he struck down over ten barbarians with a single palm.

Pinching the sacrificial priest’s large blade between his fingers, he wielded it as if slicing cabbage. Heads rolled with a single stroke, tumbling to the ground below the stage.

Each head was impaled on the sharp stakes below, forming gruesome skewers of crimson that resembled candied hawthorn sticks.

Despite the carnage, Rong Shang’s robes remained immaculate.

Hengwu Immortal Lord couldn’t help but marvel, “As expected of the Ghost King.”

The Warriors’ Tournament concluded prematurely. The priest escorted them back to the castle’s second floor, returning them to the large room.

Xiang Feng and An Ning had not returned, but no one in the room seemed to care.

The room felt stiflingly hot. Yu Zhengzheng, restless, pushed open the window.

A breeze drifted in, but it failed to alleviate her discomfort.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she patted her cheeks lightly. “Why is it so hot?”

Hengwu Immortal Lord overheard her and kindly offered, “It’s probably the aphrodisiac in the deer blood.”

Yu Zhengzheng froze. Everyone except the Ghost King and An Ning had drunk the deer blood.

Her brows furrowed. “What kind of nonsense drug is this?”

Smiling, he explained, “An aphrodisiac. You know, the kind drug used in brothels—cheap and dirty. Works on men and women alike.”

He paused before adding, “If you don’t resolve it, you might die.”