After Infusing Love Poison to the Cold Sword Sovereign - Chapter 59

As the dust settled in the sky, the disguised Right Envoy or rather, Witch Xiang adjusted the mask on her face and strode forward with graceful steps.

Several enormous craters pockmarked the ground. She swayed her way toward the spot where Witch Ruo and the other two had stood moments before. Her robes were less voluminous than they were cumbersome, and her gait was not so much elegant as it was peculiar.

The two juniors had sustained severe injuries, and her “good friend” Witch Ruo was in a state of recovery, depleted of spiritual energy. There was no way they could have escaped.

Heh! finally, they were all dead. Now, all she needed was to retrieve what she sought from Witch Ruo’s corpse.

She halted at the edge of a crater.

The remaining few Qingtiao Prowlers gathered around her. Some had already leaped into the pit, circling the shattered, human-shaped remains within.

Wooden shavings.

She had been tricked by a wooden puppet. In that critical moment, that damned Witch Ruo had substituted her true self with a physician’s wooden puppet, successfully diverting her lethal strike and causing her to shatter a worthless piece of wood!

“Damn you! Witch Ruo!” The Right Envoy’s elegant facade finally shattered. The Asura mask on her face cracked with a sharp snap and fell to the ground, revealing the other half of her face withered and grotesque.

One side resembled a delicate maiden, the other a demonic Asura.

Her face contorted with rage, the taut skin seeming on the verge of splitting apart at any moment!

“Woo-ao!” One of the Qingtiao Prowlers at the bottom of the pit sniffed the traces of blood on the ground, raised its front hooves, and let out a resounding cry, as if volunteering for the hunt.

“After them!” The Right Envoy snatched up her mask, rose furiously, and leaped onto the back of a fully grown Qingtiao Prowler. “I will throw Witch Ruo into the Blood Gu Pool and make her wish she were dead!”

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the main altar’s plaza.

Witch Ruo carried the severely wounded and unconscious Lan Ting on her back, supporting each other with Du Chuncao as they silently fled into the distance.

Demonic energy permeated the demonic realm’s interior. Witch Ruo had attempted to fly by sword, only to find the scattered spiritual energy in the air too unstable to sustain it, forcing them to resort to the most primitive method of escape.

Though Lan Ting had suffered a fatal injury, her constitution, tempered by the Blood Gu Pool, allowed her to barely cling to a faint thread of life. Her consciousness was hazy, but she still breathed. Chuncao, despite her old injuries, managed to maintain some stamina with the aid of restorative pills, keeping pace with Witch Ruo.

Though Witch Ruo had depleted her spiritual energy, she had taken several restorative pills, recovering enough to go from an empty vessel to one with a sloshing layer of water at the bottom enough to perform a few simple spells.

And she knew that what had saved the three of them from that cataclysmic strike was not herself, nor Lan Ting, but the seemingly combat-inept Chuncao.

“What kind of technique was that?” Witch Ruo asked softly as they ran. She had no idea how they had escaped. The moment the Right Envoy had been provoked into a rage, she had thought their chances of survival were slim.

“It’s a magical robe my master gave me Knotgrass and Rings. It can transfer damage to a puppet, blocking one attack below the Mahayana stage. I didn’t think it would work, but Teacher, you actually brought the puppet with you.”

Earlier, Du Chuncao had positioned herself at the forefront, intending to use her own body as a puppet to save Witch Ruo and the other. To her surprise, her puppet had truly manifested.

She spoke with a hint of embarrassment toward the end, “Teacher, have you seen its combat form yet. When crafting and refining puppets, the sect leader said it’s easier to succeed by using someone close as a model. I have three Laning, the Grandmaster, and you though I spent more time with Lan Ting.”

“And me?” Wu Ruo was astonished. “You still think of me?”

“Yes because back then, Lan Ting and I sent you a distress signal, but we never received a reply. At the time, I well, resented you a little, but even if you had come, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome here. I’m glad you didn’t.”

Chuncao’s tone was emotionless, as if recounting a story from many years ago. Over a decade had completely transformed her personality, the once lively, cheerful girl who loved to joke around had grown into someone capable of standing on her own.

“Later, the clansmen who escaped with me Yingchun went to the Blaze Pavilion, while Baixing and Wantao seemed to have become rogue cultivators. I thought of seeking refuge with a sister named Jinhua in the Xinglin Sect, but when I asked, I found out she wasn’t there.”

“Then I heard about you and, well, Shiniang no, that person’s incident. Fate has truly played tricks on you both. It’s been so long now. Are you still no, never mind.”

“Shiniang? Do you mean Luo Qingyi?” Wu Ruo asked, puzzled. “What incident?”

“You don’t know?” Chuncao froze, speaking naturally, “Back then, she became a heroine in the cultivation world, and stories about you two were passed around in several versions. Even three-year-olds in the mortal realm could recite a few lines.”

Wu Ruo sighed helplessly, “I’ve lost a portion of my memories Forgotten Dust Powder. I only remember the events from our time in Miaojiang. When I opened my eyes, so many years had passed.”

“…” Chuncao fell silent. She looked at Wu Ruo’s earnest expression and knew he was telling the truth. Glancing around, she slowed her pace slightly and whispered, “You mentioned her directly just now, are you two still together?”

“Not exactly,” Wu Ruo replied. “Go on.”

Chuncao hesitated for a while, likely worried her words might affect Wu Ruo’s relationship. The once straightforward and outspoken girl had now become well-versed in the ways of the world. After much deliberation, she finally said softly, “I heard from a classmate that her cultivation level dropped because of you, and at that time, the heavens were collapsing. She was chosen to be a martyr to mend the sky.”

Boom!

A violent collapse echoed from the main altar nearby. A massive Qingtiao Pao, having caught the scent of blood emanating from Lan Ting, along with several smaller monsters, was rapidly closing in on Wu Ruo and the other two!

“Oh no!”

Although the three had covered a considerable distance in a short time, it was far from enough. The adult Qingtiao Pao was enormous and unmatched in speed, how could they possibly outrun it on foot?

Lan Ting, who had been unconscious, was jolted awake by the loud crash and hesitated, trying to get down from Wu Ruo’s back.

“Saintess, let me go. Qingtiao Pao are most sensitive to the smell of blood. If you carry me, you won’t escape. Leave me behind and take Chuncao back.”

Du Chuncao urgently exclaimed, “No way!”

“Spring Grass.” Lan Ting struggled to open her eyes, her vision already blurred. Du Chuncao appeared only as a hazy outline in her sight, the details of her expression indistinguishable.

She wanted to say more, but a mouthful of thick, fresh blood gushed out at that moment. With a retching sound, she sprayed the blood onto Wu Ruo’s back, soaking a large patch of her silk robe.

“Don’t even think about it! Back then, it was you who saved me.” Du Chuncao’s eyes quickly welled up with tears. As she ran with all her might, she wiped the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. “I absolutely won’t let you face this alone again.”

Wu Ruo remained silent. The frantic sprint was already draining enough, and she also had to bear Lan Ting’s weight. If she opened her mouth, the metallic taste of blood would surge up her throat. She was their teacher, their mentor she couldn’t show weakness.

“Wooaoo!”

The roar of the Qingtie Pao was now frighteningly close. The monster moved on all fours, swift as the wind, closing in rapidly.

As the green-faced, fanged creature drew nearer, Chuncao slowed her pace and turned to face the oncoming figure, shouting to Wu Ruo, “Teacher, take Lan Ting back to Xinglin Sect. My master can save her. In our next life, I still want to know you both.”

Thwack.

A brown venomous snake, appearing out of nowhere, suddenly darted under the Qingtie Pao’s feet. In an instant, it expanded rapidly, tripping the beast’s front hooves hard.

“Aoo!” The Qingtie Pao, focused solely ahead, hadn’t noticed the disturbance at its feet. Stumbling violently forward, it plunged headfirst, its horns wedging perfectly into a crack in the ground. Unable to free itself, it let out a heart-wrenching roar.

Wu Ruo grabbed Du Chuncao by the collar. A fleeting glance back had sparked a new idea in her mind. She spoke in broken phrases, “You, the Red Temple, you haven’t made a wish there, have you?”

“Ah? N-no!” Du Chuncao panted, out of breath from running. “Why are you asking?”

“Follow me!” Wu Ruo swiftly changed direction. In that brief look back, her peripheral vision had caught the red bricks and vermilion tiles of the Wishing Temple in the Five Continents.

Memories flooded back recalling how she had once battered herself bloody at the temple gate, unable to enter. With a surge of resolve, she thought:

Staying here meant certain death. Might as well gamble.

“Focus on making a wish, and I’ll follow you inside.”

Carrying Lan Ting on her back, Wu Ruo gripped Du Chuncao’s arm and shoved her hard toward the temple door!

The door swung open.

As the temple gate slowly closed behind them, the Qingtie Pao’s furious roars and frantic pounding echoed from outside, thudding against the wood.

But the next second, all sound vanished.

Inside the temple, only the resonant chime of bells and drums remained, sacred music lingering in the air, continuous and serene. The clouds in the sky were not the gloomy hues of the demon realm but azure blue with white wisps, like a paradise beyond the mortal world.

A nun dressed in plain white robes, hands clasped together, emerged slowly from the main hall. Wu Ruo recognized her this was the same guide she had met after leaving the Red Temple at Black Mountain, only to exit through the Red Temple in the Five Continents. The nun’s face bore a distinct crack, as if it had been shattered and pieced back together, yet the broken mirror could never be whole again.

So this nun was also a pre-programmed puppet.

“Esteemed patrons.” The nun bowed stiffly; after being dismantled, reassembled, and pieced back together, her agility was far from what it once had been. “Have you come to this temple to make a wish?”

“Yes, they have.” Wu Ruo performed the proper courtesies, then cautiously added, “Before making a wish, may I ask you a few questions?”

“Please speak, patron. If it concerns that two-faced emissary, this temple does not tolerate disrespect toward its attendants.”

Wu Ruo breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t even asked yet, but the other party had already revealed quite a bit of information. The Right Emissary had shattered the nun puppet before her, and as a result, they had been blacklisted by the Red Temple.

That meant, for now, the three of them were safe. She had gambled correctly, at least halfway.

The nun remained with her palms pressed together, offering a bow as she said, “This humble monk has but one piece of advice: for those with two faces and two souls, the side shown to the public is dominant. If prolonged, it will replace the other.”

“The Right Emissary, two souls.” Wu Ruo pondered this string of information when she heard Lan Ting let out a soft “Hmm” beside her.

“Once, I happened to catch a glimpse of the other half of her face.” Lan Ting’s voice was hoarse. She had been set down by Wu Ruo and was sitting on a stone stool in the courtyard, utterly exhausted.

“It was far away, so I couldn’t see clearly. I only felt she was a beautiful woman, and yet somewhat familiar. Ugh!”

Lan Ting spoke slower and slower. Before she could finish, a thick stream of blood gushed from her throat. She hurriedly covered her mouth, but the blood still seeped through her fingers.

“Cough.” She muffled the sound of her hacking cough, her body trembling violently.

“Lan Ting!” Du Chuncao rushed over immediately, supporting the other’s frail and weakened body. She watched as Lan Ting’s movements grew slower, her eyes slightly closing, as if.

Panicked, she cried, “Lan Ting, don’t die! This is a wish-granting temple. Can I make a wish? Can I can I wish for her to live? I’m willing to pay any price!”

Wu Ruo immediately kicked Du Chuncao. “Take back that last part!”

Du Chuncao paid no heed, her eyes filled with desperate hope as she stared at the nun puppet before her. The latter remained with palms pressed together, her voice as calm and unfluctuating as still water.

“Not allowed.”

“Why not!” Du Chuncao cradled Lan Ting’s head against her chest, feeling the other’s body at its limit devoid of even a trace of vitality, like an old, tattered shell with nothing inside.

“Because.” the nun said calmly, “there was once a patron who wished to resurrect someone, at the cost of her own life. However, that patron did not die, yet her wish came true.”

“Therefore, this temple does not grant wishes for resurrection.”

Du Chuncao’s face fell in despair. She futilely pulled golden needles from her pocket but couldn’t bring herself to insert a single one.

The meridians and acupoints of demonic cultivators and righteous cultivators were incompatible; even one needle could turn a life-saving technique into a lethal blade.

Wu Ruo frowned, retrieving replenishment pills she had bought in the past from her qiankun pouch and feeding them to Lan Ting as if they cost nothing. Lan Ting swallowed a few, only to vomit them back up with a retch.

It was no use.

Gritting her teeth, Wu Ruo recalled something Lan Ting had once said. She drew her life bound sword* from her qiankun pouch, sliced open the vein on her own wrist, and brought it to Lan Ting’s lips.

“Lan Ting,” she called softly, “wake up.”

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