Chapter 34

Mu Xue sat quietly by Cen Qianshan’s side, absentmindedly ruffling his hair as she considered how to wake Xiao Shan, and maybe go looking for her senior brothers and sisters.
He still felt just as he’d always been under her touch, soft, fine, and utterly familiar. Glancing at the sleeping figure beside her, Mu Xue reached out and gently wiped away the tracks of tears at the corners of his eyes.
When she’d met Xiao Shan back at the Sea of Desire, he’d seemed so grown-up, so different and distant. But looking at him now, she realized he was just hiding his softness under a new shell, inside, he was still that sensitive boy she remembered.
She’d always known: Xiao Shan was thinner-skinned than anyone.
He used to get in fights with the street kids, all because he was terrified of being looked down upon. He could always read her moods, never did anything to truly upset her, because he was afraid she might dislike him.
Those early years, he was a prodigy by day, stubbornly invincible. But at night, he hardly slept, a sweet-faced child walking around with permanent dark circles under his eyes.
Eventually, Mu Xue just dragged his little cot next to her workbench so he could fall asleep to the sound of her voice, and when he woke, see her face first thing. Only then did he start sleeping like a wary animal finally at home in its nest.
Some nights, when nightmares took hold, she would simply reach out in the midst of her tinkering and ruffle his hair, or pat his back, until he calmed down again.
Now, sitting out here in the wasteland, Mu Xue couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at the sight of her little hand patting the tall man sleeping beside her, watching that familiar tension fade from his brow. "All grown up and still the same as ever.”
At that moment, Cen Qianshan’s eyes flew open.
They glittered, half-damp, still red from crying.
He stared at Mu Xue in bewilderment, then bolted upright and looked frantically around.
They were alone in a barren field now, the only life a few distant wandering spirits. Nowhere to be seen was the person from his dream.
But that voice had been so real, so vivid, steadying his fraying soul and snapping him from that twisted nightmare. And the warm press of her palm still lingered on his skin.
Had he dreamed it all?
Cen Qianshan stood there, frozen, brows tightly knit, gaze flickering with uncertainty, until finally he let his eyes rest on Mu Xue.
That look made Mu Xue’s skin prickle. She quickly ran over everything she’d done, pretty sure she hadn’t slipped up anywhere obvious.
With her current hobbit-sized build, there was no way Xiao Shan could recognize her. Besides, as long as she kept her mouth shut, technically, she hadn’t broken the oath of secrecy. Mu Xue tried to convince herself to relax.
Cen Qianshan leaned down until he was eye level with Mu Xue. Reaching out, he gently dabbed at her cheek with his thumb, then peered at the spot closely,
“You’re hurt?”
Mu Xue scrambled to wipe her face. “N-no, it’s nothing! Just some dirt.”
Cen Qianshan’s gaze lingered on the blood staining Mu Xue’s fingers and face, his voice soft and steady: “Sorry, did you get hurt saving me?”
He towered over her, the dying sunlight at his back as he leaned in. His eyes, shadowed and fathomless, hid intentions she couldn’t guess.
Mu Xue’s heart skipped a nervous beat for no real reason.
Just a moment ago, he’d been an unconscious, whimpering mess, so why did he wake up with all this suffocating presence, like a different person?
When she’d worked the Six Paths Demonic Wheel technique, Mu Xue had bitten her fingertip to draw blood, tracing runes on her face. But her spiritual energy burned out fast, her symbols smeared and wiped away.
How did this guy even notice?
“Good thing you’re awake. Anyway, I need to go look for my senior brother and sister.” Mu Xue sidestepped him and the question.
That last fight had drained nearly all her spiritual power, but with her brother and sister’s fates still unknown, there was no time left for resting.
In the distance, near the grim shadow of the nine-story tower, a dazzling glint of sword-light flashed, cold and pure as a winter moon or the blossom of white plum, that was the unique sword aura of the Plum Blossom Nine Swords.
“Yes! Senior Brother Fu’s up, he managed to wake himself up.” Mu Xue ditched Cen Qianshan without looking back, her short legs pumping as she sprinted for the battlefield ahead.
Before the looming tower,
Fu Yun faced a brutal fight. His sword technique and Miao Hong’er’s martial arts were both pushed to their limits, slashes and punches flew, a storm of attacks battered the eerie shape floating in midair.
That man, though, blocked every strike with a single pale hand, not even breaking a sweat, a bored look flickering over his face.
Four twisted, demonic faces hovered around him, each howling in its own hideous register.
Luckily, Uncle Zhong sat cross-legged on the ground across from him, playing a stringed instrument, battling those shrieks with music.
Still, sweat streamed down his face. The notes rang ever shriller, ever louder, he was holding on by a thread.
Against an enemy like this,
Miao Hong’er was fearless. She fought with everything she had. Since untying the knot in her heart at the Death Gate, she felt a new clarity. The nearness of life and death only sent her adrenaline soaring. Her movement grew sharper, her forms ever smoother; her shadow split into two, then three, then dozens. From above, below, on every side, a storm of Miao Hong’er’s afterimages battered the man called Wuchang.
At last, Wuchang frowned, his ghastly pale hand sparking with a curl of gray flame. Fire wrapped his fist as he slowly, almost lazily, threw a punch, yet Miao Hong’er found she couldn’t dodge, couldn’t escape. Her many phantom selves vanished in a flash, smashed and scattered by that one blow. She was thrown hard to the ground, unable to rise.
Fu Yun’s sword swept in just in time, blocking Wuchang from following up on Miao Hong’er.
The blade, Silver Moon, sharp as frosted silver since childhood, its spirit and his mind perfectly united.
But now that invincible, icy-white tip was pinched, unmoving, between two pale fingers wrapped in spectral fire,
“Sword cultivator? You’re not the first. People like you always look impressive, but you break the easiest.” Wuchang’s face was unmoved, mask-perfect, not a flicker of emotion. He squeezed just a little and the silver sword bent beneath his grip,
“Too rigid, easy to snap. Once your convictions break, you’re clay in someone else’s hands. Boring.”
The pale blade keened, ringing with pain. Fu Yun’s face drained of color, he coughed up blood.
That moment, the ground and tower shuddered softly beneath them.
A colossal, eight-armed demon god surged up from the earth. Skin cobalt blue, red hair like wildfire, eyes bulging in furious glare, blocking out half the sky. His pillar-thick arms coiled and crashed together in a hammer-strike aimed straight at Wuchang.
Cen Qianshan, dressed in black, dropped from the sky to join the fray.
Wuchang let Fu Yun go, raising a hand to easily catch the demon god’s massive, hammering fists.
“So you broke free too?” Wuchang said mildly.
Cen Qianshan replied, “Yeah, came back just to thank you for all your ‘help’ earlier.”
“No thanks needed,” Wuchang’s mask-blank features stretched into something like a smile, poorly imitated. “You seemed to enjoy every bit of what I put you through.”
Fury flashed in Cen Qianshan’s eyes. His blade turned savage as he clashed with Wuchang once more.
Just then, Mu Xue reached the battlefield and bent to help the wounded Miao Hong’er,
“Senior Brother, Senior Sister, don’t waste time fighting him. I noticed that he’s stuck in a certain range, if we move farther off, he can’t chase us.” She quickly shared her discovery.
Miao Hong’er, clutching her stomach, struggled to rise, spitting out a mouthful of blood, waving weakly, at a loss for words.
Uncle Zhong explained instead: “Xiao Xue, you don’t know, the Road of the Dead leads into Death’s Gate and exits by the Abyssal Tower. To pass through, we have to break in and use the water channel at the tower’s base, otherwise we’re stuck here forever, doomed to wander this endless iron city among restless ghosts.”
“The white-robed Wuchang guarding the tower, he’s unavoidable.”
“So we have to get inside the tower.”
Mu Xue’s gaze lifted to the massive black tower, at its base, a solid door of black iron, tightly sealed.
With their energy so low, breaking through that would be nearly impossible.
On the battlefield, the giant eight-armed demon god went berserk, all eight blue arms raining blows on Wuchang, kicking up thick clouds of smoke.
Using the cover, Cen Qianshan slipped out, handing his backpack off to Mu Xue,
“Fu Yun and I will hold him. You find a way to get that door open.” He braced himself on his blade, blood spilling from his lips right in front of her. “Hurry!”
He swiftly wiped away the blood and dove back into the melee.
Mu Xue ripped open his backpack, breaking into a grin, “Yes! He packed a ton of explosives!”
In these spiritual dead zones, magic and techniques failed, but physical attacks still worked just fine, blades, fists, and… bombs.
Inside Cen Qianshan’s bag, there was an entire canister of rare Red Dragon’s Blood, and a bottle of crystalline merman tears.
Once these two compounds are mixed in the right ratio, it’s like pouring water into hot oil, an explosion waiting to happen. If she sets it up right, that black iron gate is as good as blown.
The battlefield was a mess. Fu Yun’s white robe was splashed with blood, Miao Hong’er was running on empty, and even steadfast Uncle Uncle Zhong was wavering. Xiao Shan looked like he’d keel over any second.
It couldn’t wait any longer.
“You rest, Senior Sister, I’ll get that door open.” Mu Xue didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her backpack and dashed off.
Miao Hong’er didn’t have time to stop her. She could only watch, heart in her throat, as her tiny junior darted across the battlefield, nimble as a cat with a bag full of “explosives,” dodging falling debris and making a beeline for the tower gate.
Master always said little Mu loved tinkering with gadgets. She’d sneak up Qingyun Peak just to audit the artifact classes. Guess he wasn’t lying, Miao Hong’er thought wryly.
Since when did she pick up the know-how to mix explosives? I still can’t even do that myself…