The flames raged fiercely.
The dull sounds of crackling and rumbling filled the air as the beams collapsed one by one, the fire leaping nearly ten feet high. Mo Ziru's vision flickered with crimson—black and red were all he could see now.
The red-clad archers around him lay strewn across the ground. After engaging in combat with Cao Wufang, the man had abruptly fled upon realizing Mo Ziru, despite being poisoned, refused to die. Mo Ziru had intended to pursue, but his vision was too blurred to track Cao Wufang’s escape. The man’s departure surely meant he was seeking reinforcements, but Mo Ziru had no time to dwell on it—behind him, an icy sword intent surged skyward.
Shui Duopo had finally leapt up from beneath the earth.
Mo Ziru turned, gripping his sword.
Shui Duopo’s long hair was disheveled, the red dot between his brows now vanished. Half his body was drenched in blood, and in his hand, he clutched an iron arrow.
It wasn’t Tang Wujun’s fire-poisoned arrow.
Shui Duopo held no sword—only a three-foot-long iron arrow.
With this very arrow, he had executed a sword technique, tearing open the tunnel’s ceiling and emerging from below. Yet no one followed him. Liu Yan, Yu Tuan’er, and the three hundred disciples inside the tunnel seemed to have vanished without a trace.
Mo Ziru couldn’t see Shui Duopo’s face, but he could sense the killing intent.
The Golden Physician of the Bright Moon, Shui Duopo, never killed.
But the sword intent of the Sword Emperor, Shui Qiangqiang, was cold and desolate—like a lake beneath a mournful moon.
The thick scent of blood in the wind overwhelmed Mo Ziru. He couldn’t tell if it came from the corpses littering the ground or the man before him. His longsword had long been lost, flung to some unknown place. All he held now was the broken half of Tang Wujun’s bow.
Shui Duopo’s eyes were slightly closed as he advanced step by step toward Mo Ziru.
Blood poured relentlessly from Mo Ziru’s eyes—the "Ghost Rain" poison had fully taken hold. Even with his unparalleled skill, every movement was agony. He heard Shui Duopo’s breathing suddenly falter, as if he had caught a whiff of something shocking. Then came the rush of wind—Shui Duopo’s "sword" struck out at him.
Mo Ziru knelt on one knee, blocking with the broken bow, only to realize he had parried nothing. Shui Duopo wasn’t wielding a sword at all. As Shui Duopo’s breathing grew more frantic, Mo Ziru suddenly remembered—those afflicted by "Mother Wasp’s Frost" craved highly toxic substances. And wasn’t he, poisoned by "Ghost Rain," precisely that?
In the eyes of his dearest friend, he was no longer a man—but prey.
Yet what monstrous form his friend had taken, he couldn’t see.
"Shui Duopo?" Mo Ziru called. "Shui... do you remember the White Emperor’s Sword?"
Shui Duopo, seeing Mo Ziru drenched in blood, seemed not to notice at all. He tightened his grip on the iron arrow, advancing step by step.
Mo Ziru couldn’t hear his footsteps, but he felt the killing intent. "Do you remember Wen Shanhe?"
Shui Duopo abruptly halted. His hand, clenched around the arrow, turned deathly pale and began to tremble.
Mo Ziru pressed on. "Was Wen Shanhe’s blood delicious?"
Shui Duopo’s pupils twitched. With a clang, the iron arrow fell from his hand. His gaze, once vacant and unfocused, now sharpened with unmistakable murderous intent.Mo Ziru wiped the blood and tears from his face once more, his strength nearly spent. "Do you still remember why you buried the White Emperor Sword? Why you stayed at Moonlight Tower... why you vowed to heal and save lives, never to..." Before he could finish, Shui Duopo strode forward and seized his throat, cutting off Mo Ziru's words mid-sentence.
The bones in Mo Ziru's neck creaked under the pressure, fresh blood and tears streaming down, soaking Shui Duopo's hand.
Shui Duopo loosened his grip and licked Mo Ziru's blood.
Gasping for breath, Mo Ziru— "You—" His right hand tightened around the broken bow, swiftly looping it around Shui Duopo's neck. Shui Duopo, now consumed by poison and devoid of reason, would wreak havoc upon the world if he escaped.
How many in this world could withstand the Sword Emperor's blade?
With a bitter laugh, Mo Ziru tightened the bow, ready to snap Shui Duopo's neck as he had done to Tang Wujun.
A soft snick — Mo Ziru felt a sudden chill in his chest as a long sword pierced through him, then withdrew. The wielder's strength was immense, effortlessly pulling away the bow coiled around Shui Duopo's neck and tossing it aside.
Mo Ziru coughed blood and collapsed backward. Shui Duopo picked up a sword from the ground and ran him through— a crude thrust, devoid of technique, piercing lung and meridians alike. Blood gushed from Mo Ziru's mouth as the "Cottonwood Robe" blockage in his qi pathways was shattered by the strike, his energy suddenly flowing freely. He had never coughed up so much blood in his life. After expelling the poisoned blood, his vision cleared slightly, revealing a blurred figure.
Shui Duopo stood before him, gripping a discarded sword with both hands, raising it high as if to cleave Mo Ziru's skull. Mo Ziru frowned. Having known Shui Duopo for years, both as fellow sword masters with decades of training, he had never seen such a stance— raising a sword with both hands left the front and back utterly exposed. A sword wasn't an axe; an overhead slash held little power... Had Shui Duopo lost his mind to the point of forgetting even basic swordsmanship?
Shui Duopo paused briefly, then brought the sword down.
Mo Ziru mustered his last strength, rolling aside to evade.
Shui Duopo raised the sword again for another strike. Too weak to dodge, Mo Ziru gasped, "After... drinking my blood... don't return to Moonlight Tower..." Propping himself up, he met Shui Duopo's gaze. "Don't go back to see her. I fear you'll regret it."
Shui Duopo remained silent, the blade descending with lethal intent.
Suddenly, a hand reached from the side and caught the tip of Shui Duopo's sword.
The brute-force-wielding Shui Duopo lifted his head, his lifeless yet murderous eyes flickering toward the newcomer.
Clad in black embroidered robes and wearing a mask of the smiling Vairocana Buddha, the tall figure moved with regal grace. Gripping the sword's tip, he intoned darkly, "A man of Mo Chunfeng's skill dying so easily would be a terrible waste. The Sword Emperor and you, old friends, matched like orchids in spring and chrysanthemums in autumn— wouldn't it be splendid if both joined my ranks?"
The man didn't introduce himself. Mo Ziru coughed. "You're Huang..." Earlier, he'd heard Song Xiaoyu mutter "Huang..." Now that this man had appeared, he decided to bluff.The newcomer said, "I am Gui Mudan, hailing from Haoyun Mountain. Mo Chunfeng is truly a master of martial arts. My elite archers, who once razed Haoyun Mountain, were all wiped out by you alone." Yet he wasn't fooled. With a flick of his finger, he pushed the dazed Shui Duopo three steps away and crouched before Mo Ziru. "But how the Snow Thread and the Blade of Plum Blossom Control fell into my hands... even as you're nearing death, you must be curious to know."
Mo Ziru asked softly, "Is Zhong Lingyan truly dead?"
Gui Mudan smiled without answering. He drew a bamboo tube from his sleeve, containing several golden spiders the size of soybeans. The spiders had spun webs inside the tube, shimmering with a radiant glow, hues of gold and green intertwining beautifully.
Mo Ziru couldn't see clearly what he was doing. Gui Mudan gripped his face, tilted his chin up, and forced the bamboo tube into his mouth.
For a moment, the world seemed to still. Then, with a faint snap , a flash of crimson erupted. Tiny droplets of blood sprayed, staining Gui Mudan's black robe before vanishing without a trace. Suddenly, Shui Duopo, who had seemed utterly stunned, struck with her sword—just as she had done to Mo Ziru moments before—piercing Gui Mudan clean through from chest to back!
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