The frenzied Da Hui also emitted eerie, low moans from his throat.
All the people surrounding Wang Lingqiu, over a thousand in number, were chanting in a sinister chorus. Those poisoned by the Huo Deng Ling family's techniques, those who had taken the Nine Hearts Pill, and the highly skilled monks of Shaolin Temple encircled the tent where Tang Lichen was.
Wang Lingqiu cradled the skull of Wang Lingze in his arms, gripping the threads of the Gu Spider's blood as if he held the reins of countless puppets. Suddenly, he burst into maniacal laughter. "Hahaha! The Central Plains Sword Society killed my beloved sister and harmed my benefactor! I will make sure you all die by my Huo Deng Ling, trampled beneath the feet of these thousands! Especially Tang Lichen—I want him dead! To die horribly! To be crushed into a pile of broken bones and flesh!"
He pointed at Wan Yu Yuedan's nose. "You—you could have joined forces with my Wang family to share the world! But you were too foolish! Prince Ji humbled himself to negotiate with you, yet you dared to mock him—you will die too! You and Tang Lichen will be devoured by thousands of poison-crazed beings, reduced to nothing but spit and scraps on the ground…"
At such venomous curses, the members of Bilan Palace paled. Tie Jing and He Yan'er drew their swords with a sharp hiss, shouting fiercely, "Shut your mouth, you bald old fool! How dare you spew such nonsense and insult our palace master!"
Hong Guniang's heart trembled slightly—so Chai Xijing had once attempted to ally with Bilan Palace, yet Wan Yu Yuedan had never breathed a word of it.
At that moment, hordes of poison-crazed people, under Wang Lingqiu's command, lunged toward Wan Yu Yuedan and the others. These people were not skilled in martial arts—some knew none at all—but they fought with reckless abandon, consumed by madness. Meng Qinglei, Gu Xitan, and the others drew their swords to defend, forming a small protective circle around Wan Yu Yuedan and Tang Lichen. Though the Central Plains Sword Society could hold their ground for now, the poison-crazed attackers were numerous, and the Shaolin monks had yet to intervene. If this dragged on, the Sword Society would exhaust their strength and likely suffer a brutal defeat at the hands of the thousand-strong horde, dying in horrific fashion.
To Wan Yu Yuedan's ears, the inhuman, ghostly wails filled the mountains and fields, endless and overwhelming. Blind as he was, the sounds painted a vision of countless walking corpses howling for their lost souls, drowning in confusion and agony. Turning toward Wang Lingqiu's direction, he raised his voice. "It is true that strength reigns supreme in this world, but above strength, there is still righteousness. A true ruler governs with virtue—only then is he called the Son of Heaven. As Young Master Tang once said, he does not argue principles, but he distinguishes right from wrong. And your Wang family—what path do you walk? What kind of world do you seek?"
Wang Lingqiu was momentarily speechless. He had always spoken of "the world," but what kind of world did he truly want? Neither he nor Wang Lingze had ever truly considered it. In their fantasies, "the world" was merely vengeance achieved, pride restored, or the glory and power of life-and-death authority over countless others. Beyond that, there seemed to be nothing else.
Wan Yu Yuedan had asked, "What kind of world do you seek?"
And he did not know.
Hong Guniang glanced at Wan Yu Yuedan, then at Wang Lingqiu. She did not find it laughable—instead, she reflected on herself. Back when she had schemed for Liu Yan, she had never asked herself: If I seize the world, what kind of world do I truly want?
A world where everyone is addicted to poison and the strong prey on the weak?
Or a world of endless fear, where toil yields nothing, trust is a joke, and human life is worthless?
In such a world, even if everyone kneels before me—would that truly make me supreme?Ahead, Pu Zhu stood with his sword, blocking the path of Da Hui and the others. Da Hui's eyes suddenly rippled with emotion, his expression caught between laughter and tears. "Abbot... nephew..."
The parasitic insects in Pu Zhu's dantian stirred restlessly. To him, the air was thick with an intoxicating fragrance emanating from everyone around, but the scent from the Shaolin monks—especially from Da Hui—was the strongest.
He bowed slightly to Da Hui, his tone still composed. "Uncle Da Hui, I have misjudged people, trusted the wrong ones, and penned deceitful letters that brought calamity upon the Central Plains Sword Assembly. I falsely accused Tang Lizhi, leading to the death of Shao Yanping and the tragic demise of many innocent senior monks in our temple. Such sins... can only be absolved by descending into hell. The matter of the abbotship—since the ceremony was never completed—must be the will of heaven. I ask that you return to Shaolin and choose another in my stead."
Da Hui's face twisted grotesquely, as if he both understood and did not understand. Beside him, the "Asura Monk," who had not been howling like the others—perhaps less affected by the poison—suddenly widened his eyes, streaks of bloody tears dripping from the corners.
Pu Zhu's voice remained calm, yet each word carried the weight of Shaolin's inner energy, resonating far into the surrounding mountains and forests.
Tang Lizhi's silver-gray hair spilled across the ground. He parted his lips.
His voice was drowned out by Pu Zhu's power, heard only by Fu Zhumei.
Fu Zhumei, weakened after expelling the spider eggs, lay sprawled on the ground, his mind oddly clearer. Unable to rise, he heard Tang Lizhi murmur a single word: "Don't..."
He didn’t know what Tang Lizhi was pleading against, but when he turned, he saw Pu Zhu gripping his sword in reverse, poised to pierce his own chest—where the Spider King, the master of the parasitic spiders, lay hidden.
Pu Zhu intended to offer the Spider King to the Shaolin monks. Once consumed, the "Honeyed Frost Dew" would no longer control their minds. Though the agony of the parasite burrowing into flesh would be unbearable, it would preserve their sanity.
A crisp clink rang out as a flash of gold streaked through the air, striking the hilt of Pu Zhu's sword.
Caught off guard, Pu Zhu lost his grip, and the blade clattered to the ground.
Tang Lizhi had plucked the golden hairpin embedded in the earth and hurled it. Now, he reached into his blood-soaked robes and pulled out a small bottle.
The bottle was carved from white jade, smooth and lustrous, now slick with blood.
No one knew what it contained.
But who would dare underestimate something drawn from Tang Lizhi’s bloodstained garments?
Bracing himself with one hand on the ground, he gripped the jade bottle with the other, biting down on the stopper.
It fell away.
An intense yet familiar floral fragrance wafted from the bottle. Pu Zhu shuddered violently. The swaying, moaning figures around them suddenly fell silent, every gaze fixed upon that bottle.
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