What were they to do? Those standing in the room exchanged glances, their eyes filled with utter helplessness. Du Qi kept his eyes lowered, his fingers unconsciously rubbing his sleeve, clutching his brush until it grew warm. Chen San rested his axe on the floor, propping his chin on his hands over the handle, staring intently at the glowing formation lines. Yao Wu held Nannan close, burying his face in her hair in silence. Hong Jiu leaned against the wall, pressing her hand against the wound on her ribs, taking soft, shallow breaths as if afraid of making too much noise. Lu Yan knelt before the formation plate, his fingers still pressed against the lines, not daring to let go, withdraw, or even lift his head.
Su Li crossed her arms, found a place to sit, crossed her legs, and leaned back against the chair. She watched the group as if watching a play that had nothing to do with her. Indeed, this matter likely had nothing to do with her. Everspring City? Why would she even go there? She had only wanted to exchange Jiang Ci's soul for forty percent of the sword pills. In the end, she hadn't gotten the soul, had ended up with a contract bound to her, and had nearly been trampled to death by the Ice Spirits. Now, the teleportation formation could only transport two people, and she wasn't even a candidate for the second spot. She glanced at Lu Yan, then at Jiang Ci, and finally at Nannan in Yao Wu's arms. Her lips twitched slightly, but she said nothing.
Chen San was the first to speak. His voice wasn't loud, but every word fell like a nail driven into wood. “I'm not leaving. You go. I'll cover the rear.” He didn't look at anyone as he spoke, his eyes fixed on his axe. There were still bits of ice clinging to the blade, left behind from when he had hacked at the Ice Spirits earlier. He wiped the ice away and lifted the axe. “I was always just a thug for the Abandoned Guest Hall. Covering the rear is my job.”
Du Qi tapped his fingers twice on the table. The sound was soft, but everyone in the room noticed. He was calculating—not who would leave and who would stay, but how to get everyone out. As a Confucian cultivator, he had spent his entire life calculating ledgers, yet no matter how he calculated now, he found this account impossible to balance. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. His gaze swept across everyone's faces before finally resting on Hong Jiu.
“Hong Jiu, you go.”
Hong Jiu froze. Leaning against the wall, she pressed her hand against the wound on her ribs. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain remained. She looked up at Du Qi, her mouth opening slightly as if to say something, but she swallowed the words back down. She didn't ask why; there was no need to. She was the most severely injured—her shoulder blade pierced and her ribs fractured. She couldn't walk far, and staying behind would only make her a burden. Rather than waiting to die, it was better to stake her life on the teleportation formation. She knew Du Qi wasn't showing her favoritism; he was simply balancing the ledger. When the calculations were done, she was the one who had to go. She didn't argue. Supporting herself against the wall, she stood up and walked to the formation plate. The pale golden light on the formation lines had grown incredibly dim, flickering like an oil lamp on the verge of burning out, ready to die at any moment.
Hong Jiu stood on the formation plate, holding Nannan. A pale blue light surged from the formation lines, wrapping them inside like a thin cocoon. It was cold and clear, like an undercurrent beneath a sheet of ice, or like the final flare of a dying candle.
Hong Jiu looked down at Nannan. The little girl was still asleep, her face nestled against the crook of Hong Jiu's shoulder, her eyelashes trembling slightly as she dreamed. Hong Jiu's lips twitched, but she couldn't bring herself to smile. She wanted to say something, opening her mouth, but once again swallowed her words. There was nothing to say. Everything that needed to be said had already been said; all the insults had already been hurled. She had mocked Yao Wu for his sharp tongue, cursed Du Qi for being a cheapskate, chided Lu Yan for being restless despite his blindness, and grumbled about Chen San doing nothing but eating. Now, she couldn't squeeze out a single one of those sharp words.
“Activate it,” Du Qi said. His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried immense weight. The formation lines flared suddenly, and the base shuddered, the cracks deepening further. Shards of glass embedded in the fissures creaked under the impact of spiritual energy, sounding like cracking ice. Nannan stirred in Hong Jiu's arms, her brow furrowing, but she didn't wake. Hong Jiu held her a little tighter, so tight that it aggravated her wound, causing her to gasp in pain. But she didn't loosen her grip.
The light grew brighter and brighter, and the entire teleportation formation vibrated. Cracks on the green flagstones spread outward from the base like a spiderweb or a parched riverbed. Hong Jiu cast one last glance at them. She didn't speak, she didn't wave, and she didn't call out anyone's name. She only held Nannan a little tighter. Then, the formation lines went dark. The light vanished, the warmth faded, and the formation plate was left empty. Hong Jiu was gone. Nannan was gone.
Yao Wu stared at the empty space for a long time. He didn't speak, nor did he cry. He slowly knelt down by the edge of the formation plate, reaching out to touch the residual warmth left on the stone. It was warm, not yet cold. He pulled his hand back and clenched it into a fist, his knuckles turning white. He didn't cry. He only whispered, “Take good care of Nannan for me.”
“I'm waiting for you to take care of her yourself!”
The voice echoed as the residual pale blue light on the formation plate had not yet fully dispersed. Du Qi's pupils contracted. The spiritual energy circuit was still running; though the light was dim, it hadn't gone out. His fingers tapped rapidly against the table twice as his mind raced. “It can still work.” He knelt down, running his fingers along the formation lines. The cracks hadn't expanded further, and spiritual energy was still flowing. Weak, but unbroken. “We can send one more. Quick!”
He looked up, his gaze sweeping across everyone's faces. Hong Jiu and Nannan were gone. Of those remaining—Chen San was going to cover the rear, Yao Wu was clinging to the lingering warmth of Nannan, Lu Yan had to sustain the formation plate, and he himself had to control the situation. His gaze locked onto Jiang Ci. “You go.” It was not a negotiation, but a command. Jiang Ci was taken aback. She leaned against the wall, her hand still pressed against her abdomen, the blood at the corner of her mouth not yet wiped away. She looked at Du Qi, then at Lu Yan, and finally at the dying light on the formation plate.
“I'll go.” She didn't hesitate. Supporting herself against the wall, she stood up straight and walked to the formation plate. The formation lines glowed faintly beneath her feet, a pale blue, like a candle wick burning down to its end. She held Qinghan close to her chest, the scabbard feeling icy cold against her skin.
Lu Yan knelt beside the formation plate, his fingers pressed against the lines. His spiritual energy was completely drained; he was using his very body to hold together the dispersing light. He didn't speak, didn't stop her, and didn't call her name. His fingers groped along the formation lines, searching for any circuit that might still function, wanting to buy her just one more second. His lips parted, though whether he was speaking to Jiang Ci or to himself was unclear. In the end, he only managed to squeeze out two words: “Stay alive.”
Du Qi pressed his hand against the formation base, preparing to activate the final teleportation. As he poured his spiritual energy inside, the formation lines flared violently. And then—
It went dark. The light vanished, the warmth dissipated, and the cracks on the formation base suddenly ruptured, shattering across the floor. A massive backlash surged from the formation plate, throwing Jiang Ci backward. She flew dozens of feet, her back slamming hard against the wall with a muffled groan before she slid to the floor. Qinghan slipped from her grasp, clattering sharply against the wooden floorboards.
Lu Yan froze. He remained in the posture of pressing the formation lines, his hand hovering in midair, stone dust and blood embedded beneath his fingernails. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He slowly lowered his hand and clenched it into a tight fist, his knuckles popping. He knew that Jiang Ci could no longer leave.
Du Qi knelt before the formation plate, his fingers resting on the shattered lines. There was no hope of repair; the spiritual energy circuits were completely severed. His hand remained steady, but the light in his eyes slowly dimmed. He pulled his brush from his sleeve and dipped it in ink. He dipped the tip into the inkstone three times until it was fully saturated, the ink running down the shaft and dripping onto his cuff. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal his forearm, which was marked by several scabbed wounds—cuts he had made during previous writings. He glanced at them, then pulled his sleeve back down without drawing blood. The ink today was enough.
Chen San lifted his axe from the floor, rested it on his shoulder, and pushed open the door without looking back. Snow rushed in. The wind whipped ice particles against his face, stinging sharply. A blue light squeezed through the gap in the door, illuminating the entire street like the deep ocean. The Ice Spirits had reached the entrance. Holding his axe horizontally in front of him, he stood on the threshold. He wasn't trying to block the door; he was telling them that what was coming had arrived. He did not look back. The lanterns of the Abandoned Guest Hall were still lit, swaying wildly in the wind, their flames dancing frantically inside as melted wax dripped down the stands to form a large puddle. Du Qi reached out to steady a lantern; the flame flickered, then stabilized once more. It wasn't that it wouldn't go out, but that its time had not yet come.
Yao Wu stood up from the edge of the formation plate. He withdrew his hand from the stone slab, clenching it into a fist and resting it on his knee. Lu Yan placed a hand on his shoulder, not letting go. The two knelt there, neither of them moving. Jiang Ci leaned against the wall, retrieving Qinghan and cradling it in her arms.
Su Li stood in the corner, watching the group. Her phoenix was still recovering, her spiritual energy had not returned, and the contract bound to her had not been broken. She should leave. She should slip out through the back door amidst the chaos, let this group perish along with the Ice Spirits, and return to the Central Continent to report her mission. But she didn't move. The contract bound them; if Du Qi died, her cultivation would be sealed as well. She couldn't let him die—at least, not yet.
Outside, the snow fell heavier, and the blue light grew brighter. The footsteps stopped; they had arrived at the door. Chen San gripped the handle of his axe, the power of his vital energy condensing into a dull golden film of light over the blade. He waited for them to push the door; he would not push it first.
The lantern remained lit. As the wind rushed in, the flame flickered, then stabilized once more. It wasn't that it wouldn't go out, but that its time had not yet come.
In this ordeal, who would live and who would die was still undecided!
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