Walking along the chain, Lu Yan and Yao Wu suddenly lost their support. A sensation of weightlessness surged from the soles of their feet, as if they had been pushed from a great height. Lu Yan could not see; he only felt his body plummeting. The wind howled past his ears, and with nothing else to grasp, he could only desperately clutch Yao Wu's sleeve. Yao Wu's face contorted in agony. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed a single word from his throat: “Entangle!” Teal vines erupted from his sleeves, scaling the city wall like countless serpents and sinking deep into the brick crevices. With one hand gripping the vines and the other holding Lu Yan, veins bulged on his arms as he strained to retract the vines, pulling himself and Lu Yan upward. The vines stretched taut like lute strings, emitting a low hum in the freezing wind.
“Third Master! Retreat!” Yao Wu's voice cracked from the strain. Below them, the Ice Spirits had nearly submerged Chen San. He was covered in ice shards and purplish-red blood clots, still swinging his axe, but his movements had slowed to near slow-motion. Hearing Yao Wu's shout, he leapt upward and grabbed the city wall, digging his fingers into the brick crevices. His fingernails tore, and blood trickled down the wall. Without looking back, he climbed.
Atop the city wall, Su Li and Shuangyu had already clashed. Su Li had almost no spiritual energy left, holding on solely through the physical strength remaining from her beast transformation. Her fox ears were pressed flat against her scalp, and though her nine tails were mostly charred, they still flared behind her, each sweep kicking up a small shower of dark red sparks.
Shuangyu was not using her full strength. She was testing her, like a cat playing with a mouse, in no rush to kill, wanting to see how long this mouse could struggle. Her grayish-white fingers swept gently through the air, condensing an ice blade that shot toward Su Li. Su Li dodged to the side. The ice blade grazed her shoulder and exploded against the city wall behind her, carving a deep fissure. Gritting her teeth, she raised her hand and shot a dark red thread of fire toward Shuangyu. Shuangyu did not even dodge. She reached out and caught it, the flame exploding in her palm and shattering into a sky of sparks. She looked down at her blackened palm and blew on it, revealing the grayish-white skin once more. “Is that all?” A smirk played on her lips. Su Li did not reply, throwing out spell after spell. Her spiritual energy was draining rapidly, and she had no idea how much longer she could hold out.
Nearby, Du Qi was writing characters. His ink had run dry long ago, so he was now using his own blood. He dipped his brush in blood and wrote one character after another in the empty air. His body heat was fading, his entire frame shivering, and his teeth chattering. As his 'ink' ran low, he plunged a small knife into his thigh, causing blood to spurt out. He trembled even more violently, his body shaking as if he had a fever, yet his hand remained absolutely steady. The written characters formed shackles that wrapped around Shuangyu one after another. She swung her arm, shattering two of the shackles. Du Qi wrote again, his face transparently pale, like a sheet of paper about to be blown away by the wind.
Jiang Ci could not help. Standing on the city wall, she watched the frost multiplying on Su Li's face, watched Du Qi's trembling lips as he dipped his brush in blood to write, and watched Yao Wu struggling on the wall. She did not know what she could do. She could only pray in her heart, praying they would win, praying they would win. She hated herself—why was her cultivation destroyed, why had she been so submissive before, why? She bit the tip of her tongue, a rusty taste filling her mouth. The pain pierced her temples like a needle, suppressing her chaotic emotions. She saw Yao Wu's vines wrapped around the city wall and saw Chen San pulling them up. Stumbling forward, she grabbed the vines and pulled with all her might. Her strength was meager, negligible compared to Chen San's, but she did not let go. They were almost there, almost, just a bit more. She felt the vines rising inch by inch, felt Yao Wu and Lu Yan drawing closer. She pulled, her knuckles turning white, her fingernails digging into her palms until blood seeped out, mixing with the ice shards on the vines.
Staring at the edge of the wall just a stone's throw away, Yao Wu increased his spiritual energy output. Almost there, just a bit more!
“That little girl wasn't wrong. I haven't allowed you to leave.” A decrepit, decaying voice, sounding as though it had seeped out of a coffin, rang out right behind Yao Wu's head. Yao Wu whipped his head around.
A black robe swept past, followed by a flash of blade light. Yao Wu's arm—the one from which the vines extended—flew into the air. The severed stump was a bloody mess, and blood sprayed out, splashing onto Lu Yan's face, warm and metallic.
A second strike slashed open Yao Wu's chest and abdomen, leaving a massive gash through which his internal organs were visible.
A third strike plunged an ice blade into Yao Wu's chest, piercing his lung. With his next breath, what came out of his mouth was not air, but bloody bubbles.
Yao Wu crashed heavily onto the ground, still holding Lu Yan. The surrounding Ice Spirits, like sharks smelling blood, rushed toward them in a frenzy, only to be halted by a gesture from the old man. They buzzed reluctantly, milling around but not daring to step forward.
Yao Wu's blood poured out uncontrollably, mixing with the snow and mud, spreading into a dark red pool beneath him. His mouth hung open as if he wanted to say something, but only a gurgling sound came from his throat, blood spilling from the corners of his mouth and running down his cheeks. He raised his hand, only to let it fall again, as if there were something he could not let go of. His lips moved, though it was unclear whether he was calling out for Nannan or someone else.
Lu Yan could see nothing. He only knew that warm, metallic blood had sprayed across his face, mixing with ice shards against his skin—hot and cold, indistinguishable. He held Yao Wu tightly, feeling the warmth of the body in his arms draining away inch by inch, like sand slipping through an hourglass, impossible to hold. He shivered, his entire body trembling. He heard someone roaring—was it Chen San? He could not hear clearly. He heard someone crying—was it himself? He did not know either.
“Ah Yuan... Ah Yuan! Don't die, don't die! You won't die! You won't die!” Lu Yan's voice sounded as if it were being squeezed from his throat, dry and raspy, unlike his usual self. Trembling, he held Yao Wu and stumbled blindly in the darkness, not knowing where to go. He did not know where the city wall was, where the gates were, or which way was south or north. He only knew that the person in his arms was growing cold, growing light, slipping from his grasp inch by inch. Just like ten years ago.
The old man stood on the city wall, making no move to strike, merely watching. A faint, lingering smile played on his lips, as if he were watching a play. Watching this blind man stumble blindly in the dark.
Lu Yan took dozens of steps while holding Yao Wu before tripping over a stone on the ground. The two tumbled onto the earth, red blood and white snow blending together to weave a striking, eerie portrait. Yao Wu lay prone on the ground, his fingers still twitching, scratching a shallow mark in the snow. His lips trembled, spitting out bloody froth and a few muffled syllables.
“...Yan... Help me... Nannan...”
Yao Wu's hand rose and fell. His eyes remained open, staring at the gray sky, at the falling snow, and at the Nannan he did not know if he would ever see again. His hand hung limp by his side, his fingers still slightly curled as if trying to grasp something.
Lu Yan knelt on the ground, cradling Yao Wu's head in his arms, feeling his temperature grow colder and colder.
It felt as though the entire world had ground to a halt.
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