Li Yao and Xiao Delun instinctively stepped back, their eyes darting nervously toward me. I inhaled deeply and tightened my grip on the sword.
"Stay back," I instructed them, my voice calm but firm. "I'll handle this."
Without waiting for their reply, I entered the courtyard alone.
The air inside was thick with decay, the heavy scent of rot filling my lungs. The ground beneath my feet was covered in a carpet of black moss, and the mist seemed even denser here, swirling like smoke. The house itself was barely visible behind the twisted vines that still gripped parts of its broken frame.
At the center of the courtyard stood the herbalist—or what remained of him.
His body had transformed into something grotesque. His skin was bloated and discolored, a sickly shade of purple veined with black, as though his blood had long since turned to poison. His face had lost all traces of its former humanity, his eyes glowing faintly with a disturbing yellow hue, their pupils dilated unnaturally wide.
I froze, my breath catching as I recognized him.
It's him. The old man from the Misty Forest.
The same man Ruan Yanjun and I had encountered years ago—though now twisted beyond recognition, consumed entirely by his own alchemical experiments.
His limbs jerked and twitched as though some parasite controlled him from within. And when he lunged at me, his elongated, claw-like fingers slashed through the air with lethal precision, glistening with a toxin so potent that even the breeze carried its stinging fumes.
I barely evaded the swipe, rolling aside as his claws tore through the space where my throat had been a heartbeat ago. My instincts screamed at me—this creature was no longer merely mad. He was fully possessed by the very poisons and creations he once sought to control.
The fight began in earnest.
The herbalist lunged again, his entire mutated body now a living weapon. His grotesque claws sliced through the air, each tipped with blackened, venomous nails glistening like obsidian. Every strike carried a lethal dose of poison that could paralyze or kill with a single scratch.
I kept my distance, maneuvering carefully across the rotting courtyard. The thick vines at my feet writhed like living snakes, forcing me to remain light on my step. Every movement had to be precise. A single misstep could end this fight before it even began.
Drawing a breath to steady myself, I infused my blade with a burst of dual-core energy, light and dark swirling together. As his claws swept toward my chest, I parried with my sword in one hand while channeling wind qi into my movements, allowing me to sidestep fluidly and reposition.
He snarled, animalistic, his grotesque frame twisting unnaturally as he charged again. His agility was shocking for a creature so deformed. I slashed toward his leg, hoping to cripple his movement, but even as my blade cut deep into the rotten flesh, I watched with dread as his body regenerated in seconds. The roots beneath his skin pulsed and coiled, knitting the wound closed as if I had never struck him.
His regeneration was unnatural—faster and more invasive than any ordinary healing technique. The roots inside him weren't just sustaining him; they had fully replaced his organs, his muscles—his very being. He was no longer human.
I couldn't afford a single mistake. His fingernails were by far the most dangerous part of him. A glancing graze could end me.
Again, he lunged—erratic, unpredictable, swiping at my neck. I deflected his attack with my sword's flat edge and countered with a sharp kick to his knee, forcing him off balance for a moment. But it wasn't enough. He recovered almost instantly, howling as he charged again, flailing like a rabid beast.
I clenched my jaw. Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, I still harbored a pitiful hope that there was something left of the man he used to be—that perhaps, if I could subdue him without killing him, he might still be saved.
But as the battle dragged on, that hope withered.
There was no humanity left inside this creature. The man was gone—swallowed whole by the monstrous experiment he'd birthed. Even if I found a way to purge the poison and sever the roots, there would be nothing left to restore. Only a hollow shell.
My breath grew heavier as I realized the truth: mercy would only prolong his suffering.
He lunged again, his claws flashing toward my face.
I shifted my stance, light energy surging through my limbs. The world seemed to slow. My blade glowed brilliantly as I channeled one of the old techniques I had not used since my years on Frost Mountain—the Falling Starlight Arc (坠星弧).
The air rippled as I twisted my body mid-motion, drawing a sweeping curve across the space between us. My sword sliced upward with blinding precision, the light qi forming a crescent arc that burst outward like a falling star crashing through the night sky.
The blade tore through his throat in one clean stroke.
The herbalist staggered, his limbs jerking violently for a brief moment before collapsing to the ground with a heavy, wet thud. Purple-black blood oozed from the fatal wound, spreading like ink beneath his body. His twisted chest rose once… then stilled.
I remained frozen for a breath, listening to the deathly silence that followed.
Slowly, I approached, my sword still raised. As I neared the corpse, I watched in horror as his body began to deflate before my eyes, the flesh sagging like a collapsed husk. Thin, pulsating roots squirmed beneath the loose skin, still faintly alive, still twitching.
Kneeling beside him, I carefully peeled back a layer of shriveled flesh.
What lay beneath was no longer a man.
His insides were a tangle of vines and roots, pulsing weakly, as though reluctant to surrender their hold even in death. The poison had long since consumed his organs and blood. His humanity had been devoured by his own creation, leaving only this grotesque fusion of man and plant.
I stared for several moments, unable to tear my eyes away.
This is what obsession can do, I thought bitterly. It devours everything—body, mind, even soul.
Footsteps approached behind me. I turned as Li Yao and Xiao Delun entered, their faces pale, eyes wide as they took in the nightmarish scene.
"Is… is it over?" Li Yao asked, his voice trembling.
I rose slowly, lowering my blade, my voice hoarse. "Yes. But the damage he's caused... it may take years to undo."
Xiao Delun swallowed, his hands still shaking. "I can't believe something like this could happen to a human being."
I gave a slow nod, my chest heavy. "Neither could I."
The three of us stood in the ruined courtyard for a moment longer, the mist swirling around us, the weight of what had transpired settling deep in our bones.
I turned and stepped deeper into the house. The moment I crossed the threshold, a chill crept along my spine. The air was damp and heavy, thick with the scent of mildew and decay. Dust coated every surface, cobwebs draped like shrouds from the rafters. Each creak beneath my feet echoed like a whisper from the dead.
We ventured through the dim corridors, our footsteps careful and deliberate, until we reached a chamber that felt colder than the rest. A faint light flickered within, casting long shadows along the walls. At the center of the room stood a tall glass case, its edges sealed with thick, yellowed resin. The faint shimmer of condensation clung to the inside of the glass, as though the very air inside had been locked away for years.
I stopped. My breath caught in my throat.
Inside the case, preserved with haunting precision, was the corpse of a woman.
Her skin was pale but unblemished, as though untouched by time. Dark hair framed her face in soft waves, and her lips were faintly parted, as if she had simply fallen into a gentle sleep. She looked heartbreakingly peaceful, almost… alive. The eerie perfection of her preserved state sent a cold shudder through me. For a moment, the entire room felt as though it was holding its breath.
I stared, unable to tear my gaze away.
Could this be the herbalist's wife?
Four years ago, the old man had pleaded with me—pleaded for the legendary herb, desperate to save her. I had doubted him then. And Ruan Yanjun, who had stood beside me, had declared him a liar. But now, standing before this grotesque shrine of love and obsession, I realized the truth.
The peace officers entered behind us. One of them stepped closer, his voice breaking the heavy silence. "This woman has been dead for over a decade. The villagers reported her passing long ago."
His words struck like a blade. A decade? And yet her body remained, perfectly preserved as though frozen in time.
My mind raced, piecing together the fragments—the old man's desperation, his frantic pursuit of the Dual Bloom, his refusal to accept her death. It hadn't been illness, as he had claimed. She had already been gone. His grief had consumed him, driving him to preserve her with some unnatural technique while clinging to the impossible hope of bringing her back.
I swallowed hard as another memory surfaced. Back then, when the herbalist had begged for the Dual Bloom, I had denied him. I had kept the herb for myself. I remembered Ruan Yanjun's warning:
"The Dual Bloom can restore life, but it revives not what was lost—it creates something twisted. A hollow shell wearing the face of the dead."
He had been right.
Had we given the herbalist that herb, he would have used it to awaken this corpse—to create something monstrous, not unlike the horror we faced today. And if I had not kept the herb, I might not have survived the illness that nearly took my own life.
My chest tightened as I gazed one last time at the woman inside the glass. She had become both the symbol of his love and the root of his madness. His devotion had not saved her—it had devoured him entirely.
"Let's leave this place," I said quietly, my voice almost a whisper. "There's nothing more we can do."
Li Yao and Xiao Delun nodded without a word, their faces pale as we quietly backed away from the chamber of obsession, leaving behind the final tragedy of the mad herbalist.