MO RAN CLENCHED his fists, heart pounding like a drum, temples throbbing. A preposterous thought thundered through his mind: Nangong Changying would kill Nangong Si at any moment—was he really going to stand here and watch? Could he do it with a clear conscience?
An agonizing war raged within him, but no one noticed aught amiss.
Nangong Si's precarious position drew everyone's gazes like soft sand absorbing water. Any moment now, that sharp blade would draw blood.
The forest rustled around him. Mo Ran gripped a hidden arrow in his sleeve, running his fingertip over its point. He wanted to do it, yet the thought made his fears multiply like weeds…
All of a sudden, Nangong Changying stiffened and shuddered. The abrupt movement drew everyone's attention.
"What's going on?" Xue Zhengyong cried out in alarm.
Nangong Changying couldn't see exactly where Nangong Si was standing, so his sword's aim was slightly askew. Nangong Si didn't make a sound. If he let out so much as a sigh, if any move shifted the wind in the slightest, Nangong Changying would notice.
Nangong Si stared at his ancestor, his face bloodless yet stubborn as ever. He pressed his lips together, dried blood cracking at the corners of his mouth.
"You are…Nangong…Si?"
Everyone standing near the front of the crowd—Xue Zhengyong included—shivered at these words. Nangong Changying was conscious?!
Mo Ran's expression changed at once. With a silvery flash, he tucked that arrow back into his sleeve. His back was soaked in sweat, his heart beating a chaotic rhythm. It had been a close call… He'd almost revealed himself.
His relief was quickly followed by a wave of discomfort and disgust. Standing before Mount Jiao, the souls of his past life and present self were locked in fierce battle. They wrestled and howled, tearing bloody gashes into one another. How long could he keep this up?
"Nangong…Si… Seventh…"
Within the barrier, the sword Nangong Changying held aloft wavered.
Bit by bit, inch by precious inch, its aim shifted…
"Is he really conscious?" Xue Zhengyong asked incredulously. He wasn't—not yet, at least. But as Mo Ran watched, Nangong Changying was clawing back whatever awareness remained within this corpse. Tucked away somewhere on Mount Jiao, Xu Shuanglin was like a puppeteer watching his performance slip from his control. He'd never before manipulated such a complex marionette, and would soon reach his limits. Nangong Changying was about to throw off his—
The sickening sound of a sword sinking into flesh cleaved through Mo Ran's thoughts. His scalp went numb, his pupils contracting to pinpricks.
Blood splattered over the dirt. After a terrible moment of silence, a mangled cry pierced the air like a chill blade. "A-Si!"
"Miss Ye!"
"Ye Wangxi!"
From left and right, the crowd rushed forward to restrain Ye Wangxi.
Her eyes were scarlet with anguish. The others feared what she might do out of desperation—but upon second thought, what could she do? She wasn't born of the Nangong clan; no matter how crucial she was to the family, to Mount Jiao, she was an outsider. She couldn't get in.
Nangong Changying's sword had mercilessly punctured Nangong Si's shoulder. Had he his sight, the wind would right now be blowing through a gaping hole in Nangong Si's chest.
Nangong Si went rigid, his lips parted as if to speak. Nangong Changying pulled out his sword with a spray of scarlet, and Nangong Si fell to the ground; all that came out was a great mouthful of blood. He tried and failed several times to pull himself upright before crumpling in the dirt.
Who knew what Xu Shuanglin had done—perhaps he'd tapped into the energy of his spiritual core, or simply bent all his focus to bringing Nangong Changying under control. Moments from recovering awareness, the corpse transformed again into a murderous puppet. He hefted his sword, rivulets of blood running down the grooved blade and dripping to the ground. Beneath the light of the moon, they spread into a patch of murky darkness.
Nangong Si pressed himself up again, to no avail. He could only obstinately lift his head to face his assailant.
Mo Ran's lashes trembled, his eyes fluttering shut. Why did Nangong Si have to show everyone this face of his? Those proud, high-spirited, and handsome features were a mess of blood and dirt, barely recognizable. He looked wretched; anyone with a conscience would feel grief seeing him.
But there was no grief in Nangong Si's eyes—they held only fire and light. Before Nangong Changying could strike again, a snow-white streak flew toward him. Howling, Naobaijin recklessly charged at Nangong Changying.
"A-Si…"
Ye Wangxi was on the verge of breaking down, but Nangong Si didn't look at her. He fixed his gaze on Jiang Xi, bloody lips opening and closing. He couldn't speak loud enough, but Jiang Xi watched him form the words and understood. Hands behind his back, he trained unblinking brown eyes on Nangong Si's lips.
When Nangong Si finished, there was a pause. "Yes," Jiang Xi eventually answered. "I understand."
A pitiful howl split the air as Nangong Changying flung off Naobaijin with a single hand. The dull thump of the faewolf hitting the ground was much louder than the sound his master had made. His pure-white bulk crashed through a grove of trees, flattening their branches to the ground.
His spiritual energy couldn't withstand such an injury; the enormous faewolf disappeared in a puff of white smoke, and a fluffy pup scampered out on unsteady legs. Scarcely as tall as a man's hand, he clamped his sharp teeth down on Nangong Changying's hem with all his might, still fighting in his juvenile form.
Nangong Si turned his head. "Leave," he hacked out. "Leave, now."
"Arf arf! Aroooo!" Naobaijin would do no such thing. But the strength of his tiny jaws was nothing against Nangong Changying. He didn't bother swatting the pup away. A twitch of his fingers set the ground shuddering—the corpses Nangong Si had previously bound were shoved up from the earth by Mount Jiao's vines.
This power was sufficient to uproot a mountain, to lay the land to waste. Nangong Si's eyes blazed with furious light. He pressed a palm to the ground, and a terrible pain shot through his chest as his spiritual core fractured.
He offered up his spiritual core, forged over the course of two decades. He surrendered years of his blood, sweat, and tears. In an irrevocable, desperate last effort, he bellowed: "Bury them!"
With perfect, singing clarity, he felt the core that had lain within his heart for twenty years shatter. The sensation was very light—like a springtime breeze over a lake, leaving a trail of gentle ripples. It was very heavy—like a mountain rupturing, sending stones careening to earth, leaving behind naught but choking dust.
Nangong Si felt a wash of hazy relief. So this was what it felt like to shatter one's spiritual core. It was painful, but not unbearably so. Then—it hadn't been such a cruel end when his mother died. It had lasted only an instant.
The evil dragon's soul shuddered with the power of his sacrifice.
Those blood vines that had loosened coiled tightly around the corpses again. Nangong Changying jerked his chin up with a low hum of surprise. He strode over to Nangong Si and stopped.
Nangong Si couldn't get to his feet, much less walk away. Without his spiritual core, he was no different from any commoner; he couldn't even summon his sword. He panted for breath, face uplifted. Reflected in his eyes was Nangong Changying, and the splendid moon behind him. "Sect Founder…"
The ribbon over Nangong Changying's eyes flapped in the wind. He stood motionless, then twitched his fingertips again. But Mount Jiao couldn't answer its first master so soon after Nangong Si had sacrificed his core. The blood vines didn't heed him as they slowly tightened around the corpses and tugged them deeper into the earth.
Nangong Si knew he was running out of time. If Nangong Changying gave a more assertive command, Mount Jiao would listen to him over anyone else—this was immutable fact. It didn't matter. Nangong Si didn't regret paying this price; he had given all he could. He carried no guilt in his heart.
Outside the barrier, Mo Ran clenched his jaw, fiddling once again with his hidden arrow. The planes of his face were taut with strain, his hands trembling within his sleeves.
Within, Nangong Si said, "Sect Founder…I'm sorry. I still…still haven't managed to accomplish anything…"
His ancestor lifted his sword once more, and Nangong Si fought the urge to close his eyes. Yet in the moment he expected the blow to fall, Nangong Changying's head swiveled around. With much difficulty, the sect founder ground out a question. "Your name…is Nangong…Si?"
Nangong Si froze. "Sect Founder? Y-you're conscious? Can…can you understand me?"
His last question was too soft for Mo Ran to hear, but everyone could see Nangong Changying had stilled. His lips moved stiffly; he was clearly talking to Nangong Si.
"I…shouldn't…be fighting…you…" As he held his sword aloft, a halting stream of words issued from his mouth. "I still have…my memories of the past… Before I died, I worried the future would bring unexpected changes…" He had just recovered his mind, and his speech was hoarse and garbled. "But I never thought…a day like this would come."
Nangong Changying paused. "Nangong…Si. In a moment…after I speak the incantation…you must take…my bow… I…"
Bow? What bow?
Nangong Si's mind was blank when Nangong Changying let the point of his blade fall, dragging it over the ground with a low rumble like a dragon's roar. Then he leapt backward, sleeves flying, graceful as an immortal.
Nangong Changying was trembling as he fought the will of the Zhenlong Chess spellcaster. Each halting word came at grave cost.
"Chuanyun—come."
A melodious cry answered from the heart of the mountain. Before Nangong Si's eyes, the ground split with a deafening crack. Within the shower of sand, a deep blue bow emitted a long keening noise, its glow relieving the boundless dark of night.
Jaws dropped open across the crowd. Even Chu Wanning, for all his solemnity, paled at the sight. This was the holy weapon legend said had been buried with Rufeng Sect's founder—Chuanyun!
"Quick—take it!" Nangong Changying rasped. His hands shook violently. Threads of invisible spider silk seemed to tug him toward his holy weapon, yet he did all in his power to resist. "Chuanyun's arrows can
incinerate any body of flesh and blood… Burn it."
On some level, Nangong Si already understood what Nangong Changying was asking. But the idea was too shocking; he croaked in disbelief: "Burn what?"
"Me!" Nangong Changying roared. "But—Sect Founder!"
"Don't allow my body…to be used for…what I most abhorred in life." Nangong Changying stood tall and stately, his sleeves whipping in the wind as he uttered his final words after centuries of slumber. "Burn it!"