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Chapter 7: Intercepting Zhu ZhuqingThe air on the outskirts of the Great Star Dou Forest was always permeated with the scent of rotting leaves and damp earth.
Mo Bai stepped over a patch of broken branches, his footsteps so light they seemed weightless. The girl behind him followed closely, her pink eyes reflecting the dappled shadows of the trees. Two years had passed, and Xiao Wu's figure had shed its childhood innocence; her waist swayed naturally as she walked, carrying a certain rhythm that had been meticulously calibrated. At fourteen years old, her body had bloomed into a seductive yet still youthful allure—slender and lithe like a dancing rabbit, with long, toned legs that looked especially alluring in tight pants, a narrow waist that flared into gently rounded hips, and small but perky breasts that bounced subtly with each step. Her soft, shoulder-length dark hair framed a delicate, bunny-like face with large, watery pink eyes that now carried a permanent hint of hazy desire. Two soft, fluffy rabbit ears occasionally peeked through her hair when her emotions surged, twitching cutely.
"Teacher." Xiao Wu's voice was sticky, like a cat that had just woken up. "How much longer do we have to walk?"
Mo Bai didn't turn around; his mental strength spread forward like a spiderweb. His "Absolute Stealth" domain centered on him with a radius of a full fifty meters—after promoting to Soul Saint, this range had nearly doubled. Within the domain, not only were aura and soul power fluctuations completely erased, but even the boundary between "human" and "transformed soul beast" on himself and Xiao Wu became blurred.
"Soon," he said.
It truly was soon. He could feel soul power colliding violently about two kilometers ahead—one signature weak yet sharp, the other turbid and filled with murderous intent.
Xiao Wu trotted a few steps to walk side by side with Mo Bai, her arm naturally brushing against his sleeve. Her body tensed slightly at the moment of contact and then quickly relaxed, as if this movement had been carved into her very marrow. "Is it... a new sister?" she asked, tilting her head. There was no jealousy in her tone, only a sort of simple curiosity—like a child asking what was for dinner.
Mo Bai finally turned his head to glance at her. Xiao Wu immediately pursed her lips and smiled, her fingers twisting the corner of her clothes. Her soul power had steadily halted at Rank 35, pushed up by his "personal teaching" over the past month. Her third soul ring came from a thousand-year-old (Pink Maiden), and the effect of the soul skill made Mo Bai very satisfied—or rather, it was very practical.
"Perhaps." Mo Bai withdrew his gaze. "It depends on whether she is worth 'casting'."
His voice was very calm, like evaluating a piece of ore. Xiao Wu, however, trembled slightly because of those words; a familiar, numbing heat rose from the root of her thighs. She remembered the process of her own "becoming worthy"—those long and thorough "lessons" that made her understand the meaning of her existence from her very bones.
"I will help Teacher," she whispered, her tone devout.
Mo Bai did not respond. He quickened his pace, the stealth domain following like a shadow. Xiao Wu hurried to keep up, their figures moving soundlessly through the dense forest. Even the startled flying insects would hover blankly half a meter away from them, as if nothing were there.
The sounds of battle became clearer and clearer.
Mo Bai stopped on the branch of an ancient tree and signaled Xiao Wu to stay low. Through the interlocking leaves, he saw the girl.
She was very thin, with black hair tied in a neat ponytail behind her head. The tight leather armor she wore was torn in three or four places, and the seeping blood stained the dark fabric into even deeper patches. Her martial soul was possessed—Hell Civet. Those cat ears stood erect on her head, twitching slightly; the long black tail extending from her tailbone lashed the ground restlessly. Her eyes were amber, currently narrowed into thin slits due to anger and despair. Zhu Zhuqing's body was sleek and athletic, with smooth, pale skin that glistened with a thin layer of sweat and blood. Her small, firm breasts rose and fell rapidly under the torn armor, the faint outlines of her pink nipples visible through the ripped fabric. Her waist was impossibly narrow, hips subtly curved, and her long, slender legs were toned from years of agility training, ending in delicate feet now stained with dirt.
Confronting her was a middle-aged man whose martial soul was a dark gray serrated short sword. A four-ring Soul Ancestor, his soul ring configuration was two yellow and two purple—not top-tier, but enough to deal with a Great Soul Master who only had two yellow soul rings.
"Zhu Zhuqing." The man panted, yet his smile was grotesque. "Stop struggling. Young Master Davis said he wants you alive—but missing an arm or a leg won't affect you 'marrying' into the family."
Zhu Zhuqing did not answer. She crouched low, a low growl of threat escaping her throat. Her second soul ring lit up—Hell Stab. Her figure blurred in an instant, and three afterimages pounced toward the man from different directions!
"Trifling tricks." The man sneered, his third soul ring flashing. "Blade Wheel Dance!"
The serrated short sword rotated at high speed, turning into a gray shadow protecting his body. Zhu Zhuqing's claws struck the blade wheel, emitting a piercing scraping sound. She was sent flying back by the shock, her back slamming into the trunk of a tree; she let out a muffled groan, a trace of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.
The man gave her no chance to breathe; his second soul ring lit up, and the short sword flew from his hand, stabbing straight toward her lower abdomen!
Zhu Zhuqing's pupils shrank. She could see the trajectory of the blade, but her body couldn't keep up—her soul power was almost exhausted, and the wound on her leg was deep enough to see the bone. Was she going to die? Die in a place like this, like a stray dog?
Unwilling.
So unwilling—
The tip of the blade was only half a meter away from her.
Then, it stopped.
No, not stopped. It disappeared.
Zhu Zhuqing blinked, wondering if she was hallucinating. That lethal short sword, along with that sneering man, had disappeared without warning, like pencil marks erased by an eraser. There was no sound, no soul power fluctuation, not even a breeze.
Immediately following, she heard footsteps.
Very light, very steady, coming from the woods to her front-left. A man walked out, followed by a girl in pink clothes.
The man looked to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, wearing an ordinary deep gray long robe. His face could be described as handsome, but those eyes—Zhu Zhuqing couldn't describe that look. It wasn't cold, nor was it gentle, but rather... empty. Like a lake with no reflection. He looked at her, yet seemed to be looking at some void point behind her.
"Can you still walk?" the man asked. His voice was also very flat, devoid of emotion.
Zhu Zhuqing's throat was dry. She struggled to stand up; the wound on her leg was agitated, making her vision turn black from the pain. But she bit her lower lip and forced herself upright, leaning against the tree trunk.
"I can," she said, her voice raspy.