If I say I can kill, then I can kill.

Zheng Fanren touched the black scarf that had not yet slipped from his head and, to his own surprise, smiled bitterly and muttered, “How did Wan Lixing recognize me? Was my disguise so poor, or can this cheap black cloth truly not conceal my brilliance?”

This self-deprecating remark helped him maintain a grip on his consciousness, yet he still had half the distance to go.

His blurry eyes could finally make out that Wan Lixing was still struggling; the bamboo poles on his body creaked and groaned. They seemed eager to roll off but lacked the strength.

Within Wan Lixing, the vital energies barely stirred—he could not even make a sound. As he fought to move, only a faint yellow glow shimmered weakly around him.

At last, several bamboo poles toppled to the ground, striking the stone floor with a jubilant clatter. The sound was crisp and clear; to Wan Lixing, it was beautiful, proof that he was still alive.

By then, Zheng Fanren had already edged close to the dagger.

...

A long, unmeasured time passed; neither man knew how long it had been. Wan Lixing did not understand why he had not yet died, as if death itself would not claim him. Zheng Fanren did not know where he found the strength, yet he still managed to raise the dagger and thrust it at the prone Wan Lixing.

It felt as if some unknown force was sustaining him.

Wan Lixing could just barely make out the dagger and Zheng Fanren’s wavering silhouette. With difficulty, he croaked, “Why...?”

Zheng Fanren forced a pained smile and replied slowly, “I don’t know. But you’d be better off dead.”

And one last question: “Was it the Zhou family?”

Wan Lixing managed a miraculous smile. Zheng Fanren’s dagger finally plunged into the back of his neck.

Yet Zheng Fanren felt that his own death was not far off either.

...

As expected, Zheng Fanren’s vision grew darker. Suddenly, a terrifying caw of a crow exploded in his ears, and then a mass of black vapor enveloped him.

His final thought was, “I said I could kill you—so it was true.”

And then he remembered only that, after the killing, he must flee—flee as far as possible.

The small lake he could never have crossed, he leapt over with ease.

The high wall he could never have scaled, he vaulted without effort.

What an exhilarating feeling!

A strange, inexplicable force propelled him toward Moxi.

A deep-seated instinct urged him to run toward his little home; perhaps only after seeing that little girl in the white wedding dress would he feel truly safe, truly at ease. This obsession with running home was overwhelming, so powerful that it carried his battered, weakened body from the Wan family’s southern street all the way here, so strong that he never noticed he was passing right through Zhou Wang Street.

The blood seeping from his chest slowly dripped onto the black mass, which greedily absorbed it, as if it could never get enough. Its pull grew ever stronger, yet still slow, and gradually the blackness turned to yellow.

Black and yellow wrestled endlessly, neither yielding. Zheng Fanren could no longer cling to the thought of home; the agony in his head far surpassed the pain in his chest.

Suddenly, Zheng Fanren was back inside that dream.

Now the sea had turned a boundless, uncanny yellow. The color was disturbingly strange.

Ten black crows seemed reluctant to remain, sometimes taking flight, sometimes settling again unwillingly.

The yellow sea bestowed endless radiance upon the world.

No more shooting stars, no more the rage of the sea—now it seemed almost joyous.

Now and then a small wave would rise, not to attack the crows, but to express unbridled delight.

Gradually, gradually.

No one knew how much time passed. The ten crows hovered above the sea, rising and falling with the waves, as if chained by the water—unable to land, unable to leave.

Suddenly, a voice of joy echoed from the sea: “With the black crow as vessel, heaven and earth change color.”

In an instant, the world turned yellow.

...

Inside his chamber, Zhou Zitian suddenly started and smiled with delight: “The Soul Hunter Seal has been activated!”

Then he frowned, “No, it’s very close by.”

He hurriedly threw on his clothes and ran outside.

The moment he opened the door, he saw something collapsed at the base of the steps.

It shifted from black to yellow, and occasionally the shadow of a bird flickered up.

As he fully opened the door, the thing had completely transformed into a yellow shadow.

The scene was so bizarre that, despite his vast learning, Zhou Zitian had never heard of such an occurrence.

He wondered, “Should I call Father to take a look?”

At that moment, a streak of red light shot from the mass.

Everything happened so strangely and so suddenly—he had no time to react, not even to see clearly what it was before it struck his forehead.

In an instant, Zhou Zitian collapsed on the doorstep.

Silently, the lost blood began to seep once more from the now-yellow shadow, swiftly drawn by some invisible power back into Zheng Fanren’s chest.

The blood droplets scattered on the flagstones turned to red vapor; even the blood pooled in the cracks transformed before the eye, streaming toward the yellow mass and merging with the flow entering his chest.

It was certain that the air around Zheng Fanren was now scorching; otherwise, such a phenomenon could not occur.

His clothes gradually disintegrated—if not for the shrouding light, Zheng Fanren would have been naked already.

...

By the lakeside, Gao Xian was stunned by the scene before him.

Not by the traces of the fierce struggle, but by Wan Lixing’s corpse—now so pale it was devoid of any trace of blood.

There was not a single drop of blood left at the scene. Remembering the strange light that had surrounded Zheng Fanren, Gao Xian shivered.

After a moment, he recalled his purpose.

He retrieved Zheng Fanren’s sword and dagger and hurried off in pursuit of Zheng Fanren’s fleeing form.

He ran at full speed, but still could not catch up. Everything tonight was so strange he could hardly believe any of it.

Only when he saw the man’s figure ahead did he force himself to accept the truth.

That man lay there, whole and unscathed—and completely unclothed.

If he didn’t take Zheng Fanren away, come morning, all of Luocheng would be gossiping about the tragic tale of Zhou Zitian and Zheng Fanren.

Zheng Fanren was still unconscious. Gao Xian scooped him up in his arms and raced toward Moxi.

He had to get him home before anyone woke up; if a single person saw them, the world would soon be telling some odd story involving three men.

...

The Han man still lay on the rooftop. Gao Xian ignored him, and he likewise ignored Gao Xian carrying the naked Zheng Fanren.

Unfortunately, he did not realize Gao Xian would enter the wrong room.

When you’re holding an unconscious patient and see a bed, of course you lay him down—that’s simply what must be done.