"Fan!" Jinjing's voice cut through the haze, her grip firm and trembling on my arm. Her eyes were wide with alarm as she crouched beside me, using her sleeve to wipe the blood from my mouth. "What's happening to you?"
Her touch and her words felt distant, drowned out by the pounding in my ears. A crushing realization settled over me like a storm cloud. The Molun elixir, which had been my shield against the White Vulture's destructive path, had run its course. I was once again vulnerable to the very same poison that had ravaged my body and taken my sight.
A shiver coursed through me, a dread colder than the night air. The poison hadn't just returned—it had reclaimed its hold, a grim reminder of my vulnerability and mortality.
Jinjing, her face etched with worry, slipped my arm around her shoulders, steadying me as we trudged forward. She kept glancing nervously over her shoulder, her fear palpable. She was right to worry.
The masked man's footsteps soon thundered through the forest, each one like the drumbeat of impending doom. When he emerged from the shadows, his fury was a tangible force, his eyes blazing with a hatred so intense it seemed to illuminate the darkness. Without a word, he raised his sword, its gleaming blade catching the skylight like a sliver of silver death, and charged.
A surge of desperate resolve coursed through me. I pushed Jinjing away, my heart fracturing at the thought of leaving her vulnerable. But I couldn't let her share my fate. "Run!" I shouted, the word tearing from my throat.
He was on me in a flash. I raised my bamboo stick to block the blow, the fragile wood shattering under the brutal force of his attack. The impact reverberated through me, sharp pain shooting up my arms, but I gritted my teeth and stood firm. I wouldn't let him touch her—not while I still had breath in my body.
In the fleeting moment bought by the shattered remains of my bamboo stick, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with the grace and precision of a seasoned warrior. A fourth-level cultivator stepped into the fray, his hawk-like eyes locking onto our assailant with unyielding focus. His stance radiated mastery, each movement honed by years of relentless training.
Without hesitation, he engaged the masked man. Their swords clashed in a crescendo of steel, each strike a symphony of life and death. The ringing of metal on metal echoed through the night, the clearing transformed into a battleground. Their movements were a blur, a deadly dance of power and precision beyond the comprehension of ordinary eyes.
The masked man faltered, surprise flashing in his eyes at the unexpected challenge. His strikes turned frantic, his earlier confidence eroded by the relentless skill of his opponent. The cultivator's measured counterattacks forced him onto the defensive, his steps growing more erratic as he struggled to regain control.
Sensing the tide turning against him, the masked man abruptly disengaged. With one last glare in our direction, he retreated into the forest, his figure swallowed by the shadows. The sound of his footsteps faded into the distance, leaving behind an uneasy silence.
Relief washed over me, though it was tempered by a lingering dread. He was gone for now, but I knew this wasn't the end.
The young man who had come to our aid sheathed his sword and hurried toward us, his face etched with concern. "Priest Luo, are you injured?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of urgency.
I nodded weakly, gripping the broken bamboo stick as if it could steady me. "I'm... fine," I replied, though the strain in my voice betrayed the lie. The pain and exhaustion from the encounter still coursed through me.
I recognized the young man that I met in my uncle's hideout, the one I had initially mistook for the real Wei Xiaoli.
"Xiong Juan," I said, my voice soft but steady. "You've come all this way?"
He inclined his head, his expression briefly brightening. "Leader Luo learned about your falling out with Lord Ruan and sent me to keep an eye on you. I've been shadowing you for several days now, but I lost track of you earlier when you went through the woods. My apologies for arriving late."
So it was my uncle, Luo Boqin, who sent this man.
I offered a faint smile. "Better late than never. You saved our lives. Thank you." Turning to Jinjing, I introduced her. "This is my fiancée, Jinjing." Then, gesturing back to him, I added, "Jinjing, this is Xiong Juan, my cousin."
The two exchanged polite greetings. Despite her lack of formal education, Jinjing carried herself with a natural grace that never failed to impress me.
Xiong Juan's lips curved into a teasing grin as he glanced between us. "So, she's the reason you left Sindu in such a hurry?"
I chuckled softly, nodding. "You could say that."
Jinjing nudged me playfully, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks, while Xiong Juan let out a hearty laugh.
After a moment, his tone turned serious again. "Priest Luo," he said, glancing at the darkening sky. "Let me escort you both home. The sun will set soon, and it's not safe to linger here."
That night, anxiety gnawed at me like an unrelenting shadow. Ruan Yanjun's words played on a loop in my mind, each repetition cutting deeper. As much as I hated to admit it, there was truth in his claim—without his protection, I was ill-equipped to survive in this unforgiving world.
If I couldn't even defend myself, how could I ever hope to protect my wife?
The weight of my illness only worsened my sense of helplessness. Each day, my body grew weaker, the signs of my affliction more apparent. The future felt like a distant, crumbling horizon.
Jinjing, too, seemed unsettled. Her restlessness lingered in her every movement, though she refused to share her thoughts. It left me wondering if she had begun to see the harsh reality of our situation. Did she regret her decision to stay with me? Perhaps she'd realized that being by my side meant constant danger, a far cry from the peaceful life she surely deserved.
The thought clawed at me—what if she'd changed her mind about our engagement but didn't know how to tell me?