More than twenty old flowers that had been raised for over three years, all their roots connected to the King Flower’s main root.
The only way to weaken the King Flower’s power was to take them out.
They were symbiotic with the King Flower—its nerves, its extended hands and feet.
Everyone was still fighting for their lives.
Every step sank into black water, and beneath their feet, it felt like faces were screaming.
Under the soil, there were skeletons that weren’t completely crushed. In some places, white bones poked halfway out of the mud, finger bones reaching toward the sky.
Little Frost didn’t look at the ground. Her eyes stayed fixed ahead.
She swung her Iron Hammer, smashing it into the root of the nearest old flower.
That thing’s shell was even thicker than the ones outside. The first blow only cracked it in a few places—didn’t break it at all.
“Meng Qing!”
Little Frost roared, striking and directing at the same time.
Xiao Meng charged up from behind. He’d been following the whole way, just waiting for this moment.
Using the Flower-Fixing Art once cost him three years of life. He could use it at most five times. Every single use had to be at the most critical moment.
And now was that moment.
Xiao Meng opened the Pressed Flower Album, flipping straight to the last page. He bit his finger, and as the blood welled up, he quickly drew a circle in the air.
The blood stopped midair, forming a dark-red talisman.
“Fix!”
The talisman exploded, and a red light trapped the three old flowers in front.
The three old flowers instantly froze. Their buds stopped moving, their vines drooped.
But the price came too.
A patch of white appeared in Xiao Meng’s hair on both sides. The black at the roots was gone, replaced by white that grew out fast.
Thirteen years…
He had lost thirteen years of his life.
“Chop!”
Xiao Meng’s voice was hoarse, but it didn’t tremble.
Little Frost didn’t need a second shout. She swung the Iron Hammer high and brought it down hard on the fixed old flower root.
The Flower-Fixing Art made the hard shell brittle, too. One blow and the root shattered, the old flower toppling over.
Mu Yingying had already chopped down the second one.
A Jiu stabbed his short blade into the root of the third, twisted it, and the root broke.
All three old flowers fell.
As they went down, their buds split open, and the faces inside floated out.
They turned into three balls of white light, drifting slowly upward.
The light passed through the greenhouse roof and vanished into the sky.
They were free.
White Night saw those three faces.
A middle-aged man, a young woman, and a child about ten years old.
They must have been a family.
Their expressions shifted from anguish to calm, then faded away.
Xiao Meng’s second Flower-Fixing Art targeted two old flowers to the east.
This time, he only managed to fix two.
Before the talisman could form, the third one’s vines retracted instantly, dodging the red light’s range.
Its reaction speed was no longer something a plant should possess.
“The King Flower is controlling it from behind,” White Peace’s voice came from up front.
“Next time you use the Flower-Fixing Art, it’ll dodge in advance.” A little more white appeared in Xiao Meng’s sideburns.
Counting that last use, he had already used it twice, losing several years of his life.
Fine lines had even appeared at the corners of his eyes.
“It’s okay, I can still use it three more times.” Xiao Meng gripped the Pressed Flower Album, his fingers still stained with his own blood.
“Don’t use it again—you’ll die,” Gu Jiao couldn’t help saying.
“I know what I’m doing,” Xiao Meng said. He wasn’t pushing himself too hard; he stopped for now and didn’t use the Flower-Fixing Art again.
The remaining old flowers would have to be taken down by brute force.
Old Woman Chen charged into the inner layer.
The medicine bucket on her back was almost empty, just a little less than half left.
She weaved through the vines and flowers, incredibly nimble.
A vine from one old flower lunged at her. She twisted her body to dodge, then flicked the medicine ladle backward, splashing the liquid onto the softest part of the vine.
The vine shrank back instantly. This was experience she’d gained from decades of dealing with Weirdness—the medicine seeped in fastest through that spot.
But the medicine was almost gone.
Old Woman Chen glanced at what was left in the bucket and pursed her lips.
Then she pulled a handful of black grass from her bosom—Black Bone Grass.
A highly toxic thing.
When Gu Jiao saw her move, her face went pale. “Old Woman Chen! That stuff can’t be—”
Too late.
Old Woman Chen stuffed the Black Bone Grass into her mouth and chewed it forcefully.
As soon as the poisonous juice touched her mouth, her tongue and lips began to swell.
Black bloody threads oozed from the corners of her lips.
She endured without spitting, mixing the chewed Black Bone Grass with her saliva and black blood, then spat it all into the medicine bucket.
The medicine inside turned from dark brown to pure black.
She scooped up a ladleful and splashed it at the nearest old flower.
The moment the medicine touched the vine, the entire vine of that old flower went stiff.
The vine shifted from dark green to grayish white, hard and brittle, crumbling into dust at the slightest touch.
The reinforced medicine was more than ten times as potent as before.
Old Woman Chen’s mouth was so swollen she couldn’t speak, her lips purple and turned outward.
But her hands didn’t stop. Ladle after ladle, she splashed the medicine onto the old flowers.
With each ladle, another old flower stiffened.
Little Frost and Mu Yingying followed behind the medicine, smashing and cutting.
Wherever Old Woman Chen splashed, their hammers and blades landed.
The efficiency was several times faster than before.
When the medicine bucket ran dry, more than half of the old flowers in the inner layer had been taken down.
Old Woman Chen splashed the last ladle, then leaned against a crooked iron frame and slid to the ground.
Her face was ashen, her breathing shallow and rapid.
Gu Jiao rushed over to support her.
Old Woman Chen raised her hand and slapped Gu Jiao’s hand hard.
The meaning was clear: Don’t worry about me, keep fighting.
Gu Jiao’s eyes turned red.
She propped Old Woman Chen up, fed her a mouthful of Royal Jelly, then turned and headed to another spot.
Aunt Liu had never entered the inner layer the entire time.
She crouched at the boundary between the middle and inner layers, with seven or eight wounded already lying in front of her.
All ten of her fingers were wrapped in blood-soaked cloth strips, and every finger was trembling.
Not from fear—from stitching so long her hands had cramped.
But she didn’t stop.
A patrolman had his belly pierced by a vine, with half his intestines protruding.
Aunt Liu pinned him to the ground, threaded her needle, and stitched rapidly.
The stitches were so dense they were almost invisible.
She had sewn clothes her whole life; this kind of fine work didn’t need her eyes—just her touch.
Halfway through, a vine from somewhere lashed across her back.
Her clothes ripped, and her flesh split open.
A long gash stretched from her left shoulder to her right waist, exposing the bone.
She only grunted.
But the needle in her hand never paused.
The patrolman’s belly was sewn up.
Aunt Liu pushed him further back, then collapsed onto the ground herself.
Blood gushed from the wound on her back, soaking into the black soil, greedily absorbed by the flower roots.
Gu Jiao rushed over, grabbed her, and fed her some Royal Jelly.
Aunt Liu clutched Gu Jiao’s hand, her lips moving.
This was the first time White Night heard her speak. Her voice was so faint it was almost inaudible.
“My daughter… was eaten by a Weirdness. I couldn’t save her…” She gasped for breath. “At least… let me save a few more people’s children.”
Then she passed out.
Old Woman Chen crawled over with her last bit of strength, pulled out some herbs from her bosom, shoved them into her swollen mouth to chew, then smeared them onto Aunt Liu’s wound.
At least it would keep her alive for now.
Old Lu’s traps came through at the critical moment.
While the fighting was fierce in the inner layer, several of the King Flower’s roots tried to slither outward.
They wanted to circle around and flank from the side.
The root tendrils crawled through the middle layer’s ruins, only to slam straight into the trap zone Old Lu had set up.
Sharpened wooden stakes sprang up from the ground, pinning three major roots.
The stake tips coated with medicine slowed the roots’ movement, while vine trip ropes entangled more of the smaller roots.
Old Lu crouched behind the trap zone, watching his handiwork, a rare hint of satisfaction appearing on his bitter-melon face. “Busy all night, at least it wasn’t wasted.”
But his satisfaction lasted less than three seconds.
A root even thicker than his waist burst up from underground.
It simply ripped out the entire trap array he had set.
Old Lu was sent flying, his back slamming into an iron pillar.
The bone in his left leg snapped with a crack!
Leaning against the pillar, he watched the root crawl past the trap zone and could only smile bitterly and sigh. “All for nothing.”
He took a breath, raised his trembling hand, and pulled out one last small contraption from his bosom.
It was a wooden trap—very compact.
He bit his tongue hard and smeared his blood onto the trap.
Then he crawled over to the enormous root and clamped the trap onto it.
The trap snapped shut, its iron teeth biting into the root, tightening and sinking deeper and deeper.
The root thrashed wildly, but the trap was too cleverly made. The more it struggled, the deeper the teeth bit.
Old Lu lay on the ground, watching the craftsmanship he’d spent a lifetime perfecting finally pay off at this moment.
“Been a coward my whole life, but today I finally get to play the hero,” he muttered to himself. “Hope everything goes smoothly. The next key is the Lord of Hundred Flowers Valley. She should be able to handle it, right…”
Old Lu felt he hadn’t lived enough yet. Old Woman Chen seemed to have a bit of a thing for him. He couldn’t help thinking, after this battle, maybe he should have a talk with her.