The days deep within the Mist Marsh seemed to solidify into thick, silent amber.
The altar had become an isolated ark, bearing a twisted and fleeting “happiness.”
Nong Li was utterly immersed in the two-person world she had always dreamed of.
She nearly forgot her identity as a demon king, forgot the chaos of the outside world; her heart and eyes were filled with nothing but her master.
She would explore the marsh with great enthusiasm, searching for all sorts of odd but—at least in her eyes—delicious “ingredients,” then present them to Qing Mu as if offering treasures, her red eyes wide with anticipation, awaiting his appraisal—even though Qing Mu’s reaction was always the same calm, unruffled, “Not bad.”
She would clumsily attempt to repair the damaged parts of the altar with her demonic power, muttering about making it into “a proper home.”
Sometimes, while Qing Mu was meditating, she would secretly weave a crooked flower crown from vines with a strange fragrance gathered from the marsh, intending to place it on his head; but when discovered, she would blush and quickly hide it behind her back.
Her joy was simple and pure, like a ray of light piercing the thick fog of the marsh, illuminating this dead land, yet also casting an even deeper shadow in Qing Mu’s heart.
Qing Mu played along, assuming the role of a silent yet indulgent companion.
He ate the strange-tasting food she offered, let her clumsily “decorate” their makeshift home, and even when she finished weaving that rough flower crown and, after gathering her courage, handed it over, he did not refuse, letting her place the ring of earth-scented vines on the stone seat beside him.
Yet, inwardly, he was never free from the crises and calculations of the real world.
Yue Qi’s threat hung over his head like the sword of Damocles; Xiao Ya was still anxiously waiting in the halfling tribe; the Demon King’s Army’s invasion was stirring chaos across the continent… He had to act soon.
The more Nong Li placed her complete trust and reliance in him, the more the guilt of using her burned his soul.
But he could only bury it deep, continuing to play the master who had “eloped” with her and promised her a future.
That day, Nong Li had once again rushed out excitedly to “improve their meals.”
Qing Mu watched her joyful figure disappear into the thick fog, the warmth in his eyes vanishing in an instant, replaced by cold, sharp resolve.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
Silently, he left the altar, relying on his soul energy’s acute sensitivity to energy fluctuations, along with fragmented information he had previously obtained from the giraffe demon and Qin Feng, to search in even more remote and dangerous regions of the Mist Marsh.
What he sought were the two female physicians—those who had transplanted spiritual veins into him and Lin Qiyou, then later appeared by Nong Li’s side and proposed refining her into a medicinal guide.
Mysterious and unpredictable, wandering between two worlds, perhaps they knew more about the Nine-tailed Fox’s breakthrough—or even the world’s rules.
Hard work bore fruit.
At the edge of a perilous place shrouded in poisonous will-o’-the-wisps, where spatial rifts flickered like black lightning, Qing Mu found their temporary abode—so simple it almost blended into the environment.
The two female physicians seemed unsurprised by Qing Mu’s sudden visit.
They were still dressed in those plain yet oddly unsettling robes, their eyes calm and unwavering, as if they had already seen through the arrangements of fate.
“You finally came,” one of the female physicians spoke flatly. “For the little fox?”
“I want her to break through to the eighth tail.” Qing Mu was straightforward, with no pleasantries. “What are the conditions?”
The other female physician’s lips curved in an almost imperceptible arc. “For a Nine-tailed Celestial Fox, each tail requires great fortune, deep insight, and even… great sacrifice. The eighth tail requires something of utmost purity and yang, deeply connected to her by karma, as a catalyst. In addition, a special environment is needed to draw out the deepest potential of her bloodline.”
“Utmost purity and yang, deeply connected by karma…” Qing Mu repeated, already understanding. Who else fit this more than he—the one with a unique energy method, bound to her by a hundred years of master-disciple ties, and who had just “confessed” to her?
“If I am the catalyst, what must I do?” His voice was calm, as if discussing something unrelated to himself.
The female physician looked at him deeply. “Are you sure? Using yourself as the catalyst is not simply offering power—it requires you to voluntarily sacrifice most of your soul essence and life force, merging into a specific formation and becoming the purest ‘medicinal property’ for her to absorb. This process is irreversible. You… may die. Even if you survive by chance, your foundation will be destroyed and you will be like a cripple.”
“Tell me the exact method.” Qing Mu’s tone did not waver in the slightest.
The female physician said no more, and detailed for him the workings of a complex and cruel formation, along with the corresponding alchemy method. It was a forbidden technique—one that used life and soul as fuel to ignite the fire of breakthrough.
Qing Mu memorized everything in silence, his cold-blooded plan now complete.
When he returned to the altar, Nong Li had not yet come back.
He sat on the stone seat, laid out a rough piece of beast hide he had found from who knows where, dipped his brush in ink, and began to write a letter.
The tip of the brush hovered for a long time, then finally descended.
“Nong Li:”
“By the time you read this letter, I will have already left. Do not look for me, nor be saddened. The days spent here with you have been the happiest of my life.”
“Yet fate does not permit us peace. I have reasons I must go, to a place called ‘Meteorfall Lake,’ to resolve a cause-and-effect from the past. This concerns our future, and the fate of this world.”
“You may come find me. By then, all troubles may be resolved, and we may truly be together forever.”
“Remember, Meteorfall Lake.”
“Your master, Qing Mu”
The letter was half true, half false, and filled with temptation.
He emphasized “the happiest of days” to comfort her, and highlighted “Meteorfall Lake” as the bait, painting it only as the key to happiness and not mentioning any danger at all.
He folded the letter carefully, placed it in the most prominent spot on the stone seat, and gently weighed it down with the now withered vine flower crown that Nong Li had woven.
After all this, he cast one final glance at the altar that had borne this brief, false warmth.
His gaze grew complicated and unreadable, and finally turned into resolute coldness.
He turned and, without a trace of hesitation, disappeared into the thick fog, heading toward that place deep in the marsh, the extreme environment required by the formation as described by the female physicians—Meteorfall Lake.
*****
When Nong Li returned, clutching a few hard-won, relatively normal bird eggs, her face was still full of joy at her harvest.
But the moment she saw the empty altar and the letter pressed by the flower crown on the stone seat, her smile froze.
She rushed over, trembling hands picking up the letter and reading quickly.
“Left… Meteorfall Lake… together forever…” she murmured, repeating the key words from the letter.
Her red eyes were first filled with panic and helplessness at being abandoned, but soon, the closing phrase “together forever” became like a tonic, transforming her confusion into a determined—even wild—glint.
Master didn’t abandon her.
Master had gone to clear the path for their future!
She gripped the letter tightly, as if clinging to her only hope, her enormous fox tail twitching in agitation.
She had no doubts about the letter’s authenticity, nor did she suspect any deception. Her absolute trust in her master and longing for their “future” blinded her to all danger.
She carefully placed the letter close to her body, glanced in the direction Qing Mu had left, and then looked at the rough vine flower crown in her hand, a look of resolve flashing in her eyes.
She turned, and without the slightest hesitation, headed in the same direction as Qing Mu.
*****
Almost at the same moment, outside the altar—
A sharp sword light tore through the dense fog, and Lin Qiyou’s figure suddenly appeared.
Her face was pale, her eyes holding a trace of exhaustion and stubborn determination. At last, following a thread of clues so faint it was almost gone, she had found this place.
She rushed into the altar, her spiritual sense sweeping every corner in an instant.
No one.
Only the lingering traces of Qing Mu and the fox demon remained in the air, and… on the stone seat, that crooked, withered vine flower crown.
She walked over, picked up the crown, and felt its roughness against her fingertips.
She could imagine what the fox must have felt as she wove this thing—and Qing Mu… he had actually accepted it, and kept it by his side?
A searing pain and overwhelming jealousy swept through her once more.
So they were here! They had spent time together she couldn’t even imagine!
But now, the place was empty.
Where had they gone? Had they discovered her pursuit and fled again?
Lin Qiyou clenched the withered crown tightly, her knuckles whitening from the force. She looked around the empty, dead altar, feeling only bitter irony and despair.
Once again, she was a step too late.
“Ah—!!!”
A cry, suppressed to the utmost and then uncontrollably bursting forth, filled with agony and unwillingness, erupted from her throat and echoed harshly through the depths of the Mist Marsh, only to be swallowed up by the endless fog, leaving no trace behind.
She had found the remnants of their love, yet forever lost his trail.
And at this very moment, Nong Li, full of hope for the “future,” was running toward the cruel trap called “Meteorfall Lake.”
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