Wu Zhaohua coughed up blood, a trickle spilling from the corner of her mouth, sliding down her chin, and dripping onto Qin Qingyue’s arm. She murmured:
“You’re back…”
“Why did it take so long?”
In truth, not much time had passed.
But in Wu Zhaohua’s eyes, time seemed to move very, very slowly.
She had expended too much spiritual power, physical strength, and essence blood during that time.
So much so that if Qin Qingyue had been any later, she might have truly died.
“I… I…”
Qin Qingyue opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat, unable to come out.
She didn’t know how to explain, so she simply lifted Wu Zhaohua into her arms and whispered an apology:
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Perhaps Qin Qingyue never imagined this day would come—that she would genuinely apologize to Wu Zhaohua.
Wu Zhaohua had suffered these injuries to protect her so she could go see Jiang Huai.
For a moment, Wu Zhaohua’s consciousness was hazy.
She leaned against Qin Qingyue’s chest, her eyes half-open, pupils unfocused, her mind unclear. Her lips moved faintly, producing some indistinct syllables—like sleep-talking, or like she was saying something.
She mumbled a few words.
Then suddenly perked up!
The energy came abruptly, like the final flash of light before death in a dying person.
She grabbed Qin Qingyue’s hand with startling force, saying anxiously:
“You were gone so long… him… is he okay?”
“Did something happen? Did something happen to him?”
Qin Qingyue looked at her bloodshot eyes, at her face pale as paper, at her posture of barely holding on when she was clearly about to collapse, and a sharp pang struck her heart.
She soothed her, her voice soft:
“It’s fine. I’ve already taken care of everything. It’s all resolved.”
“He’s fine, too.”
Hearing this, Wu Zhaohua finally felt relieved. She murmured drowsily:
“I’m so tired… I want… I want to go back to the tomb, go back to the little courtyard.”
“That’s my home.”
Those eyes, which had been strained for so long, finally closed slowly, as if closing her eyes would let her return to that familiar little courtyard.
As if she could hear Jiang Huai chattering in her ear, telling her how unlucky he’d been today, how much money he’d earned, what had happened in the town.
She would lie in bed, looking at his figure with a mix of helplessness and affection.
The hand that Wu Zhaohua had been gripping tightly around Qin Qingyue finally loosened powerlessly. Her body went slack, and she suddenly fainted, collapsing in Qin Qingyue’s arms.
Qin Qingyue gently lifted Wu Zhaohua’s head and rested it in the crook of her shoulder.
Her hand pressed against Wu Zhaohua’s back, and Dragon Essence flowed like a gentle stream from her palm, slowly seeping into the frail body.
“Wu Zhaohua? Wu Zhaohua?” She shook her body urgently.
No response. Wu Zhaohua’s eyes were tightly shut, her face pale as paper, her breathing weak.
Only the slight rise and fall of her chest proved she was still alive.
“Those Celestial Vastness bastards!” she spat, her voice filled with barely contained fury.
After tens of thousands of years of absence, they had to choose this moment to disrupt her life.
If it weren’t for them, how could things have come to this? If it weren’t for them, why would she and Wu Zhaohua be trapped in this wasteland? If it weren’t for them…
Qin Qingyue took a deep breath, suppressing the surging emotions, and hoisted Wu Zhaohua onto her back.
Wu Zhaohua’s head hung limply over her shoulder, her long hair scattered, swaying gently with each step.
Qin Qingyue looked around her.
The gray-brown earth stretched to the horizon, blending into the leaden sky.
No trees, no grass, no trace of any living being.
Only the wind, moaning from afar, swirling up ashes from the ground and spinning them through the air.
The Extraterrestrial Demons had grown scarce, thanks to Wu Zhaohua’s efforts—so many had been eliminated.
The black shadows that once blotted out the sky were now just a few scattered specks, drifting in the distance, too afraid to approach.
Yet she still didn’t know which way to go. Her heart was filled with grief, an unspeakable grief.
She carried Wu Zhaohua on her back, walking alone across this deathly silent wasteland, unsure where to go, unsure what to do.
Qin Qingyue wanted to find a place abundant in spiritual energy.
After all, Wu Zhaohua had a Celestial Immortal Body; she believed that with a suitable place, she could recover a lot.
But in this wasteland, where could she find a place rich in spiritual energy? She didn’t know. She could only walk, keep walking, heading in some uncertain direction, step by step.
As for the road ahead, for the first time she was lost in confusion.
She didn’t know what to do, how to save Wu Zhaohua, how to return to the Five Provinces, how to face Jiang Huai.
She didn’t even know if she could walk out of this wasteland alive.
On her back, Wu Zhaohua’s breathing was weak but steady, her warm breath brushing against her neck with each exhale.
Qin Qingyue took a deep breath, shifted Wu Zhaohua up a little higher on her back, and continued walking.
The Secret Realm.
A newborn world.
The sky was a pale blue, dotted with a few white clouds.
In the distance were mountains, their contours soft and rounded.
Nearby was a stream, its water babbling, crystal clear, with a few small fish swimming in it.
Ao Yao was riding on Jiang Huai’s shoulders, her two short legs dangling in front of his chest, swinging back and forth.
She hugged Jiang Huai’s head, her small hands pressing against his temples, curiously looking left and right.
“Jiang Huai, what’s wrong with you?” she asked, puzzled.
“Are you in a bad mood?”
After everything was over, this world had regained its vitality.
Jiang Huai planned to stay in this world for a few days to observe it.
This world had actually become connected to his own small world—truly miraculous.
He wanted to stay a few more days to see if new life would appear, and consider whether to let the Five Provinces intervene in this world.
If new living beings did appear, then he wouldn’t involve the Five Provinces; he’d let it develop on its own.
But just as he was thinking, a feeling of weakness came from the Spirit Sword Pattern.
The sensation was sudden and intense, like a basin of ice water pouring over his head.
It wasn’t that his spirit sword had grown weak—a spirit sword was never weak.
It was a feeling of weakness coming from the other end of the Spirit Sword Pattern.
In such cases, it usually meant that Wu Zhaohua had encountered trouble—at least that things were not good.
His footsteps stopped abruptly.
Ao Yao, who had been swinging her legs, was thrown forward by the sudden halt and quickly hugged his head tighter.
“What’s wrong, what’s wrong?”
Jiang Huai didn’t answer.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the surging emotions, and turned to look at Qin Boge behind him.
“Boge, is there any way to contact Qin Qingyue?”
Qin Boge was startled. She stopped walking and looked at Jiang Huai’s calm face, feeling an inexplicable tightness in her heart. She shook her head, her voice tinged with hesitation:
“No, it’s been too short a time. I can’t contact my Honored Master.”
She paused, then asked, “What’s wrong?”
Jiang Huai shook his head and didn’t answer.
He turned back to look ahead. In his eyes was nothing but worry.
What was happening over there? The Black Dragon Mark showed no abnormality, meaning Qin Qingyue was most likely fine.
If she was fine, then she should be protecting Wu Zhaohua, right? But no matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t put his mind at ease.
His own strength was just too weak.
If he had the cultivation of the Great Ascension Stage, if he could also ascend to the Immortal Realm, if he could stand by their side, how could things have come to this?
No, he couldn’t delay any longer.
Ao Yao saw his expression and didn’t dare to say a word.
She shrank her neck, moved her small hands from his temples to the top of his head, and gently patted him, like soothing a cat with its fur standing on end.
“How about you put me down? I suddenly feel a bit uneasy.”
Jiang Huai glanced up at her.
He took off her shoes.
The movement was natural—his fingers hooked the heel of her embroidered shoe, and with a gentle pull, the small green embroidered shoe slid off her foot, revealing her slender ankle wrapped in a white silk sock.
Ao Yao froze.
She stared wide-eyed at her shoe-less foot, then back at Jiang Huai, her mouth slightly open.
“What—what are you doing?”
Jiang Huai didn’t reply. He just looked at her two small feet in their white socks.
“I helped you warm your sword. Shouldn’t you thank me?”
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