He opened his eyes again.
His gaze had completely changed, becoming clear and transparent to the utmost extreme.
At the final moment of his life, he finally understood this thing he had spent a lifetime failing to comprehend.
He stopped trying to pull the flowers from his body.
He stopped.
All the flowers that had long since grown together with his flesh and blood suddenly began to tremble violently, their light swelling and blazing, painfully bright.
It wasn’t the flowers exerting force; it was him exerting force.
He used the last trace of life essence in his body, the bit even the flower roots hadn’t had time to absorb, and poured it all into every flower on his body.
With his final strength, he ignited himself.
All the flowers bloomed to their utmost limit simultaneously, petals opening to their fullest, each one shining like a tiny sun.
The flower roots embedded in his flesh and blood all snapped cleanly.
The flowers and his flesh and blood fused together completely and utterly.
His body began to glow.
Light, warm light, seeped out from the gaps in his skin.
Flower and man, fused into one.
He had attained enlightenment.
At the final moment of his life, in that instant where regret and clarity intertwined, he created an unprecedented killing technique.
Epiphyllum Blooming.
His body bloomed.
He was like a flower, completing the entire process from budding to full bloom, to withering, in a single instant.
Flesh and blood turned into petals, bones turned into the stalk, life essence turned into fragrance.
The entire man transformed into a flower of flesh and blood that existed for only a moment.
The instant the flower bloomed, it released a vast and mighty force.
This force did not spread outward; it was directional.
A crimson energy, like a giant hand, slipped through the gaps between the besiegers, accurately catching the body of his apprentice on the cliff face above.
The apprentice only felt an incredibly gentle force enveloping him.
He was thrown.
That force plucked him from the cliff face and, following the curve of the cliff, hurled him upward.
Wind rushed into his ears, thorns and flowers blurred into streaks of color before his eyes. His body was as light as a feather, drifting upward.
He was thrown steadily back to the top of the cliff.
He fell onto the muddy ground at the cliff’s edge, rolling twice before barely stopping.
He lay face down on the ground, his whole body trembling, and jerked his head to look back down.
There was nothing left below.
“My good disciple, go back. Never come here again. Cultivate the righteous path properly. Don’t practice the Yin Killing Technique anymore.”
His master’s words echoed in his ears, but his master’s figure had already vanished.
The besiegers were scattered in disarray by the residual waves of the crimson energy, hanging awkwardly in various spots on the cliff face.
Where the Flower Arranger had just been, only a few slowly drifting crimson petals remained.
The petals swirled downward in the abyss’s air currents, growing smaller and fainter, until they finally dissipated within the multicolored lights at the bottom of the valley.
Life and Death End.
He hadn’t even left a corpse behind.
The entire man had transformed into a killing technique, into a flower, into the final breath that protected his disciple.
Everyone on the cliff face who witnessed this scene froze in their actions.
No one spoke. Even the howling wind seemed to stop at this moment.
White Night’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that at the moment between life and death, this person could still erupt with such power.
It resonated with White Night, giving her a feeling as if her soul was slightly warming. She seemed to grasp something, yet couldn’t quite hold or touch it.
What she saw in that moment wasn’t death.
It was a person, in the final second of their life, burning away a lifetime’s worth of greed, regret, enlightenment, and love, in exchange for a clean and pure conclusion.
What exactly was that feeling just now?
White Night was somewhat dazed.
The apprentice lay face down on the muddy ground at the cliff top, burying his face in the dirt, crying until his whole body convulsed.
In his tightly clenched palm was a single crimson petal, the last thing his master had left for him.
He cried for a long time, but finally climbed to his feet. He wiped the mud and tears from his face and carefully tucked that petal into the fold of his robe over his chest.
The apprentice turned. Remembering his master’s final words, he walked toward the valley’s exit, not looking back even once.
Little Frost stood on the cliff face, gazing in that direction, silent for a long time.
Mu Yingying stood beside her, also unusually silent, not saying a word.
Gu Jiao touched the beehive behind her, also lost in thought for a moment.
White Night withdrew her gaze.
She noticed the old woman walking ahead had changed again.
Not the subtle change from before. It was as if her entire person had been reborn.
Strands of her snow-white hair were turning back to raven black one by one. The wrinkles on her face weren’t just fading; they were disappearing completely, revealing smooth, taut skin beneath.
Her hunched back straightened bit by bit, her shoulders relaxed and opened, her waist straightened, even her posture transformed.
By the time the group had climbed to the midpoint of the cliff, the old woman showed no trace of her former aged appearance.
She had become a woman in her thirties.
Her features were delicate and striking, her skin so pale it was almost translucent, with long, raven-black hair cascading over her shoulders.
The style of her black dress hadn’t changed, but worn on this young body, it finally revealed the contours that had been hidden by wrinkles and a stoop.
Her waist was slender, the lines of her shoulders and neck soft and graceful.
White Night looked at her face, and her heart gave a violent thump.
This face.
The contours of the brows and eyes, the line of the nose, the curve of the lips… they bore a startling resemblance to that little girl in the black Lolita dress from back then.
Not completely identical, but White Night could tell at a glance—this was what the girl looked like grown up.
She didn’t say anything.
Mu Yingying’s mouth opened and closed, opened and closed.
She pointed at the woman before them, her voice cracking. “You… you… how—”
The woman raised a hand to smooth the black hair falling over her shoulder, the movement as natural as looking in a mirror.
She glanced sideways at Mu Yingying, the corner of her lips curving up slightly.
“What’s wrong? Never seen a beauty before?”
Mu Yingying was completely speechless.
Little Frost said nothing.
She just looked at the woman once, then immediately shifted her gaze back to White Night, her hand gripping the gun tighter.
The moment Gu Jiao saw the woman’s true appearance, her entire body stiffened.
She suddenly remembered her last visit to Hundred Flower Valley, when she had glimpsed from afar a figure standing amidst a sea of flowers in the depths.
Back then, she had only seen a vague silhouette.
Now, seeing this face, it instantly matched.
Her lips trembled twice, but in the end, she said nothing.
The group, each harboring their own shock, continued their descent.
After another stretch, the cliff face ahead suddenly showed an abnormality.
The thorns became extraordinarily dense, vines twisting and tangling together like an impenetrable wall.
The flowers bloomed with exceptional brilliance as well, their light several times brighter than elsewhere. The rich floral fragrance no longer drifted over lightly; it rushed over them, overwhelming.
The mind-bewitching scent forced its way into their nostrils.
One breath, and their whole bodies felt comfortable and relaxed.
Another breath, and their power swelled.
Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe…
Frantically breathing without end, making it impossible to stop…
Someone ahead had already gone mad.
A man was laughing uproariously as he plunged headfirst into the thorn wall.
Thorns instantly pierced his face, his chest, his arms.
The whole man was impaled like a porcupine, blood gushing from every wound.
Yet he was still laughing, laughing until tears flew from his eyes.
Beside him, another person knelt on the ground, kowtowing incessantly to a flower while frantically stuffing petals into his mouth.
The petals were covered in sharp thorns.
His lips and tongue were already shredded to pieces, his mouth full of blood, yet he ate more urgently than anyone.
A bit further away, someone else hugged a thick thorny vine, pressing their entire body tightly against it, letting the thorns pierce through their chest and back, yet wearing an expression of utmost satisfaction on their face.
White Night and the others stopped at the edge. No one dared take another step forward.
There was something strange about the floral fragrance here.
White Night could clearly feel a voice in her mind incessantly screaming, Go in, go in and you can become stronger.
The voice grew louder and louder, almost overwhelming her reason.
“Something’s wrong.” White Night bit down hard on the tip of her tongue. A sharp, stabbing pain made her instantly more alert.
“Everyone, step back. We can’t force our way through this section.”
The woman smiled at them.
“Follow closely. Don’t stray too far from me.”
After saying this, she climbed forward.
The impenetrable thorn wall before them actually parted neatly to both sides.
The vines were gently pushed aside as if by an invisible giant hand, retreating uniformly to the left and right.
The thorns on the vines all bent over.
The flowers along the path lowered their heads one after another as she passed, like a wheat field brushed by the wind.
The dazzling light surrounding them also dimmed somewhat at her feet, as if not daring to be too ostentatious in her presence.