He only had one hand. One hundred and twenty iron spikes, one night. White Night didn’t know how he did it.
Little Frost turned to Old Woman Chen.
“The medicine juice?”
Old Woman Chen fished out two pitch-black clay pots from the medicine box, the mouths sealed with wax. Even through the wax, a pungent and nose-stinging smell could be detected.
“Numbness potion. Applied to weapons, it will slow the flower’s vines for a few breaths when they touch. Not much, just enough for one use.”
“A few breaths is enough.”
Little Frost nodded. Auntie Liu didn’t speak.
She unfolded the item she had been sewing—a few grayish coats, the inner lining sewn with a dense mesh of fine thread.
“Wear this, the vines can’t pierce through.”
Her voice was very soft, as if talking to herself.
“The thread is soaked in beeswax, three times tougher than ordinary thread. Vines that stab in will get tangled in the thread, buying three to five seconds of reaction time.”
White Night looked at the stitches so fine they were nearly invisible, and thought of the cloth strips wrapped around Auntie Liu’s fingers. Underneath were wounds from years of sewing.
Old Lu unfolded a crumpled blueprint beside him, covered in his crooked mechanical designs.
“I’ve already dug four trap pits around the greenhouse. The wooden stakes are sharpened and coated with Old Woman Chen’s potion. If the king flower’s roots spread out of the greenhouse, it’ll buy us a minute or two.”
When he said this, he still had that bitter face.
But the design on the blueprint was precise and meticulous, every measurement marked clearly.
Meng Qing was the last to speak.
He opened his pressed flower album, revealing dozens of dried petals, each shimmering with a dim luster.
“My senior brother cultivates the Yin Killing Technique, Soul-Sealing Pressed Flowers. I walk the path of the Yang Killing Technique, the Flower-Fixing Art. It can temporarily halt the flower’s growth, stopping its writhing and attacks. The range is small, at most three plants at a time. The price is a shortened lifespan.”
He closed the album, his gaze dark.
“I can last four to five times. At most, fix fifteen plants. Used at key points in the middle or inner layers, it can buy time to act.”
Little Frost glanced at him.
“How many years of lifespan?”
“Three years each time.”
Little Frost didn’t ask further.
“Second team.” She continued to deploy.
“A Jiu’s flower cultivation ability will interfere with the growth rate of the offspring plants. Meng Qing will use the Flower-Fixing Art to lock the offspring in place at critical moments. Mu Yingying and I will take the chance to cut the roots. The targets are the forty plants in the middle layer and the twenty in the innermost layer.”
“Third team. An’an.” Little Frost looked at White Peace.
“You will go into the deepest part alone, suppress the king flower head-on. Block all its counterattacks until we finish clearing the offspring.”
White Peace leaned against the wall, not having interrupted from start to finish.
Only when she heard her name did she lazily respond.
“Fine.”
Just one word in reply, but it set everyone’s mind at ease. No one doubted the strength of Master of Baihua Valley.
Little Frost finally looked at White Night and walked over to her.
“Little White Night, you need to be careful.”
“Mm.”
White Night nodded.
Night fell. The town sprang into hectic activity.
Old He’s hammering sound came from the forge, dull and rhythmic, continuing into the late night.
He was forging the last batch of iron spikes, each longer and sharper than those from the day.
These were for Little Frost’s second team, to pierce the thicker, harder roots of the middle-layer offspring. The hammering made the ground at the forge’s entrance tremble slightly.
Old Woman Chen’s medicine pot was set up outside her dwelling.
Black liquid rolled and boiled, its smell so pungent that people passing by detoured.
She was brewing the last pot of numbness potion, the formula twice as concentrated as before.
“The middle-layer flowers have thicker skin than the outer ones. Too weak won’t work.”
Beside the pot was a row of clay pots, their mouths not yet sealed with wax. The bubbling sound of the potion was like something breathing.
Auntie Liu sat at her doorstep, working overtime.
Her ten fingers were wrapped in new cloth strips; the old ones were soaked through with blood.
She was sewing the last two protective undergarments, one for Little Frost and one for Mu Yingying.
They were the main attackers of the second team, most likely to be approached by the vines.
The stitches were denser than in the daytime, the thread making a faint hissing sound as it pulled through the fabric.
Old Lu crouched at the edge of the forbidden area, checking the traps by moonlight.
He knelt to personally calibrate the angle of each wooden stake, testing the trigger ropes a dozen times to ensure they would spring every time.
He muttered something under his breath, half complaint, half prayer.
Meng Qing sat alone on the roof of his dwelling, the pressed flower album open on his knees. Moonlight fell on the pages, making the dried petals glow dimly.
He closed his eyes, his lips moving slightly as he silently recited the incantation of the Flower-Fixing Art.
With each recitation, his temples turned a few more strands white. By the fifth time, his temples were already dusted with frost.
White Night floated to the roof of the small house, overlooking the entire Hundred Flowers Town.
The red moon hung high, dyeing the earthen walls and roofs a dark crimson.
Most houses had their lights out, but White Night could sense that the people inside were not asleep.
Chaotic breaths, low conversations, the sound of a whetstone against a blade—all came from every corner, merging into a chaotic, oppressive background noise.
From the direction of the forbidden area, black light flickered. The frequency was faster than last night.
White Peace appeared beside her at some point.
Her bare feet made no sound on the roof tiles, her white hair gently drifting in the night breeze.
“Nervous?”
“Mm.”
White Night didn’t deny it. “Tomorrow people will die.”
“Mm.”
White Night looked at the town below.
“Will it be very dangerous?”
White Peace didn’t answer immediately. She looked toward the forbidden area, her pure black eyes reflecting the flickering black light.
“Little White Night, are you worried about me?”
White Peace turned to her with a slight curl of her lips.
“Mm, I can’t help but be a little worried. Not just about you, but about Auntie Frost and Auntie Ying too.”
White Night spoke honestly.
“It’s okay. They are also strong. As long as they don’t face the king flower directly, it won’t be a problem.”
White Night suddenly remembered the Flower Arranger in Baihua Valley.
In his final moment, he attained enlightenment, blooming his own flesh and blood into a flower, throwing his apprentice back up the cliff.
White Night spoke softly: “An’an. If you really encounter danger, you must survive. Don’t make unnecessary sacrifices for me again…”
White Peace’s lips curved up. Not her usual sly smile. It was lighter, softer, like a small ball of warmth cupped in one’s palm in winter.
“I can’t promise that. I’ve waited five thousand eight hundred years for you. I won’t let you die before me.”
She extended her hand and gently covered the back of White Night’s soul body’s hand. The touch was real and warm.
“Don’t overthink it. Whatever happens tomorrow, stick close to me. I will protect you.”
White Night looked into her eyes.
“Mm, I believe you.”
White Peace smiled.
“Good.”
The night breeze blew, carrying fragments of black petals from the forbidden area over the town.
White Night and White Peace stood side by side on the roof, watching a petal fall at their feet. On the petal was still a drop of black blood.
The sky was already showing a line of fish-belly white.
The day of the decisive battle had arrived.