The old plants inside fell one after another.
Everyone’s strength combined into one, tearing through the king flower’s defenses.
The final line broke, and the king flower’s true body was exposed.
Its bud was another size larger than three days ago, over three meters in diameter.
The edges of the petals had all turned gold. The cracks widened, and dark red light leaked out from the gaps.
Inside the bud, layers upon layers of human faces writhed wildly, trying to burst out.
Every face screamed, the sound muffled by the petals, producing a low rumble like thunder.
The king flower was about to bloom.
Xiao Meng stepped forward. His hair was half white, and wrinkles covered the corners of his eyes, forehead, and mouth.
A twenty-eight-year-old man looked like he was over forty.
He had used the Flower-Fixing Art three times, sacrificing years of his lifespan.
Now, at the critical moment, he had no intention of holding back.
Xiao Meng opened the Pressed Flower Album to the last page—the incomplete copy left to him by his senior brother.
The characters on it were written messily but forcefully.
He bit the index and middle fingers of his right hand. There was more blood than any previous time.
He used the blood to draw symbols in the air, tracing three concentric circles—the cross-section of a flower.
Each stroke grew more complex, each rune brighter.
His hair turned white at an accelerating pace.
When the last strand of black vanished, a dozen more wrinkles appeared on his face. He had become a completely dried-up old man.
He didn’t care. He even smiled—a genuine smile.
‘My senior brother comprehended Epiphyllum Blooming in Hundred Flower Valley, trading a lifetime of greed, regret, enlightenment, and love for a clean end.’
‘Before, I thought I was far inferior to him.’
‘But this time, I’ve definitely surpassed him.’
“Set!”
The triple blood-colored halo exploded—brighter, stronger, and more dazzling than any before.
Three rings of light stacked around the king flower’s bud.
The bud trembled a few times, then stopped.
The petals unfurling, the faces screaming—all ceased.
The entire king flower seemed frozen in time.
Two streams of blood flowed from Xiao Meng’s nostrils. His knees gave out, and he fell to the ground.
But his hands remained clasped together in support. The halo wouldn’t shatter before his will collapsed.
“Quick…”
His voice sounded like it came from the bottom of a dry well.
“Hurry… I can’t hold on much longer.”
A Jiu moved.
Without waiting for anyone’s orders, he charged straight to the base of the king flower’s bud.
There, a core the size of a fist pulsed—the king flower’s heart.
The black tumor was covered in vein-like patterns, throbbing faintly.
Several fine root tendrils were attached to the tumor—the same ones that had grown from Lao Xing’s fingers.
A Jiu raised his short blade, aiming at the core.
Just as the tip was about to touch the tumor, a face emerged on the core’s surface.
It was Lao Xing’s face. He looked clear-headed and exhausted, but his expression was calm, as if he understood everything.
“A Jiu.”
The voice came from within the core—hoarse and weak, but every word was clear.
A Jiu’s blade stopped mid-air.
“Master.”
“Hurry up.”
Lao Xing’s face twisted slightly. He was fighting the king flower for control.
“I can’t suppress it much longer… It’s consuming me… Quick…”
A Jiu’s hand trembled. The blade tip was only an inch from the core.
He knew that once this blade fell, Lao Xing would die too.
“A Jiu.”
Lao Xing’s voice suddenly softened—a tenderness A Jiu hadn’t heard in years.
“Do you remember… the first thing I taught you… the year you became my disciple?”
A Jiu’s tears flowed instantly. His voice sounded like his throat was squeezed.
“I remember.”
“You said, growing flowers is to make people happy, not to make them die.”
Lao Xing laughed. He laughed until tears came out.
“I forgot.”
“You remember for me.”
“Your master was bewitched by greed before, causing this catastrophe, letting this bastard control my mind.”
“This is my only chance to atone. Hurry up.”
“Do it! Don’t hesitate! I deserve this!”
A Jiu closed his eyes and stabbed the blade into the core.
Black fluid sprayed out with a splat, covering his face and body.
The core twitched, making its final struggle.
Lao Xing’s face slowly blurred amid the distortion. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
And just like that, his features completely dissipated.
At the last moment of his fading consciousness, Lao Xing detonated the remaining power within him.
Unlike the Flower Arranger’s Epiphyllum Blooming, he didn’t turn into a flower—he turned into fire.
A white flame erupted from the core. It wasn’t hot, but blindingly bright.
The flame spread into the bud, touching the trapped human faces.
Every face touched by the flame stopped screaming. Their pained expressions grew calm.
They transformed into clusters of white light, drifting out through the bud’s cracks and rising into the sky.
Hundreds of white lights emerged, like countless butterflies flying out.
They passed through the shattered greenhouse roof and merged into the sky’s brightness.
Bai Ye watched those white lights. In each cluster was a face.
Old Man Lao, Aunt Wang, the fourteen-year-old boy, the mother carrying her child.
And many more people.
They were finally freed.
The last to fade was Lao Xing himself.
His face appeared in the white light for an instant, then turned toward A Jiu’s direction.
His lips moved. Bai Ye could read those two words.
Take care.
Then, along with all the other white lights, he dissipated.
The king flower let out a scream it had never made before.
The core hadn’t truly been destroyed. Its resentment scattered, and it had only lost a small part of its power.
The bud shook violently. Petals began flipping outward one by one—it was forcing itself to bloom.
Xiao Meng’s Flower-Fixing Art was about to collapse. The blood-colored halo was covered in cracks.
Blood flowed from his nose and mouth, but his hands remained tightly clasped, veins bulging.
“I… can still… hold on…”
He then passed out, having done everything he could.
Bai An’an saw that the time was right and stopped hiding her true strength.
Her body floated, emitting a golden light.
The light carried something that instinctively terrified weirdness.
She extended her right hand, fingers spread, toward the king flower’s heart.
Golden light burst from her palm, forming a black longsword.
Countless tiny runes flowed across the blade—each one held the memory of a world.
This was her lifebound weapon, drawn for the first time today.
She gripped the hilt and leaped.
The king flower sensed the mortal threat. All its remaining vines retracted and lunged at Bai An’an.
Black vines surged from all directions like a gaping abyssal maw, ready to devour her.
Su Shuang’er and Mu Yingying acted simultaneously.
Su Shuang’er’s iron hammer smashed the vines on the left, while Mu Yingying’s Tang Dao severed those on the right.
The remaining medicinal liquid on the blade prevented the severed vines from regenerating in time.
The two of them tore an opening through the vines.
Bai An’an shot through the gap, thrusting the black sword into the king flower’s heart.
The moment the tip pierced in, the king flower let out a scream it had never made before.
It wasn’t the sound of a flower—it was the collective roar of the remaining three hundred consciousnesses erupting at once.
Pain, despair, unwillingness, relief—all emotions churned together. The shockwave warped the greenhouse’s iron frame.
The plastic roof exploded. Fragments rained down like falling leaves.
Bai An’an gripped the hilt, pushing it in inch by inch.
Her white hair flew wildly in the air current. Her pure black pupils reflected the king flower’s distorted image.
The bud crumbled. Petals fell. Golden light faded.
Cracks spread from the flower’s heart to the bud, then to the main stem, and finally crawled across every vine and offspring plant.
The entire greenhouse was breaking apart.
The king flower exploded.
The bud, main stem, vines, and roots all turned into black powder.
Remaining white light drifted out from the powder.
The other murdered souls were finally freed as well.
White light passed through the collapsed roof, merged into the sky, and scattered with the wind.
The greenhouse began to collapse. Without the king flower’s support, the black soil flowed downward like quicksand.
Beneath the soil, layers of white bones were revealed.
The iron frame crashed down with a thunderous boom, and plastic fragments flew everywhere.
“Retreat!”
Su Shuang’er’s voice pierced through the dust of the ruins.
She carried Bai Ye’s rusty bicycle in one hand, dragged Mu Yingying with the other, and carried the exhausted, unconscious Bai An’an on her back as she charged toward the greenhouse exit.
A Jiu ran out with his wooden, unmoving left arm, his right hand still clutching the short blade.
Black ash clung to the blade’s tip—the last thing Lao Xing had left behind.
Xiao Meng was carried out by two patrol team members, one under each arm.
He was like an empty shell—white hair, wrinkled face, transformed from twenty-eight to over seventy.
But his chest still rose and fell. He was alive.
Su Shuang’er carried Bai An’an. Her face was even paler than her hair, and her young form was somewhat unstable.
That single sword strike had consumed too much. Even with her new body, her strength was still subject to many limitations.
Fortunately, the group’s earlier combined efforts had weakened the king flower, keeping her losses within a controllable range.
“An’an, are you okay!?”
Bai Ye saw her eyelashes flutter and couldn’t help asking.
“It’s fine. I just need to rest a bit.”
Bai An’an answered, her voice weak.