Demonic Powder's Aftermath, Wuchen and Qing Wan Narrowly Escape

I crouched down by the wall, picking up a pinch of dust between my fingers and rubbing it in my palm. There was no lingering resistance from any array patterns; the ground was dry and cold, as if no one had stepped on it for a long time. Yet, the wisp of green flame still danced in the crack of the door, faintly, like an eye that refused to close.

I braced the medicine pestle against the threshold and gently nudged the door. It creaked open half a foot. The interior furnishings were unchanged; the medicine box on the corner of the table was still askew, knocked over by me last night while searching for Calming Dew. But something new had entered the air—a faint trace of iron, almost undetectable amidst the incense for warding off evil. One wouldn't be able to smell it without years of experience identifying poisons.

I slipped inside, closing the door behind me, a silver needle already sliding into my fingers from my sleeve. Just as I was about to seal the window, my wrist suddenly grew heavy.

A hand reached from behind, firmly grasping my pulse.

"Miss Ye, this is how you expel the poison."

His voice was low and steady, like a stone dropped into a deep well. I spun around abruptly, sweeping the medicine pestle in an arc, but he deftly deflected it with his other hand. Ji Wuchen stood at the edge of the lamplight, his black robes undisturbed, his hair perfectly in place, as if he had been waiting there all along.

He held a piece of cloth in his left hand, a Purple-Gold Python Pattern, one corner torn, its edge still stained with some dark green powder.

Ji Hantian's clothing.

"How did you know I was attacked?" I tried to pull my hand away, but he used the motion to guide me, seating me on a chair. "And how could you be so sure he was faking his death?"

He didn't answer, merely tossed the corner of the cloth onto the table, making a soft rustling sound. The remnants of Demonic Powder snaked across the fabric, like the tracks of some living creature crawling across it.

"The powder he sprinkled tonight was refined from that Forbidden Ground I was thrown from three years ago," he said, his gaze falling on my left arm. "The hole in your sleeve, and the spot where my Dao Bone shattered then, are exactly the same."

My breath hitched.

That spot was three inches below my shoulder blade, somewhere ordinary people wouldn't notice, let alone remember. But he stated it with precision, down to the exact angle.

This was no coincidence.

I stared at him, lowering my voice. "So you deliberately let him injure me? To test the poison on me?"

"I am not a doctor," he shook his head. "But I know what this poison fears." As he spoke, he released my wrist. A faint golden light emanated from his fingertips, and as he brought them near the wound, my flesh seemed to tremble.

I instinctively recoiled, the medicine pestle once again held defensively before me. "Don't touch me."

"The Blood Phoenix Body rejects external forces; I know that," he stated, stopping his movement but not his gaze. "But the energy in your meridians hasn't been pure for a long time. Three days ago, on the roof of the woodshed, you were almost impaled by spider silk. Who was it that took that blow for you?"

My heart skipped a beat.

That night, a golden light had indeed flashed across the void, blocking a fatal strike. I had thought it was an illusion, or perhaps a protective reaction of the Blood Phoenix Body awakening on its own.

"Was that you?" My voice tightened slightly.

"If you don't believe me, you can test it now." He raised his right hand, palm facing up. The golden light flowed slowly, then split into two. One followed his arm, while the other leaped lightly, tracing an arc in the air, heading straight for my left arm.

I instinctively channeled my energy to resist, my blood surging within me, but the moment the light touched my wound, it seeped into my meridians like a returning bird, quietly merging with a long-dormant power.

A warm current spread through my meridians, and the burning pain instantly dulled.

"When... when did you tamper with me?"

"It wasn't tampering," he retracted his hand. "It was my aura. Once the aura of the Pseudo-Primordial Body is planted, it travels with the bloodline, recognizing its master. It protected you automatically when you were fleeing; I couldn't control it."

I fell silent for a moment, then suddenly sneered. "Then why are you helping me now? To retrieve your 'thing'? Or are you afraid I'll die and the clue will be lost?"

"I am here to tell you two things," his tone was calm. "First, Ji Hantian's feigned death was not just to evade you, but to lure me out. He thought I would investigate the funeral and reveal myself at the Spirit Hall. I didn't, so he turned to use you as bait."

My fingertips trembled.

No wonder he could accurately pinpoint my hiding spot and even set up a Demonic Powder trap in advance. He wanted to force Ji Wuchen to act through me.

"What's the second thing?" I asked.

He looked at me, his gaze unusually serious. "The secret conversation you overheard tonight, where he spoke of seizing the 'Pseudo-Primordial Body,' was not directed at you. It was directed at me."

I looked up sharply.

"He doesn't know I've regained my mobility, but he knows there's been a sudden fluctuation of a constitution that shouldn't exist in this world," he paused. "And you bear traces of it. So he suspects a connection between us."

Silence filled the room.

The candlelight flickered, illuminating a faint red scar on his left cheek, like an old wound breathing.

I looked down at my arm, the skin corroded by the Demonic Powder slowly healing. Black blood seeped from the edges of the wound, only to be pushed back, bit by bit, by the golden light.

"Why are you helping me?" I finally asked. "We've never been allies."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took out a jade bottle from his robes, poured out a dark golden pill, and handed it to me.

"Take this, it will suppress the remaining poison," he said. "As for why I'm helping you... three years ago, you saved a dying invalid in the black market. Do you remember?"

I froze.

At that time, I had just escaped the Ji Family's side courtyard and was making a living by gathering herbs. A youth was thrown into the alley, covered in wounds, his life force almost extinguished. I hadn't intended to intervene, but seeing a faint light pulsing between his brows, I fed him a drop of my vital blood.

When I returned later, the person was already gone.

"Was that you?" My voice was hoarse.

He nodded. "That drop of your blood allowed me to hold on until the System activated. From then on, I owed you a life."

I stared at him for a long time, finally reaching out to take the pill and putting it in my mouth. The moment the medicinal properties dissolved, the restless energy within me finally calmed down.

He turned to leave.

"Wait," I called out to him. "You knew he was faking his death all along, why didn't you warn me?"

His steps halted at the doorway, his back as straight as a pine tree.

"If I had warned you, you wouldn't have investigated," he said softly. "Some truths must be seen with one's own eyes to be believed. And..."

He glanced back at me.

"I also want to know, are you willing to put yourself in mortal danger to uncover this matter?"

As his words fell, a gust of wind suddenly swept in from outside, causing the candlelight to flicker violently. I looked up, and two shadows were cast on the window paper—one standing, one sitting, extremely close, like old friends who had shared a room for many years.

But there were only the two of us inside.

Ji Wuchen noticed it too, his brow furrowing slightly. Just as he was about to make a move, the shadows vanished abruptly, as if they had never existed.

He stared at the window paper for two breaths, saying nothing.

I gripped the Medicine Pestle, my knuckles turning white.

In that instant, the extra shadow was wearing the Cloud Pattern Official Robe that Yan Jiuxiao often wore.