Chen Wuya's fingers were still pressed to the edge of the hidden compartment, the cracks in the wood biting into his fingertips. Old Wu Tou's words were like a red-hot iron searing his heart—"Do you still want to see that book?" Outside, the wind had stopped. The medicine pot had gone cold beside the fire pit, and Bai Zhi's breathing was so shallow it was almost inaudible.
He did not answer. He merely leaned farther into the corner, his spine pressing against the crossbar of the low couch as he slowly pushed himself upright. It felt as if something had ground over his ribs again and again; every breath pulled at a tearing pain deep inside him. Yet he neither frowned nor made a sound. Those words from earlier still churned in his mind: the Blood Guiding Art, the resonance chain, sacrifice... But now, one thing was even clearer to him—he could not hide it anymore.
The door suddenly flew open.
It had not been pushed open gently—it had been rammed open. A gust of cold wind swept in with dead leaves, making the oil lamp sway as its flame spun sideways. Three people stood in the doorway, blocking out the light.
The purple-robed elder in front had a vertical crease between his brows. With his fingers resting on his sword hilt, he tapped it twice, softly. Behind him stood a disciple in green, the corners of his mouth curled up even as his gaze remained cold. The last wore gray robes and stood with his hands tucked in his sleeves, saying nothing as his eyes swept over every inch of the room.
Chen Wuya did not move. He only lifted his eyes to look at them.
"Half of the three-day deadline has passed." The Heavenly Sword Sect elder spoke