The marketplace.
Ten minutes earlier.
Before Qing Ye's bloodied figure could hit the ground, I suddenly heard my own heartbeat. It was as if the whole world had slowed down.
The murderous intent I could barely suppress was driving my reason toward the edge of collapse, little by little.
"No. Don't die."
I didn't want to watch Qing Ye die...
The wind seemed to quiet, and an invisible aura of slaughter spread across heaven and earth.
At that moment.
It was broad daylight.
The sky was still clear and calm, and the sun was bright and beautiful.
But I felt an unimaginable chill.
I braced one hand against the ground, my helpless figure curled up slightly. My reason was already on the verge of collapse.
In the quiet center of the marketplace, the crowds had all turned black and white. It was as if I'd been torn from the painted scene, the only figure left in the whole world.
Suddenly, I spat out a mouthful of blood.
Clouds gathered in the sky once more, and beside the fiery red sun appeared the phantom of a blood moon.
Just then, Qing Ye's finger twitched in the distance. My eyes had turned bright red. I stared and blinked at her still-moving fingertip, my head—clinging to its last shred of reason—tilting slightly. I seemed lost in confusion, dazed and slow to catch on.
Then I tilted my head again and finally understood: Qing Ye wasn't dead yet.
The clouds were dispersing, and the phantom blood moon was fading.
The change lasted only an instant. No one had been able to see it clearly.
I rushed over without a second thought and grabbed one of Qing Ye's arms.
The bloody wound on her chest stood out starkly. I only glanced at it before bursting