Tang San rushed the seven steps to Tang Hao.
Tang Hao's body tilted to the left, and Tang San caught him halfway through the fall.
All his weight slumped into Tang San's arms, frighteningly heavy.
Both sleeves hung empty.
His left arm had been severed years ago, the old scar long since turned white.
His right arm was fresh—severed three inches below the shoulder. Blood welled from the stump in thick spurts, staining the front of Tang San's clothes a deep red.
Warm liquid streamed down the fabric, dripping onto the rubble with a rapid, delicate patter.
Both of Tang San's hands were trembling.
One hand supported Tang Hao's back while the other pressed against the stump. The moment his fingers touched it, scalding blood squeezed through them.
He couldn't stop it.
"Dad! Dad, look at me!"
Tang Hao's lips moved twice.
No sound came out. The blood loss, combined with the backlash from detonating five Soul Rings, was making his breath grow weaker by the second. His consciousness was already beginning to fade.
Tang San's fingers were slick with blood. Again and again, he pressed them against the stump, and again and again, they slipped away.
—Seven steps away.
Dai Mubai stood where he was, motionless.
He had witnessed the whole thing.
The Severing Thought Sword had slipped from Hu Liena's hand, vanished into thin air, then reappeared three feet from Tang Hao—all in less than a breath.
The Clear Sky Douluo. The Clear Sky Sect's patriarch.
Once the greatest man in the world.
His arm had been severed by a sword that had recognized its master less than ten breaths ago.
Dai Mubai swallowed and turned his head.
Ma Hongjun's phoenix fire had gone out.
He hadn't extinguished it himself—it had died on its own.
Sensing the sword's pressure, his Martial Soul had instinctively shrunk back.
Ma Hongjun's face was deathly pale. His mouth hung open, unable to close.
That earlier rush of "I've been itching to do this for ages" had vanished without a trace.
Further behind—
Oscar and Ning Rongrong stood together.
Ning Rongrong's fingers dug into Oscar's forearm, her nails leaving bloody marks. Oscar didn't react at all, because he was trembling too.
Zhu Zhuqing had retreated half a step, her back against the shattered wall.
The thirty-two elite members of the Tang Sect, the Hidden Weapon experts who had followed them all the way through the woods, were utterly silent.
Some people's knees had already gone weak. They leaned on their companions to keep from collapsing to the ground.
Their morale was gone.
Bibi Dong descended from the air.
The Rakshasa Demon Scythe rested at her side, and dark purple Soul Power surrounded her in a cold glow.
Her nine Soul Rings turned slowly. The blood-red light of the outermost ring made the bloodstains on the rubble stand out all the more starkly.
She glanced at Tang Hao, kneeling on the ground, then at Tang San, trembling as he held his father.
"Tang San."
The two words rang across the plaza, neither loud nor soft, chilling everyone to the bone.
"Today is the day you all die."
The Rakshasa Demon Scythe rose, its blade pointing at Tang San.
The sentence had been passed.
Chrysanthemum Douluo and Ghost Douluo closed in from both flanks.
The Spirit Hall Soul Masters around the perimeter recovered from the chaos and formed ranks again, sealing off the plaza completely.
Every escape route was cut off.
Tang San held Tang Hao, covered in blood that he couldn't tell apart from his own.
The Trident still lay stuck in a pile of rubble ten paces away. What good would it do to retrieve it?
The crack in its shaft was still there.
A damaged divine weapon, against Bibi Dong at full strength, two Titled Douluo, and thousands of Spirit Hall Soul Masters.
And Hu Liena.
Tang San's peripheral vision swept across the other side of the plaza—six snow-white fox tails stood straight up behind her, and a crystal-clear long sword hovered above her right shoulder, as obedient as could be. It hadn't even touched a drop of blood.
His back teeth ground together.
He couldn't win.
The words rose in his mind, bitter enough to choke on.
If they kept fighting, they'd all be wiped out.
Tang San handed Tang Hao to the approaching patriarch of the Strength Clan.
"Protect my dad."
The four words were clipped and cold.
But his hand trembled as he let go.
He turned around.
He yanked the Sea God Trident from the rubble.
Its golden light was faint, and the crack stood out sharply in the torchlight.
He raised the Trident toward the sky.
Golden light burst from its shaft—not an attack, but a signal.
Sea God's Light shot into the sky, ripping a golden gash through the night and illuminating all of Spirit City.
"Retreat—!"
"Everyone, fall back at once—!"
His voice was torn raw. Every word tasted of blood.
It wasn't a command so much as a scream—a single action that crushed all their unwillingness, humiliation, and fear into one word—
Retreat.
The patriarch of the Strength Clan carried Tang Hao and charged out first.
The Speed Clan followed close behind. Dai Mubai grabbed Ma Hongjun by the collar and dragged him toward the eastern gate—Ma Hongjun's legs were barely working.
Zhu Zhuqing was the fastest. She tore open a gap in the encirclement ahead of them. Oscar pulled Ning Rongrong through it.
The Tang Sect's elite put their Hidden Weapons to their best use during the retreat. A volley of flying needles forced the pursuers to block, breaking their rhythm for half a beat.
The plaza fell silent.
Bibi Dong stood at the highest point of the steps leading to Pope Palace, and the Rakshasa Demon Scythe returned to her Martial Soul space.
She glanced toward the figures disappearing through the eastern gate and didn't pursue them. There was no need.
The Clear Sky Douluo Tang Hao had lost both arms. Tang San's Sea God Trident was cracked. The ambush by Shrek and the Tang Sect had ended in utter failure.
That was enough.
Bibi Dong turned around.
Hu Liena was still standing in the middle of the plaza.
She hadn't pursued anyone or moved.
Her six fox tails relaxed one by one, drooping behind her.
Blood seeped from the wound on her left shoulder, and the cut on her cheek was still untreated. She looked utterly battered.
But she held a sword in her hand.
The Severing Thought Sword rested quietly in her palm, its blade clear and spotless.
Hu Liena lowered her head and looked at the sword's surface.
It reflected her own image—bloodstains, dust, disheveled hair, and stone powder clinging to her fox ears.
Her left shoulder hurt, and so did her cheek.
But compared with what had just happened, that pain was nothing.
Just now, the Trident had been raised to its highest point, its golden light swallowing Tang San whole as its blade tilted toward her forehead.
In that instant, she had seen her own death.
Then the sky had split open.
That made three times.
The Primordial Spirit Bead, the Fate-Suppressing Cauldron, the Severing Thought Sword.
Three times. Each one had arrived at the most precise moment—not too early, not too late, not a moment too soon or too little.
Hu Liena's lips moved.
"It's you again..."
Her voice was so soft only she could hear it.
"Shen Yichen, you saved me again."
She paused.
"And you saved Spirit Hall, too."
Her fox ears peeked out from her hair, the tips turning a faint pink.
The Severing Thought Sword trembled slightly in her palm.
It wasn't a response, but a resonance—the Daoist aura within the sword sensed its master's emotions and gently returned a trace of warmth.
Hu Liena's fingertip unconsciously stroked the words "Severing Thought" on the sword's guard.
She slowly raised her head.
The night sky had returned to darkness. The rift that had torn through the heavens had long since closed. The stars hung quietly overhead, each one farther away than the last.
She looked up at the sky.
Not at the stars.
She was searching for someone.
The person who, no matter how far away he was or what she faced, could always send her what she needed at just the right moment.
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