Murong Huai lay motionless on the scorched, rubble-strewn earth. His once-spotless golden robes had been torn into strips of ragged cloth, smeared with black blood and mud and clinging tightly to his body. The meridians that had once brimmed with pure Soul Power were now shattered inch by inch. Beneath his ashen skin, not a trace of Soul Power stirred. His chest had caved in, and blackish-purple scabs crusted the wound.
His head rested against the edge of a broken stele, his eyes squeezed shut. Not a trace of color remained in his face, yet his jaw still held the stubborn set of someone who refused to admit defeat.
"Huai'er!!!"
Xiao Qingmei ran over, her legs giving way as she fell to her knees beside him. The moment her thin, withered hand brushed her grandson's icy cheek, it trembled and jerked back. A choked sob rose in her throat, nearly making her faint.
"My Huai'er... Grandma's here. Don't scare Grandma..."
Murong Chayue staggered. He had spent his life forged of iron and blood, with bones as unyielding as steel; he had slain tens of thousands of enemies. Now his tears fell onto his grandson's caved-in chest, tracing crooked paths through the black blood. He opened his mouth, but not a word came out. Only after a long while did a hoarse growl scrape from his throat, like that of an old beast that had lost everything.
"Grandpa's here... Huai'er, Grandpa will take you..." He couldn't finish. Overcome with grief, he let blood spill down his beard and soak his collar.
Qian Daoliu slumped to the ground in despair, his hands clawing at the earth. Shards of stone dug into his palms, but he didn't feel a thing. His most cherished disciple—a boy so lively and cheerful—was now nothing but a