After the gravely wounded Huo Qilang let out a roar that shook the heavens, the exhausted guards knew their final moment had come. They followed her with furious cries like wounded beasts:
"Song Yinghui has fulfilled his duty!"
"Huang Xiaoning has fulfilled his duty!"
"Xu Lai and Xu Xing have fulfilled their duty!"
The Yab soldiers were cowed by these warriors' fearless, death-defying spirit and stopped charging for a moment-the formidable Mo Dao warrior holding the south gate was already a spent bolt at the end of its flight. They needed only to wait a little longer, and she would bleed dry and fall dead.
Li Yuanying could see nothing but the blood gushing from Huo Qilang like a fountain. A terrible chill swept through him, and he trembled uncontrollably, no longer able to hold himself up, almost collapsing to the ground.
His life was like a narrow, pitch-black alley with danger lurking on every side. Unless he fought to seize what he could, he would fall, and falling meant a gruesome death. The Blood-Smeared Ghost whose wronged spirit lingered within the palace walls, his own younger sister buried alive in the imperial mausoleum...
Blood-red memories surged back to devour him: his mother lying soaked in a pool of blood, her deathly pale face, her rapid breathing, thick blood running from the bed onto the floor, Baozhu crying herself hoarse... Was this the curse he was destined to suffer? Must he once again watch a woman bleed to death before his eyes?
Was there still any hope of saving her? Any way to stop the source of life from draining away?
A passage surfaced unbidden in his mind, every word perfectly clear. It was Huo Qilang's voice: "Decoctions have limited effectiveness in stopping bleeding. If there's heavy blood loss, press