Inside Li Mochou's palm rested a tiny goose-yellow porcelain bottle.
She looked at Yang Guo sitting cross-legged to force out the poison, his right hand already turned dark blue and black.
The Nine Yang true qi surged into his arm time and time again.
No sooner had the heat suppressed it than the poisonous energy pushed back up.
The two forces locked in a fierce struggle inside the meridians of his arm.
Li Mochou's voice was still crisply cold:
“Stinking brat, this is the antidote for the Ice Soul Silver Needles.”
“I happen to be in a good mood today, so I'll make an exception just this once. I'll give you the antidote—come and take it.”
Off to the side, Wu Sanniang was completely dumbfounded by this sight.
Long ago, she had heard plenty of tales regarding Li Mochou.
Ten years ago, during Lu Zhanyuan's grand wedding, Li Mochou had barged in sword in hand.
Had the eminent monk from Tianlong Temple present at the banquet not intervened, that joyous feast would have turned into a funeral that very day.
In the end, the eminent monk had made a ten-year pact with her.
He had likely believed ten years would be long enough for time to smooth away her hostility.
But the eminent monk was a monastic, so how could he understand romance and passion?
Once trapped in the prison of love,
some could rely on time to heal their wounds,
while others would repeatedly tear their own wounds open.
Li Mochou was clearly the latter.
In the first year, her mind had been filled with nothing but yearning for Lu Zhanyuan.
In the second year, she grew to thoroughly despise He Yuanjun.
From then on, she began to hate everything that reminded her of those two.
She hated the names.
She hated the places.
She hated the past.
Even a single related character was enough to spark her fury.
A few years ago on the river, there was a waterway merchant caravan flying a large banner embroidered with the firm's name, "Yuanshui."
"Yuanshui" was merely the name of the business firm.
It had nothing whatsoever to do with He Yuanjun.
Yet upon seeing that banner, Li Mochou forced the head of the caravan to cut it down.
The caravan relied on its firm's reputation for its livelihood, so how could they bow their heads for no reason?
As a result, simply because they refused to change that character "Yuan," disaster befell them.
It was not that she was naturally bloodthirsty, but rather that in her world, that was a taboo scale no one was allowed to touch.
In the eyes of others, it was merely an ordinary character for "Yuan."
But in Li Mochou's eyes, it was not.
Every time she saw it, it was as though someone were standing right before her, reminding her: in the end, Lu Zhanyuan chose He Yuanjun, not you, Li Mochou.
And so she did the stupidest, yet most terrifying thing imaginable.
Instead of steering clear of the wound in her heart, she sought to destroy everything in the world that could touch it,
one by one.
Over the course of ten years,
she herself probably could no longer tell whether she still loved Lu Zhanyuan.
She simply couldn't let go.
Because if she let go, what had these ten years been for?
And what did that make the Li Mochou who was abandoned back then?
Thus, at this moment, Wu Sanniang—who was accustomed to hearing tales of her bloodthirsty killings—
looked at the bottle of antidote in Li Mochou's hand
and truly failed to process what she was seeing.
Was this really the Scarlet Maiden?
Did the sun rise from the west today?
She would actually save a life?
...
Yang Guo stared at the antidote bottle, his eyes lighting up, but he didn't move.
His buttocks even shuffled back a bit.
Li Mochou furrowed her brows and said:
“Come and get it.”
Yang Guo shook his head decisively:
“Not going.”
Li Mochou almost suspected she had misheard:
“What did you say?”
“I said I'm not going over there.” Yang Guo pointed at her.
“What if I go over to get the medicine,”
“and you turn around and slap me right on the crown of my head?”
“Who am I supposed to complain to then?”
Li Mochou's face darkened:
“Since I said I'd give it to you,”
“would I still trick you?”
Yang Guo nodded and said:
“Logically, you wouldn't.”
“But the jianghu is treacherous.”
“One still has to guard against danger.”
“Though I might be young, I'm certainly not stupid.”
Li Mochou was amused by his audacity:
“You slick little rogue.”
“When you intercepted the needles earlier,”
“how come I didn't see you acting so terrified?”
Yang Guo said:
“I didn't have time to think back then.”
“Now that I do, of course I have to be afraid.”
Li Mochou didn't even know whether to scold him for being cowardly or praise him for being so forthright.
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the yellow porcelain bottle toward Yang Guo:
“Catch!”
Watching the antidote flying through the air, Yang Guo was wildly overjoyed in his heart:
Holy smokes! Has my incubus physique awakened this early?
At twelve years old, I can already make this icy female demon soften up? Oh, my irrepressible charm!
Right as the thought crossed Yang Guo's mind, just when he reached out his hand to catch the porcelain bottle,
in midair, an incomparably sharp golden surge of energy cut through like a scorching meteor.
With a loud bang, it hit the porcelain bottle with absolute precision.
The antidote, together with the bottle, instantly turned into fine dust, blown completely away by the night wind.
Yang Guo's outstretched hand froze in midair, his entire body stiffening along with it.
Everyone was greatly shocked.
Right at that moment, a figure leaped into the courtyard.
This person had disheveled hair and an unkempt beard.
Though he didn't look particularly old, deep furrows covered his face one after another.
Yet strangely, he wore a reasonably respectable blue cloth robe.
Most conspicuous of all, a filthy baby bib was tied around his neck, embroidered with a faded pattern of a cat pouncing on a butterfly.
The moment Yang Guo took in this appearance, he cursed internally:
Dammit, Wu Santong! You didn't come earlier, and you didn't come later. Why the hell are you choosing right now to come out and go crazy, you old geezer!
After landing, Wu Santong paid no attention to anyone, glancing around frantically.
Mumbling continuously under his breath:
“Ah Yuan...”
“Where's Ah Yuan?”
“I clearly heard someone calling her name...”
He suddenly rushed to an overturned table and flipped it open—nobody.
Rushing behind a corridor pillar, he shouted aloud:
“Ah Yuan!”
“Who's trying to harm you?”
“Come out!”
Slumped off to the side, Wu Sanniang's lips twitched. Only after using up all her strength did she manage to cry out:
“Santong.”
Yet Wu Santong acted as if he hadn't heard a thing, continuing his search:
“Ah Yuan!”
“Ah Yuan!”
Wu Sanniang's hand gripping her weapon tightened bit by bit.
From Dali to Jiaxing, she had searched for so long.
Asking all along the way, rushing without pause.
Now she had finally met her husband, yet the very first words out of his mouth
were still Ah Yuan.
The second sentence was still Ah Yuan.
He hadn't even spared a single glance for her.
Wu Sanniang didn't cry; she merely sat there quietly.
Her complexion turned pale, then blue, and finally dark.
Suddenly, she felt the blade in her hand grow terribly heavy.
Sometimes, when a person goes mad, the sober one beside them suffers even more.
At this moment, the one with the worst complexion was not Wu Sanniang, but Li Mochou.
She looked down at the powdered remains of the medicine bottle scattered on the ground, her knuckles popping as she clenched her fingers.
In all her thirty years of life, the very first time she felt compassion and bestowed an antidote on someone, it was smashed into powder right in front of her face.
Li Mochou slowly turned her head:
“Wu Santong!”
Wu Santong ignored her completely, still shouting:
“Ah Yuan...”
Li Mochou's brow twitched as she roared:
“Wu Santong!”
“Ah Yuan!”
Li Mochou's expression grew even colder. She hated hearing that name more than anything in the world to begin with.
Yet the moment this madman barged in, he spouted "Ah Yuan" with every breath, and even casually shattered the antidote she was giving to Yang Guo.
He had stepped on both of her explosive triggers at once.
The white strands of the whisk in Li Mochou's hand instantly pulled taut like steel needles:
“Wu Santong.”
“Ten years without seeing you, and you're still the same nauseating dog of a man.”
Wu Santong whipped his head around, his bloodshot eyes glaring intensely at Li Mochou:
“Are you the one trying to kill Ah Yuan?”
Li Mochou laughed, a sound that sent a chill down Yang Guo's spine.
Oh crap, she's gonna explode!
With a cold sneer, Li Mochou said:
“That little slut has been dead so long the grass on her grave has grown back three times!”
“You old dog, haven't you gone mad enough?”
Wu Santong's pupils shrank violently; he looked as though he had been struck hard with a club:
“What nonsense are you spewing!”
“Ah Yuan isn't dead!”
“She isn't dead!”
“You're lying!”
Wu Santong suddenly roared in rage, raising his right hand and thrusting his index finger forward with terrifying force!
Chi!
A burst of energy pierced through the air.
Yang Guo's pupils contracted. One Yang Finger!
Li Mochou shifted her footing, stepping sideways to dodge.
The finger force brushed past the sleeve of her robe.
Bang!
A piece of the rockery behind her exploded on the spot, sending stone fragments flying in all directions.
Missing with his strike, Wu Santong had already lunged forward:
“Give me back my Ah Yuan!”
Another finger strike!
Li Mochou sneered cold-heartedly: “Dead madman, I'll send you to see that little slut today!”
Stepping along Qimen positions, Wu Santong moved like a blue cloth whirlwind, delivering several finger strikes in rapid succession, every move aimed directly at the vital points between Li Mochou's brows.
The force of the One Yang Finger was sweeping and majestic, the sound of breaking air echoing relentlessly.
Beneath Li Mochou's feet was the uncanny footwork of the Ancient Tomb Sect; her apricot-yellow Daoist robe fluttered as her horsetail whisk turned into what seemed like thousands of white serpents.
Her supple energy, carrying bone-chilling cold, clung to him like a shadow, tightly entangling Wu Santong's finger gusts and wrists, forcing his finger power from ever reaching full strength.
Shards of brick and tile shot out everywhere, leaving the entire front yard riddled with holes.
One was fierce, sharp, and precise; the other was sinister, supple, and ruthless.
In the blink of an eye, the two had exchanged dozens of moves, still locked in a fierce, back-and-forth battle.
Watching from the side, Yang Guo suddenly felt it was somewhat ridiculous.
Li Mochou was trapped by her obsession with Lu Zhanyuan.
Wu Santong was trapped by his obsession with He Yuanjun.
One, because she couldn't get what she desired,
drove herself into becoming the ruthless Scarlet Maiden who killed without blinking an eye.
The other, also because he couldn't get what he desired,
tormented himself into a raving lunatic.
At the end of the day, neither was some beautiful tale of deep devotion.
They were simply two people who refused to let themselves go.
Thinking up to this point, Yang Guo suddenly looked down at his blackened right hand.
Then he looked down at the yellow powder scattered on the ground, his face collapsing instantly:
“Wait, something's not right.”
Aniu asked:
“What's not right?”
Yang Guo said dejectedly:
“What does their love-hate drama have to do with me?!”
“How the hell am I supposed to cure my poison?!”
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