Flower Stealing Master

Chapter 1113: The Hatred of a St0len Wife

The Song Qingshu that Cheng Yaojia was praying for was stumbling through the streets of Yangzhou, fighting for each step.

He could feel the Heavenly Devil Flower’s toxin deep in his organs now. The surging true qi that had always filled him like a tide had dwindled to almost nothing — and what little remained stuttered and broke apart like a failing flame. If he encountered an enemy in this state, he doubted he could defend himself.

Waves of dizziness and exhaustion rolled through him. He felt an almost irresistible urge to close his eyes and sleep. He understood perfectly well what that meant. Once those eyes closed, they would not open again.

He had come into this world with a borrowed life to begin with — if he had truly been alone, perhaps dying here would not have mattered so much. But the years had given him people who depended on him. Women who cared for him. Followers who counted on his leadership. To surrender now and leave them all behind — he could not permit himself that.

The thought steadied him. He forced his eyes to stay open and pushed toward the Golden Dragon Gang’s secret branch in Yangzhou.

There were two reasons he needed to reach them. First, in his current state, he had no realistic chance of leaving Yangzhou unaided — the Gang’s help could make the difference. Second, he needed to send warning. Tonight’s events had unfolded without notice, and the Gang almost certainly still believed Li Kexiu to be an ally. A man of Li Kexiu’s calculating nature would not leave the Golden Serpent Camp’s secret outposts in this city standing. Worse still, because of their earlier cooperation, the location of those outposts was no longer secret.

He arrived at the safe house after what felt like an eternity — pushed the door open — and felt his heart drop.

The people waiting inside were not Golden Dragon Gang members. They were the Loyal Righteous Army, under Zhang Rou.

“Golden Serpent King.” Zhang Rou bared his teeth in an ugly grin and raised one hand. His soldiers moved immediately to cut off the retreat.

“What happened to the people who were here?” Song Qingshu knew there was no clean way out of this. He was surprised to find himself calm — not afraid, simply resolved. He asked the question in a level voice.

“You’ll be joining them shortly.” Zhang Rou chuckled.

“If I survive today,” Song Qingshu said coldly, “I will take your head.”

“Under normal circumstances, Golden Serpent King, I’ll be honest — you’re not someone I would willingly cross.” Zhang Rou shook his head with something like regret. “But you are carrying a fatal poison in your body right now. I’m afraid revenge is beyond your reach.” He turned to his men. “The Minister’s orders — three ranks of promotion and ten thousand taels in gold to whoever finishes him. Move.”

A roar went up.

These men lived by the blade — ten thousand taels was a fortune for several lifetimes. And the target was poisoned. They surged forward without hesitation, each one afraid the man beside him would get there first.

Song Qingshu felt everything before him begin to double and blur. ‘The toxin is reaching my eyes.’ He shook his head instinctively — and the foremost soldier of the Loyal Righteous Army was already on him.

The eyes still worked, even if nothing else did. His arm uncoiled like a spring. The man registered only a blur — his sword changed hands — and before he could make sense of it, an explosion of pain in his arm, and the arm was no longer attached at the shoulder. He screamed, stumbled backward, and only the press of his comrades behind him kept him from falling.

Zhang Rou, watching from the back, felt a cold shock move through him. A dying camel is still larger than a horse. The man was poisoned almost to death and still capable of this. Better to let the soldiers grind him down further before stepping in personally. 

The Golden Serpent King’s reputation had been built on years of defeating the strongest fighters alive — Zhang Rou was not going to underestimate a dying lion’s final bite.

Song Qingshu watched the shadows multiply before his eyes. The Heavenly Devil Flower’s toxin was reaching his nerves now — he was certain of it. He thought, with dark humor, of Xiang Yu — the Hegemon-King of Western Chu, who had died at the hands of lesser men, his body divided among those who wished to claim the reward. Will I end the same way?

More figures poured toward him. Gradually, something went quiet inside him. There was no path left. Fighting on served nothing. He let his eyes close and waited for the blades.

They did not come.

He waited — and felt nothing. He almost smiled. At least the Bloom numbs the nerves. Dying without pain — there’s something to be said for that.

Then screaming began around him. His eyes opened.

Three figures in black, faces masked, had placed themselves between him and the surging soldiers. One fought with a longsword — cold light, the enemies crying out and falling back with each stroke. Another used bare fists alone, no weapon, and every man who traded blows with him folded without a sound. The third was clearly the weakest in cultivation of the three — but his swordplay moved with a quality that was almost spectral.

Song Qingshu recognized them in an instant.

The dance of the fish and dragon — Xin Qiji’s swordplay. The Shadowless Divine Fist — Ding Dian. And that third figure… the Evil Exterminating Swordplay. Lu… Lu Guanying.

Something moved through him that he could not quite name. These three had come for him — and Lu Guanying in particular — Song Qingshu felt something close to shame.

Seeing the newcomers, Zhang Rou abandoned his position in the rear. He came forward himself, leading the Loyal Righteous Army’s Thirteen Guardians.

Ding Dian turned sharply. “Brother Wu — take him out of the city now!”

“Understood.” A voice from directly behind him — kept deliberately quiet.

Brother Wu? There was someone else? Song Qingshu marveled privately that the toxin had stripped away even his ambient awareness — he hadn’t sensed a person standing that close.

He looked back over his shoulder.

His expression went through several changes.

The figure was dressed in black, face masked — but Song Qingshu never forgot a pair of eyes. He knew this person. He had known him since the Golden Serpent Assembly.

Linghu Chong. Known in these days as Wu Tiande, the garrison commander from Quanzhou — the man who had been sheltering at Han Dingxiao’s side.

Linghu Chong looked at him for a long, meaningful moment. Then he reached out, gripped Song Qingshu by the shoulder, and moved.

Song Qingshu had to acknowledge it honestly — Linghu Chong’s Qinggong was no match for his own at full strength. But the enormous internal energy accumulated through the Cosmic Absorption Technique had brought him to the first tier of the wulin regardless. He moved without a word, evading two pursuit teams in rapid succession, and cleared the city wall under cover of darkness.

Another ten li at a run, and they came to a nameless stretch of wild hills. Linghu Chong stopped abruptly.

And threw Song Qingshu forward onto the ground.

With no true qi left to cushion the fall, Song Qingshu hit the earth hard, the world spinning, stars bursting before his eyes — and before he had gathered himself even slightly, he felt something cold settle against his throat.

The tip of a sword, gleaming in the dark.