Chapter 61

As Shen Qingqiu began to drag and carry Luo Binghe away, the old palace master let out a guttural cry. Desperate, he toppled from his cart, his limbless torso writhing pitifully through the grass and flowers.

"Don't go... don't go... please don't leave..." he mumbled.

Shen Qingqiu only quickened his pace. But then the old man's eyes flew open, and a roar tore from his throat.

He was attacking, even if it killed him.

Shen Qingqiu couldn't tell if the man wanted to stop them from leaving or just wanted Luo Binghe dead. He blocked the sonic assault with his already cracked scabbard. The impact jarred his right arm, jolting the newly sprouted blood-buds, and agony ripped through him—yet he didn't drop Luo Binghe. Pain ignited a surge of fury. His gaze snapped to the old palace master, murder flashing in his eyes.

The roar had forced more fleshy sprouts to burst from the old man's skin, some even curling from the corners of his eyes. He seemed beyond pain now, cackling madly as he rolled like a side of meat across the ground until he reached Qiu Haitang. He screamed into her ear, "Didn't you want to kill Shen Qingqiu? He's right there! Stop sleeping! Get up! Kill him! Kill them all!"

He'd truly lost his mind.

The shouting jolted Qiu Haitang awake. The first thing she saw was his withered, orange-peel face, now a grotesque mask of writhing growths and weeping holes. A scream ripped from her throat, hysterical and raw. She scrambled up, slashing her sword wildly at the air.

"Calm down!" Shen Qingqiu shouted, fearing her frantic spiritual power would attract the Love Thread seeds.

"Now! Do it now!" the old palace master shrieked. "You begged for my help! He's weakening! Strike!"

Qiu Haitang's wild eyes finally landed on Shen Qingqiu. Her trembling slowed, her gaze fixed and vacant.

To be fair, Shen Qingqiu held no particular hatred for this woman. If anything, the original goods had wronged her. But if she insisted on blocking his path now, he'd have no choice.

To his surprise, she didn't charge at him blindly as she always had before. Instead, she stared, first at him, then at Luo Binghe in his arms. She didn't advance. She took several steps back.

Her lips trembled. "Impossible... It can't be... Fake! It's all fake! That's not my brother. Not my brother!"

What was happening?

She began to sob and wail. "I did nothing! Why have I suffered all these years?!"

Shen Qingqiu was stunned. She'd only been unconscious for a moment. Why did she seem like a different person? Or rather, like someone who had seen something unacceptable and been driven mad by it.

Sensing something was wrong, he spoke firmly. "Don't move recklessly."

"What are you waiting for?!" the old palace master screamed.

Qiu Haitang, her sanity shattered, clutched her head and screamed at Shen Qingqiu, "Why won't you kill me? Why won't you kill me?!"

Baffled, Shen Qingqiu could only watch as she turned and fled down a passageway. "Hey!" he called after her.

Running blindly in the Sacred Mausoleum was a death sentence.

But she was already gone, and he had no time to give chase. Mentally lighting a candle for her fate, he pressed on.

Seeing her disappear, the last shred of hope left the old palace master's eyes. He lay still for a moment, then buried his face in the grass, taking a savage bite of leaves before bursting into manic laughter. As he laughed, the sprouts on his head grew denser, faster, until they enveloped his entire skull in moments. Soon, the laughter died, replaced by wet, guttural gasps. Shen Qingqiu thought he heard the sickening crunch of bone and brain being compressed. With one final, heavy exhalation, the old man's head slumped to the ground and moved no more.

For a sect master of his generation to meet such a gruesome, wretched end was truly lamentable.

Shen Qingqiu hadn't gone far when a hollow, echoing voice seemed to speak directly into his ear from all directions. Tianlang-Jun's tone was amused. "Peak Lord Shen plays an excellent game of hide-and-seek. Care to guess when we'll meet again?"

Shen Qingqiu touched his leg. His fingers came away slick with something alien. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. The Love Threads had already spread through his veins and taken root in his leg.

He's heading east, the voice continued. Trying to reach the broken boundary entrance to escape the Mausoleum?

He knew his location. Shen Qingqiu's heart sank. He looked down at his leg.

If the threads in his leg fully established themselves, he'd be trapped. Gritting his teeth, he glanced at Luo Binghe, steeled himself, and tore open the hem of his robe. He grabbed a cluster of the bloody buds and ripped.

His mind went blank for what felt like a full minute. It was as if an entire strip of skin and flesh had been torn away.

Gasping for air, he slowly regained awareness. He realized the sound of his own breathing was ragged, almost like sobbing.

He couldn't even lift a hand to wipe his face. It was just... too damn painful.

Though blood flowed freely, he could at least walk now. He'd thought Luo Binghe looked bad, but his own current state was a true picture of utter wretchedness.

Tianlang-Jun knew his direction and was surely closing in. Continuing east with Luo Binghe would mean a direct confrontation with him and Zhuzhi-lang. Damn that old palace master. He dragged this out and got me into this mess!

Exiting the wild-grove-like tomb chamber, Shen Qingqiu passed through several others. He quickly found a relatively clean and comfortable stone coffin in one. Cradling Luo Binghe's head, he carefully laid him inside. The back of his hand brushed Luo Binghe's forehead—still burning hot—and the mark between his brows glowed a brighter, more vivid crimson.

Shen Qingqiu placed the Xin Mo sword in Luo Binghe's grip, steadied his own nerves, and slowly closed the coffin lid.

Tianlang-Jun walked ahead at a leisurely pace, Zhuzhi-lang following a step behind.

As they rounded a bend in the stone passage, they found Shen Qingqiu standing in the center of the next tomb chamber, Xiu Ya sword in hand. He watched them coldly, as if he'd been waiting.

Half of his azure robes were stained a deep crimson. Fresh blood traced dried tracks down his right arm. His lips were nearly as pale as his face.

Tianlang-Jun looked genuinely surprised. "It has been but a moment, Peak Lord Shen. How have you become so... disheveled?"

Shen Qingqiu met his gaze. The man had been swallowed by lava pillars in the Rage Hall, yet now he didn't even smell faintly of roasted mushroom—just the edges of his black robes were slightly charred. It was utterly unfair.

"And where is your beloved disciple?" Tianlang-Jun inquired.

"He left," Shen Qingqiu said flatly.

Tianlang-Jun smiled. "With you still here, Peak Lord Shen? I find that hard to believe."

Shen Qingqiu smiled back.

The exchange of smiles faltered as Tianlang-Jun's faded. He found he couldn't take a step.

He looked down. From his feet to his waist, he was encased in a layer of incredibly solid crystalline ice, which was still creeping upward. Zhuzhi-lang was faring slightly better, with only his legs and one arm frozen solid. Only then did Tianlang-Jun notice the tomb chamber was bitterly cold.

After a pause, he said, "The Mo Bei clan."

A good guess. This chamber had been constructed by Mo Bei-jun's own grandfather. Their bloodline excelled at ice manipulation, their techniques peerless in the demon realm, and their tomb reflected that mastery.

Within the Sacred Mausoleum, every location was a potential weapon. He didn't need to fight directly; the environment itself could restrain his enemies. Shen Qingqiu remembered the original description: any object with a temperature higher than the chamber's air would instantly freeze into a sculpture. After two or three days, it would shatter into icy dust. Before entering, he had circulated his spiritual power to lower his body temperature to its minimum. It wouldn't do to trap himself while trying to trap others. Hence his deathly pallor.

In the time it took to speak, the ice had climbed to Tianlang-Jun's chest. His expression remained calm, demonic energy surging around his fist, but it did little to crack the ice encasing it. Even if it couldn't hold him forever, it would buy at least half an hour.

"It seems it wasn't an illusion," Tianlang-Jun mused. "Peak Lord Shen, you know the secrets of my clan's forbidden ground intimately."

Shen Qingqiu offered no reply. He simply gave them a dismissive wave and turned to leave.

Tianlang-Jun glanced at Zhuzhi-lang and said slowly, "I told you. If you truly wished to bring Peak Lord Shen to the demon realm, you had to ensure he wouldn't cause trouble. You know what must be done."

Zhuzhi-lang bowed his head. "... This subordinate understands."

Hearing those words, a wave of profound dread washed over Shen Qingqiu.

"Forgive me, Immortal Master Shen," Zhuzhi-lang said softly.

No! Don't! If thanking me landed me in this state, an apology will surely be the death of me!

The thought had barely formed when Shen Qingqiu, who had been walking steadily, suddenly staggered, bracing himself against the wall.

Something was writhing, struggling, surging up from his stomach, flooding into countless meridians throughout his body.

The sensation was terrifyingly familiar. Shen Qingqiu barely stopped himself from cursing aloud.

Heavenly Demon blood.

Luo Binghe was asleep in a coffin. The blood raging within him now could only belong to someone else.

"Surely this isn't your first time tasting it, Peak Lord," Tianlang-Jun's voice carried down the hall. "Haven't you grown accustomed?"

Shen Qingqiu fought down the urge to retch. "...When did you give it to me?"

"Peak Lord Shen, you must remember," Tianlang-Jun replied, his voice tinged with mockery. "Your immortal body was in our hands for quite some time. Many things were possible."

No wonder he could track my location so easily.

Shen Qingqiu paused, then forced himself forward. Each step sent fresh agony twisting through his gut, yet his pace didn’t slow—it quickened. Partly because his tolerance for pain had grown, but mostly because he knew, with absolute certainty, that he could not afford to fall now.

While the two were still encased, there was a chance to escape. Once the ice shattered, tricking them again would be impossible.

He understood the stakes perfectly. But the faster he moved, the more violently Zhuzhi Lang seemed to churn the blood within him. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but throw a vicious glare over his shoulder.

So this is your idea of repaying a debt? Letting your blood worms lay eggs and throw a family reunion in my stomach?!

“To walk so many steps in such a state,” Tianlang Jun mused, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. “Your will is formidable, Peak Lord Shen, truly beyond ordinary men. Or should I say… for Luo Binghe, you would even cast aside your life?”

Suddenly, Zhuzhi Lang spoke, his voice strained. “My Lord, I… this subordinate can no longer suppress it.”

Before the words had fully faded, the congested, knotted pain in Shen Qingqiu’s core abruptly dissolved, flooding through his meridians like a broken dam.

Tianlang Jun watched, astonished, as Shen Qingqiu actually broke into a run. “I thought your blood could restrain him?”

“It did before,” Zhuzhi Lang replied, utterly bewildered. “But this time… I don’t know why, it simply won’t hold!”

A deafening roar filled Shen Qingqiu’s ears. His vision swam, details blurring into a dark haze. One thought alone propelled him: Get to the entrance. Drag Luo Binghe out. He shoved off the wall, stumbling into a clumsy, shuffling jog. His foot caught on something unseen, and he lurched.

He’d pushed far beyond his limits, teetering on the brink of collapse. His knees buckled, giving way at last.

But he did not hit the cold stone floor.

An arm shot out, solid and unyielding, catching him around the waist and hauling him upright, half-lifting him from the ground.

Dizzy, head spinning, Shen Qingqiu struggled to focus his swimming gaze upward.

In the gloom of the lightless passage, he couldn’t make out a face. But he could see two eyes blazing with apocalyptic fury, and between them, a mark that pulsed with a deep, malevolent crimson light.