Chapter 65

The outer robe pooled at his feet. Shen Qingqiu then offered his arm right under Zhuzhi Lang’s nose, successfully diverting the man’s attention entirely. He studied the limb with focused intensity.

After a full day of relentless treatment, the Love Threads finally showed signs of receding. The dense, leafy growth that had covered half his chest and arm upon waking was gone, leaving only a few sparse, tiny sprouts.

From beneath the blankets, Luo Binghe sent a silent palm strike, a plume of dark energy shooting straight for Zhuzhi Lang’s back.

Suddenly, Shen Qingqiu swatted the glowing charcoal stone from Zhuzhi Lang’s hand.

The stone clattered across the floor and rolled out of the tent. Zhuzhi Lang, slapped for no apparent reason, looked utterly bewildered. “My hand slipped,” Shen Qingqiu stated flatly.

Without a hint of suspicion, Zhuzhi Lang accepted the excuse and stepped out to retrieve it. After a moment, his puzzled voice drifted back in. “Where did it roll to?”

Shen Qingqiu used the toe of his boot to push off the ground, vaulting onto the bed in a flash. “Shizun,” Luo Binghe whispered, voice tight, “What kind of life have you been living under their control?!”

A life of idleness and waiting for death!

“Don’t do anything reckless,” Shen Qingqiu hissed back. “If we’re discovered, neither of us will have an easy time of it.” With that, he pressed a hand down, shoving Luo Binghe back beneath the blankets.

Luo Binghe seethed, frustration boiling within him. He was confident he could hold his own against Tianlang-Jun now, but as long as the Blood Parasite remained in his master’s body, they were both trapped. He crooked a finger, and the discarded robe on the floor flew into his grip. He draped it over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders. “Put it on!”

Outside, a passing lesser demon seemed to greet Zhuzhi Lang. “Great General!”

Zhuzhi Lang gave a noncommittal “Hm.” His tone shifted, adopting the casual authority of a commander. “You’ve come at the right time. Help me find something.”

“Put it on?” Shen Qingqiu muttered, eyeing the robe. “I’ll just have to take it off again anyway.”

Luo Binghe trembled with suppressed rage. “…Why must Shizun take off his clothes for him?”

Before Shen Qingqiu could finish wrestling his disobedient disciple back into hiding, Zhuzhi Lang returned.

No time to regain his original position, Shen Qingqiu spun and dropped onto the bed, arranging himself into a picture of perfect, upright composure at its center.

“Didn’t Immortal Master Shen say he wouldn’t get on the bed?” Zhuzhi Lang inquired.

Shen Qingqiu offered a weak chuckle. “Did I?”

In his haste, he’d accidentally sat right on top of Luo Binghe…

On the bright side, the sudden weight finally made the disciple stop squirming. Zhuzhi Lang approached the bedside, noting the disheveled blankets. “Aren’t you hot, Immortal Master Shen?”

Shen Qingqiu only wanted this over with. Grabbing Zhuzhi Lang’s hand, he pressed the searing-hot charcoal stone directly against his own chest. A sharp hiss filled the air. “Not at all,” he stated calmly.

“Then… does it not hurt?”

“It doesn’t.”

Zhuzhi Lang looked pleased. “During the previous sessions, Immortal Master Shen always seemed rather reluctant. It’s good to see you taking the initiative tonight.”

Shen Qingqiu hadn’t really been listening, his mind focused solely on finishing and getting the man out. “Is it done?” he asked.

Zhuzhi Lang withdrew the stone. “It is.”

Relief washed over Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe was probably at his limit too. But then, Zhuzhi Lang added, “My lord mentioned earlier that he would also be paying a visit tonight…”

Before the final word left his lips, Luo Binghe could restrain himself no longer. He erupted.

The movement was a blur. One moment Zhuzhi Lang was standing; the next, he was on one knee, coughing up a mouthful of blood. When he looked up, a new figure had appeared on the bed. Luo Binghe had one arm wrapped possessively around Shen Qingqiu, glaring daggers at the general.

Shock flashed across Zhuzhi Lang’s face, swiftly replaced by dawning comprehension. “You? Immortal Master Shen? You two…!”

Shen Qingqiu buried his face in his hands, wanting no part of this conversation. Luo Binghe’s free hand lifted, fingers curling in a choking motion. Black, hand-shaped marks materialized around Zhuzhi Lang’s throat. His body jerked upwards, suspended in mid-air.

“Killing Tianlang-Jun’s subordinate here would bring nothing but trouble,” Shen Qingqiu murmured under his breath.

Luo Binghe’s jaw clenched, tendons standing out on the back of his hand as his fingers tightened.

Zhuzhi Lang’s face gradually turned a dusky grey, yet he stubbornly refused to show any sign of pain.

Just then, another voice sounded outside the tent.

“Peak Lord Shen, may I enter?”

Why is it so lively tonight? Speak of the devil and he appears—far too quickly!

Inside the tent, the three of them—the choker, the choked, and the bystander—all felt their faces darken. Shen Qingqiu gestured frantically, first pointing at the strangled general suspended in the air, then at Luo Binghe, making a slicing motion across his own throat, then crossing his arms in a vehement ‘X’. Pure chaos. It was unclear if Luo Binghe understood, but he shook his head angrily, again and again!

Unsurprisingly, no one offered a reply to the voice outside. After a moment of silence, Tianlang-Jun said, “I’m coming in.”

Just like his nephew, the courtesy of asking was merely a formality.

Thus, when Tianlang-Jun entered, this was the scene that greeted him.

Zhuzhi Lang and Shen Qingqiu appeared to be tangled together on the bed, a heap of blankets and quilts piled chaotically behind them. At his entrance, both their heads snapped around. Four eyes, two faces, identically pale with shock and tinged with red.

Shen Qingqiu’s upper robe still hung off his elbows, caught in the act of being half-removed.

Even for someone as eccentric as Tianlang-Jun, this sight caused his ever-present smile to freeze momentarily.

After a long pause, he said softly, “…I truly did not expect this.”

Zhuzhi Lang broke into a cold sweat. “My lord, it’s not what it looks like…”

His body blocked the pile of blankets hiding Luo Binghe, while Shen Qingqiu lay half on top of him, conveniently obscuring the disciple’s death-grip on the general’s vital point. The confusing tangle of limbs, combined with the drifting bed curtains, made it difficult to immediately notice the extra person.

Tianlang-Jun nodded sagely. “No need to explain. I understand. I understand completely.”

Given his taste for romance novels and the peculiar workings of his mind, when he said “understand,” an explanation became absolutely necessary.

“To what do I owe the honor of your late-night visit?” Shen Qingqiu asked, forcing a calm tone. “If you have business, state it plainly. If not, I wish to retire. Thank you.”

“It’s really nothing major,” Tianlang-Jun said, waving a hand. “A minor curiosity. Zhuzhi Lang has vanished again, so I thought I’d check here first. However, it seems my timing is poor. No matter. Please, don’t let me interrupt. Carry on. I’ll make myself at home.”

“My lord…”

Every extra word from Zhuzhi Lang made Luo Binghe tighten his grip.

Every slight shift of his legs earned more pressure.

Even an attempt to adjust his posture provoked another surge of force.

More pressure, more force—torrents of demonic energy poured through his vital point, flooding him with a bitter taste. Zhuzhi Lang didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘heartache,’ but he was certainly experiencing the sensation.

“Very well,” Shen Qingqiu said brightly. “Thank you for your consideration. We shall continue then. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

But Tianlang-Jun showed no intention of leaving. Instead, he found a stool and sat down.

“Peak Lord Shen,” he mused, “why do you not ask me what this ‘minor curiosity’ might be? This is rather unlike your previous behavior.”

It seemed this one wouldn’t be so easily dismissed.

Sensing the shift, Shen Qingqiu’s own nerves steadied. He offered a thin smile. “If Tianlang-Jun enjoys being a spectator, feel free to provide commentary. Please, go ahead.”

“Not long ago,” Tianlang-Jun began, “a small oddity occurred on my end. The Heart Devil Sword suddenly rose into the air of its own accord, hanging there and humming incessantly. No one was summoning it. Such a phenomenon is… somewhat concerning.”

Alright. Now I know.

The “only one thing to worry about” that Luo Binghe hadn’t finished explaining earlier was the Heart Devil Sword. After years by its master’s side, it would naturally sense his presence nearby.

“That is indeed peculiar,” Shen Qingqiu conceded. “But I fail to see what discussing it with me would accomplish.”

Tianlang-Jun rose slowly to his feet. “Discussing it with Peak Lord Shen would be meaningless, of course. But if a naughty little friend came to visit Peak Lord Shen… now that would be very meaningful indeed.”

He broke the short speech into segments, taking a deliberate step closer to the bed with each phrase.

Zhuzhi Lang, pinned openly by Shen Qingqiu’s hands and covertly by Luo Binghe’s lethal grip on his pressure point, felt both master and disciple bear down harder with every step Tianlang-Jun took. He was… truly innocent, and spectacularly unlucky.

Just as Tianlang-Jun raised a hand to sweep aside the bed curtain, a high, piercing howl of some beast tore through the night outside the tent.

Tianlang-Jun’s hand snapped back. He whirled toward the entrance.

Beyond the white canvas, flames shot skyward. Dark, swift shadows darted and converged from all directions. The howls of beasts mingled with desperate, ragged shouts.

“Intruders!”

“Surround them! Close the circle!”

“Don’t let them escape!”

“—They’ve broken through—!”

The cacophony of clashing steel, whistling arrows, and the rending of flesh by tooth and claw erupted into a single roar of violence. Without another word, Tianlang-Jun flashed out of the tent.

Shen Qingqiu’s heart, which had leapt into his throat, plummeted back into place. This intruder’s timing is impeccable!

Luo Binghe rolled off the bed, offering a steadying hand. Zhuzhi Lang was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor, still temporarily immobilized.

“Thank you for earlier,” Shen Qingqiu said to the general.

Given his unwavering loyalty, the fact that he hadn’t desperately cried out, “My lord! It’s them! These two!” counted as deliberate assistance.

Zhuzhi Lang sighed at the words. “This one… can understand.”

“Understand what?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

“Why waste words on him?” Luo Binghe cut in impatiently.

Zhuzhi Lang lifted his head, his expression utterly sincere. “To alleviate the pangs of longing, meeting secretly in the night… while it may harm Immortal Master Shen’s reputation, it is also… understandable.”

Shen Qingqiu: “…”

He really shouldn’t have wasted words on him.

To stay or to go—that was the question. Shen Qingqiu decided to first assess the situation with this so-called intruder.

He and Luo Binghe slipped out of the tent. In the distance, on the wild plains, a dark, seething mass of Southern Border demon forces had encircled a single, furious Center. Within that maelstrom, two streaks of brilliant white were especially blinding. One was the flash of a sword, its edge gleaming with an unstoppable, chilling light. The other was the swordsman himself, a figure who left nothing but ruin in his wake—no grass grew, no armor remained intact where he passed.

The encirclement shattered again and again, only for fresh waves of demons to surge forward and reform it.

A sincere note of admiration, carried on the night wind, reached their ears. "Superb swordsmanship. Such potent spiritual power!"

The intruder stood upon the severed head of an armored direwolf he had slain with his bare hands. His white robes were immaculate, save for a single, stark splash of blood on his cheek.

This blatant, brutally straightforward, attack-first-and-ask-questions-never style—as if he were desperate for the entire enemy camp to know of his glorious arrival—was a perfect testament to the arrogant, battle-hungry reputation of Bai Zhan Peak.

It was Liu Qingge.