Chapter 83: First Fortress 35

An He wasn’t reluctant to see her go at all.

She herself was gravely injured and on the brink of death, yet Gu Xianqing showed no visible wounds. Now, this woman was about to walk away unscathed, leaving An He alone in this lightless underground abyss, waiting in solitude for someone to rescue her.

An He thought it was utterly unfair.

And Gu Xianqing had the nerve to ask if she was reluctant? That tone and expression were so infuriatingly smug—if An He could move, she’d have slapped her across the face without hesitation.

But she couldn’t grab Gu Xianqing; gripping too tightly would just look like coquettish pleading.

An He was so angry her chest ached.

The flashlight had been destroyed in the fight long ago. Now, only the spare portable lamp clipped to Gu Xianqing’s waist provided faint illumination. An He’s own flashlight had fallen into the flames, its battery melted, utterly useless.

An He clutched the hem of Gu Xianqing’s clothes, gasping for breath, while her other hand reached for the strap at Gu Xianqing’s waist.

The weight on her abdomen made Gu Xianqing’s breathing hitch. She pressed down on An He’s restless hand and bent forward. An He lost her leverage, her brows furrowing in exhaustion.

Couldn’t Gu Xianqing just stay still? She was so close to grabbing it.

Seeing her like this, Gu Xianqing—who had been ready to leave—started stalling. She squatted down beside An He, cradling the back of her head again. “If you’re reluctant, you can beg me. But no groping.”

An He bit her lip until it bled, mustering her strength to rasp out the woman’s name. “Gu Xianqing… are you insane?”

Was this the time to toy with her?

Corpses littered the ground around them, the dim light casting a hellish glow, yet Gu Xianqing had the leisure to flirt.

To Gu Xianqing, An He’s angry expression stirred entirely different feelings.

She freed her other hand to stroke An He’s cheek. Come to think of it, the little lamb hadn’t looked this helpless in front of her for a long time. In the beginning, An He had been like this often—ears drooping, eyes fixed on her obediently, utterly adorable.

But An He had grown at an astonishing rate. Those sharp fangs had honed to a lethal edge. Now, An He could single-handedly destroy six Cabin Cocoons—a terrifying feat that had even made the onlooker, Gu Xianqing, shiver.

If An He saw her as an enemy like the God, the current An He would grit her teeth and keep fighting on her feet, refusing to bend a knee.

Yet here she was, this invincible warrior, going limp in her presence, biting her lip against the pain, letting her caress her cheek. Was this trust?

A plea? So the little lamb’s vulnerability after growing strong was this intoxicating.

Perhaps bewitched by the moment, Gu Xianqing lost her senses and leaned down, her thumb brushing over An He’s lips to wipe away the blood.

The gesture stalled both their breaths for a long moment. The post-battle dopamine still lingered, emotions fermenting uncontrollably in the air, tendrils spreading outward.

Warm breath grazed her brow, and An He’s hard-won steady heartbeat surged again. Heat bloomed on one cheek, scorching.

So she must be hallucinating—that Gu Xianqing was going to kiss her again.

No bet this time. Why kiss her?

Or was kissing addictive?

This wasn’t honey—it was poison.

Reason screamed at An He to turn away, but she couldn’t muster the strength. She even remembered the warm breath between Gu Xianqing’s lips and teeth last time; now it drew closer again.

An He figured she truly had no strength left to move.

Gu Xianqing stroked her face, and An He didn’t dodge. Just as their lips were about to meet, Gu Xianqing abruptly stopped.

Her eyes were downcast, her swallow obvious—yet she spoke. “Forget it. I don’t want to get someone else’s blood on me.”

She released An He and retreated swiftly. Cold air rushed between them, leaving only a faint, teasing itch, like a feather grazing the heart.

An He’s eyes widened in disbelief. She touched her own cheek incredulously, unsure if it was her blood or someone else’s smeared everywhere.

What? Gu Xianqing thought she was dirty?

She’d fight her to the death!

Gu Xianqing put a few steps between them in an instant, turning to leave at double her usual pace—like she was fleeing in panic.

An He gasped for air. Wait—the portable lamp!

“Gu Xianqing!”

…

Gu Xianqing ignored An He’s incoherent shout. She squatted beside Wen Yewang, focusing intently as she quickly assessed the injuries.

Wen Yewang was still unconscious, her body a mangled mess of blood and flesh. The tree roots’ barbs had torn her clothes and skin; her limbs were twisted to varying degrees.

A mysterious gash ran from her left collarbone to her waist, nearly severing half her arm—grievous damage. Perhaps bad luck; she’d been caught in the Cutting Technique’s Innate Talent.

But Wen Yewang was alive. Not just alive—her pulse throbbed powerfully.

What a tough one. Gu Xianqing’s eyes darkened. Seizing the moment of unconsciousness, she snapped Wen Yewang’s right arm—the one that held the syringe.

She couldn’t kill this woman in Babel Tower; it had to wait until she left. But Wen Yewang was clever, never stepping out in five years.

Fine. Next chance, she’d make her suffer more.

Gu Xianqing rose and headed to the rock wall, directing Vivian to open the backpack hidden behind it and toss down the rope.

She discreetly pressed her abdomen—pain flared. Internal injuries, invisible externally, but severe.

In her state, climbing the wall would take time. She couldn’t linger.

Still, Gu Xianqing glanced back at An He.

An He had thrown in the towel, slumping to the ground. Seeing the look, she mustered her strength to open her palm, voice hoarse. “The lamp. Leave it.”

Only then did Gu Xianqing notice the portable lamp on her waist. She chuckled wryly. So An He hadn’t been groping—she’d wanted the light?

“I can’t give it to you,” Gu Xianqing refused curtly. “There’s still a ways to go outside, and I’m carrying your little sister. You want me fumbling in the dark?”

An He didn’t withdraw her hand, holding her ground righteously—this pitch-black hellhole was suffocating darkness everywhere. Without light, lying amid the dead, any mishap would leave no time to react.

If Gu Xianqing truly cared, she’d consider that.

“You’re not hurt that badly,” An He said as succinctly as possible.

Now it was Gu Xianqing’s turn to bristle. Not hurt badly?

Never mind the old wounds from the blast still unhealed—the worst new injury was An He’s doing. She’d spared her two slaps out of mercy.

An He had no idea: crushing one crimson Mycelium strand left scorch marks on bone. Lured into shooting a Cabin Cocoon? She was lucky that Cutting Technique wielder was just an unimportant God puppet; otherwise, she might not be walking.

Her life wasn’t her own to control. Gu Xianqing would never tell a soul—no one had her absolute trust.

But after two breaths’ hesitation, she unclipped the lamp.

The square portable light bounced twice on the ground, landing just within An He’s reach—not too close, not too far.

“Tonight…” An He coughed twice. Her organs must be damaged—speaking was agony—but she pushed through. “Will you come find me tonight?”

“Saying that could give people the wrong idea.” Gu Xianqing arched a brow with a mocking smile, then laughed. “Fine then. Wash off the bloodstains and wait for me.”

What? An He’s expression froze, recalling the unfinished kiss. That wasn’t what she’d meant.

Gu Xianqing had already begun climbing the cliff face steadily, betraying no pain despite her churning guts. She was adept at hiding weakness.

Vivian waited obediently, mask still on. Gu Xianqing patted her shoulder approvingly. “Alright, let’s go.”

Vivian stared downward without moving. Gu Xianqing paused, turning to follow her gaze.

Below, the pitch-black underground space reeked of flesh, bone, blood, and corpses, thorns everywhere. Only where An He sat emitted faint light—solitary and radiant.

Gu Xianqing fell silent, her breath catching heavily.

“My sister isn’t coming?” Vivian finally asked.

Gu Xianqing withdrew her gaze, turning away without lingering. She stepped forward. “No. She has her own way out.”

Vivian hesitated but ultimately followed Gu Xianqing, leaving this hellhole behind.

Silence enveloped everything.

An He picked up the Holy Sword, propping herself up to shuffle forward one step, then another.

…

It seemed only moments later that An He jolted awake from semi-consciousness. The underground space blazed with lights. Sekhmet had brought a dozen trusted aides to clean up. An He was already on a stretcher.

She still gripped the Holy Sword, blood coating blade and hilt crimson.

The guards carrying her looked grave. Seeing her eyes open, they frantically summoned the accompanying doctor with utmost respect and panic.

Tension rippled through everyone as they carefully checked her heart rate and wounds, treating her with top priority.

They were still reeling from the sight upon arrival: An He on one knee, right hand bracing the sword, head bowed protectively in front of Wen Yewang. The carnage made it clear—she’d fought to her last breath to shield Professor Wen.

Drenched in blood, Nestsoul corpses scattered around her. Under the faint light, surviving Ravens circled overhead. She hadn’t fallen.

The visual shock left these unprepared people stunned for ages.

An He quietly relaxed her tensed shoulders.

She hadn’t fought to the death for Wen Yewang, but since the professor lived, a show was in order.

Humans were visual creatures, swayed by first impressions. Legends through history were built this way: a general standing unyielding, guarding civilians behind, immortalized in tales.

Better than Sekhmet walking in to find her slumped in a corner, worlds away from Wen Yewang, half-dead.

An He wasn’t one for showboating, but that didn’t stop her from striking a heroic pose.

It had worked splendidly—no one knew how pathetically she’d crawled back to Wen Yewang on all fours to shape the scene.

In the distance, attendants had extracted Wen Yewang from the roots. Still out cold, but alive—though covered in wounds, her arm fractured.

No telling who’d done that.

Sekhmet approached from the Sealed Boxes, eye corners twitching, aura oppressively low. Facing the crowd’s confusion, she scanned the surroundings without explanation.

Seeing An He alert enough to open her eyes, Sekhmet’s expression mixed complexity and relief. Glancing at the time—1 a.m.—she softened her voice. “Head back and heal first. Tomorrow morning, I have questions.”

An He nodded.

She and Wen Yewang were carried out. There was a passage—a long corridor leading to Ivyen City’s ancient hoist conveyor.

It had been blocked by roots when she’d arrived.

Painkillers kicked in, clearing An He’s mind. She closed her eyes, rapidly crafting her story.

No need for tiptoeing excuses this time—just the truth: discovering Bone Erosion Disease patients in Lower City, suspecting the roots, searching and rescuing Wen Yewang. Legitimate, by-the-book, with Kazama Asagiri as witness.

She’d just gloss over her collusion with Gu Xianqing.

Their enemy was the God—no hiding that.

This disaster had wiped out First Fortress’s secret Cabin Cocoons, plus the God’s manifestation. It would strike Sekhmet hard. She’d already voiced doubts about the God; An He would confirm it—the God was First Fortress’s foe, and hers.

Wen Yewang had seen little. An He figured she’d stay out awhile—Gu Xianqing could handle dream tweaks if needed.

As she pondered, the guards carried her and Wen Yewang onto the hoist, through winding passages, finally reaching the elevator base.

The underground space beneath Babel Tower was surprisingly complex.

As the pain in her body faded, An He kept an eye on the underground passage while glancing at Wen Yewang on the stretcher beside her.

Wen Yewang had actually survived. That was strange. If the God had wanted to kill her, it would have been as easy as pie—not only could She have taken out Wen Yewang, but She could have blown up the entire Babel Tower along with her.

The God wasn’t merciful, and the Cabin Cocoons were nothing more than puppets. So why hadn’t She done it?

I can’t figure it out, An He thought.

She had to talk to Gu Xianqing about this.

Fortunately, Gu Xianqing could create a completely sealed space just for the two of them. An He couldn’t wait to see her and hoped the woman would come find her soon.

The underground space blazed with lights as the remaining guards processed the aftermath, full of questions but with no answers in sight.

They had no idea this space existed beneath Babel Tower, no clue who these young corpses were, and no understanding of why Professor Wen was here.

For now, they were simply following the Saint Lord’s orders: collect all the bodies and await inspection.

Sekhmet examined the experimental records left in the God Blood Incubation Room while someone beside her sprayed strong acid chemicals to disinfect the entire area.

The shattered glass cabinets stood empty inside, the culture dishes gone, and the floor spotless. Not a trace of Divine Blood remained.

The vertical shaft bustled with shadowy figures. No one noticed how a portion of the blood mist 707 had left on the wall gradually gathered into a stream.

It trickled downward like water droplets on a glass window before slipping into the fine cracks of the floor tiles and vanishing completely.

Of course, no one could tell that the severed arm caught in the withered branches, though its cut matched the mutilated corpse in front of the rightmost Sealed Box…

…actually didn’t belong to any of the Cabin Cocoons.