Meng Youmu was aghast. “This flower is usually only for decoration. The Imperial Family once spent a fortune just to plant a single specimen in their gardens. Sadly, while the flower was planted, it didn’t bloom once in ten years. So, it actually requires flesh and blood?”
“Exactly. We’ve been transporting the blood and flesh of the dead into the city every day just to feed this flower,” Sang Chencao sneered. “Do you think Zhou Gui did this on purpose, wanting Feng Rong to find no peace even in death? Why does she hate Feng Rong so much?”
How could Feng Yun’ai know the answer to that? Before this, she hadn’t even known what Zhou Gui looked like.
Meng Youmu pondered for a long time before slowly saying, “I have heard that the Hantian Alliance was actually founded by Zhou Gui. Even the many talents within the Alliance were recruited by her from all corners of the world. However, everyone only recognized Feng Rong’s swordplay and were determined to follow her. Thus, the position of Alliance Leader fell to Feng Rong. Even after becoming Leader, Feng Rong remained ethereal, seemingly untouched by the mortal world. Most of the Alliance’s affairs were handled by Zhou Gui. It’s likely that over time, Zhou Gui’s resentment built up.”
Feng Yun’ai couldn’t understand. How could a person’s resentment grow to such an extent? Having stayed by Feng Rong’s side for so long, she naturally knew that her Master simply had that kind of personality.
Like a goddess, all matters were like passing clouds to her. While some saw her as transcendent and immortal-like, there were naturally those who would dislike it.
Meng Youmu shook her head slightly, her expression as faint as if she had seen through the vanity of the world. She glanced at the ground and said, “Feng Rong isn’t entirely pitiable. She knew Zhou Gui for many years, yet she failed to notice that Zhou Gui had long since harbored a treacherous heart.”
Hearing this, Feng Yun’ai’s chest tightened, but she found no way to argue.
On Listening Goose Peak, Feng Rong had always maintained a posture of solitary detachment, as if she cared for nothing. Even living with her day and night, Feng Yun’ai could never tell what her Master was thinking.
Because of this, she also didn’t understand the warmth and coldness of the human world. She had seen too little of the world—only the narrow corner that was Listening Goose Peak.
The coffin had been closed for a long time, trapping the fragrance within. Now that the opening was exposed, the scent surged out like a bursting spring, relentless and unending.
Meng Youmu covered her nose and mouth, coughing lightly. She waved the air a few times. “If you’re taking her, be quick about it. Since the Dieshan Alliance is also cultivating this flower, they must be very familiar with this scent.”
She paused, looking suspiciously at Sang Chencao. “Where are you taking her?”
“Hiding her inside the Dieshan Alliance.” Sang Chencao leaped into the hole and drew the flexible sword from her waist. With a flash of cold light, the vines growing from the corpse’s Seven Orifices were mostly severed, leaving only a single flower blooming by Feng Rong’s ear.
The stem had grown very long, coiling around Feng Rong’s neck like clutching claws. The thorns on the stem pricked into the skin, yet not a single drop of blood leaked out.
At first glance, the corpse still looked as full as a living person, but in truth, the flesh and blood had long been drained halfway dry; only the husk remained unchanged.
“What?” Meng Youmu didn’t react at first. Then she realized, “Are you going to use the flower on Feng Rong to replace the one on the Sword Trial Stage?”
“Exactly.” Sang Chencao smiled thinly. As she looked up, half her body was hidden in the shadows, making her look like a ghost. “It’s merely a gift for Zhou Gui.”
Feng Yun’ai followed her into the hole, carefully lifting Feng Rong onto her back.
In just a few days, the corpse felt much lighter than when she had carried it before. The husk had indeed been hollowed out.
Feng Yun’ai felt a sense of desolation. She said quietly, “I suggest you take back those words.”
Sang Chencao changed her tune. “It’s not a gift. Someone like Zhou Gui doesn’t deserve one.”
Feng Yun’ai gave her a look and leaped out of the hole. Overwhelmed by the thick fragrance behind her, she felt a wave of dizziness and nearly stumbled.
A hot hand steadied her. The person chuckled. “I wouldn’t care if you bumped Feng Rong, but I’d hate for you to get hurt.”
Feng Yun’ai assumed the woman was teasing her again. She turned and stepped out of the courtyard. After confirming no one was watching from the shadows, she placed Feng Rong into the carriage.
Meng Youmu couldn’t wait for the two of them to leave. she gave Sang Chencao a push on the back—neither too light nor too heavy—and said coldly, “Leave at once.”
The moment the two boarded the carriage, the courtyard gates slammed shut, clearly driving the guests away.
The wooden buckets on the carriage reeked, but fortunately, the fragrance of the Golden-Wanderer Eternal Flower suppressed the stench somewhat.
As she drove the horse, Sang Chencao said, “After we get back, I have to go out again.”
“Why?” Feng Yun’ai asked, holding Feng Rong’s body close.
“I need to find those two women from before. We can’t let them ruin our plans,” Sang Chencao said.
They returned to the Dieshan Alliance without obstruction; even the guards at the gate didn’t bother to lift the curtain.
The carriage headed straight for the Sword Trial Stage. After pulling the Golden-Stone Heavy Sword from the ground, Sang Chencao went through the motions of running to the ice cellar to fetch ice, though she returned empty-handed.
Feng Yun’ai had no other choice. She settled Feng Rong atop the wooden buckets, covered her with a thick, coarse cloth, and surreptitiously moved the body into the stone sword.
The interior of the sword was pitch black; one could barely see the dense, tangled vines within.
Feng Yun’ai looked up at the heights. Suddenly, she drew her waist sword. With a tap of her toes, she rose like a bird taking flight, hovering gracefully in mid-air.
The tip of her sword whirled lightly. The spreading branches shattered with a sharp crack, turning into a cloud of dark green dust that danced as it settled.
In an instant, the plants that had blocked the upper part of the stone sword were reduced to dust that didn’t even reach their ankles.
Only a short segment of the flower stem remained stuck in the gap of the sword hilt, appearing to stretch outward harmlessly.
“Fine swordplay,” Sang Chencao remarked, leaning against the narrow opening. “Place Feng Rong on the stone platform. We’ll have to come here frequently over the next few days to make sure no one notices anything amiss.”
