Chapter 59: Shedding the Skin Part 2

Sang Chencao laughed and lifted her arm. Her burning palm grazed Feng Yun’ai’s waist. It felt as though the heat could penetrate the fabric, set to scorch her entire body red.

Fortunately, it was only a graze. Sang Chencao picked up the lamp from the table.

Feng Yun’ai stood motionless. Even the hair hanging down her back had been moved to her shoulder by Sang Chencao. Once she regained her senses, she clutched her hair, propped one arm on the edge of the table, and leaned forward slightly to make it easier for the woman behind her.

This wasn’t the first time they had removed these disguises, yet Sang Chencao was lingering. She took her time heating a wrinkle into existence, then spent an eternity rubbing the spot as if she couldn’t find where the fold was.

She had been decisive with herself, but with someone else, she acted as if she didn’t know where to start.

Feeling uneasy, Feng Yun’ai asked, “Are you finished?”

Sang Chencao let out a hum of confusion. Her eyes were incredibly close, as was her breath.

What began as sweat on the back of Feng Yun’ai’s neck had now spread across her back. Feng Yun’ai bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. She stopped holding her hair and instead clutched her collar to keep the fabric from sliding any further.

Sang Chencao finally tore the raised wrinkle open, but she did it with agonizing slowness, inch by inch.

It didn’t hurt; in fact, it tickled.

Because Sang Chencao was pulling upward, the itching sensation traveled slowly from the small of Feng Yun’ai’s back up to her shoulder.

It felt like crawling insects, or like a spring breeze brushing against willows, or a butterfly skimming the water.

Feng Yun’ai squeezed her eyes shut, her body tense. The slight itch passed over her shoulder, down her neck, and then crawled warmly over her eyes, ears, and lips.

“Little Xiu, you are so pale,” the woman behind her whispered as she moved to stand in front of her, a smile playing on her lips.

Once the disguise was removed, the stifling feeling on her face vanished. The sweat trapped beneath the skin finally seemed to breathe, and her entire body felt lighter.

Feng Yun’ai opened her eyes and collided unexpectedly with Sang Chencao’s gaze. For some reason, even though the woman’s presence had pulled back, Feng Yun’ai felt as if she were on fire.

The heat made her breath hitch, and her composure wavered.

Sang Chencao held up the thin layer of false skin over the lamp, watching as the flames licked it away bit by bit.

The resulting ash curled into a blackened clump. When worn, it had covered half a body; now, it was barely the size of a palm.

Feng Yun’ai pursed her lips and straightened her clothes. She took a fresh set of garments and a veiled hat from the cupboard, speaking in a forced, casual tone. “There will be many wandering vagabonds coming to watch the match. I will blend in with them; I won’t be discovered.”

“You must hide those grey eyes well,” Sang Chencao said leisurely. “If things take a turn for the worse, we will have to save ourselves. When that time comes… I might not be able to help you.”

Feng Yun’ai paused, then said coldly, “Of course. We are neither kin nor friends, after all.”

“That’s a bit cold, Little Xiu,” Sang Chencao said with a sidelong glance. “We have, at the very least, faced life and death together.”

Seeing that the woman behind her had no intention of leaving, Feng Yun’ai simply changed her outer robes right there. Fortunately, she had her inner garments on, so she didn’t feel too panicked.

Perhaps it wasn’t panic, but her breath felt hotter than usual, and her heart was racing.

“If you hadn’t insisted on pestering me, we wouldn’t have had to face life and death together,” Feng Yun’ai’s tone grew even colder.

“We were walking the same path; how can you call it pestering?” Sang Chencao laughed softly, changing her own outer robe as well. Once she finished, she donned her veiled hat, looking entirely at ease.

Feng Yun’ai didn’t want to talk to her anymore. There was no reasoning with her. After listening for a moment to the sounds outside, she stepped out of the room.

Suddenly, Sang Chencao pressed a hand onto Feng Yun’ai’s shoulder, leaning in close. “My snakes are hungry. I need to go out for a moment.”

Feng Yun’ai stopped in her tracks, turning her head slightly. “Now?”

“I’m also stopping by a coffin shop to pick something up. This business isn’t over yet, Little Xiu, so don’t think about parting ways with me just yet,” Sang Chencao laughed under her breath.

Feng Yun’ai blinked, stunned. The figure behind her moved with incredible speed, like a swallow leaving no trace. In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

***

The area around the Sword Trial Stage was indeed a sea of people. Each sect occupied its own designated area, leaving only the space around the Golden-Stone Heavy Sword vacant. The circular stage was surrounded by heavy chains; until the drums were rolled, no one was allowed to step onto it.

The various Sect Leaders and the Acting Alliance Leader of the Dieshan Alliance, Zhou Gui, had already taken their seats. The rest of the crowd stood packed together, a dark mass of heads stretching as far as the eye could see.

The guests were chatting amiably. It seemed the strange patrols within the Alliance over the past few days hadn’t caused any lasting friction.

The rogue vagabonds, however, squeezed into any gap they could find. They were far less formal than the sect disciples; some even sprawled on the ground or sat atop roof tiles, waiting for the drums to sound.

People from the Five Continents and Four Seas were gathered here. There were those with high bridges on their noses and deep-set eyes, and those with narrow faces and faint brows. Even the local dialects they spoke as they conversed were vastly different.

Feng Yun’ai pulled her veiled hat lower and stood in the shadows, her eyes scanning the crowd. She wondered if Wen Lanxin was also hidden somewhere among them.

With so many people, she felt a flicker of unease. If Sang Chencao were to return now, she might not even be able to find her.

But then she reconsidered—Sang Chencao didn’t actually… need to find her.

Sang Chencao was meant to Pluck the Blossom on the Sword Trial Stage, exposing the Thousand Machinations Sect’s plot and Zhou Gui’s dealings with the man in black. Feng Yun’ai had pinned her hopes on Sang Chencao; if Sang Chencao refused, she would have to handle it herself.

The drums thundered again—two massive roars that seemed to shake the very heavens.

In that moment of ear-ringing vibration, Feng Yun’ai felt a sudden heat beside her, as if a great fire had been brought close without warning.

She whipped her head around. Standing beside her was a woman also wearing a veiled hat. It was unmistakably Sang Chencao.

In Sang Chencao’s hand was a sword wrapped in coarse cloth. It took no thought to realize it was Solitary Gall.

“Your sword,” Sang Chencao said. “I brought it back for you.”