The witch’s eyes emitted a purple glow, like needles piercing into Qing Yangzi’s pupils, stirring his Mud Ball.
Qing Yangzi’s mind felt as if it had been struck by a heavy hamr, and the expression of shock and anger on his face was instantly shredded by an intense pain.
It was as if the scene that once turned him into a cripple was replaying!
The veins on his forehead bulged, his eyeballs protruded as blood surged, his throat moved frenziedly, but not a sound could escape, and under exertion, a streak of red seeped from his throat to his mouth corner. His body trembled uncontrollably, yet he couldn’t move at all, with only his fingers twitching slightly.
At this mont, in the Mud Ball, the purple glow transford into thorny vines, twisting and twining, constricting his Divine Soul.
The thorns, like fine needles, pierced into his already weakened Divine Soul, making every inch of his soul feel as if it is being burned by a blazing fire, and the extre agony nearly crushed his consciousness entirely.
Qing Yangzi’s soul roared in pain and tornt, yet amidst the tidal wave of pain, he clung to a thread of clarity.
His disciple Ji Wuming was just in the next room; if he didn’t sound a warning, the disciple could be in danger, and as a master, he must ensure the disciple’s safety:
Especially with the Yunding Mountain imprinting ceremony tomorrow, the demon’s assault now is most likely targeting Yunding Mountain, requiring urgent attention;
Qing Yangzi struggled in the pain that nearly tore apart his soul, filled with anger and unwillingness!
Opposite, the witch was surprised at the strength of Qing Yangzi’s resistance, then let out a cold snort with a sinister smile at the corners of her mouth, watching Qing Yangzi like a trapped beast struggling, with mockery and delight shining in her eyes:
"It’s just futile struggling, I wonder how long a cripple can hold on."
"Haha, what Seven Heroes of Weiyuan, better obediently submit and beco the puppet of this seat."
As the words fell, the witch urged her demon technique, the purple light in her eyes becoming more intense, flooding into Qing Yangzi’s body like an unending tide.
Under the compulsion of the demon technique, Qing Yangzi’s rigid body jerked violently, his needle-like pupils gradually began to dilate, the bloodshot eyes gradually stained by the purple light, where clarity was reduced to re flickers, like a candle in the wind, seemingly to snuff out at any mont.
Qing Yangzi could distinctly feel his consciousness being devoured bit by bit, his spirit gradually disarraying.
Only one thought stubbornly supported him—his life didn’t matter, but he must leave sothing behind.
In the wave-like agony, seizing a spasm, he rallied his entire will, focusing movent into his slightly mobile hand concealed within the sleeve.
The thumb fiercely pinched and broke the forefinger tip, piercing pain traveled through the fingertip, rekindling fragnts of dispersed consciousness.
In the last shred of clarity, he hid the bleeding fingertip within the sleeve, using the cover of his sleeve, his fingertip slid within the sleeve’s interior.
With extre restraint and urgency, he wrote a single word, stroke by stroke.
In the dark night, dim room, with sleeves shrouded in shadow, it was impossible to notice without careful inspection, yet it was all he could leave with the remnants of his clarity!
It was a warning for his disciple, as well as his last trust!
When Qing Yangzi finished writing the last stroke within his sleeve, it seed as if it consud his last breath, and that dwindling spark of consciousness in his eyes vanished, replaced by eyes entirely dyed by purple hue, leaving only void and numbness!
The frenzied movent of his throat also ceased.
Witnessing this, the witch’s bizarre purple glow in her eyes gradually receded, disappearing, reverting to a harmless youthful appearance.
She gazed at the empty-eyed Qing Yangzi in front of her,
"Who am I?"
Qing Yangzi’s voice was hoarse and hollow: "Master!."
The woman coldly smirked with a nod, then asked again,
"Who are you?"
"I am Qing Yangzi! Qing Yangzi of the Shu Mountain Sword Sect!" Qing Yangzi answered emptily.
"Then play your role as Qing Yangzi well, don’t let anyone see through you." The witch seed to be issuing a command, her eyes flaring with a hint of purple light.
And as those words fell, the previously dazed-eyed "Qing Yangzi," pupils quickly constricted, his expression returning to normal.
The witch gazed at her "masterpiece," her smile growing ever more "radiant." She couldn’t wait to witness tomorrow’s grand ceremony at Yunding Mountain.
It surely would be bustling!
Her lips upturned, then she vanished without a trace from the room.
.........
Next day, at dawn.
In the small courtyard of Yun Mansion, with a "creak," a door opened, out walked a handso young man like a jade tree, fair-faced.
Clad in white robes with wide sleeves, the cuffs embroidered with a small sword.
It was Ji Wuming.
Ji Wuming exited the room, carrying a tray with several neatly folded garnts.
Today was the day of the Yunding Mountain imprinting ceremony, so they naturally should dress formally.
He was going to deliver the attire to his master Qing Yangzi!
Ji Wuming took a few steps, arriving at the next room, tray in one hand, lightly knocking with the other, tapping on the door.
"Master, are you awake?"
He knocked twice, hearing no movent, face puzzled, preparing to side his ear, when his master Qing Yangzi’s voice sounded from within the room.
"It’s Wuming, co in!"
Hearing the voice, Ji Wuming effortlessly pushed the door open, bypassing the screen to see his master Qing Yangzi rising from the bed, looking well.
"Disciple greets Master."
"Did Master rest well last night?"
Ji Wuming seeing Qing Yangzi seemingly just awoken, eyes brightened, voice carrying surprise.
Being his master’s chief disciple, he shared a father-son bond with Qing Yangzi, most aware of his master’s condition after past misfortunes, being plagued with nightmares during sleep, soul unstable, resulting in ntal exhaustion, aging day by day, always waking with bloodshot eyes.
As a disciple, it pained and worried him, trying all sorts of thods for his master, though so worked temporarily, or had physical backlash, not worth it, with minimal effect.
"Well, perhaps last night’s drinking, rrymaking with friends, the sleep was quite good." Qing Yangzi calmly spoke.
Ji Wuming, pleased at the words, quickly approached, placing the clothing-laden tray at the bedside table, then coming to assist his master up from the bed,
"That’s good!"
"But, why did you sleep in your clothes again, Old Master?"
"Today is the imprinting ceremony, you need to change outfits, the clothes are beside you."
"I’ll help you take off this outfit."
Outside, Ji Wuming was a gallant chivalrous Ji Shaohua, with literary and martial talent, but this familiar deanor was his routine since Qing Yangzi’s misfortune, caring for master’s daily life.
Ji Wuming, chattering, standing behind his master, removing Qing Yangzi’s coat, when pulling off the last sleeve, with it turned inside out, his eyes quickly noticed a crimson stain on the inner surface of the right sleeve.
Initially puzzled, he rolled the garnt to see clearly what it was.
It was a bloody character—"Chen"!
Suddenly, Ji Wuming’s pupils constricted!
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