"You're wrong. It's me who's going to kill you." Suddenly, a chilling voice rang out in the hall.
Who was it? The voice was so cold and eerie, carrying an indescribable murderous aura. Miao Feng felt an ominous feeling the moment he heard it, but just as he was about to rush to protect the King, he suddenly found that his true energy reached his chest and he could no longer raise it. His limbs went weak and he could not stand up at all.
“You—” Incredulously, he turned to look at Xue Ziye, who had placed her hand on his waist.
It was her? She took advantage of the situation and attacked me?!
"I'm sorry." Xue Ziye lay on the ground, looking up at him, her eyes filled with an indescribable emotion. As if she could no longer hold on, she collapsed to the ground, her hand loosening, and a golden needle trembled slightly on Miao Feng's Yangguan acupoint on his waist—it was the promise she made with Miao Shui!
Just as Miao Feng was unexpectedly subdued, with a snap, the jade throne was pierced through!
A blood-red sword pierced through the back of the throne from behind, emerged from the Pope's chest, and pinned him to the high jade throne!
"Miao Shui!" A horrified cry echoed through the hall. "It's you!"
Within the fluttering curtains, the blue-clad woman's fox-like eyes gleamed with glee as she looked at the old man whose eyes were bloodshot. "Yes... it was me! Xue Ziye was merely a decoy to distract you—how could a monster like you possibly be killed by just piercing you with golden needles? Only a sword coated with dragon's blood poison could truly kill you!"
She smiled as she released her blood-stained hand, her voice seductive: "Do you know? I'm the one who came to kill you."
She laughed more and more heartily: "It's me!"
"Why...?" The Pope tried to speak, but could not even finish his sentence.
"Hahahaha! You still ask me why!" Miao Shui laughed loudly, slapping the Pope across the face. "How many heinous things have you done—twenty-one years ago, when the Loulan clan was wiped out overnight near Luopu, have you forgotten?"
The Pope abruptly looked up at his bedmate and exclaimed in shock, "You...you're not a Persian?"
"I am a Loulan person. Unexpected, aren't you?" Miao Shui laughed loudly, her gentle voice revealing an unprecedented arrogant murderous intent. She raised her head and looked down coldly, "Lord King, have you killed too many people in your life and already forgotten?"
"Ah! You, you are that—" The King looked at the woman, then realized, "Princess Shanmi?"
"You finally remembered?" She sneered, gripping the Bloodstained Sword tightly once more. "Thanks to you, my family was wiped out, but I escaped alone and became a slave in a foreign land. When I was fifteen, I was lucky enough to be bought back by you from the Persian market."
The alluring woman suddenly seemed to transform, letting out a demonic laugh as she viciously twisted the hilt of her sword, churning the longsword that pierced her chest: "For this day, how many nights have I slept with you, how much torment have I endured! What dual cultivation, what blissful meditation—you old lecher, die!"
She vented her pent-up anger over the years, completely oblivious to how pale Miaofeng's face was below the jade steps.
Good honey!
That familiar yet distant name, like a flash of lightning, cleaved the dark and cold past.
8a Knowledge 8a Sound 8a Literature 8a Network 8a
Chapter Thirteen: The Decisive Strike (Part Two)
The sound of the bili (a type of reed pipe) from my homeland echoed in my memory again, ethereal and mysterious, reverberating along the desolate road of exile. The Uyghurs had invaded our homeland, and my father led his people westward through the night, hoping to migrate to Lop and rebuild our home. As a child, I hid on horseback, my face nestled in my sister's arms, listening to her play "Folding Willow Branches" on her bili along the way, reminiscing about our homeland during our exile.
Meanwhile, from the other side of the Flowing Sand Mountain, the faint sound of thunderous hooves could be heard—all the tribesmen wore expressions of panic and fear.
They're horse bandits!
Death descended. Blood splattered everywhere, and the screams of his people dying filled the air. Terrified, he buried his face in his sister's arms and burst into tears.
"Yami, don't cry!" she shouted sternly at the last moment. "Be a man!"
She threw away the reed pipe in her hand, drew a knife from her bosom, and fearlessly faced the bandit's gleaming long blade.
The bandits were all startled, reined in their horses and took a step back, then burst into loud laughter: it was a small knife carried by the Loulan woman, no more than a foot long, ornate and decorated, but only for everyday use and had no offensive power.
She threw the knife in front of her younger brother and shouted, "Yami, pick it up!"
However, at only five years old, he was so terrified that he couldn't even stand up, let alone hold a knife.
She glanced at him and roared, "Stand up! Son of the King of Loulan, even in death you must act like a man!"
He was so frightened that he cried, but he still didn't dare to pick up the knife.
"Sigh, it's really too much for you." Looking at her younger brother's terrified expression, she could only sigh in the end. Suddenly, she knelt down on one knee, kissed his forehead, and whispered gently, "Let me help you... Yami, close your eyes. Don't be afraid, the pain will stop soon."
He looked up in surprise, only to see a bright light slashing toward his neck!
In that instant, the child's mind went blank, with only one sentence echoing in his head—
Sister Wang... Sister Wang is going to kill me!
The bandits let out a whoosh, and one of them lashed out with his long whip, grabbing the stunned child at the last second and tossing him far away—the speed and accuracy of his move were unlike that of ordinary bandits from the Western Regions.
However, the moment the blade missed its mark, the woman's expression changed, and she turned the blade around, thrusting it towards her own throat without hesitation.
"Ha... an interesting little chick." A chilling voice chuckled from among the black-clad bandits. "Grab her!"
He was thrown aside, too pained to move, and watched helplessly as the bandits swarmed towards Sister Wang. With a single whip, they knocked her dagger away, grabbed her hair, dragged her onto the horse, and rode off.
Five-year-old boy, emboldened by some unknown source, tried to get up and chase after him, but someone lashed out from behind with a whip, causing him to faint from the pain.
When I woke up, the cold moon was already high in the sky over the wasteland, and wolves were howling.
The corpses of his tribesmen were piled up like mountains, and countless shimmering green lights floated in the darkness—these were wild wolves that had come to feast. He was too frightened to breathe, yet he seemed to smell the scent of living people, and the green lights slowly moved closer. He shuffled inwards into the pile of corpses, and suddenly his hand touched something.
—It was the bili (a type of reed pipe) that my sister used to play music, and there were still bloodstains on it.
Everyone else died, leaving him alone, abandoned among the wolves in the wilderness!
In that instant, he felt only endless despair.
"Help...help!" The young child cried out as he heard the sound of wheels rolling over him from afar.
The golden carriage came to an abrupt stop, and a middle-aged man in a black cloak stepped down from it. He walked over corpses and blood, his demeanor calm and composed, as still as a deep pool and a towering mountain. Even the fierce wolves in his path retreated.