Chapter 192: Mad Dog

Jing Du asked him, "Are you alright?"

Yin Huaiyu used the iron rod to deflect Ling Wu's blade, stepped back a few paces, and looked at the blood continuously seeping from his shoulder: "I'm fine."

On the stained-glass window, the saint's face was illuminated in flickering light and shadow, as if witnessing this impending slaughter.

Ling Wu's twin blades trembled slightly; his web between thumb and forefinger was pressed tight against the hilts, as if he could perceive the chill emanating from the blades, spreading through his five fingers into his very limbs and bones. The blood staining the edges gathered at the tips due to gravity, dripping in large drops onto the church floor.

It pooled into small puddles of blood on the rotting wooden floorboards.

"Neither of you has a chance of winning even if you come at me together, so why bother?" Ling Wu's voice was not loud, but it was clearly audible as it echoed through the empty church: "Just surrender."

His words fell precisely into the ears of Jing Du and Yin Huaiyu.

Yin Huaiyu's smile appeared somewhat chilling in such a dilapidated and desolate environment: "Is that so?"

"Ling Wu, underestimating your opponent is a major taboo."

Jing Du took off his low-prescription glasses and rubbed his temples with some discomfort, then tossed the glasses aside onto the floor, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and revealed the white shirt underneath, which was soaked through with blood.

He flexed his wrists, assuming a fighting stance.

Even the pain from the knife wound on his arm was ignored at this moment, thereby invisibly reduced to a minimum.

Yin Huaiyu and Jing Du exchanged a glance and moved first. The iron rod in his hand struck directly at Ling Wu's throat. The latter dodged sideways; the flexible blade, like a long whip, displayed ample suppleness as it coiled around the rusted iron rod and flung it away.

A string of sparks burst forth.

At the same time, Jing Du attacked from the left. Ling Wu blocked horizontally with his blade. With a "Clang," his web between thumb and forefinger was shaken until it felt somewhat numb.

Ling Wu looked at Jing Du, deliberately tilted his head, and used a tone intended to sting and provoke him: "Two against one, is this all the ability you have?"

A person like Jing Du, with such strong self-esteem, had always looked down on those who won unfairly or resorted to trickery. His inherent nobility and arrogance also did not allow him to use underhanded means to achieve victory.

But if it were Ling Wu, that was another matter.

If he could not achieve his goal through honorable means, he would have to take an unconventional path.

"Ling Wu, you don't need to provoke me." Jing Du withdrew his arm and looked at the contour of Ling Wu's profile: "After all... one cannot let their guard down against a Magician."

As soon as the words fell.

The three of them moved simultaneously.

Their tall, slender figures wove between the pews, the flashing blades shattering the moonlight into pieces.

Ling Wu flipped and stepped onto a wooden table; the long-neglected tabletop creaked under the movement. He nimbly crossed the obstacle and ran toward the altar, reaching the stone platform before Yin Huaiyu by using the momentum. He leaped into mid-air, then raised his long blade high and slashed down.

That pair of eyes was illuminated by the blade's light with a three-finger-wide bright streak, placing them at the center of vision and making one's heart tremble.

"Thump!"

Yin Huaiyu was forced to one knee by this strike.

The wooden altar, unable to withstand the intense force, collapsed instantly, leaving only the bare stone platform behind with a "Crack!" sound.

Yin Huaiyu seized the opportunity to roll on the ground and dodge, while the blade edge grazed the top of his head, cutting off a few strands of red hair that fluttered down to the ground...

If his movement had been a few seconds slower.

There was no doubt that the owner of that long blade would have mercilessly sent his head rolling.

"Hiss!"

Yin Huaiyu propped himself up with one hand and barely turned to the side, the emotions in his eyes growing increasingly excited; the searing pain of that moment exploded like sparks at his nerve endings...

"So heartless?"

Ling Wu stood high upon the stone platform: "Less talk."

Just as he was about to make his next move, Jing Du stomped hard with his long leg, causing the edge of a floorboard to tilt up. He used the iron rod to fiercely pry it up, flipped it into the air, and kicked it, sending it flying straight toward Ling Wu.

Ling Wu spun his twin blades, and the wooden plank was instantly shredded. He passed through the falling wood shavings and reached Jing Du in an instant.

Jing Du immediately turned sideways, but the blade grazed his lean waist, almost pressing against his skin as it pierced his shirt and left a bloody gash on his ribs...

Thrilling!

The smell of blood stimulated the nerves of both men simultaneously.

Ling Wu panted heavily, his five fingers unconsciously tightening around the hilts. Yin Huaiyu slid a distance across the floor using the wooden plank, then pressed his fist into the ground to increase friction, his knuckles instantly scraped raw and bleeding.

At the same time, he quickly reached Ling Wu's side.

The iron rod was manipulated by Yin Huaiyu, striking Ling Wu's wrist and knocking the sharp long blade away, sending it flying to pierce deeply into the ground not far away.

In the choice between the two, Ling Wu chose to stab the other blade toward Jing Du, his tip aimed at the heart.

Without the slightest hesitation!

Jing Du was caught off guard by his clear and decisive strategy; by the time he reacted, the blade had already entered his body.

But because of a subtle movement of Jing Du's upper body, the long blade shifted a few inches, piercing through the area below his collarbone. The splashing blood instantly sprayed onto the faces of all three.

Warm blood flowed slowly down Ling Wu's cold cheeks. His pupils flickered; Jing Du's pained expression stimulated him, opening the floodgates of his memory.

He was dazed for a moment; amidst the vast expanse of blood, he seemed to see the scene of Ling Tingwan falling in a pool of blood.

Blood.

Blood...

It was all blood.

Ling Wu looked at the ground subconsciously. The church ceiling had opened up at some point, and viscous blood flowed continuously from the crack, dragging his legs heavily toward the depths of the earth.

Yin Huaiyu did not know what was wrong with Ling Wu.

His movements had slowed down.

Just like a high-precision machine that had been running continuously, only to suffer a minor malfunction.

Yin Huaiyu could no longer care about Jing Du's injuries; he controlled the hand Ling Wu used to hold the blade and wrapped his arms tightly around his waist and abdomen, buying Jing Du time to catch his breath.

"Let go of me!"

Ling Wu saw Jing Du running toward the direction of the blade stuck in the ground. He backhanded a stab at Yin Huaiyu; although it did not strike a vital point, it was enough to make him wince and loosen his grip.

Just as Jing Du was a few meters away from the blade.

Ling Wu shook off Yin Huaiyu, jumped down from the stone altar, and threw the knife in his hand; the blade, carrying a cold glint, streaked through the air and slammed fiercely into the ground an inch in front of Jing Du's toe.

"Clang—"

The flexible blade vibrated, kicking up dust.

Taking advantage of the other's evasion, he kicked Jing Du in the waist and abdomen, sending the person flying backward several meters.

"Get lost!" Ling Wu kicked the hilt of the knife into mid-air with his toe, caught it casually, looked at the two severely injured people, and said coldly: "Don't touch my things!"

His breathing was somewhat irregular.

Ling Wu felt something strange in his nasal cavity; the objects before his eyes seemed as if they had been outlined by a brush, their boundaries extremely clear, as if melted soft by a heat flow, gradually beginning to turn red.

Jing Du propped himself up on the ground and coughed up a mouthful of blood.

"Cough... cough cough!"

Seeing Ling Wu wanted to leave, Yin Huaiyu was a bit suspicious; they had fought to this point, and he suddenly wanted to leave?

He stepped forward to intercept him, only to be forced back by the enraged Ling Wu in a swift, decisive move; seeing Yin Huaiyu still trying to pursue, Ling Wu raised his hand and stabbed toward his chest.

When Yin Huaiyu was in close contact with him, he discovered that the young man's face before him was unnaturally pale, his eyelashes fluttering as if something dirty had gotten into his eyes, causing some discomfort; he gritted his teeth, his lip line turning white, trembling slightly...

The moonlight was hazy, and Yin Huaiyu was not sure if he had seen wrong.

But Ling Wu had indeed, for some reason, caused the knife stabbed into his body to deviate.

Yin Huaiyu had to be thankful for this deviation, otherwise, he might have died on the spot.

He had not had time to react.

He was kicked in the abdomen by Ling Wu and knocked to the ground.

His back slammed against the edge of a wooden chair, and the sharp pain made it impossible for him to get up at first; he tried several times to no avail.

Yin Huaiyu could only watch helplessly as he left.

Ling Wu's footsteps were a bit unsteady, and his back looked somewhat hurried, yet he still did not forget to take the trench coat left on the table.

"Ugh..." Yin Huaiyu gasped in pain.

Ling Wu... what was wrong with him?

Ling Wu took the coat and exited the abandoned church; he stood in the ice and snow looking at the surrounding environment, then ran with stumbling steps toward the wall behind the church, the wheezing in his throat growing heavier.

He reached the hidden wall behind the church, his knees going weak, and he knelt directly onto the soft snow, his pants quickly becoming soaked.

Ling Wu subconsciously propped his hands on the snow; the veins on the back of his hands were prominent, and a few drops of bright red blood fell from his nasal cavity, hitting the pure white, clean snow—the vivid red color looked like a blooming winter plum.

"Medicine..."

Ling Wu wiped away the nosebleed with his sleeve casually.

He leaned against a thick tree trunk and sat down slowly, slightly bending his left knee, and with trembling fingers, he struggled to fish a bottle of medicine out of his trench coat; he unscrewed the cap with difficulty and tilted the bottle toward his palm, but accidentally poured out a large handful of pills...

A few pills rolled a few times along the snow and fell in front of a pair of leather shoes.

He had clearly taken his medicine before leaving the house.

Why was it still like this?

"Ling Wu, what's wrong with you?"

The man's voice came from the side.

Ling Wu's spine was pressed against the tree trunk, his chest heaving violently; he put a few pills into his mouth, his eyes numb and pitch-black, looking at Yin Huaiyu without any emotion, as if looking at thin air.

Indifference, disregard...

Yin Huaiyu had followed the blood dripping from the knife tip on the snow; he hadn't expected that following him would lead to seeing such a fragile side of Ling Wu—that clear, distant face revealing an expression vastly different from usual, pale and pitiful, leaving a deep impression on him; that thrill of conquest was etched into his heart, as if shattered and poured into his blood vessels, circulating throughout his entire body.

Yin Huaiyu covered his continuously bleeding wound with his hand, his tone weak from excessive blood loss: "You have a nosebleed."

"What's going on?"

Yin Huaiyu knelt before Ling Wu and cupped his face with his hands, as if treating fragile porcelain, looking at his face sitting in the snow by the moonlight, completely different from the cold-blooded, ruthless swordsman from just a moment ago.

The back of Ling Wu's head rested against the tree trunk.

At this moment, he could no longer speak; he closed his eyes and stubbornly turned his head away, clearly unwilling to let the person before him see his disheveled state.

That was extreme disregard.

Yin Huaiyu could not stand such disregard; he almost chewed through his gums, a sound like a roar coming from his throat, hoarse and gravelly, pushed to the limit.

"Heh."

Yin Huaiyu held his pale face, their foreheads touching, and pressed his fingertips against his lips, feeling the weak breathing of the person beneath him: "Ling Wu, you don't want to see me?"

"The more you don't want to, the more I insist on making you see."

Yin Huaiyu, stubborn and mad, used two blood-stained fingers to forcibly pry open Ling Wu's eyelids, clamped his jaw with one hand, and leaned in extremely close, almost skin-to-skin: "Look, whatever you don't want to do, I always have a way to make you compromise."

He had reached his limit of patience.

His tone carried a matter-of-fact malice.

Ling Wu was silent for a moment, then suddenly gave a light sneer, his voice carrying the chill of frost and snow as it flew from his throat; he used all his strength to slap Yin Huaiyu: "Mad dog!"

"Mad dog?"

Yin Huaiyu forcefully lifted Ling Wu's chin with his fingers, hooked the back of his head with his right hand, pressed his lips against his, and licked away the bloodstains with the tip of his tongue; seeing Ling Wu still refusing to open his eyes, he said obsessively: "Don't open them then; it feels even better to kiss you, this mad dog, while you keep your eyes closed."

He was about to obtain everything he craved on this snowy night.

Yin Huaiyu, like a newly born beast, was full of longing and curiosity for the world; he explored and pressed against those two cold lips—so soft and comfortable, completely different from Ling Wu's cold heart.

"Disgusting."

Yin Huaiyu did not hear clearly what Ling Wu said, thinking he was willing to talk to him, so he leaned in closer: "What did you say?"

Ling Wu: "Disgusting..."

His voice was weak, but very clear.

Yin Huaiyu's expression changed slightly; he released his grip on him and instead picked up the medicine Ling Wu had dropped on the ground—the bottle was pure white with no extra colors, and the bottle body was written with a few lines of foreign language he could not understand.

"What medicine is this?"

There was no voice to answer him.

Yin Huaiyu: "Ling Wu, you're ignoring me again. What medicine are you taking? Neither Jing Du nor I hurt you, so why is your complexion so deathly pale?"

Ling Wu's nape was still in Yin Huaiyu's palm; he tilted his head back powerlessly, struggled to open his eyes, and his tightly pressed lips relaxed slightly: "I..."

Yin Huaiyu asked worriedly: "You what?"

He did not wait for the rest; Ling Wu lost all strength and fainted, slumping onto his shoulder, which happened to press against that wound, making Yin Huaiyu gasp in pain.

If Ling Wu were not unconscious at this moment, he would have suspected whether he had done it on purpose.

"Ling Wu."

Yin Huaiyu called his name twice and lightly patted his face; the two people covered in blood knelt on the snowy ground, tightly embracing each other.

"Ling Wu!"

"Are you alright? Don't scare me; it's all my fault, I'm a bastard." Yin Huaiyu moved his head away from his shoulder, pulled him into his arms, gathered all his medicine and tucked it into his pocket, and noticing Ling Wu's body trembling, draped his coat over him: "Wake up!"