Chapter 93: Epilogue (I)

What do you mean... sorry, this is the only one left?

It’s like I came here to attend a feast.

This strange thought flashed through Xing Zhi’s mind, but was swiftly pushed out by sudden relief and surging joy.

“He… died?”

The few people in the forest stared at her; their relaxed expressions said it all.

…

…

Fenghuai County.

From the sky downward, everything was returning to normal.

The Dragon’s Saliva rain ceased; dark clouds dispersed, sunlight melted the frost from the heavens, and once again, the clear, bright autumn sky reappeared above Fenghuai County.

Aside from the Xianjun’s initial act of creating the “spies,” the greatest damage came from the rain and frost.

The frost began at the city walls, first encircling the entire city, then advancing inward—until it eventually covered roughly one-fifth of the city.

It spread neither quickly nor slowly; beyond those too slow or immobilized to escape, most victims were forced from their homes and exposed to the Dragon’s Saliva rain.

Many civilians were also injured by the Frost Ghosts, but under the protection of Xing Zhi, Shang Lang, and the state officials, the numbers remained under control.

As for other chain-reaction casualties and losses, they could not yet be estimated—only after the city completed its first round of repairs would a rough tally emerge.

Fortunately, under the sunlight, more people had emerged from their homes; the city no longer felt so terrifyingly silent.

The first sounds to rise through the city were the wails of grieving families; bereaved civilians cried out in anguish, while others, still shaken, asked one another questions—gradually, the entire city grew somewhat noisy.

From a cruel perspective, the damage this disaster inflicted upon Fenghuai was relatively easy to repair, because the frost spread house by house—meaning victims were often families as units.

—For every deceased, the few most entitled to mourn them had perished alongside them, now silent souls.

Thus, the city’s grief would soon be diluted; with autumn harvest imminent, daily life would quickly return to normal. Likewise, since few families were shattered, the “burden” was minimal—a boon for the treasury.

But all that was for later. At present, the county office remained in chaotic bustle; everyone was overwhelmed, the courtyard filled with jumbled voices and footsteps, and even in the cool autumn air, sweat clung thickly to every neck.

Yet even amid a thousand tangled tasks, one mattered most: human lives.

All rooms in the county office were full; an entire row of nearby homes had been requisitioned—but many with minor injuries still lay exposed in the courtyard.

Xing Zhi was the busiest of all.

She was not a specialist physician, yet she possessed the deepest medical knowledge here. Beyond treating the wounded, she was also the advisor on all supernatural issues left by the Xianjun—whether or not they fell within a sorcerer’s domain, if people thought they might be answerable by one, they came to her.

Yet amid this breathless rush, Xing Zhi’s demeanor was neither grim nor agitated. Her eyes were red, her brows lifted, and her lips occasionally betrayed half a smile.

For the moment she entered the county courtyard, she saw a pale, naked body bearing that familiar face, gazing at her with dazed eyes.

—Chang Zhiyuan had been too weak to carry Zhu Gaoyang back indoors, so he draped a small blanket over his lower body and pulled over a stool to sit beside him.

Zhu Gaoyang’s body now appeared the healthiest of all; his problem lay entirely in his Mind Realm.

Though the Xianjun was dead, the influence of [Chunshou] would not vanish instantly; though weakened, only a Heaven Platform adept skilled in Mind Realm arts—or a senior from Long Jun’s Cave who had studied the “Cultivating the Dragon in the Heart Pool” scripture—could restore him.

Yet this, normally a grave issue, now paled beside the miracle of “resurrection.” Xing Zhi’s tears burst forth; she lunged forward and embraced him. Zhu Gaoyang stared at her blankly, murmuring: “You… damn… thing.”

She wouldn’t quarrel with a fool.

After confirming Zhu Gaoyang’s safety, Xing Zhi’s first priority was the unknown elderly man.

Because his life was the most precarious.

In truth, Xing Zhi felt this was no longer “treatment,” merely “comfort.”

For the key issue was: this body could no longer generate True Qi.

Why do martial artists possess greater vitality, why can they recover from grievous wounds again and again? Isn’t it precisely because of this “second blood” within them?

Yet with the current state of this body’s injuries, even if it could regenerate True Qi, survival odds were minuscule—let alone now, sustained solely by Ming Qi Tian’s True Qi.

Xing Zhi racked her brain, standing silently before the bed for a long while.

The boy sat nearby, his face pale, watching the old man as if aware such moments were few. His fingers twisted together; unlike the usual pleas or cries, he remained silent, as if already prepared.

“This,” Xing Zhi finally devised a half-hearted idea, “I will construct a talisman within the elder’s body to provide basic maintenance—if we can hold out until the Heaven Platform in Shijing arrives, perhaps… they may have some solution.”

Pei Ye lifted his head, his eyes flickering with hope: “Good… please hurry.”

Meeting his gaze, Xing Zhi lowered her head and began arranging her needles; the joy of Zhu Shixiong’s survival dimmed considerably.

She could not tell him that the talisman had little chance of lasting two or three hours—and even if it did… the Heaven Platform’s reinforcements would not be master healers.

The old man on the bed merely twitched his lips slightly, saying nothing.

Xing Zhi knew he understood… such a master. To her, this elder felt like a piece of rusted iron—though utterly decayed, his gaze upon that face still carried a heavy, piercing sharpness.

He was indeed sharp enough.

Xing Zhi flicked out needle after needle, silver and jade hues floating in the air, each threaded with threads of exquisitely fine spiritual energy.

The “Silver Jade Weaving Life” scripture originated from Mount Tai’s Medicine Hut; the Heaven Platform also possessed a copy. It was a medical technique accessible to Black Sash sorcerers—but she had little time and had only barely begun learning it.

Weaving a complex talisman through the body’s meridians using spiritual energy as thread to prevent blood and qi from dispersing was an extremely refined internal healing art.

The procedure took over twenty minutes; sweat beaded on Xing Zhi’s forehead.

The talisman itself demanded immense mental exertion, compounded by the elder’s rapidly draining life force—she had to work swiftly and steadily, with not a single error.

Finally, the talisman was barely complete; no spiritual perception was needed to sense vitality—the old man’s breathing had visibly steadied.

“It should hold… about two hours,” Xing Zhi exhaled, lowering her head to collect the needles.

(End of Chapter)