Chapter 759: Flashing the Moving Lantern

Qingque suddenly opened her eyes.

Her pupils contracted sharply, and on her retina still lingered the last frame of the dream: Fu Xuan's face, his ears flushed red, the wet mark at the corner of his mouth after she kissed him, and then all of this was torn to pieces by an overwhelming flood of golden blades and threads.

Countless spiky branches, formed from countless twigs, surged at her from all directions; each tip glowed with a golden‑red light, expanding rapidly before her eyes until she could see the tiny, wriggling eyes on the surface of the spikes.

Dozens of ultra‑thin threads trailed the spikes, whipping through the air in curved, whip‑like arcs, tearing the air with a sharp whistling sound.

Her brain hadn't even had time to process the basic information "who am I, where am I" when her right hand reflexively slapped downward.

A cerulean light burst from the point of contact on her palm, radiating outward from her as the center; everything solid it touched—those blades about to pierce her eye sockets, the threads coiled around her neck—instantaneously transformed into Bubbles.

Then the cluster of Bubbles lit up simultaneously, their brightness cranked to the limit, the blinding cerulean glare turning the entire space into a sea of uniform light.

Qingque's whole body was cradled by the Bubbles as she fell, the descent slow, like a leaf drifting down after falling from a branch.

The sudden weightlessness turned her stomach.

The slap she just delivered had drained most of her strength; now her arm trembled.

The spikes and threads slammed into the outer rim of the Bubble cluster, intercepted layer by layer. After piercing dozens of Bubble layers, the spikes slowed dramatically, coming to a complete halt a few feet from her, then shattering into powder once enveloped by Bubbles. The threads snapped against Bubble surfaces, each lash bursting hundreds of Bubbles, yet more Bubbles surged up from below to fill the gaps, the shattered Bubbles turning into droplets that re‑condensed into fresh Bubbles.

Qingque blinked as she continued her slow descent.

Her teal pupils, once scattered, refocused—first locking onto the blades above still trying to pierce the Bubble defense, then gradually shifting toward her left shoulder.

Empty—her entire left arm from shoulder down had vanished. The wound at the break was hastily sealed by a thin golden membrane; it was Abundance Corrosion, not healing—Abundance's power forcibly sealed the wound, and golden juice continued to ooze from the seal.

She let out a muffled hum, reached with her right hand to clasp the broken left shoulder, and clenched her five fingers tightly.

Cerulean light burst from the gaps between her fingers, racing along the shoulder's contour toward the lower left, outlining the full shape from upper arm to fingertips.

When the light faded, a brand‑new left arm had regrown.

The newly formed skin was whiter than before, almost translucent, starkly contrasting with the ragged right arm beside it; beneath the skin, cerulean light threads still drifted slowly through the veins, as if still adjusting to this body.

Qingque flexed the newly grown fingers; the five digits bent and straightened in turn, the joints emitting a light cack.

Functional.

Only then did she begin to survey her entire body.

"Disheveled" no longer sufficed.

Her ash‑gray hair was a tangled mess, several strands stuck to her cheeks by golden juice, the ends dangling with shredded, fluff‑like thread debris.

The asymmetrical general's robe was so tattered it was barely recognizable; the left wide sleeve had been torn off more than half, the silver chain strap on the right shoulder was snapped, the remaining half dangled from her clavicle, the hem had been corroded into several irregular holes, the edges charred and curled.

Her body was riddled with wounds: a deep, bone‑visible slash across her shoulder, a through‑and‑through puncture in the rib area, a row of golden needle‑like objects still lodged in the outer thigh, and a circle of withered vines coiled around her calf.

Blood and various juices mingled, staining the whole garment in uneven dark shades, making it impossible to tell which were her blood and which were Shuhuo's.

Qingque pressed her palm to her forehead, her fingertips sinking into the ash‑gray hair, and held the pose motionless for a full five seconds.

"Absurd."

Her voice was hoarse enough that she barely recognized it herself, her throat as dry as if sandpaper had been rubbed over it, "Even if I flash a moving lantern, it's still okay."

Memory was gradually returning.

She was besieged by nearly a hundred boss‑level monsters identical to the previous one, each with a blink ability, each wielding spears that could pierce her Light Screen.

She blasted a dozen or so, only for more to emerge, pouring out from the tree trunk's holes; their numbers grew so great that even spreading the entire Jade Card array couldn't stop them.

Then threads, stabbing from an unknown direction, tangled her left arm; the threads bore barbs that wouldn't release once caught, and she had to violently tear her left arm off to escape.

Finally, Shuhuo swallowed her outright.

When that huge mouth made of countless faces opened, she first thought it was a crack in the tree trunk, until the faces all turned toward her and the mouths opened in unison, and she realized it wasn't a crack—it was a digestive tract.

After being swallowed, she was battered, chased and beaten by monsters peeled off the stomach wall; her left arm was gone, the Jade Card shattered in half, the blue fish at her feet was torn to pieces, and the Bubble cluster was compressed down to its final layer.

Then—then she saw Fu Xuan.

In Shen Ce Fu, reporting work to Fu Xuan, he slammed the table and shouted at her; she lunged forward three steps at a time, grabbed Fu Xuan, kissed him in full view of everyone, even thrust her tongue in, then Fu Xuan bit her tongue; she slapped herself twice, felt the pain, and then went black with a thud.

She dared not dwell on the details.

"... huh."

Qingque buried her face in the palm of her newly grown left hand, rubbing hard, trying to scrub away the looping images in her mind, "Dream. Absolutely a dream. Must be a dream."

She made three consecutive judgments in her mind, then felt a wave of sincere relief.

Fortunately it was a dream.

It was entirely a hyper‑real hallucination her dying brain concocted.

Had it not been a dream, she would already have been seriously planning an escape route from Luofu.

First take the Star Chariot to Liuyun Ferry, then find a cargo ship to smuggle out, change name and identity to hide on another Xianzhou, never return to Luofu in this lifetime, never see Fu Xuan again, and deal with her parents later.

Luckily it was a dream.

She repeated the thought in her mind four or five times, as if saying it enough could make it real.

Qingque brushed the hair stuck to her face aside, refocusing her attention on the present situation.

Her right hand seized the thickest spike on her shoulder, yanked it out; golden juice sprayed from the wound, which she caught with a Bubble and dissolved.

She pulled out the needle‑like objects on her outer thigh one by one, wiping her finger on a neighboring Bubble after each.

The vines coiled on her calf had withered; a tug snapped them, and the juice oozing from the cut was swallowed by a Bubble.

She cleared away everything on her body that wasn't hers, then suddenly clamped her mouth shut.

Her body involuntarily tilted to the side, and a spray of blood spurted from between her fingers.

Golden.