Chapter 839: Escape

He didn't hear the demon's voice at all; all his attention was captured by that white figure.

His eyes followed the white figure's leaping trajectory across the rooftops, and with each jump his eyelid twitched.

The demon looked at his expression and silently swallowed the question she had just asked.

She still wore a proper smile, but in her mind she gave Dan Heng's reaction a question mark—what could make this ever‑calm nameless guest lose his composure like that? The identity of that white figure must be extraordinary.

Behind them, Huo Huo, who was also Huan Long, narrowed her eyes slightly and gazed into the distance at the white figure speeding along.

Her eyesight was far better than Dan Heng's.

Envoy‑level perception let her see clearly from half a street away, sharp enough to count the hairs on the other's ears.

White long hair, fox ears, a soft facial outline, and agile movements.

It matched exactly the face in her files.

Apart from the hair changing from light lavender purple to white, the features, build, and posture were identical.

But Bai Hang was already dead.

Huan Long calmly stated this fact to herself.

Her professional intelligence network never misses; Bai Hang's death is a clearly recorded event in Xianzhou history, with evidence available and ironclad proof.

So the one running on the rooftops now is an impostor.

The question is—who did it?

Huan Long's gaze followed the white figure, a faint glint flickering in the depths of her eyes.

She shifted her gaze from the white figure to her running posture.

The more she watched, the more interesting it seemed.

To pull off a disguise this well, she suddenly thought of that silver‑capped cat, the girl who could spin a whole gossip tale the moment she opened her mouth.

"Interesting."

Huan Long mentally overlaid the two figures: one was the silver‑capped girl speaking earnest nonsense at the dock earlier, the other was the white flyer being chased through the streets on the rooftops.

Those two images gradually merged in her mind.

Immediately after, a loud boom came from the distance.

The white figure crashed into the second‑floor window of a teahouse, then shot out the opposite window a second later, trailing splinters of wood and a half‑torn curtain.

The black figure behind it smashed straight through the wall, shattering bricks and wood into a fan‑shaped burst, and sword qi left three deep‑to‑the‑bone cracks on the teahouse's outer wall.

Landing, the white figure staggered, turned and shouted something hurried and fast behind her, then kept sprinting toward the dock.

Dan Heng saw that staggering motion and his pupils contracted again.

The demon noticed Dan Heng's gun‑holding hand trembling slightly.

He didn't press further, just stood silently beside Dan Heng.

Meanwhile, Huan Long was chewing her cheek in the rear.

Her inner self had already started setting off fireworks.

This trip to Luofu was totally worth it!

The show had only just begun.

She adjusted her expression to keep it in the "timid and nervous" bracket, then whispered, "Up ahead… it sounds like a fight… should we avoid it?"

Dan Heng ignored her suggestion.

He stood rooted to the spot, feet nailed to the ground, staring fixedly at the two figures drawing nearer.

At that moment his brain honestly chose to go on strike.

At first he still tried to reason with himself.

The distance was too great, lighting was poor, and wind‑kicked dust interfered with his vision.

His mind churned out excuse after excuse, flipping through them rapidly and anxiously, each page reading "I must have misseen."

That white figure leapt across the distant rooftops, hair blown into a mess covering half the face, features indistinct—surely just some fox‑person flyer of similar build.

Luofu has plenty of fox people, and white‑haired ones aren't rare either—how could it be her?

Then the figure flipped over a roof ridge, turning midair so her face happened to face this way.

The distance closed by about thirty paces.

Dan Heng saw her clearly.

Then his mind shoved all those excuses back in and slammed the file cabinet shut with a bang.

Damn it!

Immediately a second wave of reasons surged up.

They just look alike.

He gripped the Striking Cloud spear tight, his fingertips whitening.

Look‑alikes exist in the world; the rebirths of the Chi Ming Tribe are living proof.

A similar‑looking fox‑person girl being chased and killed on Luofu's streets, just happening to cross his path—this is a coincidence, about as likely as a meteorite hitting a bullseye.

Then the figure flipped over another roof ridge, and the distance closed again.

Her mouth opened, shouting something.

The wind carried her fragmented syllables to him, drilling into Dan Heng's ears; that tone made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Dan Heng's mind completely gave up resisting.

He recognized that voice.

His ears recognized it, his spine recognized it, and even the parts of Dan Feng buried deep in his blood recognized it!

This person completely overlapped with the laughing, mischievous flyer from his memory fragments.

And she was now running and shouting on the rooftops, her voice lacking any joy of reunion, instead filled with the particular desperation of having been chased for three li.

"…Are you a Dog? Why are you chasing so tightly!"

The voice drifted over again, three points clearer than before.

Dan Heng was sure he hadn't misheard.

Even the complaint was made with such full‑bodied vigor.

His Reason String, with its last breath, raised an extremely reasonable question: hadn't Bai Hang already died?

He'd been dead for centuries, the tombstone was already overgrown with grass.

So what was he seeing?

That logical problem, which should have occupied his entire attention, survived in his mind for less than two seconds before a more urgent real‑world issue mercilessly shoved it aside.

The pressing issue was—blade was chasing her!

Blade.

Dan Heng recognized the blade's speed far faster than he recognized Bai Hang.

He could identify that sword aura's characteristic crimson trail even with his eyes closed.

The blade was hunting someone who looked like Bai Hang.

Dan Heng stood still, the tip of his cloud‑striking spear pressed against the stone slab floor, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

He felt he ought to voice some thoughts.

For example, "What's going on?", "Who can explain this?", "Maybe I haven't fully woken up yet."

Yet he couldn't utter a single word, because his brain was working at full capacity, trying to process a fantastical scene beyond any contingency.

Bai Hang was being chased by the blade.

Two people who were already dead.

One was pursuing the other.

Right here on Xianzhou Luofu, this afternoon, right before his eyes!

Dan Heng suddenly began to seriously doubt whether he was truly afflicted by some kind of hallucination attack.

Perhaps he had inadvertently inhaled some hallucinogenic pollen at the dock, perhaps a masked fool was causing trouble nearby, perhaps he glanced back at Huo Huo, then at a Rakshasa, perhaps that cat‑ear girl sprinkled some hallucinogenic powder on him before leaving.

That notion oddly gave him a sliver of reassurance, because being drugged was at least more plausible than reality.