CHAPTER 131: CHAPTER 131: VAGUE MEMORIES

Mo Li did not hide her frustrations and voiced her concern to Bing Cao immediately, "Why are we wasting our energy dragging this man with us? Senior Cao, he did attempt to take your life..."

The girl quickly fell silent as the chief adviser of Crescent Moon City turned to her. His eyes—still sharp despite exhaustion—met hers with the weight of command honed through decades of service.

"This man has been manipulated without his knowledge," Bing Cao said, his tone grave and deliberate. "I suspect that blood path cultivator killed a close relative of his and refined a vile artifact. He was bound by something not of his choosing."

Mo Li’s lips parted, but no words came. She looked down at Hang Feng’s limp body, his breathing shallow but steady, his once-fierce features slack with pain. Dried blood caked the corner of his mouth; his jaw hung slightly askew from the blow that had silenced him.

They trudged through the wilderness, the mist curling about their legs like the grasping fingers of the dead. The stench of iron still lingered, mixing with the faint perfume of the spirit flora that grew from blood-soaked soil.

"What sort of witchcraft could twist the will of a cultivator so completely?" Mo Li finally asked, her voice low.

Bing Cao adjusted his grip on Hang Feng’s shoulder and replied, "A tool known as the Soul Imprint Scepter. It does not control one’s body, but rather—" his eyes darkened, "—it stains one’s conviction. It takes a man’s most cherished oath and poisons it until he sees virtue in sin and sin in virtue."

The girl shuddered. "So his fury was not his own."

"Partly his," Bing Cao admitted. "But magnified. Amplified into madness."

They stopped briefly beneath a jagged ridge where the rain had gathered in pools. Mo Li fetched her waterskin, pouring a few drops over Hang Feng’s lips. His head twitched, a groan escaping his throat.

"W... where..." His voice was hoarse, fragmented. "Where is... that bastard... L–Li Wuji..."

Bing Cao’s gaze sharpened. "He remembers."

Mo Li crouched beside the injured man, her earlier scorn replaced by wary curiosity. "What do you mean, Senior Cao?"

The elder closed his eyes, letting his spiritual perception expand outward. Threads of faint energy, barely visible to mortal sight, clung to Hang Feng’s aura—thin crimson strands that pulsed weakly, like dying embers.

"He was struck by Li Wuji’s artifact," Bing Cao said. "I see traces of spiritual branding—remnants of the Blood Path."

At those words, Hang Feng’s body began to tremble. His breathing quickened, and veins bulged across his temples.

"Stay back!" Bing Cao barked. He pressed his palm to the man’s chest, his qi flaring gold as he forced it into Hang Feng’s meridians.

~WHUUMM—~

The sound was low and resonant, as if the wilderness itself had drawn breath. Mo Li watched as faint red light coiled upward from Hang Feng’s torso, forming the image of a writhing sigil before dissolving into smoke.

When it was gone, the man’s trembling ceased. He fell unconscious again, though the tension left his face at last.

"Was that the curse?" Mo Li asked softly.

"One of many," Bing Cao replied. He wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. "He will live, but the stain will not fade completely. Once a man’s spirit has been marked by Blood Qi, he must either cleanse it through trial... or be consumed."

He paused, looking toward the horizon where the lightning had long since died. "And I fear this is not the only soul Li Wuji has branded."

By the time they reached the old checkpoint at the edge of the Qianlong wilderness, the moon was high—thin and cold, casting long shadows across the crumbling walls. The checkpoint had once been part of a trade route connecting Crescent Moon City to the southern provinces, but war and beast tides had long since reduced it to a ruin.

Now, it was a refuge for travelers and hermits. A single lantern burned at the entrance, flickering with tired persistence.

Bing Cao pushed the gate aside and entered. The interior was empty save for a few broken crates and the faint sound of dripping water.

"Lay him here," the elder said. Mo Li obeyed, setting Hang Feng down upon a pile of coarse blankets she found in a corner.

Bing Cao knelt beside him, drawing out a small pouch from his sleeve. From it, he produced a cluster of dried herbs—gray leaves edged with silver veins.

"Spiritbane root?" Mo Li asked.

"Mm. Its bitterness repels residual corruption." He crushed the herbs between his palms and blew the dust gently over Hang Feng’s chest. The particles glowed faintly before seeping into the man’s skin.

Mo Li watched in silence, the crackle of the small brazier the only sound between them. After a while, she spoke, "You pity him, don’t you?"

Bing Cao looked at her, expression unreadable. "Pity is a luxury. Compassion, however, is duty."

"But he tried to kill you—"

"Many have tried." His tone softened slightly. "And many will again. The difference lies in why. If I cannot tell the difference between malice and manipulation, then I am unworthy of my station."

Mo Li lowered her gaze, chastened.

For a time, neither spoke. The wilderness outside sighed with wind and the occasional cry of distant beasts. Then—

Hang Feng stirred. His eyes fluttered open, red-rimmed but lucid.

"You..." His gaze found Bing Cao, then flicked to Mo Li. "You didn’t... finish me off?"

"I am not in the habit of killing broken men," Bing Cao said simply.

The younger cultivator swallowed, his throat working painfully. "I... remember fragments. After the beast tide... Li Wuji appeared. Said he would grant me strength to avenge my clan. He... struck me with something. A red staff—light poured through me like fire."

His voice broke into a cough. Mo Li offered him water, but he shook his head.

"After that... I saw nothing but his face. His words. Every swing I made—I thought it was my will."

Bing Cao nodded slowly. "He implanted a Rage Seal. It converts grief into bloodlust, obedience into worship."

Hang Feng’s fists clenched weakly. "That monster... He used me."

"He uses everyone," Bing Cao said grimly. "You are not the first, nor will you be the last."

For a long while, Hang Feng said nothing. Then, in a hoarse whisper: "If I could... undo what I’ve done—"

"You will have your chance," Bing Cao interrupted. "But redemption is not asked for. It is earned."

Outside, the wind shifted. A strange rustle echoed from the courtyard—soft, deliberate. Mo Li stiffened. "Senior Cao, i think someone’s here."

Bing Cao rose at once, motioning for silence. His qi gathered in his palm, ready but restrained. A shadow passed by the broken archway. Then another.

"Travelers?" Mo Li whispered.

"No," Bing Cao murmured. "Too quiet. Too coordinated."

From the darkness beyond the gate came a voice—smooth, familiar, and mocking. "So the shepherd tends even to the wolf he’s struck. Admirable... or foolish."

Mo Li’s breath caught. "Li Wuji..."

~Crk... crk...~

The storm was far from over.