Chapter 73: Blood-cast puppet, love as a prison

The Qingyuan Sect's main hall. This sect, traditionally neutral, had gathered several other sects in the same situation to discuss how to survive within the cracks of the Wansheng Dao.

The originally noisy hall became so silent the moment Jiao Liqiao stepped into it that one could only hear the slight crackling sound of the flickering candlelight.

Jiao Liqiao didn't even knock. Her red dress trailed on the ground, like a blooming poisonous flower, as she walked straight in. Behind her, "Wuming" followed like a shadow, dressed in black, with white hair and an indifferent expression. He seemed to carry an invisible chill, and wherever he passed, even the air became stagnant.

The Qingyuan Sect leader's teacup clattered to the ground, sending shards of porcelain and tea splattering everywhere, yet he remained oblivious. Everyone in the hall fixed their gazes on the face of "Wuming"—that was Li Xiangyi's face, once a brilliant and dazzling figure that had captivated the entire martial arts world. Now, it was pale, hollow, and filled with an inhuman silence.

Fear, like an icy tide, instantly overwhelmed everyone. No one dared to speak, no one dared to move, and even held their breath, fearing that the slightest sound would bring about fatal disaster. All the countermeasures previously discussed seemed so ridiculous and pale in the face of absolute power and the strange reality.

Jiao Liqiao was pleased with the result. She walked over to the empty seat at the head of the table and sat down, as if she were the master of the room. "Wuming" stood silently in the shadows beside her, like a lifeless guardian statue.

"Everyone, please continue," Jiao Liqiao chuckled, her voice soft but chilling. "Why did everyone stop talking after I arrived? Are you discussing something... shameful?" She swept her eyes across the room, and everyone she saw lowered their heads involuntarily, their backs soaked with sweat.

She enjoyed the thrill of being in control, having the power to decide life and death. Without even needing to lift a finger, a mere glance, a single gesture, she could silence these so-called Jianghu masters.

After a moment, she seemed to feel that it was not enough, and suddenly turned her head and showed an extremely "gentle" smile to "Wuming" beside her. Her voice was also light and soft, like the whisper between lovers:

"You've been standing for so long, you must be tired, right?" She stretched out her hand, her fingertips lightly brushing against the dark cuffs of Nameless, her gesture so intimate it was creepy. "Come, rub my shoulders for me."

This sentence was like thunder, exploding in the silent hall!

Everyone stared with wide eyes, looking at the scene in disbelief.

Upon hearing the voice, Wuming took a step forward without hesitation. His movements were slightly stiff, as if he were not an expert at this technique. However, as his fingers came down, the force pressed precisely against Jiao Liqiao's shoulder point, neither light nor heavy, as if measured. He lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes casting a shadow on his pale face. His expression was blank, neither humiliation nor resignation, only emptiness.

Jiao Liqiao sighed comfortably and closed her eyes, as if she was really enjoying this moment of relaxation.

The audience below, their faces pale as they watched, sweat dripping down their cheeks. Some young disciples could barely contain themselves and began to tremble. What they witnessed was not only the tragic loss of their former idol's dignity, but also a deep-seated fear—if even a figure like Li Xiangyi had met such a fate, what would become of them, mere ants?

This was exactly what Jiao Liqiao was aiming for. She wanted not only to destroy Li Lianhua's body and will, but also to crush everything he had ever stood for—justice, dignity, hope—before the entire martial arts world could see. She wanted everyone to understand that those who obeyed her prospered, those who defied her perished. And she, Jiao Liqiao, was the god who now determined their fate!

The prosperous long street of Yangzhou City, in the spring drizzle, the bluestone road is shining with a wet luster

In the misty rain, two figures, one red and one black, formed a strange silhouette under the oil-paper umbrella.

The drizzle was soft and delicate, almost soaking my clothes. Jiao Liqiao held a vermilion oil-paper umbrella, walking side by side with "Wuming" down the bustling street. She tilted the umbrella carefully, completely shielding herself from the dryness beneath, while letting the cool rain soak "Wuming's" dark left shoulder. The fabric darkened, clinging to his thin shoulder blade, yet he followed steadily, oblivious.

"Tsk, look at that young man," a woman carrying a vegetable basket murmured softly, "He is so handsome, and he also knows how to be caring and not let his wife get wet in the rain." She mistook the two for a couple and was envious of Jiao Liqiao.

Jiao Liqiao's ears twitched slightly, but far from being annoyed, a gentle laugh escaped her throat. She suddenly stopped, turned to face "Wuming," and, standing on tiptoe amidst the drizzling rain, gently brushed away the tiny droplets of water clinging to his white hair with her fingertips. Her movements were slow, as if she were caressing fragile porcelain, yet her eyes held the intimacy of a master teasing a pet.

"It's not good to get wet." She raised her voice deliberately, loud enough for the few passersby nearby to hear, "If my knife gets rusty, it won't be useful." As she spoke, her eyes seemed to sweep across the street corners and dark alleys, as if showing it to an invisible audience.

She wanted to perform this absurd drama for the whole city to see, and through the gossip of the people, she wanted to drive the news that "Li Xiangyi has become Jiao Liqiao's plaything" into the heart of the man she wanted but could not have. She could even imagine the look on Di Feisheng's face as he overheard the street talk, crushing his wine glass and his eyes bloodshot - the imagination made her fingertips tremble with excitement.

"Wuming" remained motionless, like a puppet, allowing her to move. Raindrops streamed down his pale cheeks like silent tears. A man who had once admired Li Xiangyi recognized him and, startled, stumbled back, knocking over his stall. The apples fell to the ground, but he didn't bother to pick them up. He just stared at that face, his lips trembling, unable to speak.

Jiao Liqiao suddenly grabbed Wuming's jaw, forcing him to look down at her. Beneath the umbrella's shadow, her eyes brimmed with possessive desire. "Look, even Heaven is weeping for me—crying that you're finally, completely, mine." She slid her fingertips across his cold lips, then suddenly brought her rain-soaked fingertips to his lips. "Taste it! This is what it feels like to cry tears of joy."

"Wuming" mechanically opened his mouth, the tip of his tongue lightly touching the raindrops. This humiliating gesture caused his eyelashes to tremble imperceptibly, so fast it seemed an illusion. But at that moment, the clear voice of a child reciting poetry suddenly emanated from the second floor of a streetside teahouse: "The little lotus has just revealed its pointed tip..."

"Wuming"'s body tensed up almost imperceptibly for a moment.

Jiao Liqiao keenly sensed this and immediately intensified the curse. The slightest ripple in Wuming's eyes was instantly swallowed by emptiness, returning to dead silence. She chuckled with satisfaction, took his arm, and continued forward, like dragging a gorgeous corpse.

The rain grew heavier. At the end of the long street, the figures of the red-dressed woman and the white-haired puppet gradually blurred in the rain, leaving only the mess of fear and a bloody rumor that seeped into every brick crack in Yangzhou City. And deep in the empty eyes under the umbrella, a captive soul used its last strength to carve three words deep in its consciousness:

wait.

he.

Come.