Chapter 50 The Fiftieth Early Snow

The word "serves you right" enraged Zuo Qinghou. She stomped her foot, and Zhu Huantang immediately heard the sound of his jawbone cracking. He sneered and grabbed Zuo Qinghou's leg tightly. "Who would dare to treat you sincerely?"

At the same time, the dragon scales on the stone pillar next to him were shattered and shot straight into Zuo Qinghou's body.

Unable to move her legs after being grabbed by Zhu Huantang, Zuo Qinghou, caught off guard, cast a protective spell and struck Zhu Huantang's right shoulder with a palm strike. Even so, three stones still pierced through Zuo Qinghou's body and embedded themselves in her bones.

Zuo Qinghou swiftly retreated several feet, using his hands to pry out the blood-red, bone-splattered pebbles from his shoulder and arm.

A bizarre scene unfolded: the bloody holes on Zuo Qinghou's body healed automatically, and snow-white skin grew back.

Zuo Qinghou tossed the blood-stained pebbles aside and said, "Don't be so surprised. Didn't that note say it all? As long as Zhu Yan lives, I will live. By the end of this year, I'll probably be around a hundred years old."

Zhu Huantang sneered, "You and Zhu Yan are both troublemakers. You expect equal returns for your sincerity. That's unreasonable. Who would dare to treat you sincerely?"

Zuo Qinghou smiled slightly, "Yes, who dares?" With a flick of her wrist, a pebble struck the stone pillar, which crashed to the ground. Zhu Huantang dodged the flying, blade-like stones.

Looking at Zhu Huantang's disheveled state, Zuo Qinghou clapped her hands and laughed, whether mocking Zhu Huantang or herself who had been manipulated in the same way, it was unclear. As she straightened up, she wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes. "Who dares? But what did I do wrong! I don't want the same sincerity; I just want no one to use me! The reinforcements hadn't arrived, so I ate the dead to stay alive and resist the Wu army, just to wait for her to arrive so she could earn military merit; no one knew where Zhu Yan was, so I spent five years of my lifespan divining, climbed five snow-capped mountains, and lost three toes to find Zhu Yan, just to ensure that the country she was protecting wouldn't perish! Fan Qi used her to break through Wu Liang's defenses, so I lost an arm to capture Fan Qi and save the capital! She turned around and went to save Fan Qi, and I almost died in the fire. Yes, I deserve not to be treated sincerely!"

Zuo Qinghou roared, panting as tears streamed down her face and fell to the ground. But the next moment, she laughed, clapping her hands like a child, and said, "That's right, there's also Fan Qi. Fan Qi instigated Jiang Linzhi to kill me back then, and I'm already doing him a great favor by sparing his life. After I kill you, I'll go kill him."

The snow started falling without me noticing.

It was September, yet the snow was unusually heavy, piercing through the dark clouds and the sharp sword aura surrounding Zhu Huantang, melting into the space between his brows.

Zuo Qinghou spun around, enjoying the first snow while dodging Zhu Huantang's deadly sword, as if he were playing and frolicking.

After playing for a while, Zuo Qinghou lightly leaped and sat on the beast ridge of the roof. She laughed and said, "It's no fun fighting like this. Considering that you once genuinely liked me, I won't use witchcraft. Let's have a friendly spar."

Without waiting for Zhu Huantang's reply, Zuo Qinghou reached behind her back and pulled out a long sword from nowhere. She drew the pure white sword, and snowflakes fell on the blade and instantly split in two before drifting down lightly.

Zuo Qinghou tightened the straps on his wrists again and again, and took a half step back with his right leg. "Please give me your guidance."

Even without witchcraft, Zuo Qinghou was not easy to deal with. Although Zhu Huantang was strong and could cut Zuo Qinghou back ten feet with a single sword strike, Zuo Qinghou was not foolish enough to take the full force of Zhu Huantang's sword head-on. Her sword would flash out like lightning and twist like a dragon to block the path of Zhu Huantang's subsequent moves, preventing him from executing them.

Zhu Huantang secretly gathered his strength, without using any special moves, and slashed at Zuo Qinghou with one sword after another, forcing Zuo Qinghou to lean back repeatedly and almost fall.

Just as Zhu Huantang was about to strike Zuo Qinghou's crown with his sword, Zuo Qinghou seized the opportunity, raised his hand and touched the nerve in Zhu Huantang's elbow. With Zhu Huantang's right hand weakened, Zuo Qinghou pierced Zhu Huantang's right forearm from bottom to top with his sword.

The movement was so fast that Zhu Huantang broke out in a cold sweat. He instinctively dodged backward, and the knife appeared right in front of him, grazing his chin. If he hadn't dodged, the knife would have already pierced his skull from below.

Zhu Huantang's heart pounded. Although he was still scared, his left hand was not idle. He twisted his right arm to block Zuo Qinghou's sword and cut Zuo Qinghou's collarbone with his hand.

Zuo Qinghou forcefully drew his sword to dodge, though he was wounded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. His clothes were slashed open at his neck and shoulders, revealing the previous wound on his neck.

She could have healed immediately, yet she resorted to this self-inflicted injury to deceive him. Zhu Huantang wiped the blood off his sword and sneered, "Truly, the most poisonous heart is that of a woman."

Zuo Qinghou was not to be outdone and said, "Wait until I turn your master into a human pig before you praise me."

The two exchanged a glance, then simultaneously drew their swords and continued their attack on each other.

Although the heavy snow couldn't get close, Zuo Qinghou's hair turned a few strands white.

In the 523rd move, Zuo Qinghou's blade was shaken and deflected by a finger, while Zhu Huantang exerted too much force to make that one finger's distance, and his longsword broke, leaving him wide open.

Finally unable to hold on any longer, Zuo Qinghou curled his lips, aimed at his heart, and stabbed him with his knife.

"Swoosh—" That was the sound of a weapon severing a blood vessel, and blood hitting the weapon.

Snow fell on Zhu Huantang's head, and also on Zuo Qinghou's head.

Zuo Qinghou smiled and took a step forward, saying, "I won't die at this level."

With one step, the broken sword had already pierced out from behind Zuo Qinghou, dripping thick blood onto the thin layer of snow on the ground.

He's definitely not going to make it this time.

Zhu Huantang spun the sword hilt, churning Zuo Qinghou's internal organs into a jumbled mess. This time, the feel was different from the puppet; it was living human flesh. Watching blood spurt from Zuo Qinghou's mouth and nose, the resentment in Zhu Huantang's heart vanished. He unconsciously frowned, even wanting to reach out and wipe the blood from the corner of her lips. He stared blankly at Zuo Qinghou, and softly pronounced his verdict between them: "It's over."

Zuo Qinghou's knife only pierced Zhu Huantang's arm in the end, and fell to the ground with a "clang". The sound echoed in the deserted palace, as heavy and long as a death knell.

Compared to Zuo Qinghou, whose heart had been shattered, Zhu Huantang was in even worse condition. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, and he tried his best to maintain the posture of the victor striking with his sword, quietly waiting for Zuo Qinghou to fall first.

It was as if he had to fall to the ground before she could truly win.

The dying Zuo Qinghou suddenly raised her hand and reached towards Zhu Huantang's face. Her fingertips were as clean as ever, as if no life had ever been on them.

Just as Zhu Huantang turned his head to dodge, Zuo Qinghou turned her hand. Instead of touching Zhu Huantang's face, she quickly released a signal flare under the cover of a feint.

Red fireworks exploded high in the dark night sky, waking everyone up. Zuo Qinghou smiled triumphantly and fell backward.

This happened too fast for Zhu Huantang to understand the emotions in Zuo Qinghou's eyes, but he was certain that her smile and the emotions in her eyes did not mean the same thing—even if she died, he could not escape.

Zhu Huantang should have run away, but fighting Zuo Qinghou had exhausted all his strength, and the numerous wounds on his body were draining his life force. Severely injured and exhausted, Zhu Huantang also collapsed, falling onto the silent, bloody hole in Zuo Qinghou's chest, and whispered, "It's not your fault."

Tears streamed down Zuo Qinghou's temples.

Zhu Huantang didn't know at the time that he spent half his life trying to understand Zuo Qinghou's last look, and then spent the other half regretting trying to understand that look.

The red light overhead illuminated Qi Lingjun's face, making even the most beautiful face appear somewhat tragic at this moment. He moved his legs, which had been frozen stiff from standing in the cold wind for so long, intending to head towards the palace, but he stumbled and tumbled down the steps.

The first snow was thin, leaving a muddy mess on the ground. Qi Lingjun's spotless clothes were all stained, and he tried to get up several times but couldn't.

Fortunately, the servant who brought the tea came over and saw Qi Lingjun fall down. He quickly stepped forward to help him up and said, "It's snowing today and the roads are slippery. The prince used to practice martial arts on the paving stones in front of this house. The prince's leg skills are so good that the paving stones have been worn smooth and are extremely slippery. Please be careful."

With great difficulty, Qi Lingjun stood up with the help of a servant. The servant accidentally touched his hand, which was as cold as the bronze pillars of the Meridian Gate. He exclaimed, "I'll call a doctor for you, sir. What if you've fallen somewhere?"

Qi Lingjun stopped the servant and said, "No need, I have other things to do."

The servant glanced at Qi Lingjun's filthy robes. He knew that this master burned incense and bathed every day, and couldn't stand even a speck of dust in his living space, let alone go out like this. Wasn't this a complete violation of what they meant by a gentleman should dress properly? He quickly reminded him, "His Highness won't arrive for a while. Sir, please change your robes first. Going out like this will only make His Highness worry unnecessarily."

Qi Lingjun's eyes were slightly red, but he acted as if he hadn't heard anything. Ignoring the pain from the fall, he walked out with uneven steps.

Could it be that the prince issued some secret order? The servant didn't dare to ask any further questions; such matters were not something they could possibly know.

The wind, mixed with snow, lashed against Qi Lingjun's face as he ran recklessly towards the palace. Snow stung his eyes, bringing tears to his eyes, but he didn't stop, raising his hand to shield his vision as he continued his frantic run. Halfway there, he realized he should have ridden a horse.

His thoughts were a jumbled mess. He didn't know why he was running; he knew perfectly well what was going to happen today. At that moment, he especially hated himself for not choosing to practice martial arts. He wished he could grow seven or eight legs to run there.

As soon as he reached Donghua Gate, the guards outside were nowhere to be seen. Mottled hoof prints snaked out from inside the gate. Qi Lingjun felt a sense of foreboding. He raised his hand with trembling hands and realized that he had just cut his hand, leaving mottled bloodstains all over his sleeves.

Qi Lingjun hurriedly glanced at his appearance and found himself in a sorry state. He immediately tried to tidy himself up, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recreate that ethereal look. He pushed open the door forcefully, and in the empty space in front of the main hall, there was only a dark dot, covered by white snow.

His intuition told him that this was not Zuo Qinghou.

Qi Lingjun slowly withdrew, lifted his robe, knelt down in the direction of the winding hoofprints, and solemnly performed the grand salute of a subject to a ruler.

The eerie early snow of September pressed down on Qi Lingjun's shoulders. After he finished bowing, the snow seemed to have bent Qi Lingjun's shoulders a little.