Chapter 72: Red Clothes Bind Bones, White Snow as Blade
Seeing Di Feisheng's robes soaked with blood from his shoulder, Jiao Liqiao knelt on one knee. A twisted, almost pitiful expression instantly crossed her face, as if she was deeply distressed. She softly said to Wuming, "Good boy, come back." Her voice was so sweet it was sickening.
Upon hearing the voice, Wuming immediately put away his sword and retreated obediently to Jiao Liqiao's side like a puppet pulled by invisible strings, standing with his head lowered, as if the fierce sword attack just now had nothing to do with him.
Jiao Liqiao reached out, her fingertips gently brushing Wuming's cold cheek. Then, with Di Feisheng's eyes nearly spitting fire, she stood on tiptoe and pressed a gentle yet possessive kiss to Wuming's bloodless lips. It was a reward, but also a declaration.
"Jiao Liqiao--! Don't touch him!" Di Feisheng's eyes were bloodshot. He tried to stand up, enduring the pain, but he staggered again due to blood loss and emotional agitation. He could only support himself with his sword and roared angrily, his voice filled with overwhelming anger and an extreme pain of being desecrated.
Jiao Liqiao slowly turned around, looking at Di Feisheng's bewildered state. A brilliant yet also insane smile appeared on her face. She opened her arms and pointed at the numb Wuming beside her as if she were showing off a rare treasure. Her voice trembled slightly with excitement:
"Di Feisheng! Look carefully! Haven't you only had eyes for Li Xiangyi your entire life?! Wouldn't you even sacrifice your life for him?!" She approached step by step, her eyes flashing with morbid pleasure, "Alright! Then I want Li Xiangyi to be my man! Make him the sword that belongs only to me, Jiao Liqiao! Make him kill for me, wipe out everything for me! Make him... never even look at you again!"
She suddenly stopped and her laughter rose to a pitch-high pitch, becoming sharp and manic: "So - can you finally see me?! Ah?! Hahahaha..."
The crazy laughter echoed in the bloody courtyard, full of twisted possessiveness and the unattainable pleasure of destruction.
"Madman! You're a complete lunatic!" Fang Duobing couldn't stand it any longer. He rushed forward to support the staggering Di Feisheng and shouted at Jiao Liqiao. He looked at Jiao Liqiao's crazy appearance and felt a chill rising from the bottom of his heart - this woman had long been completely consumed by obsession.
Di Feisheng leaned on Fang Duobing, the blood on his shoulder still flowing, but his eyes were fixed on Jiao Liqiao and Wuming, his chest heaving violently, and in those eyes that were always sharp and intimidating, there was now an unprecedented violence, pain, and a hint of...almost despair.
Jiao Liqiao's laughter gradually died down. She cast one last glance at Di Feisheng, her eyes filled with a victor's pity and mockery. She turned and, accompanied by her "trophy," Wuming, she walked away, surrounded by the crowd of Wansheng Dao.
As dusk deepened, the only lingering traces in the courtyard were the thick, bloody odor and Di Feisheng's heavy, repressed breathing, a sound that betrayed immense pain. Fang Duobing looked at his pale face and bleeding wounds, his heart aching with anxiety. "Old Di! Hold on! Let's treat your wound first!"
Di Feisheng seemed not to hear it, but stared intently at the direction where Jiao Liqiao and Wuming disappeared. He clenched his teeth and squeezed out a broken but firm oath:
"Li... Lianhua... I... will definitely... take you... home..."
The voice was weak, but it carried a kind of determination to destroy the world.
Jiao Liqiao reclined on a plush couch by the window, her blood-red dress ablaze, her fingertips absentmindedly tapping the small rosewood table. She had booked the entire floor, offering a superb view, overlooking the bustling streets and gazing out over the teahouses and taverns where the quacks gathered.
Standing quietly in the shadows beside her was "Wuming." His long, dark robes made his white hair stand out even more. His face was as pale as paper, and his eyes stared blankly into space, like a jade sculpture without a soul.
"Pour the wine." Jiao Liqiao spoke lazily, her voice hoarse with a hint of satisfaction.
"Wuming" moved at the sound, his steps precise and silent, as if guided by invisible threads. He picked up the white jade wine pot warming on the table, tilted it slightly, and the amber liquor drew a graceful arc, just enough to fill the luminescent cup in front of Jiao Liqiao. His movements were smooth, yet lifeless, like a precision machine executing a set routine.
Jiao Liqiao lifted her wine glass, but wasn't in a rush to drink. Her gaze swept across the street below, catching the eye of several wandering wuxia characters looking up. Their curious expressions instantly turned to utter horror and fear as they discerned the dark figure behind her, especially the signature white hair. Some dropped their packages, while others stumbled back, their faces as pale as ghosts.
The corners of Jiao Liqiao's lips curled up into a joyful yet cruel arc. This was exactly the effect she wanted.
"Serve the food." She put down her wine glass and pointed at the plate of exquisite hibiscus cake on the table with her chin.
Wuming followed her instructions, picked up a piece of cake with his silver chopsticks, and placed it steadily on the plate in front of her. Throughout the process, he kept his eyes fixed and his breathing steady, as if he were just completing a very ordinary task.
Jiao Liqiao didn't eat it. Instead, she picked up the cake with her fingertips and deliberately put it to Wuming's lips. "Try it," she ordered, her eyes flashing with malice.
"Wuming" opened his mouth obediently, chewing and swallowing mechanically, with no expression on his face, as if he was swallowing sand and stones instead of delicious food.
Jiao Liqiao chuckled softly, her laughter echoing through the empty pavilion with a chilling chill. She pulled a silk handkerchief from her sleeve and lovingly wiped the nonexistent crumbs from the corner of "Wuming"'s lips. Her movements were gentle, but her eyes were like a master caressing a precious toy.
“Look,” she whispered to herself, her gaze piercing the floor, resting on an imaginary figure agonizing over the situation. “This is the moon you once admired… but now, it’s just a chess piece I manipulate at will.”
She enjoyed the pleasure of trampling the Supreme Being under her feet and controlling it wantonly, and even more so, she enjoyed imagining Di Feisheng's piercing anger and powerlessness after hearing about this. For her, this was more intoxicating than killing directly.
From beginning to end, "Wuming" acted like a perfect puppet, executing every command, yet he remained oblivious to the humiliation inflicted upon him, the fear surrounding him, and the utter loss of his own dignity. Only when he turned and retreated back into the shadows did a gust of wind suddenly blow in from the window, ruffling a few strands of white hair across his forehead. A faint, almost imperceptible ripple seemed to flicker in his hollow eyes, as quick as an illusion, before returning to dead silence.
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