Chapter 91: Han Gong In this thread, she suddenly grabbed the brightest...
Qing Guiyu didn't bother to argue with him any further. This man had turned his weakness into a weapon. If she said anything more, she would only be asking for trouble.
She simply kicked the assassin to the ground without any hesitation.
What does "not crying like that" mean? Are there different ways to cry in this world? Can we develop a routine?
All the internal injuries he had suffered in his life, combined, were not as severe as those few soul-stirring "forgive me"s that Chen Jiansheng had just cried out. All the self-cultivation he had accumulated in his life was probably lost here.
She ignored the lingering figure on the couch and walked directly to the immobilized assassin. She squatted down, picked up the fallen short blade, and gently grasped it through her sleeve with her fingertips.
The blade glowed with an eerie blue, the exact same bone-rotting grass poison she had smelled on the stone slabs outside the door.
"Miss Qing," her voice had returned to its clear, gentle tone, free of the softness and sobbing of earlier. "Do you recognize this poison?"
"Rotting Bone Grass, a rare poison from southern Xinjiang," Qing Guiyu said without turning back. "It poisons weapons and kills instantly. Few martial artists in the Central Plains use it."
The assassin was dressed in gray and was short in stature. He stared with frightened eyes at the young man in black who was leaning on the couch just now.
...his eyes, like hers, were probably filled with deep doubts about the common sense of this world.
"You know him." Qing Guiyu raised his chin behind him.
"I don't know him." The sorrowful sobbing and wailing on Master Jinsheng's face, which showed that he was forced into a desperate situation and had to use his beauty to please others, had disappeared without a trace.
He moved calmly, straightening his slightly disheveled collar with one hand and pushing the golden strands of hair behind his ears.
It was as if the young man moaning softly and charmingly on the couch just now had nothing to do with him. All the seductive secrets and shy blushes were covered back by an invisible layer of ice.
The master of destiny, calm, meticulous, and detached as if hidden in the clouds, silently took over this body that still bore traces of the delicate tide.
He walked over with a gentle posture and slow steps. If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes, no one would have thought that he was blind.
Shen Juansheng turned his head and looked at the assassin on the ground who had his jaw removed and was unable to move. His voice was so steady that there was not a single ripple.
"Hand." He only uttered one word.
Qing Guiyu was confused, but saw him half-crouch. He couldn't see, but his movements were terrifyingly precise. After a brief grope, he grasped the assassin's wrist, his fingers covered with silk blades rubbing and probing between the man's palm and knuckles.
"What's your name?" The voice was clear and calm, as if reminiscing with an old friend whom he hadn't seen for many years.
The assassin just stared at him, his jaw dropped, unable to utter a word.
Shen Juansheng was not annoyed, but just tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something.
"Hmm." He chuckled, "If you can't tell me, I'll tell you."
"You're not from the Central Plains. The muscles in your shoulders and neck are developed from years of riding and shooting. The calluses on the base of your left hand are from drawing a bow. The outer side of your index finger has a callus from years of holding a long weapon. The callus is rough and deeply worn. It's the standard long spear used by the Northern Army."
"His attacks are clean and sharp. If he misses, he'll bite the poison sac and commit suicide. He's a true assassin."
Young Master Jinsheng paused for a moment, as if lost in thought. His black hair was tangled with golden strands, all tracing down from his cheeks.
"But you're wielding the short blade commonly used by Southern Dynasty knights. The blade is fake, but your hand is real. You're from the Northern Frontier."
The assassin's pupils suddenly shrank.
He didn't ask, he just stated.
This man's mind was truly a sharp sword, inlaid with gold. Sharp, calm, and carrying an inhuman chill.
"Talk about poison," Shen Juansheng released his hand, and his fingertips brushed across the assassin's clothes, as if they were stained with some invisible powder, and brought it to his nose.
He was just pretending. He couldn't see or smell anything, but he just showed a deterrent and chilling aura.
"You're a tough, strong man from the north, but you're using something poisonous that only women in southern Xinjiang use. Don't you feel... wronged?"
He walked behind the assassin and slowly bent down. That breathtakingly beautiful face, bathed in the sweet, lingering smoke of the Seven-Fan Incense, was hazy.
"You shouldn't wait either." Shen Yansheng continued, like a very patient teacher instructing an extremely stupid student.
"The best time is in the Swallowing Cloud Tower, when Suanni attacks and the whole hall is in chaos. Rather than waiting until now, when it's late at night and everyone is asleep, giving us, um... the chance to be alone."
He uttered the word "alone" very lightly, with a hint of lingering lingering feeling in the ending tone, and his face actually turned suspiciously red again.
Qing Guiyu's heartbeats pounded. This man, even while interrogating a prisoner, managed to sneak in some strange things, hinting at what had just happened.
The assassin's body began to tremble slightly.
"My father," Shen Juansheng continued, "is indeed colluding with the Northern Dynasty."
"The Tianji Pavilion has secret agents all over the world. He wants to escape from the Cold Prison quietly without alerting me. He can't do it with the remaining members of Suanni alone. He has to rely on external forces."
"The Northern Dynasty is currently facing internal and external troubles. What they need most is an ally who can disrupt the Central Plains martial arts world for them. And this is what my father is best at."
"We hit it off right away." Young Master Jin Sheng said lightly and confidently.
"Why use poison from southern Xinjiang?"
Qing Guiyu, clutching a bamboo flute and leaning against the doorframe, finally asked the biggest question in his mind. Why would an assassin from Northern Xinjiang use a poison from Southern Xinjiang? The intention to frame someone was too obvious.
"For you." Shen Juansheng answered quickly.
He tilted his head and looked at her sadly.
"He wants to use the poison from Southern Xinjiang to kill someone who is rumored to have been infected with a love poison."
Slowly, he brought the Tianyuan position in the treasure to her.
"If I die, Miss Qing will be the first murderer who cannot be exonerated. Then, the Tianji Pavilion and Yaowang Valley will be at war until one of us dies. And he can reap the benefits and regain control of the Tianji."
This was Shen Yan's plan. One that included her, a series of tricks.
With every word he spoke, the color drained from the assassin's face.
"My father knew that in order to keep you by my side, I would have to withdraw all my bodyguards. He also knew that after what happened in Tunyun Tower, you would probably feel resentment towards me and leave in anger."
"So he had this assassin wait in the most secluded place, waiting for the moment when you left and I was alone, my mind at its most turbulent."
In the murderous game at Tunyun Tower, if Chen Juansheng succeeded, she would never leave.
So she took advantage of the situation and taught the assassin to hide. If the assassin succeeded, Shen Jiansheng would die from the poison in Nanjiang, and with her, the "poison witch", by his side, there would be witnesses and evidence.
Her hands and feet felt a little cold. She looked at the young man in black clothes in front of her, watching him calmly recount the conspiracy that could lead to her death.
By then, Qing Guiyu would never be able to clear herself of the guilt even if she jumped into the Yellow River. Tianji Pavilion, Yaowang Valley, and even the entire martial arts world would regard her as a vicious and venomous woman, and they would fight her to the death.
This plot, one link after another, calculated people's hearts to the core. It was ruthless, meticulous, and left no room for maneuver.
They are indeed...father and son.
Qing Guiyu looked at the young man in black clothes in front of him. Looking at his face that was so handsome that it didn't look like that of an ordinary person, he was speechless for a moment.
How could there be such a father in this world?
How could I have such a son?
This wasn't a frame-up, but a heart-wrenching attack. Shen Yan not only wanted him dead, but also wanted to drag those around him into an abyss of no return after his death.
"It seems that your father really hates me."
Qing Guiyu pressed his solar plexus, crossed his arms, and said without emotion, trying to exclude the crazy father and son from his mind, "But you are not his..."
She stopped abruptly mid-sentence.
Yes, the words that Suanni roared on the Tunyun Tower rang in her ears again.
——Who are you?!
Shen Jiansheng's demeanor was terrifyingly calm.
He did not answer the question, but remained silent for a moment, his voice lowered and fell into the dead air.
"No," he said softly, the blood he vomited out on his black clothes gradually turning dark and coagulated, "He doesn't hate you."
Qing Guiyu was startled and raised his head.
"He... is jealous of me. Miss Qing."
The engraving sound was repeated softly, and the cold sharpness dissipated, turning back into the gentleness she was familiar with, wrapped in fragility and sadness.
"He's jealous of me." A sad smile appeared on his face.
"Because you are still alive," he said with a smile, but his voice was slow and hesitant.
Qing Guiyu was completely stunned.
Shen Juansheng raised his hand and pointed to his heart.
"You, Qing Guiyu from Yaowang Valley, saved me, a person who practiced the Cold Marrow Technique and should have died long ago."
"And my mother," he said coldly,
"She also practiced this technique. But she has long since sunk into the icy coffin at the bottom of the cold pond."
Qing Guiyu stood there in a daze, thinking of the haggard man in the cold prison, who still had the demeanor of a hero. He remembered the complex and resentful look in his eyes when he looked at him.
I see.
It turns out that the existence of her Qing Guiyu and her son's life, which was saved by the Kanluan needle, are in themselves a rebellion against his fate.
It is a living mockery of his deceased wife.
And Shen Yansheng... He was not a raft used by his father as a method of practicing martial arts.
He is a living tombstone, a reminder day and night of the pain of losing his wife.
"More than twenty years," he murmured, gloomily.
"He kept that frozen coffin for over twenty years. He tried every possible method under the sun and consulted every famous doctor in the world, hoping to bring her back to life."
"But he failed." Shen Jiansheng laughed self-deprecatingly, but that smile was even sadder than crying. "Master Zhang Huai of Yaowang Valley will not make the Yellow Emperor's needles disappear."
"And you." He turned around and looked at her blankly.
"You only used half your life and a warm jade needle to save the person he had spent more than twenty years of hard work on but still couldn't save."
"So, Miss Qing," Chen Juansheng said, taking a step closer to her, his voice somewhat urgent, "Look, my life should not have existed from the very beginning. My existence is a sin."
But in such a sad and beautiful cloud, Qing Guiyu's heart was suddenly split open as if by a bolt of lightning.
Cold marrow exercise.
Lu Guiyan's Ice Creek Meridian Cleansing Technique.
Shen Jiansheng's cold marrow skill.
Now, there is one more woman trapped in the ice coffin.
Among the tangled silk threads, she suddenly grabbed the brightest one.
At the center of this chaos lies not only the machinations of the Tianji Pavilion and the secrets of the Medicine King Valley, but also this treacherous and domineering peerless cold skill. And the key to this skill may be hidden in that dark and gloomy cold prison.
Yes, the ice coffin.
The third person in the world who practiced this peerless cold skill was a woman.
"Sound of deep engraving!"
Her doubts, her dilemma.
Qing Guiyu suddenly raised his head, took a step forward, and grabbed his cold collar without paying any attention to the coldness and blood on his body.
A sharp wind blew up from the tangled cold silk threads.
"Take me there," she glared at him, "take me to the Cold Pond. Now, immediately, right now!"
Shen Juansheng was so startled by her sudden shock that he froze completely.
He was prepared for everything, ready to face her pity, or disgust, or even fear.
But after all the calculations, what he got was such an urgent and even cruel request.
"...Miss Qing?" Young Master Jinsheng was being grabbed so roughly by her, their breaths touching. His face, which had just returned to its icy calm, uncontrollably flushed a faint red, appearing confused and flustered.
So he called her softly and tentatively,
"Go...go there, what are you doing?"
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