Chapter 131 Exposure and Fear Are Unbearable
Leng Xue suddenly sat up, his back straight, like a string that had been suddenly taut.
Sticky sweat trickled down his forehead and neck, his undergarment clung tightly to his back, and the darkness was filled with the echoes of heavy breathing.
His cold-blooded pupils were unfocused, as if he were still unconscious; only his rapidly beating heart pounded against his chest, producing a muffled, drum-like sound.
This unfamiliar tremor made him instinctively clench his fingers, only to grasp at nothing—his sheathless sword had fallen into the pastry crumbs, a good three feet away from him.
But just a hair's breadth away from him was a woman.
A woman he had just met, yet in his dreams she was the woman he had grown up with since childhood.
His cold neck stiffened, his gaze fixed on the marigold-colored gauze dress, a bizarre sense of distortion clashing violently with his wildly beating heart.
His rational mind reminded him to remember the missing silver-clad constable, the strange rumors circulating in the area, and the conspiracy behind the mystery...
However.
His knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white and cracked, a profound sense of loss of control enveloping him like a fog.
Leng Lingqi's past and A Leng's memories in the Nightmare Realm intertwined in his mind, like two frosty swords. Every sword shadow was engraved with the fact that he was neither human nor wolf, but was twisted and squeezed into the gap between the two.
In order to fit it perfectly, the wolf bone was broken, piercing human skin, leaving it bloody and mangled to this day.
Even so, he still woke up.
From that moment into the wilderness of flesh and blood.
A dull ache throbbed in his cold stomach, and he dared not even contemplate what it might mean. More terrifying than the dream, which seemed to be told by demons and spirits, was the reality of his current, completely exposed self.
Even a sheathless sword that never conceals its sharpness sometimes longs to retract and defend itself.
His blood boiled in his limbs, throbbing wildly like needles, yet his cold eyes dared not stray from his gaze. He always possessed a beast-like keenness and premonition of danger.
The cicadas' chirping in my chest was sharp and long, the most impassioned alarm bell.
As his eardrums swelled and became congested with blood, Leng Xue suddenly raised his hand and pressed down hard with his finger bones, trying to stop the extreme madness inside.
How can a swordsman's sword be so fast, accurate, and ruthless?
Because of their unwavering focus, perseverance, and passion, such a heart is often forged with steel and tempered with blood and sweat.
He gritted his teeth, maintaining a tense posture, and after a long while, he slowly and extremely slowly raised his hand, forcefully wiping away the sweat dripping from his eyelids with his fingertips, with his usual suppressed strength.
Hurting others first hurts yourself.
He's always been this hardworking.
The room was silent. The moment he pushed open the door, the overwhelming darkness almost engulfed him. His heart, which was said to be forged from a sword, was gripped tightly, yet he felt a rare sense of security.
Cold-blooded man swallowed the blood and froth in his throat, his face calm, as calm as a wolf returning to its den to lick its wounds.
He stood straight outside the door, his cold eyes wide open in the darkness.
After a long silence, just as he was trying to make out something, a piercing wolf howl stabbed into his eardrums first.
It came from afar, too shrill and sharp, with a ripped ending, like a twisted wail of someone on the verge of death, or perhaps carrying a chilling malice.
Cold-blooded, he instinctively spun around.
......
The footsteps, sometimes hurried, sometimes slow, faded into the distance, and the gloom hanging under her eyelashes trembled slightly.
Qi Tang lowered her head, unable to hold on any longer. The purple light dissipated, the spiritual energy was completely exhausted, and her flesh and blood turned into a black iron sword.
She was too tired, too tired to think about the silence just now, or Leng Lingqi's sudden departure without saying goodbye.
However, she had read too many storybooks in her spare time, so she was by no means an ignorant fool. How could she not understand the meaning behind them?
Piles of pastry crumbs lay forlornly on the ground, their sweet aroma now murky and sour, having passed their expiration date, yet still stubbornly wafting into the nostrils.
No matter how much she tried to convince herself that "Leng Lingqi is Leng Lingqi, and A Leng is A Leng," it was all in vain.
Qi Tang suppressed her sour feeling, thinking to herself: This time, Song Ju is going to laugh at me.
Leng Lingqi didn't want the sword, nor did he want her.
The thought had barely crossed her mind when her nose wrinkled and her eyes widened.
—Speak of the devil and he appears, giving her no chance to feel dejected.
Just moments ago, her heart was sinking and floundering in the deep sea, but in an instant, it was forcefully pressed into the depths of the black water. Qi Tang subconsciously adjusted her breathing, unable to believe it. Why now of all times?
It's unbelievable, this cursed lone star.
He's deliberately trying to antagonize her.
The more she thought about it, the more embarrassed and angry she became. After a moment of silence, seeing that the other party still hadn't offered any help, Qi Tang finally couldn't help but vent her anger on the roof: "Song Ju! How much more of a laughingstock are you going to make of me up there!"
"You won, you won, alright! Swordsmen are all heartless, treacherous bastards, you're not an exception, are you satisfied now?"
"......."
For Qi Tang, the scent of Songju was no less familiar than a cat smelling fish.
Even though she knew he must have arrived just as Leng Lingqi was leaving, Qi Tang couldn't help but blush. Of course, she hadn't forgotten her outrageous remarks from back then.
Her declaration to find a better master who would make her regret it was still fresh in her mind, but the master she found was even more heartless, abandoning her without a word.
Even though it was a dream, they were just...
Her ears burned bright red, but her heart sank rapidly, and the passionate kiss of the summer night quickly cooled in the cool breeze that swept through the hall.
Qi Tang did not want to recall the details, much less to recount them in front of Song Ju.
This is so embarrassing!
She couldn't even imagine what would have happened if Song Ju had arrived any earlier and he had seen the damp and ambiguous details in the Nightmare Realm... She would have wanted to jump into the sword-forging furnace.
Feeling guilty and angry, Qi Tang was constantly overwhelmed by fear. She just subconsciously didn't want the silence to spread, to the point that she didn't even know what she was rambling about.
But after she calmed down, she immediately realized that Song Ju wouldn't travel all that way to find her, but without spiritual energy, she would be doomed!
Having experienced what it's like to be human, how could she be content to be just a cold, lifeless sword?
not to mention.
With a sudden change of heart, Qi Tang stammered, "Absolutely not."
The world's number one swordsman is flexible and adaptable... At worst, I'll recover my spiritual power and then figure out a way to get rid of him.
Blade & Soul seeks revenge, no matter how many years pass.
Qi Tang took a deep breath, made a decision in secret, and immediately, weak and flustered, changed her tune and pleaded, "Master, save me!"
Enduring hardship and biding one's time...
Before the words were even finished, the door opened by itself without any wind, and a very faint sneer rang out.
The newcomer sneered at her, "Regretful now?"
It was as if she was referring to her earth-shattering words back then: "You'll regret it when I find a better master!"
Qi Tang met that cold, lifeless face and turned ashen-faced with choking. However, she couldn't talk back when she was asking for a favor, so she could only think to herself: What are you pretending for? Without me, I'd only be able to use a broken sword.
She really hates all broken swords.
...and swordsmen.
Song Ju ignored her superficial thoughts, didn't say a word, raised his hand to neatly sheath his sword, tucked it into his waistband, and strode out.
Of course, he wouldn't pull off such a clichéd and boring charade as chasing a sword across a thousand miles.
While a sword is important for a swordsman, ultimately it is the man who wields the sword, not the other way around. Even without a suitable sword, he can still subdue demons and uphold justice.
The sharpest sword intent resides only in the swordsman's heart. He believes in only this one principle.
The northern desert was filled with demonic energy, and rumors of its calamity had even reached Jiangnan. He simply hadn't expected that this noisy sword spirit would also be hiding here.
He ended up looking quite disheveled.
Song Ju nodded, his cool gaze sweeping over the sword marks of varying depths in the shadows of the corridor—they looked like territorial markings left by some wild beast, warning against intrusion.
Tsk.
.
Leng Xue's hearing was always sharp; that howl was enough for him to pinpoint the exact location. His investigative instincts told him that a clue to the disappearance of the silver-clad constable was right in front of him.
Without almost any hesitation, Leng Xue gripped his unsheathed sword and followed.
There's no other reason than that this person always prefers to work alone during reconnaissance, and often even uses his life as bait.
Exposing weaknesses to lure the enemy in, or resorting to torture when necessary, all reminded him that he must not involve Qitang.
The farther away you are from her, the better.
He, his emotions, everything about him, is like a thorny blade; no matter which side you grasp, it will cut you until you bleed.
His love was destined to be confirmed by pain, but only the palm of his hand could serve as the sheath of an unsheathed sword.
The night wind in the northern desert was as dry and cold as a knife, and the fine sand rubbed against the broken blisters on my face, stinging and numbing.
Cold-blooded, he walked against the wind and sand, stubborn and silent, yet a burning fire of passion burned in his heart, growing stronger the further he went.
A sweet face flickered untimely in the firelight, and what gradually became clearer was not the eyebrows and eyes, but those blurry, fleeting moments—the warm, fruity scent of her breath, the ticklish sensation of her tongue licking as she fed her mulberries, the scalding heat of raindrops falling from her eyelashes onto her lips and tongue...
His Adam's apple bobbed violently, and his chapped lips ruptured and bled as he moved.
The salty, fishy smell struck him like a thunderclap, making him tighten his mind, like reining in a wild horse on a cliff, tightly gripping the emotions that were about to burst forth.
I can't think about it.
I can't think about it anymore.
The bones gripping the sword creaked. Cold Blood had no other choice but to habitually slip his fingertips into his sleeve and expressionlessly dig at the bite mark that had just formed a thin scab, trying to suppress the poison that tasted like sugar to him.
The eerie stirring sounds and the damp, fishy smell lingered in the sand and wind for a long time.
The wolf boy's shoulders grew broader day by day, but his wounds never healed.
In the dark cavern belonging to the wolf children, violence, pain, and bloodshed are far safer than the unknown and ever-present warmth.
That was something he could never touch; he didn't even have the right to hope for it.
For lost travelers trapped in the desert, the despair they feel upon discovering that the oasis they yearn for is merely a mirage is far more brutal than death itself.
Even though his physical strength, patience, and perseverance far surpass those of ordinary people, when it comes to love, he is both as pure and sincere as a blank sheet of paper, and as vigilant and steadfast as a wild beast.
A loneliness that others could hardly understand led him to isolate himself from everything.
Leng Xue defied the wind and sand, and also the most turbulent waves in his heart, walking with even more force and determination.
On that young yet resilient face, his rock-hard blue eyes were sharp and pained, and his breathing was labored.
Then it suddenly stopped.
A series of deformed footprints snaked before him. He frowned and sniffed the ground like a wolf.
A faint, peculiar fragrance lingered in the air.
It's not unfamiliar.
With a cold and dark gaze, he slowly lowered his head and stared at the begonia pattern on his short shirt that was soaked in blood.
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