What filled Zhu Weiwo's eyes was the fifth form of the Purple Qi from the East Sword Art's killing sequence — Purple Qi from the East itself.
The purple qi surged, and the sword stretched across the void like a long rainbow. With man and blade together, in the most unyielding posture possible, Jiang Wang flew from east to west and drove his sword into Xiong Wen's heart from behind.
Then he let the blade go, twisted, and leaped clear — to slip past any death-throe counter the man might manage.
But Xiong Wen's spent, lamp-of-oil-dry body no longer had any strength left in it. That terrible, grotesque frame fell helplessly, cleanly. It crashed to the ground and would never again melt into shadow. Only his staring, bulging eyes still narrated his disbelief.
He could not believe he had died just like that.
He could not even begin to understand why that petty, weak little thief had not fled far away while he had the chance. That the man had stayed hidden all along, so silent, so patient, so utterly still — and at this moment had struck the killing blow.
It was a sword so sudden, so unexpected, so exquisite, so perfectly timed.
Beneath the stunned, gaping gazes of everyone present, Jiang Wang slowly rose to his feet.
Jiang Wang had been gambling all night. He bet that since Zhu Weiwo could chase Xiong Wen from one end of the land to the other, then however they disguised their trail, the hunt would only be a matter of time. He gambled further that, when he failed to return in time, Ling He and Zhao Rucheng would surely find some way to look for him. As the first-year champion of the Three-City Dao Debate, the academy could hardly ignore his disappearance, either. This would hand Zhu Weiwo a perfect trail — without Jiang Wang's having to do a thing.
So, instead, he had helped cover Xiong Wen's tracks, to buy a few moments of trust.
In truth, all he needed to do was keep Xiong Wen bogged down.
That was why he had deliberately led the man on a long loop around, slipped secretly into the Fang clan's lands, and vaulted into the Fang Ancestral Hall, drawing out the clan's guardianship.
But he could not settle for just that.
This Xiong Wen was violent, powerful, and utterly audacious. He was more than capable of turning back for one last strike. Zhu Weiwo could weather it. Jiang Wang could not.
He could, perhaps, have hid himself far away and waited out the man's death in seclusion. But how could Jiang An'an hide?
So tonight, Xiong Wen had to die. He could not be allowed to escape.
All day long his life had hung in another man's hands. Now, at last, he had personally finished the man who held it. Such an extreme, overwhelming surge of feeling set the Dao essence within his Heaven-Access Palace raging without rest. The little earthworm of a Dao Meridian True Spirit darted about, breathing in and out, restless and quick.
But Jiang Wang only turned and walked out.
"Wait." It was Zhu Weiwo's voice.
Jiang Wang looked back and saw Zhu Weiwo jerk his chin toward the direction of Xiong Wen's corpse. "Your spoils."
A strongman of Xiong Wen's caliber would hoard no end of good things on his body. Zhu Weiwo's meaning was plain: take as you please.
But Jiang Wang dared not be greedy. Keeping his life was already luck enough, and he knew full well who the hero of tonight truly was. Had it not been for Zhu Weiwo, Xiong Wen could have killed him at his leisure and then slipped away. And even had he never landed that sword, Xiong Wen might not have escaped anyway.
He had merely severed the faintest possibility of that. He did not for a moment believe killing Xiong Wen was truly his own doing.
So he smiled tiredly: "All of it is the senior brother's doing. This one would not dare claim the credit."
Having spoken, he did not look back, and walked into the night.
Zhu Weiwo smiled, and said only to the silent Fang folk standing by: "Send the corpse intact to the Dao Academy. I'll trouble you with that."
Then, with the spear reversed over his shoulder, he simply walked off.
He was not in the least worried the Fang clan would pilfer anything off Xiong Wen's body. He saw it clearly enough. If the Fang clan had the spine for that, then all the dead earlier should not have been just that single old hall keeper.
...
It was only when he had walked out a great distance that Jiang Wang heard the wailing rise suddenly from the Fang clan lands behind him.
The old hall keeper had been the Fang clan's sole eighth-grade Zhou Heavenly Circulation cultivator — one of the few elders of the elder generation still left, and a pillar of the clan. Although Jiang Wang's grudge with the Fang clan was old and deep, he could not help but feel guilt toward the old man.
But there was nothing to be done. The world was cruel like this. He, too, was only struggling to survive.
There was one more thing he had not yet revealed.
In the instant he had run Xiong Wen through from behind, something had flown off the man's body and struck him. At first he thought it was some dying counter of Xiong Wen's. Later he realized it was not.
Because instead he felt a smooth, clear surge of ease, and a white phantom flashed before his eyes — as if some binding had been undone.
Now, that thing had appeared in his Heaven-Access Palace.
It was a short length of black candle. Unlit. The earthworm True Spirit was circling it.
Jiang Wang had no time to ponder it further. For he saw Zhao Rucheng standing at the crossroad ahead, holding a lantern, waiting for him.
Zhao Rucheng did not ask what had happened to Jiang Wang tonight, and Jiang Wang did not ask what efforts Zhao Rucheng had made tonight.
They talked of something far more important.
"Where's An'an?"
"The boss is looking after her! Little children are easy to fool. I told her you'd gone to Fengxi Town to buy her sugar figurines, and she believed it."
Jiang Wang's expression soured. "And just where am I supposed to conjure a sugar figurine from now?"
"Ha ha ha!" Zhao Rucheng smirked smugly, and fished out five lifelike sugar figurines, waving them before Jiang Wang. "I really did send someone to Fengxi Town to buy them!"
...
Inside the Pavilion of Three Parts Fragrance.
Miaoyu was speaking with the figure in the white-bone mask when, of a sudden, her face changed.
"What is it?"
Miaoyu murmured: "The Bone Seed I planted... it's gone."
The white-bone-masked figure clasped his hands behind his back. "The Bone Seed you planted? When? And on whom?"
Miaoyu came back to herself, glanced slantwise at him, and smiled enigmatically. "Mind your own affairs. Keep out of mine."
The white-bone-masked figure did not argue, but simply sank into the ground.
Only after he was gone did Miaoyu resume her thoughtful mien. "Could it be..."
She jolted to her feet, then sat back down.
"No, I cannot be sure yet. I must be careful. Ever more careful..."
...
At the Jiang family home in Flying Horse Lane.
The hours passed — good daylight, then sunset behind the mountains, then a night cooling like water.
Jiang An'an's spirits sank lower and lower.
Ling He kept her company throughout, doing his best to coax her. But he had little talent for it, and his mind was elsewhere, so his efforts came to nothing.
Jiang An'an did not actually dislike this big brother Ling. But in her heart of hearts, Brother Ling was not as fun as Brother Rucheng. And as for Brother Du Yehu... his face was simply far too fierce!
Of course, all the big brothers were wonderful. Yet all of them put together could not compare with her own brother.
She was not happy.
In the words of the teacher, one might say: "And this deep grief, how can it end?"
Sigh.
Jiang An'an hung her head in despair.
"Worry not — for sweets were made for this."
A sugar figurine materialized before her eyes. Then another, and another, and another, and another.
Five figurines spread out in a row.
Behind them was Jiang Wang's face, bright with smiles.
"Jiang An'an! Happy birthday! From today on, you are five!"