Chapter 35: Song Qingshu

“Wait.”
Wang Yuyan wiped the tears from her face, calling out to Yun Zhonghe. She did not understand what scheme he was plotting, but her cousin was gravely injured—if he wasn’t treated soon, it would truly be too late.
Yun Zhonghe stopped, turned, and looked at Wang Yuyan. “Miss Wang, are you willing to trust me now?”
She nodded, her voice threaded with pleading. “Please, save my cousin. I will be forever grateful for your great kindness.”
“I do not want your gratitude—just your promise,” Yun Zhonghe replied, his words heavy with implication.
Wang Yuyan’s slender frame trembled. She closed her eyes, gathered herself, and nodded in resignation.
With her answer, Yun Zhonghe brushed aside Azhi’s support, approached Murong Fu, and gently propped him up. He placed his palm against Murong Fu’s back.
This inner power of yours, he thought, is the price you pay for betraying Wang Yuyan.
With that, Yun Zhonghe began to circulate the Beiming Divine Art. A vortex seemed to form in his palm, unleashing a powerful suction.
Murong Fu’s internal energy surged wildly out of him and into Yun Zhonghe’s body.
Empowered by this potent force, Yun Zhonghe dared not slacken for even a moment. He focused all his efforts on circulating his inner strength, completing a great cycle within his body.
As time passed, his previously pale complexion flushed with visible color, the exhaustion from earlier battle fully restored.
All the while, Wang Yuyan watched her cousin with anxious attention. When she saw Murong Fu’s condition worsening while Yun Zhonghe’s face became ever more radiant, she realized she had fallen victim to his treachery. She cried out in distress, “Yun Zhonghe, you’re absorbing my cousin’s power!”
She knew nothing of martial arts and could only hope her words would stop him.
Those present turned scornful, hateful eyes toward Yun Zhonghe.
“To use such despicable means!”
“Even with Young Master Murong so grievously wounded, this scoundrel Yun Zhonghe shows no mercy. It’s intolerable!”
“Such a villain cannot be allowed to live!”
One voice after another rose, each more furious than the last, as if they wished to tear Yun Zhonghe to pieces.
Azhi glanced at Yun Zhonghe, who was treating Murong Fu, and stepped forward to block him with her own body. Her gaze, filled with murderous intent, fixed on Wang Yuyan as she barked furiously,
“You wretch! Yun is risking himself to save your cousin, and you repay kindness with enmity. See if I don’t kill you!”

“Truly, the wicked cry out first. Yun Zhonghe is no healer—he’s a murderer!”
No one had expected that, upon being exposed, Yun Zhonghe’s group would twist right and wrong so shamelessly.
“Miss Wang, do not worry. I will rescue Young Master Murong from Yun Zhonghe’s clutches.”
At last, someone could bear it no longer and prepared to deliver justice on the spot. He turned to Azhi, “Yun Zhonghe has committed countless crimes. If you insist on shielding him, don’t blame me for showing no mercy!”
“Courting death!” A cold gleam flashed in Azhi’s eyes. With a wave of her delicate hand, a blast of energy shot forth, coalescing into a translucent palm that struck at the man’s chest.
His eyes sharpened as he balled his hand into a fist, channeling his own energy and meeting her attack with a roar.
Fist and palm met in midair, their collision silent. For a moment, the two forces deadlocked, then dissipated into nothingness.
A smile curled on the man’s lips—he already considered Yun Zhonghe as good as caught.
But before he could savor his triumph, his smile froze. He clutched his throat in pain, white foam bubbling from his mouth, and collapsed straight to the ground.
Thud!
The heavy sound of his fall snapped the crowd to attention, their faces full of shock and suspicion.
He’d seemed fine a moment ago—how had he suddenly died of poisoning?
Azhi glanced indifferently at the corpse at her feet, then swept her chilling gaze over the assembly.
“Anyone who isn’t afraid of death, come forward and taste your granny’s power!”
Though her poison skills were not personally passed down by Ding Chunqiu, they were still nothing to scoff at.
At her words, the onlookers eyed the fallen, poisoned body and exchanged nervous glances. For a moment, no one dared approach.
“What bold words! Allow me to test your skills, miss!”
With that, a figure leaped gracefully into the ring, smiling at Azhi.
She fixed her gaze on the newcomer: dressed in blue, strikingly handsome.
“Song Qingshu,” she said gravely, recognizing him.
Song Qingshu smiled faintly and turned his eyes to Yun Zhonghe, his murderous intent thinly veiled.
The next instant, before anyone could react, he became a blur of motion.
He moved so swiftly that by the time Azhi realized what was happening, the wind of Song Qingshu’s strike was only a few feet from Yun Zhonghe’s head.
In that perilous moment, Azhi acted instinctively, raising her arm to block his palm. The force of his attack sent shocks of pain through her skin.
A flash of surprise crossed Song Qingshu’s face. He had not expected Azhi to withstand his blow.

The thought had barely formed before his hand shifted, his palm sweeping toward her waist and abdomen.
Yet, throughout, his hand never actually touched her, rendering her poison arts useless.
They exchanged only a few moves before Azhi’s steps grew unsteady. Faced with his relentless assault, she could only struggle to defend.
Were it not for her determination to protect Yun Zhonghe behind her, she would have already been defeated.
Glancing at Murong Fu’s worsening state, Song Qingshu realized he could not afford further delay. No longer holding back, he unleashed an onslaught as fierce as a storm.
Unable to withstand the barrage, Azhi was struck by a well-timed blow and sent flying.
Thud!
She crashed heavily to the ground.
With great effort, she propped herself up, clutching her chest in agony. She could not quell the turmoil of her blood—violent coughs wracked her body, and a trickle of blood slid from the corner of her mouth.
Song Qingshu didn’t spare her a glance. Drawing his three-foot sword, he strode steadily toward Yun Zhonghe.
“Villain, a year from today will be your death anniversary.”
With that, he thrust his sword at Yun Zhonghe’s head.
Azhi tried to rise and intervene, but her injuries were too severe. Despite repeated attempts, she could only watch helplessly as the scene unfolded.
Just as Song Qingshu’s blade was about to reach Yun Zhonghe, something extraordinary happened.
Yun Zhonghe’s eyes snapped open, releasing an invisible aura. Song Qingshu’s sword, as if meeting an immovable force, could no longer advance, no matter how he strained.
Yun Zhonghe cast a dismissive glance at Song Qingshu. “Since when have men of Wudang become so fond of striking at the helpless?”
Song Qingshu replied, righteous and unyielding, “Scoundrels like you deserve death at every hand. There is no need for chivalry.”
“Hmph,” Yun Zhonghe snorted, unwilling to waste words. “You hurt Azhi. It’s only fitting you pay the price.”
With that, his energy surged outward.
Song Qingshu’s face changed dramatically as a tremendous force slammed into him, sending him hurtling backward, utterly beyond his own control.
Having dealt with Song Qingshu, Yun Zhonghe rose and swept his gaze over the crowd, finally resting his eyes on Wang Yuyan, his tone heavy with disappointment.
“You, Miss Wang, are a lady of refinement. I did not expect you to be so lacking in judgment.”