One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

The group helped the unconscious Lu Linglong through the bustling crowd in the market and returned to the inn where they had stayed the night before.

The market was less crowded than the night before, but still bustling. Several spice vendors were packing up, stuffing unsold goods into sacks, tying them tightly, and carrying them away on their shoulders. A queue still stretched in front of a flatbread stall, the aroma of baked goods mingling with the sea breeze. The taverns along the street were already open, and loud voices and laughter drifted out of the windows, intermittent and unclear.

But no one cared about these things.

Nie Lingfeng walked at the front, carrying Xiaoyun in his arms. The little girl seemed to have gotten used to this hectic life, perched on Nie Lingfeng's shoulder, her big eyes curiously taking in everything around her. Her eyes darted around, everything was new and exciting—a balloon vendor, a sugar maker, a magician—she would stare at each for several seconds, then point with her little finger, making a few incomprehensible syllables as if asking, "What's that?" Nie Lingfeng didn't answer, but she didn't seem to care. Once she had her fill of looking, she would turn her face away, only to turn back to look at something else a little while later.

Chen Duo and Feng Baobao supported Lu Linglong on either side. Lu Linglong's body was as limp as cotton, her feet dragging on the ground, leaving two shallow trails on the dirt road. Chen Duo's hand rested on her waist; she could feel the Qi within Lu Linglong's body surging and churning like a pot of boiling water, threatening to overturn at any moment. Feng Baobao's hand rested on her other side; her face was expressionless, but her pace was faster than usual, indicating that she also knew the situation was not good.

Although Lu Linglong was unconscious, her brows were tightly furrowed, a knot forming between them. Her face alternated between pale and flushed; when pale, she looked like paper, and when flushed, like she was burning. Faint dark red lines were visible beneath her skin, as if something was churning and struggling within her, trying to break free of its restraints. These lines started from her chest, spreading towards her shoulders, neck, and arms, sometimes deepening, sometimes fading, as if they were breathing on their own.

Lu Lin followed beside her, his face filled with anxiety, his palms sweating profusely. Every few steps, he would glance at his sister's condition, his gaze sweeping over her face, arms, and the dark red markings, wishing he could erase them with his eyes. Several times he wanted to reach out and touch her, raising his hand and lowering it again—although he was the eldest grandson of the Lu family and his cultivation was considered outstanding among his peers, he found himself utterly helpless against the unfamiliar and violent power within his sister's body. Those dark red markings were not poison, not injuries, but something more fundamental, etched into her bloodline, something his medical skills and Qi cultivation could not touch.

Zhang Chulan walked at the back of the group, constantly looking back, his neck twisting and turning like a restless cat. He muttered to himself, "Where's Old Master Li? How did he disappear in the blink of an eye? He was just here a moment ago..."

The events on the beach were still replaying in his mind. The old man in the blue robe, his clear, unusually old eyes, and his words—"Because you never know whether the person you help is a good person or a bad person, an ordinary person or someone far more dangerous than you imagine."

He looked back again and again, but there he was—not on the street corner, not at the alley entrance, not under the eaves, not in the crowd. The old man seemed to have melted into the sunlight, leaving not even a shadow.

"Stop looking." Wang Zhenqiu patted his shoulder, his expression one of someone who'd been there all along. His hand rested on Zhang Chulan's shoulder, not with much force, but with unwavering certainty. "Those old hands, if they don't want you to find them, you can dig three feet into the ground and you still won't find them. But when they want to appear, they will."

His tone held no comfort, only a statement. It was as if he were saying something very ordinary—the sun will set, the moon will rise, old hands will disappear, and they will return.

"But..." Zhang Chulan wanted to say something more. His lips moved and his eyes darted around. He knew Wang Zhenqiu was right, but he still wanted to say something, as if not saying something would make him seem too easily persuaded.

"But what 'but'?" Wang Zhenqiu interrupted him, patting him on the shoulder. "Right now, the most important thing is Linglong's condition. We'll talk about Li Muxuan when he comes to us."

Zhang Chulan opened his mouth, but ultimately kept it closed. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his chin tightened slightly. He knew Wang Zhenqiu was right, but he still felt a little resentful—he had finally found someone who knew a clue about Wu Gensheng, only to have that person run away after only a few words. Where could he find justice? It felt like someone who hadn't eaten for three days seeing a bowl of hot soup noodles, picking it up to eat, only to have the bowl knocked over.

Back at the hotel.

The wooden staircase creaked and groaned under their feet, each step sounding like a sigh. The wooden handrail, painted a dark brown, had a smooth surface, worn smooth by countless hands. Sunlight streamed in through a small window at the corner of the staircase, casting a square patch of light on the wooden planks, with tiny dust particles dancing in the beams of light.

The group went up to the second floor and settled Lu Linglong on the bed in the largest guest room.

The bed was made of wood, and the mattress wasn't thick, but it was still quite soft. The white sheets were very clean and smelled of soap. There were two pillows, one under my head and one beside me for backup. The window faced south, and the light-colored curtains were half-drawn, allowing sunlight to filter through the gaps and draw a thin golden line on the sheets.

Lu Linglong lay on the bed, breathing rapidly, her chest heaving like a bellows. Fine beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, sliding down her forehead, past her temples, down her cheeks, and disappearing into the pillow. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white, the veins on the back of her hands bulging, the sheets wrinkled from her grip.

Even in her unconscious state, she seemed to be fiercely struggling against the force within her. Her brows furrowed even more, and her lips twitched occasionally as if she were trying to say something, but no sound came out. Her eyeballs darted rapidly beneath her eyelids, like someone having a nightmare.

"Let me take a look." Nie Lingfeng handed Xiaoyun to Chen Duo. When Chen Duo took Xiaoyun, her little hands twitched twice in the air, as if looking for Nie Lingfeng, but she quickly calmed down, leaned on Chen Duo's shoulder, and kept her eyes open, looking at Lu Linglong on the bed.

Nie Lingfeng walked to the bedside and sat down. The edge of the bed sank slightly. He extended three fingers and gently placed them on Lu Linglong's wrist. The moment his fingertips touched her skin, he could feel her pulse beating very fast, as fast as a startled rabbit running wildly, and the rhythm was unstable—sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes strong, sometimes weak, like a song with its rhythm disrupted.

His eyes closed slightly, then opened again.

The room fell silent.

Zhang Chulan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, mouth closed, eyes fixed on Nie Lingfeng's fingers. Wang Zhenqiu stood by the window, hands in his pockets, body slightly leaning against the wall, expressionless, but his eyelids didn't blink. Zhang Lingyu sat in a corner chair, back straight, hands on his knees, eyes closed, seemingly resting, but his breathing was shallower than usual, indicating he was listening. Lu Lin stood at the foot of the bed, arms hanging at her sides, fingers unconsciously intertwined, ten fingers entwining, unwinding, and then intertwining again.

Everyone held their breath and stared at Nie Lingfeng.

Only Feng Baobao squatted by the bed, looking at Lu Linglong's hand. Her expression was the same as usual, but her eyes—those usually calm eyes—had a slight change. Not worry, not anxiety, but curiosity. Like a child observing an injured bird, wondering if it could still fly.

A moment later, Nie Lingfeng frowned slightly and withdrew his hand. He gently removed his fingers from Lu Linglong's wrist, as if afraid of disturbing something.

"How is she?" Lu Lin asked anxiously, leaning forward a step, her voice a half-tone higher than usual, "My sister, she..."

"Her situation is somewhat similar to mine back then," Nie Lingfeng said slowly. His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. His gaze fell on Lu Linglong's face, which was contorted with pain, and her brows furrowed again, as if in response to his words.

"The mad blood within her has been detonated by the malignant virus, and it's currently in a state of...out of control. The power is too great; her body and mind can't withstand it. If it's not guided and suppressed in time, this power will gradually devour her mind, eventually turning her into a monster who only knows how to kill."

Lu Lin's face turned pale.

His skin was as white as a bed sheet, the color drained from his lips in an instant, and the light in his eyes dimmed for a moment. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, his nails digging into his palms, leaving a row of white marks.

"Then... what should we do?"

His voice trembled slightly. When he asked the question, his eyes were fixed on Nie Lingfeng, not addressing everyone, but specifically this person. Because he knew that if anyone here could save Linglong, it was this person.

Nie Lingfeng did not answer immediately, but remained silent for a few seconds.

For those few seconds, the room was so quiet you could hear dust falling to the ground. Lu Lin's palms were sweating, Zhang Chulan shifted his stance, and Wang Zhenqiu stopped leaning against the wall and stood up straight.

Nie Lingfeng shifted his gaze from Lu Linglong's face to his own hands. He looked at his right palm for two seconds.

Then, he did something that no one expected—

He extended his right index finger and gently traced a line across his left palm.

The movements were slow but steady. Like a calligrapher applying ink to rice paper, unhurried and with even pressure.

A tiny wound appeared. It was so fine, like a hair, that it stretched from the life line on the palm all the way to the wisdom line. The cut was clean, without any unnecessary tearing.

A drop of bright red blood slowly seeped out.

But that drop of blood was not an ordinary red.

It possessed a magnificent golden-red hue, like a sun compressed to the size of a fingernail, burning, churning, and roaring within. The light emanated from that drop of blood, not reflected—the golden-red radiance radiated outward from within the blood, illuminating Nie Lingfeng's palm, his face, and a small patch of air around him.

It emitted a soft, warm glow. The glow wasn't dazzling, but it was very warm, like charcoal fire in winter; you could feel its temperature from a distance.

The moment the blood appeared, the air in the entire room seemed to grow heavier. It wasn't psychological; it was a real, physical heaviness—breathing became difficult, and it felt like a small stone was pressing on my chest. It was like being on a high plateau where the air was thin.

An indescribable pressure, seemingly emanating from the ancient primordial era, quietly spread out.

That wasn't human breath. Human breath is warm, it has temperature. This breath was hot—not lukewarm, but scorching. Like a volcano that had been dormant for thousands of years, finally cracking open, with magma seeping out to tell you it was still there, it was still alive.

Zhang Lingyu opened her eyes.

His eyes had been closed since he entered the room. But when this aura appeared, his eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. The golden-red light was reflected in his pupils, dancing deep within his eyes, as if igniting something within him. He didn't speak, but simply watched quietly.

Chen Duo tightened her grip on Xiao Yun. Xiao Yun turned her face away from Chen Duo's shoulder, her large eyes fixed on the drop of golden-red blood. Her pupils dilated slightly, and she let out a soft "Ah." She didn't know what it was, but she knew it was dangerous.

Lu Lin stood at the foot of the bed, furthest from the drop of blood, but the oppressive feeling he experienced was no less than anyone else's. His breathing quickened, and his palms were sweating, not from the heat—his body was sending out warning signals.

But he did not back down.

He saw that the pain on his sister's face lessened somewhat under the golden-red light.

"This is..." Lu Lin was stunned.

Nie Lingfeng didn't explain, but simply dripped the drop of golden-red blood onto Lu Linglong's slightly parted lips.

The finger was removed from above her lips, and the drop of blood fell from the fingertip, pausing for a moment in mid-air—as if held up by something, suspended in mid-air—before slowly falling, like a miniature, golden-red planet, spinning in the morning light.

It landed on her lips.

"Wait!" Lu Lin's expression changed drastically, and he was about to rush forward to stop him. His body suddenly leaned forward, his feet already off the ground, and his hand stretched out, his fingertips pointing in the direction of the dripping blood. "What did you feed Linglong?!"

But as soon as he took a step, he was firmly stopped by a hand.

That hand wasn't heavy, but it was very steady. It was like a wall—not thick, but you could bump into it and never break through.

It's Zhang Lingyu.