Chapter Forty: Treacherous Hearts Laid Bare Before Precious Treasures

Chapter Forty: Treacherous Hearts Before Precious Treasures

Wu Hong moved cautiously through the forest, carrying Wu Songran on his back. Though he had no way of knowing how long they’d been inside this strange, pocket world, his experience kept him vigilant. He worried that some wild beast might suddenly spring from the undergrowth to attack them. Wu Hong himself was not afraid, but he feared Wu Songran would not withstand the shock.

Wu Songran, half-dozing on Wu Hong’s back, let his mind wander. Though his body was paralyzed, his thoughts were lucid and restless.

“I heard that the leader of the Qingyang Sect, Qingyangzi, was wounded by the demon Wu just a few hours ago!”

As Wu Hong scouted the woods, he overheard someone discussing him. At once, he crouched low in the tall grass, listening.

“What? That can't be true! They say Qingyangzi is at the late Marrow Refinement stage—one of the rare masters in the world! How could he have been wounded by a mere brat like that demon Wu?”

A woman’s voice, full of disbelief, rang out.

“You don’t know, junior sister,” a man replied. “Wu Hong’s martial skills are bizarre. Rumor has it that before killing his father, he stole his father's Celestial Silkworm manual! During his year-long flight, he’s mastered it to perfection—his strength is unmatched!”

“The Celestial Silkworm manual? That’s said to be the treasured heirloom of King Wu Wei’s house! Passed only to direct heirs!”

Her voice grew more shrill with astonishment, as though afraid the forest’s beasts might not hear her.

“Hush, junior sister! Keep your voice down. There are wild beasts about. We must hurry and find the Xuan Yin Fruit to heal our master. Our lives depend on it,” the man cautioned.

Wu Hong parted the brush to peer through, spotting a group of five or six. Two of them bore an old man on a makeshift litter; his limbs dangled at grotesque angles, clearly broken by a master’s hand. His chest had collapsed—under normal circumstances, he should not have survived.

The more Wu Hong listened, the more confused he became. Whoever was impersonating him must be skilled in the art of disguise. Why else would he have so many enemies? And this imposter was strong. But for what purpose? He already bore the infamy of patricide—who hated him this much? Madam Zhao?

He dismissed the thought immediately. Madam Zhao had plotted against him for the sake of her son Wu Lie’s claim to the throne—one could barely justify her motives. But if he examined it closely, the logic fell apart. Back then, Wu Hong was a useless wastrel, hardly a threat.

It was all deeply odd—the truth grew more elusive.

“That demon Wu is less than a beast! He not only crippled our master, but even his own half-brother, a prodigious talent, wasn’t spared.”

“Senior brother, are you talking about Wu Lie, King Wu Wei’s second son?” the woman gasped. Each new revelation shocked her further, leaving her shaken.

“Yes, that genius younger brother. He reached the initial Marrow Refinement stage at a tender age—truly a prodigy! Yet, even he was no match for Wu Hong the fiend.”

The group had only just learned of these events, and all wore looks of horror. Now, the mere mention of Wu Hong’s name sent shivers through the martial world—he had become the common enemy of all.

Wu Hong shook his head bitterly and murmured, “Ran-mei, do you hear? I, Wu Hong, have become a villain beyond redemption. Yet you lie unconscious, unable to witness this glorious news for yourself. Ha…”

His words were half self-mockery, half resignation. Once, he’d been nothing but a useless young master—whom could he possibly have offended to become a notorious parricide? Now, without committing further evil, he was branded a demon whom all the martial world feared.

He spoke softly, but Wu Songran, on his back, heard every word. She, too, was shaken by the conversation among the strangers of unknown sect.

Wu Songran’s heart was in turmoil. Wu Hong had fallen from the sky, gravely wounded; whatever his current injuries, it was impossible for him to have committed so many crimes in such a short time. Who hated him so deeply and sought his ruin? Was it truly Madam Zhao, as he suspected?

Conflicted, Wu Songran’s feelings for Wu Hong softened as she realized there must be another culprit. With the truth gradually coming to light, her hatred lessened, replaced by rekindled familial affection—and something more complicated besides.

“Ran-mei, I won’t let you die. Otherwise, I could never face our father, nor forgive myself for failing to protect my sister. I’ll follow them to find this Xuan Yin Fruit,” Wu Hong whispered.

With that, he silently trailed the group deeper into the forest.

Before long, as they advanced, a strange mist began to swirl—white and red in hue, making one feel alternately feverish and chilled to the bone.

Wu Hong frowned; this place was truly bizarre. He had followed the group long enough to discern that they belonged to the Medicine King Sect. The old man they carried was their sect leader, himself at the mid-Marrow Refinement stage. Though not a supreme fighter, his reputation in the martial world was immense.

The Medicine King Sect was renowned for its mastery of pharmacology. Many heroes poisoned by strange toxins would seek them out for antidotes. While their martial prowess was modest, they had saved countless lives and were respected for their healing arts.

“Senior brother, does the Xuan Yin Fruit really exist?” the woman asked quietly.

“It must,” he replied. “Master is nearly seventy, and fifty years ago he entered the Tianshu Grotto. Though he didn’t obtain an innate manual, he did discover where the Xuan Yin Fruit grows.”

These siblings discussed their master’s grave injuries with a detachment as if speaking of a stranger.

The old master of the Medicine King Sect lay unconscious on his litter, while his disciples spoke freely of the Xuan Yin Fruit, showing no hint of reverence for their teacher.

Wu Hong’s gaze grew colder. Is this the conduct of so-called righteous disciples?

He followed them for several more miles. The mist thickened until one could barely see fifty paces ahead. Even as Wu Hong advanced cautiously in their wake, they had no inkling he was near.

The forest echoed with birdsong and the rustle of snakes and insects. The disciples of the Medicine King Sect, familiar with all manner of poisonous creatures, paid them no heed—ordinary venoms could not harm them.

After several more miles, the mist became so dense that even a companion standing before you would be hard to discern. Yet, as martial artists, they managed to press on.

“Senior brother, look—what is that?” the woman suddenly exclaimed, pointing ahead.

“Ah! The Xuan Yin Fruit!” The senior brother followed her gaze and cried out in astonishment. There, hanging from a tree, was a fruit cloaked in an eerie chill.

Legend had it that a single Xuan Yin Fruit could propel one directly to the initial Marrow Refinement stage. Fifty years ago, the Medicine King Sect master had eaten one and broken through to the Marrow Refinement realm himself.

With a gasp, the old man on the litter roused at his disciple’s cry, spitting blood as he croaked, “Feng’er, hurry—pick it for your master, heal me!”

“Master, why so anxious? You’re already at mid-Marrow Refinement, while I’m not young myself and still only at the Blood Refinement stage.”

Suddenly, the two disciples carrying the master’s litter hurled it to the ground.

To their shock, the old master sprang lightly to his feet, landing on open ground. He coughed up another mouthful of blood, his finger trembling as he pointed at his disciples.

“You… you would defy your master?”

The disciples, startled by his agility, relaxed upon seeing his body tremble with weakness.

“Master, why such a rage? You’ve already tasted the Xuan Yin Fruit and are in fine health, but you are gravely injured. It’s best not to agitate yourself,” one of the disciples mocked.

Their words made the old master tremble all over with anger.

“You…!”

Before he could finish, he collapsed to the ground, motionless.

“Master, are you feigning illness again?” One disciple crept forward warily, calling out several times. The old master showed no response.

Growing bolder, he probed the old man’s breath with a finger and, finding no sign of life, let out a relieved sigh.

“He’s dead. Senior brother, how should we divide the Xuan Yin Fruit?”