Chapter 36: The Demonic Sect Leader

Meng Yuanheng’s gaze remained fixed on the path where Shen Qianmo had disappeared, his knuckles white as he tightly gripped the small dagger, a murderous intensity rising in his eyes that seemed capable of destroying the world.

Everyone had watched helplessly as Shen Qianmo was abducted by the Wuji Sect, deeply moved by her earlier act of self-sacrifice—threatening the sect’s demoness with her own life to obtain the antidote. For a long time afterward, the tale of the Princess of Prince Xuan’s selfless heroism and disregard for her own safety spread through Suzhou. Some said she veiled her face with a light gauze and was as beautiful as a flower; some called her righteous and unyielding, a heroine to rival any man; others claimed she was a martial arts master who braved danger alone to save others, boldly venturing into the lair of an evil sect.

But Shen Qianmo knew nothing of these rumors now—for at this moment, she was being tossed about on an unknown boat, so seasick she could barely think.

The Wuji Sect’s headquarters, it turned out, was on a small island in the South Sea.

Shen Qianmo, fearless in all things since childhood, dreaded only one thing: traveling by boat. She remembered once in college, when a seaside classmate dragged her out fishing; the endless waves left her so nauseated she saw stars, her limbs weak, suffering beyond words. She’d sworn never to set foot on a boat again.

But as a hostage, she had no choice. Sitting slumped against the cabin wall, she mentally cursed the Wuji Sect’s leader’s ancestors with every fiber of her being, but her stomach continued to churn and she could not stop vomiting. In the end, even bile refused to come up and she could only dry heave.

She had no idea how long they’d been at sea. After boarding, Wu Hen had thrown her into the hold, where she saw neither daylight nor sky; all her needs were attended by a Wuji sect follower. At first, Wu Hen and Wu Xia visited to mock her, but as time passed and the air in the hold grew stale, her body unwashed for days, the constant smell of vomit and filth drove them away for good.

Shen Qianmo didn’t care. In this half-dead state, she had no wish to see anyone. Disheveled, filthy, reeking from head to toe, she was little better than a vagrant under a city bridge.

The cabin door creaked open—she knew it was a follower bringing food.

Utterly exhausted, she slumped in the corner, unable even to open her eyes.

A black-clad follower ducked through the low doorway, silently setting the food before her.

The smell of the dishes made her frown. Her stomach roiled again and she retched into the wooden bucket beside her.

The black-robed follower waited in silence. When she finally calmed, he suddenly dropped to his knees with a thud.

“Forgive me, Princess, for arriving late.” His voice was low and respectful, his head bowed.

Shen Qianmo’s heart jumped at his words. Princess? Could he be from Prince Xuan’s household?

She forced her eyes open. The man before her had rugged features and a solemn expression, radiating reliability.

“Who are you?” Her voice was weak but carried an undeniable authority.

“Yan Mo, deputy commander of Prince Xuan’s shadow guards, at your service.”

A shadow guard from Prince Xuan? So Meng Yuanheng had sent him?

“Why should I trust you?” she asked, wary—this was the Wuji Sect’s territory, after all.

Yan Mo produced a small dagger from his robes and respectfully offered it to her.

“This is what His Highness gave me before leaving, instructing me to hand it to you personally.”

Shen Qianmo took the dagger. Its thin blade, keen edge, and familiar touch made her fingers tremble. This was the scalpel she’d once thrown to Meng Yuanheng!

She smiled faintly. She hadn’t expected Meng Yuanheng to act so quickly. To her surprise, she found herself missing him.

Yan Mo saw her silently caressing the blade, hesitated, then said, “Rest assured, Princess. Once His Highness has made the necessary arrangements, he will come to meet you.”

Shen Qianmo felt a little embarrassed—was she really being so obvious?

She cleared her throat. “You should go before you arouse suspicion. Be careful.”

Touched by her concern, Yan Mo produced a small blue porcelain bottle and offered it reverently.

“This was prepared by Master Situ. It will help with your seasickness.”

Shen Qianmo’s eyes lit up. Situ Gong, how thoughtful and adorable you are.

After taking the medicine, her nausea eased enough for her to eat a little, and her spirits gradually improved.

Days later, just as she reached the limits of her patience with her own filthy state, the boat finally reached shore.

The moment her feet touched solid ground, she nearly wept. The sensation of firm earth, the pure, fresh air, the warm, gentle sunlight—it was all bliss.

The island was in the South Sea, an international zone outside anyone’s jurisdiction—a wise choice for the Wuji Sect’s base. No wonder Lu Ziqing and the others had searched so long in vain.

The scenery was beautiful. Late spring verged on summer, lush green mountains rolling as far as the eye could see, birds calling, flowers in bloom. Shen Qianmo, still weak from her ordeal, found each step an effort. Yan Mo trailed behind, wanting to help but careful not to draw attention. Watching her grit her teeth and persevere, he couldn’t help admiring her determination.

They reached a clearing and found themselves before a line of palatial buildings, grand and imposing. At the entrance, two guards in tight uniforms saluted Wu Hen and his companions.

“The Sect Leader commands that upon your return, you take the prisoner directly to the Jade Pool.”

The three exchanged glances, surprised. Clearly the Sect Leader knew their every move. At the thought, their expressions grew grave.

Shen Qianmo inwardly groaned. This Sect Leader certainly enjoyed tormenting people. Did he think it easy for her to reach this far? And what on earth was this Jade Pool? How much farther was it?

“Everyone disperse and get back to your duties,” Wu Hen ordered with a wave.

The others obeyed and departed. Before leaving, Yan Mo exchanged the briefest glance with Shen Qianmo—reluctant to reveal himself, he slipped away among the crowd.

The burly Wu Gou said to Wu Hen, “Third Brother, I’ll leave this task to you. You know how much I hate that damned Jade Pool. Surely you don’t expect Fourth Sister to do it?”

A grown man soaking in a hot bath like a woman—it made his skin crawl just thinking about it.

Wu Hen sighed, resigned. To avoid keeping the Sect Leader waiting, he hoisted Shen Qianmo up and, using his lightness skill, sped along another passage outside the hall, covering a great distance in a few leaps.

The Jade Pool was, in fact, a natural hot spring, now transformed into the Sect Leader’s private bath—no one else allowed within.

Outside, two guards bowed on seeing Wu Hen arrive with a woman.

“Perfect timing, Third Protector. The Sect Leader has been waiting for you in the pool.”

Wu Hen nodded, his expression softening. “Thank you,” he said courteously—he always treated the Sect Leader’s personal guards with respect.

Shen Qianmo kept her head down, following Wu Hen’s steps exactly into the Jade Pool’s interior. The Wuji Sect excelled at secret techniques and treacherous tricks; for her own safety, she dared not let her guard drop.

After a while, Wu Hen came to a stop, and so did she, lifting her eyes to the scene before her—only to be utterly astonished.

Before her lay an enormous pool, its edges draped with gauzy veils. Through the diaphanous fabric, she could just make out a man seated in the water, his torso exposed above the surface, arms spread along the pool’s rim, head tilted back against the edge, a cascade of jet-black hair flowing freely, his whole posture radiating languid sensuality.

Wu Hen stopped about ten paces from the pool and announced in a deep voice, “Sect Leader, the prisoner is here.”

With a splash, the man in the pool, now clothed, parted the curtains and stood before them in an instant.

“Graced by the spring’s warmth at the Huaqing Pool, the waters as smooth as silk on fair skin.”

For some reason, these lines of poetry sprang unbidden to Shen Qianmo’s mind. Though written to describe the bathing of Yang Guifei, she found them uncannily apt for the Wuji Sect Leader before her.

He wore a robe of vivid scarlet, blazing like fire against his white skin and exquisite features. His phoenix eyes, both seductive and dangerous, seemed to draw one in with ease. His long black hair flowed to his waist, draping his tall, slender frame and lending him an air of otherworldly beauty.

A demon, she thought, the phrase flashing through her mind.

The Wuji Sect Leader was, astoundingly, a breathtakingly handsome man.