Chapter 47: The Annihilation of the Infinite Sect

Seeing that Old Man Duan was unharmed, Shen Qianmo let out a breath of relief. Exchanging a glance with Meng Yuanheng, the two of them stepped inside and sat down across from him.

No sooner had they taken their seats than a ball of soft fur leapt into Shen Qianmo’s arms, whimpering for her attention.

“Little Darling, did you miss me?” Shen Qianmo stroked the emerald-eyed spirit fox’s head with a gentle smile and a tender tone.

“This little fox seems quite fated to be with you,” Old Man Duan remarked. He glanced at Meng Yuanheng, raised a bushy gray eyebrow, and said, “This must be Prince Xuan.”

Meng Yuanheng nodded. “Indeed.”

Old Man Duan scrutinized him for a moment, then smiled at Shen Qianmo. “Girl, you have a good eye.”

For some reason, Shen Qianmo felt that Old Man Duan was acting strangely tonight. Gone was the usual mischievous elder; this somber, grave demeanor unsettled her.

Unable to suppress her worry, she asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’ve lived more than sixty years and never felt as carefree as I do now,” he said, shrugging. He raised his gourd and took a swig of wine, wiped his mouth, and grabbed a few peanuts to munch on. “Girl, the peanuts you make taste far better than those cooked by the chefs of the Wuji Sect.”

“If you like them, I’ll make them for you often,” Shen Qianmo replied, relaxing a little as he seemed to recover some of his old playful self, her tone growing lighter.

After more than ten days together at the Hundred Herbs Hall, Shen Qianmo had truly come to like this pure-hearted old man. Though he’d treated her facial wounds on Yin Zhan’s orders, when she was imprisoned and poisoned by the Biluo Flower, he’d sent Little Darling to her, letting her use the fox’s blood to ease the poison—a kindness she would never forget.

Shen Qianmo was never one to confuse gratitude and resentment. For kindness shown, she would repay in kind. If anyone threatened her or those she cared for, she would not show mercy.

Hearing her words, Old Man Duan lowered his head and fell silent for a long time, a faint glimmer of tears in his eyes. When he looked up again, his expression had returned to normal, though his voice was slightly choked. “Girl, I may not have the chance.”

As he finished speaking, blood trickled slowly from the corner of his mouth.

Shen Qianmo’s expression changed drastically. She hurried to his side and asked anxiously, “What’s wrong?”

The emerald-eyed spirit fox jumped from her lap onto the old man, circling around him with anxious squeaks.

Meng Yuanheng snatched up the wine gourd, sniffed it, and frowned. “There’s poison in the wine?”

Shen Qianmo was shocked, then filled with sorrow. “Why?”

Old Man Duan sat, panting, the blood at his lips increasing. With a careless gesture, he wiped it away with his sleeve and asked, “Girl, are you here because that brat Yin Zhan and the old man Wuchen have both left?”

Shen Qianmo nodded, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Then it’s about time I went to join them,” he said, as casually as if announcing he was off to dinner.

“Why must it be this way?” Shen Qianmo’s voice trembled with tears.

“It’s a promise I made to the Yin family. I may love my food and wine, but I value my word above all. So don’t grieve, girl.”

He gazed at Shen Qianmo with fatherly affection, then turned to Meng Yuanheng. “Fifty years ago, Meng Baichuan was ordered to attack the Wuji Sect. The rumors say he was ruthless, hanging the heads of several sect leaders on the city wall. But the truth is, Meng Baichuan didn’t know about it—his subordinates acted on their own. When he found out, he punished them severely and released several Wuji Sect disciples awaiting execution in prison. I was one of them. So, in a way, my life was saved by Meng Baichuan.”

He ended with a self-deprecating laugh.

Shen Qianmo recalled that the Gentlemen of the Mist had once told her something similar, though she hadn’t known the whole story. She looked at Meng Yuanheng and saw his face darken. She stepped forward, took his hand, and patted it softly.

Meng Yuanheng squeezed her hand in return, shaking his head slightly to reassure her.

Having spoken so much, Old Man Duan’s voice grew weaker. He took a thin booklet from his chest and handed it to Shen Qianmo.

“Girl, I have no family, no disciples, but I feel a special bond with you. This contains all I’ve learned in my life. I leave it to you—use it well. And this little fox seems fond of you. Take it, too. The blood of the emerald-eyed spirit fox can cure the cold poison in Prince Xuan’s body. Consider it my repayment for Meng Baichuan’s kindness all those years ago.”

“Old man!” Shen Qianmo took the booklet and knelt before him. The tears she’d held back finally fell.

Meng Yuanheng knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her, his usually cold expression softened with emotion.

“Girl, when I’m gone, cremate me and scatter my ashes in the South Sea. That way, I can drift with the waters and see the world at last.”

“Alright, alright.” Shen Qianmo gazed at him through a blur of tears, unable to say anything else.

“Girl, I wish I could taste your grilled fish once more.” Smiling, his eyes full of longing, Old Man Duan slowly closed his eyes.

“Old man! Old man!” Shen Qianmo clung to him, her grief overwhelming.

Yin Zhan was dead, the Four Great Guardians had fallen, and after Wuchen’s death, a great number of Wuji Sect followers died as well—their heads exploding one after another. The Wuji navy, battling the Suzhou fleet at sea, suffered heavy losses. By dawn, the sect’s power was shattered.

Following Old Man Duan’s last request, Shen Qianmo and Meng Yuanheng cremated his body and took his ashes back to the warship.

By the time they returned, the sky was already lightening. Feng Ze, Lu Ziqing, Zhang Xian, and the others were waiting on deck.

Though the Wuji Sect was nearly wiped out in this battle, their side had suffered losses as well.

Of the vanguard led by Yan Mo, more than twenty elite soldiers were killed and over ten wounded. Zhang Xian’s navy lost several hundred men, and one warship was burned. Clearly, the Wuji Sect had not been a rabble, but a formidable force.

The moment Shen Qianmo boarded, she was met with concerned looks from Feng Ze, Xie Mingyu, and the others.

“Mo’er, are you alright?” Xie Mingyu was the first to step forward.

“I’m fine, cousin. Is everyone else alright?” Shen Qianmo greeted them all, then noticed Feng Ze’s arm was wrapped in a white bandage and his face was pale. She asked with concern, “Feng Ze, are you hurt?”

Feng Ze looked her up and down, and upon seeing her safe, his tense expression eased. He forced a smile. “It’s nothing—just a scratch.”

Zhang Xian, standing nearby, cast a sidelong glance at Feng Ze, thinking: They say the General of Martial Might is invincible—today I’ve seen it for myself. The way he fought, with no regard for his life, even this old soldier was left in awe.

Ah, true heroes are always young. Perhaps it’s time for these old bones to retire, Zhang Xian thought with a touch of sorrow.

But little did he know, Feng Ze had channeled all his pent-up anger at the Wuji Sect, all because of Shen Qianmo.

Meng Yuanheng stepped forward, wrapped his arm around Shen Qianmo’s waist, and shot Feng Ze a sideways glance, as if to warn him off. Then he turned to Shen Qianmo with a rare, almost playful expression. “Mo’er, I’m tired.”

Yun Yi, witnessing this, twitched at the corner of his mouth. This Meng Yuanheng was truly cunning.

He couldn’t help lighting a row of candles in his heart for Feng Ze. To covet Meng Yuanheng’s woman—General of Martial Might, you must have a death wish!

Noticing Meng Yuanheng’s pallor and how he seemed even thinner than when she first met him, Shen Qianmo recalled how he’d endured the cold poison, drifted at sea for days, and fought so fiercely on Wuji Island. His body had reached its limit, and she grew worried. She hastily said, “Feng Ze, you should rest,” then accompanied Meng Yuanheng inside.

Meng Yuanheng ignored the others, never looking back as he led Shen Qianmo away, his lips curving into a satisfied smile. Yet at the mention of Feng Ze, a chill flashed in his eyes. That man was growing too bold—it was time to put an end to his hopes.

Feng Ze watched their retreating figures, fists clenched, his deep-set eyes filled with complicated emotions.