I gain ten years' worth of cultivation every day, and even geniuses will only see my doorstep!

Little Taro was controlled. He gripped a kitchen knife and approached Mud Egg. The knife was forged in a blacksmith's shop; the blade wasn't sharpened, but it could still cut. Little Taro's eyes were gray, devoid of light. Mud Egg didn't flinch; he crouched down and looked into Little Taro's eyes.

"Little Taro, do you recognize me?"

The little taro didn't answer. The cleaver was held in mid-air, its tip reflecting the moonlight.

Mud Egg reached out and grasped Little Taro's hand that was holding the knife. "It's alright. Master doesn't feel pain."

Little Taro's hands trembled. The cleaver was against Mud Egg's left rib, the blade brushing against his clothes. Little Taro's fingers loosened, and the cleaver fell to the ground with a crisp sound. Little Taro's eyes returned to normal, and he cried as he hugged Mud Egg. "Master, I...I..."

Muddy patted him on the back. "It's alright. It's alright."

Shadow Assassin used the Dark Seed to sense the location of the Soul Chains. He hid in a dry well outside the camp. The well was on the edge of the battlefield, its opening overgrown with weeds, its stone walls covered in moss. Qin Yuan dragged his mangled body, hammer in his left hand, toward the well. His left arm was nothing but bone, white with a few strands of flesh still clinging to it. He bound the hammer to the bone in his left arm and tightened it with bandages.

Gray smoke rose from the well, coalescing into a face without features. The face was flat, without a nose or mouth, only two indentations that should have been eyes. The voice of Soul Lock emanated from the smoke, not as if it came from a throat, but as if it were ringing out simultaneously from all directions: "Your soul, I want it."

The Soul Lock released gray smoke, enveloping Qin Yuan. The smoke seeped into Qin Yuan's nose, ears, and eyes, and into his brain. Qin Yuan felt his memories slipping away. He forgot Lin Qing'er's name. He knew she was Lin Qing'er, but the three words "Lin Qing'er" had vanished from his mind. He forgot what the old plum tree looked like; he remembered there was a tree, but he couldn't recall what it looked like. He forgot who he was. He knew he was Qin Yuan, but what did "Qin Yuan" mean? He couldn't remember.

Shadow Assassin plunged into the smoke. She thrust her dagger at Soul Lock, but the dagger passed through the smoke without resistance. Soul Lock laughed, "I am a soul, not a body. You cannot kill me." Shadow Assassin bit her finger and drew a rune on her palm with her own blood. The Night Emperor had taught her how to kill souls. The rune was black, drawn with blood on her white palm, resembling a closed eye.

She placed her palm on Soulchain. Runes glowed, the black light illuminating the gray smoke. Soulchain screamed, the smoke churning violently. Soulchain struggled desperately, the gray smoke transforming into countless tentacles that ensnared Shadowspine. The tentacles constricted her neck, arms, waist, and legs, making it hard for her to breathe. Her body began to become transparent, not disappearing, but being assimilated. Her soul was being absorbed by Soulchain.

She shouted at Qin Yuan, "Kill me! Kill me too, Soul Lock!"

Qin Yuan picked up the Shadow Assassin's dagger. The dagger fell to the ground, and he picked it up with his left hand. His left hand was nothing but bones, and his fingers couldn't grip anything. He used the gap between the bones in his thumb and forefinger to hold the dagger hilt.

The Shadow Assassin smiled at him. "You don't need to repay what you owe me."

Qin Yuan closed his eyes. The dagger pierced Shadow Assassin's heart. The dagger passed through her body, embedding itself in the core of the Soul Lock. Shadow Assassin's body turned into specks of light, white like fireflies, drifting in the air. The Soul Lock vanished along with it, the gray smoke dissipating. Only the moss on the well walls and the rotten mud at the bottom remained in the dry well.

Qin Yuan knelt on the ground, still clutching the dagger in his hand. A single character was engraved on the dagger—"Shadow." He touched the character with his bony fingers; his fingers had no skin, so he couldn't discern the strokes.

As dawn broke, Muddy dug a hole beside the taro field. The hole wasn't big, just big enough to fit a dagger. He put the dagger in; it was still stained with Shadowthorn's blood, which had dried and turned black. Little Taro knelt by the hole and put a taro in. "Sister, the taro is sweet."

Muddy filled the grave with earth, without erecting a tombstone. He stood before the grave and said, "Shadowthorn doesn't need a tombstone. She lives in the shadows."

Xuan Guang approached, leaning on his crutch. His right leg was broken, and he was using the crutch for support. His left arm was still injured and in a sling. He bowed deeply to the grave, his movements slow and his waist bent low. "You are a true warrior."

Li Qing stood at a distance, leaning on her crutch, not coming over. She looked down at her feet. She wore cloth shoes, the soles worn through. Her shoulders trembled. She didn't cry out.

Muddy sat by the grave, peeling taro. He peeled slowly, one cut at a time, peeling off thick layers of skin, removing a lot of the flesh. He stopped. "She's never eaten the taro I grew," he said, placing the peeled taro before the grave. The taro was white, with clean cuts. He took a handkerchief from his pocket—a handkerchief embroidered with taro and the word "peace" next to it. He folded the handkerchief and placed it beside the taro. He stood up, turned, and left.

The plague general had no voice, no footsteps, no figure. He simply arrived, and then everyone fell ill.

The Allied soldiers began to experience fever, vomiting, and skin ulcers. Lin Qing'er examined more than a dozen wounded soldiers; their symptoms were all the same—persistent high fever, vomiting black liquid, and skin ulcers that started to turn black and spread throughout their bodies. She fed the wounded soldiers medicine—a decoction of honeysuckle, lobelia, and dandelion—which could reduce the fever but not stop the vomiting or cure the ulcers. She frowned and said, "It's not poison, it's an illness. My medicine can only alleviate the symptoms, not cure it."

Little Taro was the first to fall ill. He lay in bed, delirious with fever, calling out "Master," then "Mother," then "Sister." Mud Egg stayed by his bedside, applying a damp cloth to his forehead. The cloth was cool, but quickly became too hot, so he changed it, only to have it become too hot again, and so on. He himself also had a fever, his forehead burning like fire, his face flushed, but he wouldn't lie down.

Lin Qing'er coughed violently while preparing the medicine, coughing up blood clots. Her lungs had been damaged in the Blood Mist Battle, and now she was infected with the plague. She spat the blood clots onto the ground; they were black and smelled fishy. Qin Yuan pressed her down onto the bed. "You lie down. I'll prepare the medicine." Lin Qing'er looked at him. "Do you know how?" Qin Yuan said, "Teach me."

Qin Yuan used his left hand to pound the medicine. His left hand was nothing but bone, too weak to grip the pestle, so he used bandages to bind the pestle to the bone and pounded it again and again. The medicine splattered all over him, onto his face, and onto the bandages on his right arm. Lin Qing'er, lying in bed, watched him and said, "You can't even pound medicine properly." Qin Yuan said, "Teach me." Lin Qing'er smiled. She taught him to distinguish between honeysuckle and lobelia; honeysuckle has yellow stamens, while lobelia has white stamens. He couldn't tell the difference and pounded the two flowers together. Lin Qing'er said, "It's alright. Both will reduce fever."