Transmigrating into the world of Jade Dynasty, I was targeted by the female lead in a reverse romanc

The Ghost King watched silently, without saying a word.

Biyao seemed to be jolted back to her senses by the smell of blood and Lu Xueqi's collapse. She suddenly moved and rushed towards Lu Xueqi and Jiang Xiaochuan, who were kneeling, without any regard for anything else.

She reached out to touch Jiang Xiaochuan, seemingly to check his injuries, or perhaps to snatch him from Lu Xueqi's arms.

"Zheng—!"

A sword cry!

The Tianya Divine Sword, which had been hanging at Lu Xueqi's feet, seemed to sense its master's killing intent and obsession with protection. It suddenly leaped up on its own, its azure sword light shining brightly, and its tip emitting a cold and piercing glint. As fast as lightning, it instantly moved across Biyao's neck. If she took another half step forward, the sword would mercilessly slit her throat!

Lu Xueqi didn't even look up. She kept her head down, looking at Jiang Xiaochuan in her arms, whose breath was getting weaker and weaker and whose face was ashen. She pressed the terrible wound on his back with one hand in vain, trying to use her chaotic spiritual power to block and repair it. But as soon as her spiritual power came into contact with the hideous wound, it was dispersed by the ferocious demonic power and huge destructive force of the yellow bird that remained in it.

Her tears fell in large drops, mingling with the blood on her face, and landed on Jiang Xiaochuan's cold cheeks, but he did not react at all.

Only the Tianya Sword, held horizontally before Biyao's neck, hummed and exuded a chilling killing intent, demonstrating its owner's sole vigilance and attitude towards the outside world.

Biyao froze.

The cold blade pressed against her skin, sending a stinging pain and a sense of impending death through her.

She looked at Jiang Xiaochuan's pale face and bloodied back, which were so close to her, and then at Lu Xueqi's profile, which seemed to consist only of the person in her arms, broken and frantic. Her chest heaved violently, her fingers clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, but she felt no pain.

Slowly, extremely slowly, she raised her eyes, her gaze passing over the cold blade of Tianya sword, looking at her father opposite her, then at Qinglong and Youji, and finally landing on Jin Ping'er's face, which was filled with worry.

Then, she lowered her eyes again, looking at Lu Xueqi, at the Tianya sword that could take her life at any moment, and spoke clearly, word by word:

"If you don't want him to die, don't move."

As soon as the words were spoken, at the edge of the flowerbed, the expressions of Ghost King, Azure Dragon, You Ji, and Jin Ping'er all changed slightly.

The wind swept across the top of the broken giant tree, carrying the lingering stench of blood and the fragrance of flowers. In the red cage of the Fulong Cauldron, a yellow bird let out a low, unwilling cry. In the distance, the faint, teeth-grinding echo of the Black Water Serpent rubbing against the tree trunk as it departed could still be heard.

This space, which had just experienced a great battle between gods and demons and was filled with blood, fell into a deathly silence. The only cruel annotations in this silence were Lu Xueqi's suppressed and broken sobs and the increasingly weak breathing of the person in her arms, who seemed to be about to stop breathing at any moment.

Biyao stood before the Tianya Sword, her water-green dress splattered with bloodstains of unknown origin.

She looked at Lu Xueqi, at the woman who seemed to shatter at the slightest touch, and it was as if through her she was looking at the boy who had lifted her from the cold rocks and hidden her in the cave ten years ago in the Abyss of the Dead.

This time, it's my turn.

She said to herself in her heart.

……

The wind blew from the depths of the Dead Swamp, carrying the smells of damp mud and decaying plants, along with a faint, lingering stench of blood.

Zhang Xiaofan walked at the front, supporting Zeng Shushu with one hand.

Zeng Shushu was still dazed, the effects of the Hehuan Bell hadn't completely worn off, and he was walking unsteadily. With his other hand, he had to support Li Xun. Li Xun's face kept changing color, from white to green to red, and his walking posture was extremely strange. His legs were splayed out, and he dared not close them. With each step he took, the corner of his mouth would twitch, and cold sweat would pour down his forehead.

That scar on my butt...

Tsk.

Zhang Xiaofan didn't dare to look closely, so he just sprinkled the medicine haphazardly and wrapped it with several layers of clean cloth, but the blood still slowly seeped out, forming a dark red blob.

Following behind were several disciples from Qingyun Sect and Fenxiang Valley, all injured and covered in dirt, supporting each other in a somber atmosphere. No one spoke, only the splattering of their feet in the mud and the occasional cry of strange birds in the distance.

A young disciple from the Incense Valley, perhaps trying to ease the mortifying awkwardness, or perhaps simply...

Unable to hold it in any longer, he secretly glanced at Senior Brother Li's extremely awkward walking posture in front of him, and the corners of his mouth involuntarily turned up slightly.

"Senior brother, what do you think about Senior Brother Li's injury... how are we going to report it to the elders? 'Disciple fought bravely against the demonic sect's demoness, but unfortunately sustained a wound to the buttocks'?"

The older disciple glared at him fiercely: "Shut up! Do you want to be silenced by Senior Brother Li?"

The disciple quickly lowered his head, bit his lip, but his shoulders twitched suspiciously twice.

Zhang Xiaofan saw it too, and sighed inwardly. He wanted to laugh, but felt he shouldn't. Li Xun probably wanted to kill Biyao and everyone who saw him like this.

He could only try to keep a straight face, look straight ahead, and pretend to be fully focused on exploring the way.

……

In the silent depths of Jiang Xiaochuan's mind.

Linglong's figure was fainter than usual, as if she might disappear into the darkness at any moment. She quietly "watched" outside.

She "looked" for a long time before speaking softly, her voice ethereal, echoing directly beside another, more solidified consciousness: "Hongli, you...aren't you going?"

Hong Li was sitting cross-legged in a certain part of her mind, playing with a wisp of red light she had conjured herself. Upon hearing this, she lazily lifted her eyelids and looked at Linglong's faint, almost invisible shadow.

"Where are we going? To save that heartless brat?" Hong Li scoffed, flicking her finger and the light dissipated.

"Don't worry, he won't die." She floated to Linglong's side, her arm loosely encircling him. "But you, Linglong, are so concerned about him? When the earth shook outside just now, I felt you 'sway' a bit."

Linglong didn't dodge, nor did she respond to her embrace. She just stood quietly for a while before saying almost inaudibly, "If he dies, you... will disappear too."

Hong Li paused, then laughed, her laughter echoing in her mind, a carefree and open-minded laugh: "Oh, so it was for me? I'm so touched, truly touched."

She leaned closer to Linglong's blurry face and said, "Don't worry, that kid's life is tied to mine. If he's really on the verge of death, I'll have a way. But you..."

Gradually, her voice lowered, carrying a rare seriousness, "Don't exhaust yourself too much. Your remnant soul can't withstand many more 'shaking' events."

Linglong fell silent.

A remnant soul? Yes, she was just a remnant soul, clinging to the depths of his consciousness, barely surviving. If he was well, she could also "watch" him from afar in this silence, watching his joys and sorrows, watching him be loving and having children with others.

If he's not good... what can she do with her regrets?

Just now, her heart trembled and her soul became unstable. Hong Li sensed it. Was she... worried about him? Or was it simply because he was the only... thought she had held onto for thousands of years?

She didn't know, nor did she want to think about it deeply. But the feeling of worry, like a drop of ink, fell into her empty "heart," slowly spreading and lingering.