Wandering Swordsman |

The Crimson Lotus Demon held a long sword, its tip pointing directly at Situ Changkong.

"How dare you trespass on the leader's residence!" The Crimson Lotus Demon's voice was hoarse, yet carried an undeniable authority.

Situ Changkong's right hand had already quietly rested on the hilt of his sword at his waist, his palm drenched in cold sweat, soaking the leather. He forced himself to remain calm, his Adam's apple bobbing: "I...I was just passing by."

"Heh—" The Crimson Lotus Demon chuckled, her laughter like the hooting of an owl, shrill and piercing. "Brother Changkong, why are you so nervous? I can hear your heartbeat clearly even from three zhang away." She slowly took a step closer, her red robe fluttering, bringing with it a sweet, metallic scent. "Do you really think that with the leader gone, the Righteous Alliance is left unguarded?"

Situ Changkong's eyes narrowed, and killing intent surged. The truth had been exposed, so he had no choice but to strike first! He was about to launch a sudden attack, but before he could draw his sword, he saw the Crimson Lotus Demon suddenly raise his hand—not to attack, but to take out several brand-new manuals from his robes and gently place them on the table, his movements as delicate as if he were offering sacred objects.

"Our leader has already distributed the handwritten copies of the secret manuals obtained from the tomb of the God of War to us, his subordinates who have followed him through thick and thin."

Her voice suddenly softened, like a night breeze rustling through bells, carrying a strange penetrating power, "Brother Changkong, if you want it, I'll give it to you."

Situ Changkong was struck dumb, his sword hilt nearly slipping from his hand. He stared blankly at the several manuals, each word clear and still fragrant with ink. He suddenly looked up, meeting those crimson eyes.

There was no murderous intent, no mockery, only a calm that bordered on compassion, as if it had already seen through all his struggles and pretenses.

"Why...why are you giving this to me?" His voice was low and hoarse, as if squeezed from the depths of his throat, his mind churning—was it a trap? A test? Or...some other scheme?

The Crimson Lotus Demon shook her head slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips beneath the black veil. She spoke softly, her voice like a whisper under the moonlight:

"What else could it be? Well, of course it's because..."

She paused, her crimson eyes glowing eerily in the darkness, like two will-o'-the-wisps that refused to be extinguished, piercing straight into Situ Changkong's eyes. There was no seduction, no calculation in that gaze, only a kind of almost tragic honesty:

"Brother Changkong, you naturally hold a greater place in my heart than the leader."

In an instant, Situ Changkong felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave. His blood boiled and then froze, the deafening roar in his ears receded like a receding tide, leaving only the pounding of his own heart. His mind exploded into countless fragments:

When he first met the Red Lotus Demon, he didn't recognize her as an overseas evil cultivator wanted by the Martial Alliance because she was disguised. Then, he was careless and fell into the Red Lotus Demon's trap.

Then the Red Lotus Demon took him back to the Black Wind Gang, the hideout of the overseas evil cultivators, and guided him to join them.

At that time, he only saw her as Oda's henchman, a bewitching enchantress. He hated her seduction, her entanglement, and her red eyes that always held inexplicable emotions.

But now, recalling how the Crimson Lotus Demon cultivated with him while practicing the Crimson Lotus Yin Sha Technique, he had said, "The world is so vast, and since the Central Plains cannot accommodate you, then come with me to Japan."

In an instant, when the Crimson Lotus Demon looked over, he no longer felt the biting disgust he once felt.

The hatred dissipated like morning mist, replaced by a bittersweet tremor. His fingers, gripping the sword, slowly loosened, his knuckles white, his fingertips trembling slightly. He gazed at the several manuals on the table, the scent of ink carrying a comforting warmth.

"...Aren't you afraid I'll take the manual and leave?" His throat bobbed, his voice dry like sandpaper rubbing.

The Crimson Lotus Demon chuckled, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders, or like a bird long confined in a cage finally hearing the sound of its lock being opened.

She slowly took a step back, her red robe rippling in the darkness like blood-red waves, resembling a datura flower quietly blooming in the night.

Only those crimson eyes shone like starlight in the darkness, burning with an indescribable obsession.

"I'm scared."

Her voice was as soft as the wind brushing against a tombstone, yet every word was clear, like needles piercing the bone:

"But you still have the 'Heart-Devouring Mystic Qi' in your body, so where can you run to?"

As soon as she finished speaking, she vanished like smoke, as if she had never existed. Only a faint scent of blood and the fresh fragrance of new ink lingered in the air, like the thousands of words she never uttered—those whispers hidden in her eyes, on the blade, and in countless lonely nights.

Situ Changkong stood frozen in place. The moment his fingertips touched the manual, a subtle yet sharp burning pain shot up from the depths of his meridians, like a venomous snake awakening, coursing along his blood vessels—it was the "Heart-Devouring Profound Qi" responding, and also warning him. He clenched his fist tightly, his nails digging deep into his palm, and beads of blood trickled down between his fingers.

Outside the window, the thick fog was finally pierced by the moonlight. A sliver of clear light quietly fell, cleaving the darkness like a silver blade, and landed precisely in his outstretched palm.

The light was cold and sharp, yet strangely it shone into the darkest corner of his heart, dissecting the long-standing fog and pretense.

It turns out that the sharpest knife is never hidden in a secret manual.

It is that phrase deep in people's hearts, "You are more important than the leader," that is more deadly and gentler than any martial art.

"Red Lotus..." he whispered, his voice so low it was almost swallowed by the night wind, as if speaking to the air, or whispering to fate, "I will remember this kindness."

After speaking, he carefully tucked the several secret manuals into his robes, then turned and left the leader's residence. His figure swept across the rooftops like a black shadow, his toes barely touching the tiles, as light as the wind, carrying an unprecedented resolve.

—And just as he left, a red shadow silently appeared on the beam of his residence.

The Crimson Lotus Demon reappeared, its crimson eyes gleaming with an eerie light in the darkness.

She stood before the desk, her fingertips gently tracing the ground where Situ Changkong had just stood, as if she could still feel his lingering warmth.

She gazed out the window, a wicked smile slowly spreading across her lips, like a poisonous lotus blooming under the moon.

"You've remembered it?" she whispered, her voice as soft as a sigh, yet carrying a chilling undertone. "Then you'd better... remember it for the rest of your life."

After a moment of silence, she murmured to herself, her laughter like the gentle tinkling of wind chimes, yet sending chills down one's spine: "Brother Changkong... did you think that what I gave you was just a secret manual?"

Moonlight spilled onto her red dress, casting a bewitching glow. She stood in the room, like a female ghost returned from hell, holding the threads of fate in her hand, as if with just a gentle tug—that departing figure would be forever bound by the shackles of her heart.

......

The night was as dark as ink. In a corner of the Righteous Alliance in Cangshan, moonlight streamed through the carved window into the quiet room, illuminating Situ Changkong's calm and resolute face.

He sat cross-legged on a futon, with several handwritten manuals spread out in front of him. The edges of the pages were worn, but the handwriting was clear and powerful, with exotic strokes and incantation-like annotations.

However, one of the secret manuals, a handwritten copy of the "Formless Sutra," caught Situ Changkong's attention.

When those three words came into view, Situ Changkong's heart jolted, as if struck by an invisible bolt of lightning.

His pupils contracted slightly, his breath hitched, and he murmured, "The *Wu Xiang Jing*... why is it in Oda's hands? And in a handwritten copy at that... could it have already been lost overseas?"