Chapter Fifty-Three: Damn It, We've Been Played!

Yes, there was no need to show mercy. If she spared someone’s life, they would not be moved to tears and gratitude; instead, they would scheme again, plotting another assassination until they succeeded.

She was neither wicked nor softhearted, nor did she delight in slaughter. If these people did not cross her bottom line, she would leave them a way out. She had no desire for her hands to be stained with the stench of blood. The taste of killing was bitter, and she did not wish to spend her life amid blades and shadows, forced to accept the reality of murder in silence.

Perhaps, she was born this way, only she had not known it until now.

Sparing others would not earn her compassion; it might even bring disaster to her friends and family. She should have eradicated the threat at its root to prevent future troubles, rather than hoping for some lingering goodness in their hearts.

In the end, she could only blame her own naiveté.

The black-clad men had no time to speak before Feng Xiaoli’s blade struck, leaving a thin cut across their throats. Blood welled forth as from a spring. Even with their faces shrouded, their agony was clear in their twisted expressions, hands clutching their necks as they writhed on the ground, until at last their bodies grew still.

Feng Xiaoli’s hands trembled. She had killed. She had truly killed.

Once again, the peace in her heart was scattered.

From behind, Zirlin embraced her, murmuring, “Li’er, such people are not worth your effort. Their blood only sullies your hands. Next time, let me do it, alright?”

“Zirlin, women cannot depend on you to protect them for a lifetime. It is time for us to grow strong. Otherwise, we will only drag others down. I do not wish to be such a woman. I hope, with my own strength, to protect what is mine. I hope I can stand side by side with you, looking down upon the world—not just as the woman behind you.”

She was never one who needed protection. She longed, rather, to protect herself, to defend others. She wanted to be needed, not to need.

Zirlin had long realized that Feng Xiaoli was different from other women. She appeared patient, but in truth, she bore grudges, delivering fatal blows when least expected. She seemed mad, but inside she was calmer than any, her gaze never leaving her goal.

He should have understood that sheltering her would only hold her back. Better to let her grow, let her shed her old self, so that one day she could, by her own hand, defeat her enemies.

His gaze fell on the swirling snow. The road ahead would be hard—countless black-clad foes, endless schemes, endless deaths. In the end, these were things she must face herself.

“Li’er, I understand,” he said softly. All he wanted was to protect her from harm.

Yes, understanding was all that mattered.

Where he could not see, Feng Xiaoli smiled.

Together, they tidied the cottage. Books were scattered everywhere, signs of frantic searching in every corner—even the bedboard had been pierced, the walls marked with countless thin lines that, upon closer look, revealed themselves to be sword scars. Feng Xiaoli’s heart ached as she gathered the books from the floor. These medical texts were her master’s favorites, now trampled and defiled.

She could not understand why black-clad men had appeared here, nor why there were traces of battle.

“I wonder where Master and the other disciples have gone,” Feng Xiaoli said anxiously. “Most puzzling of all is how those black-clad men broke through the formation and entered Snowmist Mountain. Very few know the entrance!”

Hearing her, Zirlin quickly grasped her meaning. “Li’er, are you suggesting—” Indeed, it seemed there was a traitor within Snowmist Mountain, someone who had answered the enemy from inside, intending to destroy the old man of Snowmist. Judging by the signs of battle, the old man had left the mountain, but where he had gone was unknown.

Zirlin reassured her, “Don’t worry. The old man of Snowmist is no ordinary man. His martial skills are unmatched; few could best him. Forced by circumstances, he must have left to adapt. But Li’er, Snowmist Mountain is no longer safe. We should leave at once.”

“Leave, yes. But first, we must search the medical books Master left behind. Those black-clad men were about to burn them—I saw one holding a fire starter. That means these books hold answers. If we study them all, I’m sure we can save Xiang Lian!” If Luo Wensheng could be saved, so could Xiang Lian.

Zirlin wiped sweat from his brow. “Li’er, are you sure we have to devour a hundred books?”

“If you don’t want to, you may leave,” Feng Xiaoli replied with a smile.

Thus unfolded a scene: one person sprawled on the floor, devouring books; the other, scratching his head, unable to decipher the master’s notes; one absorbed, the other sweating cold.

The sun set, the moon rose, the night passed.

They read for a full day and night.

Zirlin’s eyes were bloodshot and dry as he stared at Feng Xiaoli. His own medical skill was not lacking, but he had never seen such medicine before. He cried out, “Old man of Snowmist, your handwriting is abominable! Are you writing in mad cursive?”

Feng Xiaoli looked at him with contempt. “And you call yourself learned!”

“Li’er, have you found anything?” Zirlin rubbed his tired eyes. Snowmist Mountain was a strange place. There were no lush trees, only withered trunks, but the air was rich with negative ions, and though they had not slept all night, they did not feel tired.

He asked because Feng Xiaoli’s expression was growing ever more peculiar. At last, she snapped the book shut with a loud clap, her eyes razor sharp, brows furrowed in thought.

After a moment, she spat out, “Damn it, we’ve been played!”

What? Played by whom? Zirlin could hear the bitterness and anger in her words.

Yesterday, their minds had been thrown into chaos by the two groups of black-clad men. They had not thought these issues through. The first group, led by XX, had blocked their path at the mountain’s base, seemingly to buy time. But in truth, it did not matter whether Feng Xiaoli and Zirlin killed them or not. Their plan would not change, for they carried a medical book vital to Xiang Lian’s life.

They had accurately guessed Zirlin’s temperament—he was naturally calm and reluctant to kill. In XX’s presence, there was always a chance for survival. As for Feng Xiaoli, she would not kill easily; the decision belonged to Zirlin. And so it went—Feng Xiaoli and Zirlin spared their lives, allowing them to transfer the medical book away. Even if they scoured Snowmist Mountain, they would find nothing about the poison.

As for those on the mountain—they were mere pawns, destined for one thing: death.