For a beat, the room was so quiet. Lang Ruhua's eyes drifted far away. Then, after a long pause, she drew in a slow breath and spoke, her voice barely above a whisper:
"There is a way."
She rose without another word, set the golden needle gently beside the Princess, and stepped out.
Lang Huan scrambled to her feet. "Ruhua, where are you going? Don't leave me!"
The beautiful woman leapt onto the hall roof and vanished. Lang Huan chased after her, their figures darting through the trees until the lanterns dwindled into distant stars. Moonlight slanted through the branches, painting the path in silver.
At the top of the rise, Lang Huan stumbled to a halt. There, at the cliff's edge, stood Lang Ruhua. Her figure swayed beneath the pale moonlight. The night wind tugged at her sleeves, as if uncertain whether to push her forward or pull her back.
"Don't stand there—it's dangerous, don't you know?" Lang Huan said, rushing forward. She wrapped her arms tightly around the stubborn woman's waist and pulled her back from the edge.
She could not understand the sudden sorrow hidden in Ruhua's eyes. How do we cure the Eldest Princess? Why does she look so sad…?
Suddenly, Ruhua struck her shoulder with trembling fists.
"Why can't I stand there? Since when have you ever cared about me? All you care about is your precious Princess… Bad monkey… I hate you!"
"I care about you—who said I don't?" Lang Huan's voice trembled as tears blurred her sight. "If you were the one lying there instead, I would do the same for you." She looked at Lang Ruhua with honesty in her eyes.
Seeing the sincerity in her little monkey, Ruhua's anger and sorrow softened. Inwardly, she cursed herself, she was far too easy to be coaxed by Lang Huan's gentle words. She could not even tell when Lang Huan had become more important to her than herself.
Lang Huan guided her gently to sit on a large rock. "Just sit here," she murmured. "Please tell me, how can we cure Her Highness?"
Lang Ruhua said nothing at first; her lips curved into a bitter smile. It wasn't that she refused to answer—she simply had no easy answer. She recalled the forbidden medical art she had once discovered—the Blood Exchange Method.
It required purging the poisoned blood from the victim and replacing it with her own. If their blood proved incompatible, both would die. And even if it succeeded, the price would still be Lang Ruhua's life.
She knew the little monkey would rather die with Feng Yao than let her sacrifice herself. For that reason, Lang Ruhua kept the truth clamped behind her teeth, the bitter knowledge folding her into silence.
"If the way is so difficult and it would cost your life, I won't allow you to do it," Lang Huan whispered, sensing the unspoken truth within her silence.
Lang Ruhua's heart trembled. She lifted her hands, gently cupping Lang Huan's face as if to carve every line and curve into her memory. Her thumbs lingered, brushing over the softness of her skin.
"Little monkey…" she breathed, her voice unsteady, her gaze softening, heavy with desire. For an instant, she remembered Lang Huan's face that day, flushed with lust—how much Lang Ruhua wanted to devour her.
Her chest ached, a sweet and painful tightness. If only time could stop here…
Heat rose to her cheeks, and with a surge of helpless yearning, she leaned in and pressed a trembling kiss against Lang Huan's lips.
Lang Huan, as always, could not comprehend the heart of the woman before her—her emotions flaring one moment, softening the next. She could only surrender, letting her do whatever she wished.
"Come," Ruhua said at last, her voice carrying a brightness that did not reach her eyes. "Let's go and cure your wife."
Her lips curved in a smile, but behind it she buried the storm of worry tightening in her chest.
---
Lang Ruhua told Lang Huan to wait outside and not to disturb her. The door closed behind the latter, and Ruhua's smile faded like a candle guttering in the wind.
Inside, she studied the Eldest Princess. The condition was worsening; treatment could not be delayed. Panic skated at the edges of her mind, but she forced herself to be methodical. She did not know where to begin—nor whether her blood would even be compatible with Feng Yao's.
She cupped the Princess's face and, for a moment, simply admired that fragile beauty. Then a thought crossed her mind: not only the Blood Exchange, but also a Soul Transfer might be necessary to strengthen Feng Yao's body. The Princess had never trained in martial arts or cultivated her qi; her body was too weak.
A selfish motive crawled up behind her reasoning. If she died to save another, would all her years of cultivation be lost? But if she bound her soul to Feng Yao's, even if her body perished, a part of her would remain—and she would never be parted from her little monkey.
Blood Exchange and Soul Transfer—this was a secret technique of a forbidden sect. No one had ever attempted it; no one could tell her the odds of success. The uncertainty frightened her, but there was no time for hesitation.
She lifted Feng Yao into a seated position, then sat cross-legged facing her. She pierced the tip of the Princess's finger until blood welled, then drew a slender jade tube from her sleeve. With steady hands, she guided one end into the Princess's vein—and connected the other to her own.
No one could say whether this was a sacrifice in vain or the beginning of something new.
She placed her palm on the Princess's shoulder and funneled her qi through her hand, steadying the fragile body before her. She drew out the poisoned blood, then replaced it with her own.
Dark blood dripped from Feng Yao's fingertip, thick and venomous. She could only follow what she had read in the book.
Hours passed… Slowly, color returned to Feng Yao's face, while Ruhua grew weaker and paler, her skin and lips turning as white as jade.
---
Xiao Lan stood at the corridor and saw guards — along with Lang Huan — stationed outside the Princess's chamber. She had already heard the news: Feng Yao had been bitten by a snake, and Ruhua was inside trying to save her.
The happiness of her plan's success lasted only a moment before it was replaced by worry that Lang Ruhua might actually cure The Eldest Princess.
"Kill her," whispered the golden bangle.
"How can I kill her with so many guards?" Xiao Lan hissed, panic and calculation battling in her chest.
The golden bangle kept provoking her. "Distract them. If the Princess is saved, all your plans will be for nothing."
Xiao Lan clenched her fist, mind racing. There was only one cruel way: draw the guards away.
She ran to the western villa and set a fire near the eaves. The flames spread slowly, then grew into a blazing inferno. Shouts rose; people ran toward the smoke. While chaos swelled there, she slipped to the eastern villa and started another blaze, then returned quietly to the corridor near the Princess's chamber.
Within minutes, the compound was in uproar — guards torn between two fires. The plan had begun.
Lang Huan frowned as her eyes caught the thick smoke curling into the night sky. Why is there suddenly a fire? The thought pressed heavily on her chest. This cannot be an accident… someone must have set it. Could it be the same person who placed the snake?
Her worry deepened. If the fire spread and the noise grew louder, it might disrupt Ruhua's concentration. That could not be allowed.
She turned to Qiu Yue. "Guard this room. Don't let anyone enter. I'll deal with the fire."
Without waiting for a reply, Lang Huan's figure swept into the courtyard, heading straight toward the rising flames.
---
Lang Ruhua struggled to keep her consciousness steady. With the last of her strength, she thrust her palm forward. From her forehead, the shape of a crimson wolf's head appeared, carved in blood, and the mark began to seep before glowing faintly.
Her black hair turned white. Her hairpin slipped free, and her long hair spilled down to her waist, streaming like silver silk as her qi poured out of her body.
Outside, Qiu Yue's attention was fixed on the thick smoke billowing from the villa. In that moment, Xiao Lan seized her chance and slipped silently into the room.
There, she saw Ruhua and Feng Yao seated cross-legged, their figures faintly trembling under the strain of the blood exchange. Her gaze darted to the sword resting on the table. Heart pounding, she snatched it up, crept closer, and without hesitation drove the blade into Ruhua's body again and again.
Blood splattered across the golden bangle, across her face, soaking through her clothes. Panic gripped her.
Ruhua's body collapsed off the bed and struck the floor with a loud crash. The noise jolted Xiao Lan, and in her shock she let the sword slip from her hand. It clattered against the floor.
Qiu Yue, alarmed by the crash, rushed inside. But before she could even take in the scene, Xiao Lan snatched up a heavy porcelain vase and smashed it against the back of her head. She crumpled instantly.
In frantic desperation, Xiao Lan grabbed the bloodstained sword and forced it into Qiu Yue's limp hand. Then, without looking back, she fled the chamber, racing to her room—the stench of blood and smoke chasing her into the night.