C17 The Smell of Death

Aoao!!!

At the sight of Bai Qing'er's momentary daze, Duanjiu emitted a prolonged howl. His body expanded exponentially in an instant, and before anyone could blink, a colossal black bear materialized in the cramped confines of Miasma Land.

Transformed into his true black bear form, Duanjiu was enveloped in a fierce Soul Fire. With a mighty heave of his forelimbs, he unleashed a sweeping blow. The winged tiger Xiangfeng and the One-Horned Lion were sent flying with such force that they crashed through dozens of trees, landing in a heap, struggling for breath.

Without sparing a second glance at the two fallen beasts, Duanjiu, now a towering black bear, dug his feet into the earth and leapt skyward. His massive paw, terrifying and shadowing the sun, hurtled down towards Bai Qing'er, who stood suspended in midair.

Though the tale seems lengthy, these events unfolded in the mere blink of an eye. Duanjiu truly lived up to his reputation as a dominant force; his actions flowed seamlessly. Beneath the crushing shadow of his paw, Bai Qing'er seemed no more significant than a tiny bee. Her Soul Fire extinguished completely, and as she regained her senses, she looked up to find the bear's immense paw a mere ten feet away.

Meanwhile, Ye Mo could no longer ignore his body's desperate need for air. He gasped for breath, thinking, "I'll either suffocate or be poisoned by this miasma." Navigating the bewildering Miasma Land, with the sounds of battle echoing around him, Ye Mo had little choice but to push through the searing pain in his chest and run blindly in any direction.

"Little fox, you simply can't afford to be in trouble..." Ye Mo gazed at the light within his abdomen, growing darker and on the brink of extinguishing. His face twisted in agony, and in a sudden move, he reached out to grasp the fading glow of the white fox's inner core. His fingers clawed so fiercely that his nails embedded into his flesh, and blood streamed freely.

Ow! Roar!

"Ye Mo! I have no regrets about our encounter!"

After a furious roar, Bai Qing'er's clear and elegant voice emerged distinctly behind Ye Mo. Her voice echoed in Ye Mo's heart, sending a chill through his entire body. He forgot about his advancing footsteps and crashed to the ground. Tumbling through the underbrush, he rolled over dozens of times before coming to a gradual stop.

Lying on the ground, battered and bruised, Ye Mo stared blankly at the sky. He could sense the calm in Bai Qing'er's heart as she spoke those words, the tears at the corner of her eyes. The phrase "I regret not meeting you" thundered in his ears. Overwhelmed, Ye Mo could no longer hold back the tears streaming down his rigid face.

Ye Mo lay still and silent, waiting for Bai Qing'er to call his name once more. Time slipped away with each breath, the previous clamor of battle had long ceased, and a deathly silence enveloped the surroundings once again. Bai Qing'er's voice did not reemerge.

"Owing you such a huge favor, how am I to live in peace hereafter? As expected... the Death Curse hasn't dissipated, has it?" Ye Mo's eyes were vacant as the miasma's effects began to take hold. Knowing death was but a step away, he slowly closed his eyes, filled with remorse, and whispered, "Yet, I regret meeting you..."

In the perilous green fog of the Miasma Land, Ye Mo's head began to throb. He opened his eyes to a hazy world, his once bright eyes now dimmed.

"It's you!" Ye Mo's expression tightened as he suddenly saw a familiar face before him—Bai Qing'er.

Biting back the pain, Ye Mo struggled to his feet and staggered toward her. The Bai Qing'er that now stood before him seemed like a celestial being, her beauty unparalleled, smiling gently at him.

Overcome with joy, he rushed forward, extending his hand to cradle Bai Qing'er in his palm...

Whoosh... A gust of wind, carrying dry leaves, swept past Ye Mo's vision. As the wind died down and the leaves settled, Bai Qing'er's smiling visage vanished from his sight. Ye Mo stood motionless, his outstretched hands hovering before his eyes, as he stared into the void.

"Hey, you're bleeding. Here, use this handkerchief to wipe it off."

A youthful voice suddenly emerged ahead. Ye Mo slowly lowered his hands that had been shielding his eyes and looked up in the direction of the sound.

The world before him transformed in the blink of an eye. The miasma, the grass, and the trees that surrounded him vanished as if they had never existed. Ye Mo seemed unfazed by it all, as if this was how things were meant to be.

His gaze settled on a bustling street scene that materialized before him. The street was teeming with people, a picture of vibrancy and life, yet it all appeared hazy except for two distinct figures—a charming little girl, about six or seven years old, who was speaking to a silent little boy with a tone full of concern.

The boy, head bowed, paid no mind to the blood trickling from his mouth, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He occasionally glanced up at the little girl through his brows. The girl, with an innocent smile, took the pristine white handkerchief and, undeterred by the mess, gently dabbed at the blood on the boy's face.

"Oh my, little rascal, how did you end up here? If I lost you, not even ten lives would be enough to make up for it..."

A blurry figure appeared beside the girl, exclaiming in alarm and taking her hand.

"Here, this handkerchief is yours..." The girl quickly pushed the handkerchief into Ye Mo's chest and flashed the boy a sweet smile before being whisked away by the blurry figure, disappearing into the throng of people.

All these scenes unfolded before Ye Mo, just ten steps away. He could clearly see the downcast look on the little boy's face, who remained silent throughout.

"Wait a second... What's your name?"

Watching the girl leave, Ye Mo understood the boy's thoughts of loneliness and despair because that boy was once himself. But he had lost that handkerchief.

Ignoring the cry in his heart, Ye Mo, who had been observing from a distance, suddenly called out loudly, "Wait a second, what's your name?"

The wind howled past as if in response to his shout. Ye Mo raised his arm to shield himself. When the wind ceased, and he lowered his arm, he found himself inside a small tavern. There stood a woman with a well-proportioned figure in a flowing blue dress, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. The familiar scent of flowers suggested a recognition, and Ye Mo watched in silence as the woman left the tavern, vanishing from his view.

The hallucinations induced by the miasma were so vivid, yet they brought little pain. It seems it's time for me to go..." Ye Mo shielded his eyes with his arm, whispering to himself. With a flick of his sleeve, the dreamlike visions shattered and dispersed like smoke.

"Mo, you're awake..."

Upon opening his eyes once more, he found himself lying in his own bed. Ye Wuya's face, etched with concern, hovered near, while Ye Qing'er held a bowl of steaming medicine, stirring it gently and looking at him with a reassuring smile.

The door remained ajar, letting in a cool breeze that brushed against Ye Mo's face. Rising without a word, he fought back a sense of loss and moved towards the threshold.

"Mo..."

"Mo, where are you off to? You haven't fully recovered; you mustn't catch a chill again."

Having just experienced the ordeal, Ye Mo understood it was all an illusion from the poison, yet the voice behind him still resonated with warmth. After a brief pause, he slowly shook his head and stepped over the threshold into the eerie night.

Taking a deep breath, Ye Mo looked back to see the door still wide open, the candlelight flickering gently inside, its warm glow seemingly calling out to him.

Raising his hand, he once again covered his eyes with his arm, uncertain of what might come next with another wave of his sleeve.

Splash!

Ye Mo waved his sleeve once more, but this time he kept his eyes shut, simply listening.

"How could I marry someone who doesn't know how long he has to live? With no soul, what's the point of having many souls? If he can't cultivate his soul, he's nothing but a waste! I simply won't agree!"

Ye Mo listened in silence to the 'familiar' woman's angry tirade near his ear. With his eyes closed, a faint smile crossed his lips, relieved he hadn't opened his eyes.

Splash! The sleeves moved again, and in that brief moment, Ye Mo felt as though he had lived a lifetime. As he waved his sleeves, a sudden burst of light reached his tightly shut eyes.

Cry...

Ye Mo could distinctly hear a loud, clear cry from above, like the call of a bird.

Buzzing... Ye Mo struggled to open his eyes, the familiar dark green miasma coming into view. Yet everything before him was blurred. Lying on the grass, he had not yet managed to stand, remaining in the same position as when he had fallen. The recent events seemed no more than a dream within Ye Mo's consciousness.

A warm liquid continuously flowed from Ye Mo's mouth. He was unable to move or speak, this sensation of death's approach more familiar than ever. Deeply poisoned, Ye Mo lay there, silently savoring the approach of death...

A weeping cry!

The resonant sound stirred Ye Mo's expression, and his eyes, nearly closed, slowly opened again, revealing a sliver through his swollen lids.

Whoo... Whoo... Whoo...

The miasma began to dissipate amidst the melodic howling of the wind, and his vision cleared, becoming remarkably broad. A massive bird-like creature hovered above Ye Mo, flapping its wings and gazing down at him in silence.

"Whoo... Is this hallucination not over yet?"

Upon witnessing the scene, Ye Mo was initially startled, but soon regained his composure, silently resolving to end the flawed illusion. As he attempted to lift his arm to swipe it before his eyes, he found himself too weak to do so. With a wry smile, Ye Mo's eyes slowly closed once more...

Swiftly!

With a piercing screech, the giant bird above Ye Mo dove down, its large black shadow plunging towards him. It extended its talons, like iron hooks, and grasped Ye Mo in its grasp. Then, bending forward, it took off, soaring upward and breaking free from the Miasma Land that had claimed so many lives.

Swiftly... Weeping...

Ye Mo, with the longsword strapped to his back, lay limp and unconscious in the creature's palm, as helpless as a field mouse in the clutches of an eagle. He was utterly insignificant and pitiful.

Devoid of any remaining strength, Ye Mo, in his dazed stupor, could only hear the loud, soul-stirring cries that echoed around him...