What Zhu Weiwo saw was the fifth killing form of the Violet Dawn Sword Art — the Violet Dawn itself!
Violet light surged. The sword stretched like a long rainbow.
Jiang Chen, man and sword together, in the most absolute posture, came from east to west and struck Xiong Wen square in the heart from behind.
Then he let go of the sword, rolled aside, and put distance between himself and any death-throes counter.
But Xiong Wen's drained body had nothing left.
That terrifying, twisted body fell, helpless and clean.
It hit the ground and did not dissolve into shadow.
Only his wide, round eyes still spoke of his disbelief.
He could not believe he was dying like this!
He could not understand how that base, weak little thief had not run far away — but had hidden here all along, silent, patient, invisible.
And at this moment, struck this killing blow.
It was a sword so sudden, so unexpected, so dazzling, so perfectly placed!
Under everyone's stunned gaze, Jiang Chen slowly stood.
All night he had been gambling. Gambling that Zhu Weiwo, who could chase Xiong Wen across the land, had some way to track them no matter how they hid — it was only a matter of time.
Gambling too that when he failed to come home, Ling Chuan and Zhao Yan would come looking for him. As the first-year champion of the Three-City Trial, the academy would not ignore his disappearance. That would hand Zhu Weiwo a perfect trail — without Jiang Chen lifting a finger.
So he had actively helped Xiong Wen hide, buying a little trust.
All he really had to do was delay Xiong Wen.
That was why he had taken the long way around, why he had crept into the Fang compound, why he had slipped into the ancestral hall and drawn out the Fang keeper.
But it could not end there.
Xiong Wen was violent, powerful, and bold enough for anything — a return strike was not beyond him.
Zhu Weiwo could take it. Jiang Chen could not.
He himself could hide far away, vanish from sight until the demon died. But Jiang An'an? She could not hide.
So tonight, Xiong Wen had to die.
He could not let him run.
All day he had lived with his life in another's hand. Now he personally ended the one who held it.
The extremity of it, the force of it, sent his Dao essence surging through his Celestial Palace.
His little earthworm of a true spirit darted and churned, breathing in and out.
But Jiang Chen only turned and walked away.
"Wait." Zhu Weiwo's voice.
Jiang Chen looked back. Zhu Weiwo tilted his chin toward the corpse: "Your spoils."
A cultivator of Xiong Wen's grade carried things worth having. Zhu Weiwo meant: take your pick.
But Jiang Chen dared not be greedy. Escaping with his life was luck enough. He knew who the star of this night was. Without Zhu Weiwo, Xiong Wen could have killed him at leisure and walked away.
And even without his sword stroke, Xiong Wen might not have escaped anyway.
He had only cut off the tiny chance. He would never claim the kill was his.
So he gave a tired smile: "All the credit is yours, senior brother. This junior would never presume."
Then he turned and walked into the night.
Zhu Weiwo smiled. To the Fang family, standing silent, he said: "Send the corpse to the academy, whole. If you would."
Then he reversed the spear, slung it over his shoulder, and walked off.
He never worried the Fangs might loot Xiong Wen's belongings.
He saw it clearly: if they had that kind of nerve, tonight only one old keeper would have died.
...
Only when he was far away did Jiang Chen hear the weeping rise from the Fang compound behind him.
The keeper had been the Fangs' only eighth-rank Cycle cultivator — one of the few elders left from the older generation, a pillar of the clan.
Whatever grudge he bore the Fangs, Jiang Chen genuinely felt guilt over that old man.
But there was nothing he could do. The world was this cruel, and he was only fighting to live.
And one thing he had not shown.
At the instant he killed Xiong Wen from behind, something flew off the demon's body and struck him.
At first he thought it was a death-throes attack. Then he knew it was not.
He felt a strange, clear ease — a white phantom flickered past his eyes, like some binding had been undone.
Now that thing sat in his Celestial Palace.
A short, black candle. Unlit.
His earthworm true spirit was circling it.
Jiang Chen had no time to study it. Because he saw Zhao Yan, lantern in hand, waiting for him at the crossroads ahead.
Zhao Yan did not ask what happened tonight. Jiang Chen did not ask what Zhao Yan had done tonight.
They talked about something more important.
"An'an?"
"The big brother is with her! Kids are easy — I told her you went to Phoenix Creek Town to buy her sugar dolls. She believed it."
Jiang Chen's face fell: "And where am I supposed to conjure a sugar doll right now?"
"Hahaha." Zhao Yan grinned, triumphant, and produced five perfect sugar dolls, waving them in Jiang Chen's face. "I really did send someone to Phoenix Creek Town!"
...
In the Three-Scent Pavilion, Miao Qing was speaking with a man in a bone mask when her face suddenly changed.
"What is it?"
Miao Qing murmured: "The bone seed I planted. It's gone."
The masked man clasped his hands behind his back: "A bone seed you planted? When? On whom?"
Miao Qing came back to herself, glanced at him, half-smiling: "Do your own work. Keep your nose out of mine."
The masked man did not argue. He sank into the floor and vanished.
Only when he was gone did Miao Qing return to her pondering: "Could it be..."
She rose abruptly — then sat back down.
"No. Not certain. I must be careful. So careful..."
...
In the Jiang house on Flying Horse Lane, from broad daylight to sunset to the chill of deep night, Jiang An'an's spirits sank lower and lower.
Ling Chuan sat with her, trying his best to cheer her up. But he had no gift for it, and his mind was elsewhere, so it did no good.
Jiang An'an was not angry with Ling Chuan, the big brother. But truth be told, Brother Ling was not half as fun as Brother Ruchen.
And Brother Du Hu... he looked too fierce!
All the brothers were good. But all of them together could not match her own brother.
She was unhappy.
As the teacher would say: "Sorrow wells up within, unbroken and unending."
Sigh.
Jiang An'an drooped.
"What melts sorrow? Sugar. Nothing but sugar."
A lively sugar doll appeared before her eyes. Then a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth.
Five dolls in a row.
Behind them, the beaming face of Jiang Chen.
"Jiang An'an! Happy birthday! From today, you're five!"