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Zhangsun Wuji slanted his head, and his usually calm fingers slightly trembled. He let go of the teacup that had been on his palm, keeping his hand into his sleeve.

There was a type of pain that he could not lessen, but he had to suffer along with her.

But Meng Fuyao suddenly stopped crying.

Time was precious. Tears would only blur her vision of her mother's face, and that was too much of a waste.

She tried hard to blink her eyes wide open. Then, she heard a bang as the door to the ward was being pushed open, and a crowd of people barged in.

The one in front had a big physique - Fatty.

Fatty, who had cried for his parents in the ancient tomb, whose bum she had attacked.

He was followed by the others… all her colleagues from the excavation team. Fatty was carrying a huge pot, and the others brought in food. They laughed as they walked in, bringing some liveliness to the remote room. Then, they set up the hot pot and plated the lamb meat.

”Aunt, let's eat hot pot together!”

On the bed, her mother smiled and said, ”I have troubled all of you once again…”

”Don't be so polite, this is what we should be doing. Meng Fuyao isn't around, we…” one had yet to complete his sentence when he was poked by someone else, and he promptly stopped talking.

Her mother was still smiling, and she meticulously closed the book and caressed the cover page. ”She's here… she's in my heart,” she said.

'Mother…'

Meng Fuyao instinctively dashed forward, wanting to run into the warmth that was a world away. Yet the illusion shook, resembling waves of a pond, and the scenery slowly faded into a mist of white light.

Feeling anxious, Meng Fuyao hurriedly tried to grab the scene in front of her, but all she grabbed was cold emptiness, and nearly dislocated Bagu's nose.

Bagu's face was full of perspiration. The long sustenance of the illusion had utterly exhausted him. Closing his palm, he said, ”You promised to let me go.”

Meng Fuyao contemplated - she had other plans.

Looking at her expression, Bagu seemed to realize something. Hurriedly, he added, ”I can only perform this thrice in my lifetime. That was the third time, don't dwell over it.”

In an instant, Meng Fuyao nearly collapsed. But after that depression came immense hatred. She suddenly looked up at Bagu, her eyes resembling that of a starving wolf, causing Bagu to shiver. He shouted, ”You're going back on your promise!”

However, Meng Fuyao pushed him away, barking, ”Scram!”

Like a mad woman on the streets, she forcefully pushed Bagu again, sprouting a string of ”scram, scram, scram, scram, scram, scram, scram!” as she did.

Bagu, with his pale-white complexion and black eyes, stared at Meng Fuyao who had embarrassed him in front of all the martial arts wielders in the world, and he clenched his fist so tight that the cracking of his knuckles could be heard. Suddenly, he felt an icy stare that landed on his back, and it was so sharp that he seemed to feel the pain of it. When he looked back, he saw the composed Zhangsun Wuji sitting on the jade steps, smiling at him.

That smile made him tremble and not dare to do anything else. Lowering his head, he swiftly walked away.

The stage was left with only Meng Fuyao and Pei Yuan - Ya Lanzhu was blown away by Meng Fuyao's strike earlier on. Without much inner energy left, she fainted out of exhaustion. Pei Yuan laid on the floor and panted hard. Her five fingers were crimson red, but it certainly did not look like blood.

While Pei Yuan laid, Meng Fuyao crouched. One seemed unable to push herself up anymore, while the other continuously coughed up blood.

The fight for the champion of the True Martial Arts Meet was approaching a devastating ending.

At that point in time, everyone could not decipher who would emerge as the winner - the alleged champion seemed like she could be shoved away with just a push of the finger. It really depended on who's the luckier one. Whoever could draw out her last bit of strength to strike down the other party would be the champion!

Meanwhile, Meng Fuyao hugged her knees and stared at her reflection in the pond of blood in a state of mental numbness. Who was that person in there? Where did the red-haired demon go?

Meng Fuyao was so engrossed at the sight in front of her that she did not realize the exclamations of shock that rang beside her. Pei Yuan had propped herself up on her elbow and was struggling to stand up.

Pei Yuan crawled very slowly, and she had just lifted her body off the ground when she immediately collapsed again. Nonetheless, she took a few deep breaths and relentlessly, tried to lift herself up again.

After a full 10 minutes, she finally staggered onto her feet.

On the other hand, Meng Fuyao continued to squat on the ground, and she seemed to have forgotten about her surroundings from scrutinizing her reflection. She was not resigned - the pool of blood reflected the caisson and the four walls of dragon murals, but it never again reflected the people and events that she wanted to see.

Stupefied, she stained her fingertip with blood and slowly drew on the ground, one round… one bend…

Someone was gently calling out for her by her ear, trying to wake her up at such a crucial moment. It was his elegant and mellow voice.

”Fuyao…”

Pei Yuan panted as she approached.

… One more curve… then, two small triangles…

”Fuyao!”

Moments later, Pei Yuan finally walked up to the back of Meng Fuyao.

But Meng Fuyao continued to be engrossed in her drawing… Just one more stroke left…

Under the scrutiny of all the spectators, the childish drawing that was simultaneously completed when the enemy approached, was finally presented on the expensive and bright golden tiles.