It didn't stop there. One man's chest suddenly burst open with a wet, sickening sound, but nothing spilled out. His heart had vanished. And yet, when one looked closely, the blood streaming down his chest was mixed with tiny fragments—like pieces of flesh ground into dust—proof that his heart had been crushed to ashes inside his body.
Another collapsed without a single wound upon him. No blood flowed from his orifices, no slashes marked his skin. His body simply gave out, as if life had been snatched away as naturally as a flame blown from a candle.
Out of the remaining two, one turned in desperation and ran. His legs carried him only a few steps before he froze. His head lifted, eyes widening, staring ahead as if something unseen had materialized before him.
"What's that…?!" he whispered, horror lacing his trembling voice.
In his gaze, a pale, blurry spider web had appeared across his path, stretching wide as though woven by death itself. It shimmered faintly, binding his limbs, trapping him in place. His legs stopped, refusing to move. Then a sound—a deafening, unbearable sound—filled his ears. He screamed in silence before collapsing, blood spilling from his ears. Yet to everyone else, nothing existed—no web, no sound. Nobody saw anything. All they saw was that the man halted in his tracks, then fell lifeless to the ground as blood seeped from his ears.
The final rank four cultivator met his end in silence. A blade mark, unseen by the crowd, had appeared beneath the skin of his chest. He felt it—an agonizing pain that made his body shudder. But before he could let out any sound, another mark tore open across his throat. Slowly, deliberately, the wound deepened, as though an invisible hand carved deeper into his flesh. As his body staggered backward, his head tilted slightly, revealing the depth of the cut. It had sliced more than half his throat, so deep that the gash exposed his windpipe, yet not enough to sever his head completely. He fell like a puppet with cut strings, his breath trapped forever in his chest.
It had all taken only a few seconds. In the span of a few heartbeats, nine cultivators and many villagers perished, their bodies suffered by horrors unseen. The Death Warrant had unleashed its wrath, sinking its curse into flesh, bone, and soul. To the eye, it appeared that some died sooner while others lingered briefly—but in truth, the death warrant had taken effect instantaneously. It's just that some died earlier than the others.
By the time the last cultivator fell, every villager within reach was already lifeless. Men, women, elders, children—none escaped. Each died in a different, terrifying manner, as though the Death Warrant had tailored their ends uniquely, weaving its curse into every body it touched.
And Wen Xui…she was also paying the price. Her raven-black hair had turned nearly white, threads of silver overwhelming her scalp as though a lifetime had been stolen in mere moments. Wrinkles carved their way across her face and body, her youth drained away like sand in an hourglass.
"Wha…what's that?!" Gu Dan stammered, his voice shaking with terror. A suffocating fear constricted his chest, seizing his heart in an iron grip.
"It's something… someone gave me, to get rid of you all," Wen Xui said, her voice trembling as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes glistened with grief, her face heavy with sorrow. "I just wish… I had used it sooner…"
She clutched the black spider in her hand, it's cold weight pulling her back to a memory—one that had taken place just before the morning sun rose.
…..
"Yang Zhai, you're back." Wen Xui greeted him with a gentle smile as he stepped inside, her voice light with relief. "Where did you go this time?"
But Yang Zhai's face was grim, his silence heavier than words.
The smile faded from her lips. Concern clouded her expression as she asked softly, "What happened, Yang Zhai…?"
Her eyes searched his, as though hoping she could ease the burden he carried.
His voice came low, grim, and steady. "It's just that… I discovered something terrible happening on this island."
Wen Xui tilted her head slightly, urging him to continue.
Yang Zhai looked at her, his silence stretching, his gaze unwavering. Then, at last, he began to speak.
The more he revealed, the more her eyes widened in horror. By the time his words finished spilling out, her lips trembled, and her face had turned pale. Shock, revulsion, and dread twisted inside her as his revelations shattered the fragile peace she thought she knew.
"Impossible… how could that be possible…" she whispered, her voice barely a breath. Her stomach churned with disgust.
"So," Yang Zhai asked, his tone steady, his eyes piercing into hers, "what will you do?"
"What… what can I do?" Her shoulders sank, her gaze falling to the grass floor. "Just as you said days ago—if I confront them, I'll put my brother in danger. They outnumber me too. I'll be surrounded, and I'll die. I can't…"
Yang Zhai leaned forward, his voice sharpening like a blade.
"You know, it's a curious thing. A man's obligation. If it were my family—my own blood—I could never live with myself if I let such injustice stand. But I suppose we're built differently. Some people find it easier to let things go. To tell themselves, 'It was only a lung, only some flesh. He's still alive.' It's a comfortable lie. A lie that lets you sleep at night." His tone darkened, colder, heavier.
"But it is a lie. They didn't just take his flesh—they took his health, his dignity, his future. They would have taken his life, too, if he had let them. He didn't run because he was lucky, he ran because he was terrified. He ran to you. And now he waits. He waits to see what his kin does for him. Right now, he may not care. But when he grows… when he truly understands what happened—what will you say if he asks you what you did for him?" His words slashed through her defenses like a sword.
"We leave tomorrow. Be ready. But before we do… go and look those villagers in the eye one last time. Let them see your face. Let them see the resignation of the woman who chose to do nothing. They will laugh at your brother's pain, at your weakness. They will sleep soundly, night after night, knowing there was no consequence. Or…" his gaze sharpened, "you could give them another story. A lesson they'll never forget."
He stepped closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper.
"You once confessed to me, that urge for vengeance that grasped your soul. That wasn't weakness—it was truth. That was the real you, begging to be freed. Stop begging."
He studied her expression, then pressed on.
"Think of it not as revenge, but as correcting an imbalance. They created a debt. Your inaction only means you must pay it. Every day, your brother's silent eyes will remind you. He will never accuse you with words—but he will know. Always."
His voice hardened.
"What they took from him had a name: lung, flesh. What they left inside you also has a name: fear. And fear is their weapon. They count on it. They bet on it. And they win because of it. I'm not telling you to kill them. I am giving you the truth: to walk away is to become their accomplice. You will be the one who allowed his butchers to go on laughing, breathing with the flesh they stole and devoured. You will clean their crime for them."
Yang Zhai's gaze burned into hers. A gaze of mockery, pity and question.
"So go. Look into their eyes. Ask yourself: do you see remorse? Or do you see smugness? The answer will tell you everything. I'm giving you what they never gave your brother: a choice. You can end this plague, or you can carry their memory forever. The first is bloody, but final. The second is a lifelong scream inside your chest. So what is it, Wen Xui? Freedom… or cowardice?"
Her lips parted, trembling, but no words came.
Yang Zhai's tone softened, but only slightly.
"You're afraid you're not their match, aren't you? Did you forget what I told you? I promised to help you. But have you even asked for my help once?" He reached to his waist and grabbed something. A spider—black, ominous—rested in his hand.
"Here. The Death Warrant. When you use it, even rank four cultivators will fall like insects. Villagers, cultivators, it won't matter—they will all die. I will protect your brother. You no longer have an excuse." He pressed it into her hands. She hesitated, trembling, but eventually took it. With Yang Zhai's guidance, she subdued it.
When she turned to leave, she spoke one final line, her voice low, "Please… take care of my brother. I will forever be thankful."
However, Yang Zhai stood there calmly, watching her figure slowly fade into the thick mist, and in a low voice, he muttered,
"She's still not motivated enough…"
With that, Yang Zhai turned back and entered the house, sitting down in silence, as though he were patiently waiting for someone.
"Brother Yang, where's Sister Wen?" After a short while, Wen Bo appeared, rubbing his sleepy eyes as if he had just woken up.
"She… I am afraid you won't be able to see her ever again…" Yang Zhai replied in a quiet, heavy tone.
"Hmm?" Wen Bo tilted his head in confusion.
"The villagers are going to kill her. Because they tried to harm you, she went to take revenge for you. But they are too strong. I fear… she will die."
"Uh… why…" Wen Bo's body trembled as fear washed over him, tears welling up in his eyes. "Then… shouldn't you be helping her? Why are you just sitting here… please… help her…" His voice shook as he clung desperately to Yang Zhai's arm, begging him.
"I can't. She asked me to protect you."
"But… but why would she do that?"
"Because she cares about you, of course."
"But… but… you can still help her, right?"
"No. As long as you are here, I can't…"
"You can't? Then… I will help her myself! I won't let them kill her…" Wen Bo cried out, his voice breaking. Without waiting another second, he rushed toward the village. But his legs shook so much that he stumbled and fell to the ground. Still, he ignored all this, pushing himself up and running again with all the determination he could muster.
After Wen Bo left, Yang Zhai slowly rose and walked out of the empty house as well, leaving the final lantern burning faintly behind him. Both the doors of the house were left wide open. He didn't even care close them, and walked away, his figure fading away into the mist.
!|!*****!*****!|!