Tang Shirou's lips trembled; tears slipped free before she could stop them.She did not want Chen Xiao to come searching for her—if she could die quietly and alone, that would be mercy. Her eyes kept darting to the edge of the Tang family compound, to the man who would not give up.
Dashan stood outside the walls, every inch of him scarred and bloodied, yet his resolve burned brighter than ever. He spoke in a low, ragged voice that left no room for doubt.
"I lost my sister-in-law. I have to bring her back."
Under his hood the Beekeeper's expression flickered—there was a trace of pity, quickly swallowed. His voice was dry as winter air.
"How many times must I tell you? Miss Tang is already promised. If you keep this up, I'll kill you."
Dashan's answer was a roar. "Then kill me."
Tension crackled between them like static before a storm. From the watchtower Tang Shirou cried out, her voice breaking: "Dashan! Please—leave! I am not your sister-in-law!" Her tears streamed freely, but he did not respond.
He moved instead like a rock in a hurricane—unchanging, immovable—and charged the Beekeeper and the masked man at the same time. His strides were heavy and determined; each footfall thudded into the earth like a drumbeat. Even the masked man let out an involuntary breath. This persistence—this refusal to die—looked almost insane. Whatever kept Dashan alive now, whether raw stamina or a last ember of faith, it was keeping him standing.
"Finish him this time," the Beekeeper said, flicking his sleeve with extreme calm.
Venom condensed, invisible and taut, and coalesced around a needle-sharp intent in the Beekeeper's hand. In an instant the needle flashed and lunged for the soft hollow of Dashan's gut.
Dashan did not dodge. He met the attack head-on, brute force answering lethal precision. Pain exploded through his body—numbness, white-hot agony—but he did not collapse. He knelt, swaying, held up by sheer will. Each breath he drew seemed to drain the earth of its strength, each movement a final echo of some ancient pulse.
On the watchtower, Tang Shirou grabbed Tang Xiangui's sleeve, teeth clenched and voice raw. "Please—make them stop!"
Tang Xiangui shook his head, a small, satisfied smile curling his lips. "Stop? Why should I? They must not stop now."
Tears fell down Tang Shirou's face. "I'll marry. I'll marry the Yang family."
Tang Xiangui's tone dropped like a blade. "No backing out. If you regret this, not only will that fool below die, but the resistance in Jiangbei will fall with him. We will not fail." His confidence was absolute; the weight of his family's power seemed to press the sky down.
She nodded weakly and then slumped—despair swallowing her. The Tang family's might was overwhelming. If Tang Xiangui had vowed to raze Jiangbei, he would do it. She bowed her head with a silent prayer for Chen Xiao, Jiang Chu Xue—may they live well.
Tang Xiangui gave the order to withdraw, and at his nod the Beekeeper and the masked man began to step back.
Dashan would not accept that. He roared once more, a sound that tore across the plain. "Return her to me!"
He raised his arms like a mountain and charged. The palm he threw landed like an avalanche—raw, unstoppable force—an attack that rolled over the ground like thunder. The air itself hissed beneath the pressure.
Even from afar the change in him was obvious; he seemed to have grown stronger, as if some hidden reserve had been unlocked. The Beekeeper and the masked man felt the punch's weight, but they did not flinch.
The masked man moved, water whispering under his feet. He was the bearer of [Shark Soul], an S-rank talent that let him fuse with the predator's ferocity—speed, power, the lethal efficiency of a shark. He swept a leg like a fin slicing the surf—fast, clean, deadly.
The clash ended in a single blow. Dashan's huge form flew sideways, leaving a dark arc of blood in the air. He broke his fall, staggered to his feet—and then stood, though blood ran from his mouth and eyes and his body dripped like a broken statue. He was at the edge of life.
"Enough, Dashan—enough!" Tang Shirou sobbed, clinging to the rail. "I won't go with you." Her voice was hoarse. Why did he have to fight like this? She had been promised; there was no sense in dying to stop it.
The Beekeeper's patience snapped. He withdrew from his cloak a long, cold needle—nearly a meter of black steel. This was no ordinary weapon; it was bound to his skill: the Venomous Bee Needle. When it gleamed into the light the air seemed to hold its breath—poison and fate coiled together.
"Once the Venomous Bee Needle is drawn, fate is sealed," the Beekeeper said, voice low and final. "Your life ends here."
He blurred forward like a shadow and the needle streaked out. It found its mark, flying for Dashan's palm like an arrow.
Dashan lifted his head and braced, his chest pulled tight with one grand breath. He swung—a palm meant to meet death itself.
Everything froze for a moment: needle, palm, fate.
Then the needle slammed into something that was not flesh. It struck a barrier like a mountain. The air around the point of impact shimmered and rolled in concentric ripples, like water trembling in stillness.
Shock lit the Beekeeper's eyes beneath his hood. The Venomous Bee Needle had been thwarted—stopped before it even touched Dashan's skin. Whatever had interposed itself was no ordinary defense.
For a stretched heartbeat the world held its breath.