The morning light shone brightly on the bluestone road, and Qin Zhao had just stepped over the tilted boundary marker at Dongshikou, crushing a dry blade of grass under his boots. The wound on his left arm is still bleeding, and the cloth strip was torn off and wrapped around the corners of his robe. The blood has already soaked into the outer layer, and the color is dark. He didn't care, the wine jug swayed in his hand, leaving only one sip left. He tilted his head and poured it down, making his eyes twitch with the spiciness.
This place is getting narrower and narrower as we walk, with the eaves on both sides pressing down, like someone bending the sky over their head. The street is bumpy and uneven, with oil droplets and rotten vegetable leaves floating in the puddles, and a few flies circling around. He stepped under a clothesline, and the water dripping from wet clothes landed on his shoulders, making him furrow his brow in the cold.
At this moment, a person collided.
It's not the brute force of a surprise attack, nor the sharp stabbing rhythm of an assassin. It's just a sudden forward thrust, the whole person pressed against him, and his chest hit his waist. His hand also slid upwards and poked him in the chest.
Oh my - Brother Qin is leaving in such a hurry, which little lover is he going to see
The sound is soft and sweet, and the final note is so high that it can hang a lantern.
Qin Zhao's reaction was faster than his brain. He took half a step back with his left foot to release the force, and his right hand had already touched the dark mark on his left wrist. His fingertips lightly pressed on the raised old wound - the treasure trove woke up, and a low buzzing sound exploded inside his skull, as if a blunt knife was grinding.
But he didn't move.
The person in front of me... is not right.
He looked like a teenager, sixteen or seventeen years old, with his eyebrows and eyes squeezed into a smile, and his cheeks bulging as if he had just finished gnawing on a chicken leg. Her hair was tied haphazardly with a broken jade hairpin, and a few strands of broken hair hung down in front of her forehead. She was covered in short, dusty lashes, and her cuffs were frayed. But those eyes - too bright, not as bright as they should be at this age, like lighting a torch at night to see people, insisting on revealing what's between your bones.
Qin Zhao stared at him with a low voice and said, "Get lost
The other party grinned, revealing a tiger tooth, and his fingers circled around his chest: "What's so fierce about it? I'll give you something, I'm sure you'll like it
As he spoke, he pulled out a flower from his arms.
Withered.
The petals curled up and turned black, and the stem dried up. It was dead for several days at a glance. The center of the flower bud also has a layer of gray white mold, which almost falls apart when the wind blows.
Here, "the person stuffed the flower into his hand," it's for you, don't throw it away
Qin Zhao did not answer.
His gaze swept over the broken flower, and his nasal cavity twitched slightly.
incorrect.
A smell crept in.
Extremely faint, almost imperceptible in the sour food and urine on the street corner, but he paid attention.
Rotten smell.
It is not an ordinary smell of corruption, but a metallic smell, like the smell of dead meat fermented in the liquid medicine. It is exactly the same as the black smoke from the three poisonous arrows.
He still remembered the feeling of the scent seeping into the sea of consciousness along the wound, like a needle scraping against his brain.
Now on this broken flower, there is the same scent.
Not only that.
More detailed, there are others.
A faint spiritual fluctuation stuck to the bottom of the flower stem, like a mark squeezed in by someone's nails, hidden deep. If his divine consciousness had not become sensitive after being baptized by the rain of arrows, he would not have noticed it at all.
Track the imprint.
It's not the aggressive type of rough marking, it's the chronic, parasite like one that, once activated, can locate in reverse along the breath. Commonly seen in intelligence organizations tracking targets or in the hands of assassins.
The question is - who would bury such a thing in a withered flower?
Or should it be handed over to someone who has just been attempted to be shot and killed on the street?
Qin Zhao squinted his eyes.
He suddenly smiled, lazily and coldly.
Okay. "He reached out and took the flower, intentionally rubbing his fingertips against the other person's palm." Thank you, little brother
The person blinked and smiled even sweeter, "Just call me Ah Xue! Everyone calls me that
Ah Xue? "Qin Zhao lowered his head to look at the flowers, then looked up at him." Did your mother get it for you
Oh, I hate it! "The person patted him lightly, acting like a slacker in a brothel." He just likes you, Brother Qin~
Qin Zhao rolled his eyes.
He casually stuffed the flowers into his sleeve and turned around to leave.
Footsteps came from behind, followed by two steps, and then stopped again.
He didn't turn back.
But his ears were erect.
After three breaths, the sound of footsteps took a turn and disappeared into the depths of the alley.
He slowly lifted his left hand, his sleeve twitched slightly, and the withered flower slid into his palm. He closed his eyes, his consciousness peeked out, and inserted it into the flower like a thermometer.
Imprint not activated.
There is no signal leakage or positioning feedback, it's like... waiting for some command.
Or, in other words, waiting for a certain moment.
He opened his eyes, and a faint purple flashed through the depths of his pupils, disappearing in an instant.
He's quite good at playing, "he whispered," using a dead person as bait? Or using oneself as bait
He stuffed the flowers back into his sleeves, his movements natural as if he were just tidying up his sleeves.
Then continue walking forward.
The pace hasn't changed, and there's no bow on the back, it looks like nothing happened just now. Passing by a Shaobing (Baked cake in griddle) stall, he reached for a copper plate, tossed it twice in his hand and took it back - too lazy to buy it.
He knows someone is watching.
Not necessarily alone.
It could be the old man smoking at the squatting door across the street, a fleeting shadow in the crack of the second floor window, or a dog hiding behind the garbage dump.
But it's okay.
He is not afraid of being watched.
He is afraid that no one will watch.
The more you watch, the more authentic the play becomes.
The role he is going to play now is a protagonist who has just been attacked, suffered some minor injuries, has a hot temper but has not yet gone crazy enough to kill and vent his anger on the spot. It's best to make people feel that he is alert, but not ruthless enough, leaving some flaws so that some people can take advantage.
For example, the 'Ah Xue' just now.
He was said to be a teenager, but his body was too well proportioned, his movements were too steady, and the way he exerted force on his wrist when speaking was also incorrect - this is a habitual tightness that only those who hold weapons for a long time will have. Moreover, whose young man carries a withered flower with a tracking imprint on it with him?
Did he appear just after being attacked by the Death Palace?
Coincidentally outrageous.
Either it's for him.
Either it's for that gold card.
Or perhaps
He touched the dark mark on his left wrist, and it started to heat up again.
The treasure trove is restless.
Not because of danger, but because of excitement.
It smelled something.
Not spiritual power, not cultivation, but a more primitive thing - obsession.
What is hidden in that flower is not just a mark.
There are also emotions.
A faint fragment of obsession belonging to someone, as if holding onto something tightly before death and refusing to let go. Weak, but pure.
The treasure trove wants to swallow.
But he didn't let it move.
Now is not the time.
He needs to figure out first whether this is bait or a test.
He walked south along the bluestone road, and the street became increasingly dilapidated. The walls peeled off like snakes shedding their skin, and several shops closed their doors with official seals on the door panels. A wild dog ran past with half a fish bone in its mouth, and when it saw him, it froze for a moment and slipped away with its tail between its legs.
He walked to a fork in the road and stopped.
On the left leads to a group of dilapidated temples, and on the right is a dead end with a pile of construction waste at the end.
He chose the right side.
Walked over, stood in front of the pile of bricks and stones, looked left and right, confirmed that no one was following, then raised his hand and slowly rubbed the flower stem with his fingertips.
This time, he let go of the suppression of his divine consciousness.
Explore the breath again.
The imprint remained silent, but the obsession... moved.
Like a wisp of smoke, it floated out from the depths of the flower bud and wrapped around his fingertips.
He suddenly remembered Ji Xue.
It's not the fake 'A Xue' now, it's the real Ji Xue - the woman with silver hair and red armor, a halberd dragging the ground, laughing crazily during fights, and even drawing love in his palm when injured.
But this obsession... doesn't look like her.
It's too cold and too lonely.
It's like a person dying on a barren land, leaving a trail on a stone with their last breath.
He frowned.
Put the flowers back into your sleeves.
Turn around and walk back.
He didn't look for any trace of that street corner, nor did he chase after that 'A Xue'. He knows that chasing now will only fall into the opponent's rhythm.
What the other party wants is for him to panic.
What he wants is for him to randomly search, move around, and expose his whereabouts.
But he doesn't.
He walked confidently without any injuries or flowers, not even moving a single step faster.
Like an innocent person.
In fact, I have already sorted out the whole matter eight hundred times in my heart.
The Broken Life Palace took action today, obviously to brush his gold card. But this flower... its origin is unknown. If the people of the Death Palace are involved, there is no need to send flowers unnecessarily. It is more convenient to send another wave of poisoned arrows directly.
There is only one possibility - a third party.
Someone is taking advantage of the momentum of the Hall of Life to set up a stage and sing their own play.
And this flower is the first act on stage.
He doesn't know the other party's purpose, but he knows one thing——
People who dare to stick things on him at this time are either stupid enough or... brave enough.
He is not afraid of being brave enough.
What he's afraid of is not daring enough to pretend to be a big tailed wolf.
The night hasn't arrived yet.
He needs to take care of this flower first.
Raise it until it speaks on its own.
He walked out of the old street corner, and ahead was his dilapidated courtyard. Half of the courtyard wall had collapsed, the door panel was tilted to one side, and the door ring had fallen off, leaving only an iron hook hanging. There is a crooked neck jujube tree planted in the yard, and the leaves have turned mostly yellow.
He pushed open the door and walked in, but didn't close it.
The wind made the door panel sway and creak.
He sat on the lame wooden stool in the center of the courtyard, took out withered flowers from his sleeves, and placed them on his knees.
The sunlight slanted in and fell on the flowers.
The mold stains are gray green in the light.
He stared at it without saying a word.
The sound of a shift coming from afar.
once.
Two times.
He suddenly raised his hand, pinched the flower, and leaned close to his nose.
Smell it again.
Rotten odor, spiritual imprint, fragments of obsession.
Three things mixed together, like a pot of Congee.
He sneered coldly.
Okay, I've taken on the job
He stuffed the flowers into his arms, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.
But you must remember -
I, Qin Zhao, have never received gifts for nothing
Looking back, I will definitely repay ten times