Chapter 41: Remember Me

“What, what is that thing?” the old man of Thunder stammered, his words catching in his throat. A young whelp who was not even a warrior had somehow manifested his origin power, forming a innate form?

Wang Bo’s reaction was much calmer, “The young mistress is calling us.” As he spoke, he began to descend towards the peak.

The old man of Thunder started moving as well, muttering, “Whose secret technique forms a birdman shape? Damn it, the Bai family! Cloud Feather…” Cloud Feather, one of the Bai family’s secret techniques, its current master was the recently promoted thirty-year-old warrior, Bai Longjia.

But the rest of the old man’s sentence choked in his throat. His eyes widened like copper bells, staring fixedly at the scene below.

Wang Bo’s movements also paused, his pupils dilating. He saw the vampire warrior on the plain suddenly sink into a pool of water, or perhaps more accurately, a mirror!

Viscount Zaran was charging across the field when he suddenly noticed something was off. It felt as if he had unknowingly entered a strange dimension.

He continued to run, but lost all sense of distance. His hearing seemed to falter next; the wind, the night beasts’ cries, everything disappeared. Instead, the sound of waves crashing against a shore emerged, growing louder and louder.

A faint light appeared in the void before him, quickly intensifying to a deep, blood-red hue. Threads of crimson light spread out in every direction.

Only then did the viscount realize that his body had become immobile, his thoughts near frozen. Illusions sprang up before him, each containing a version of himself and a blooming flower, as if trapped in a mirrored world.

A soft ‘pop’ echoed, as if the flower from the river of death had finally reached full bloom. The mirrored world cracked, then shattered. Zaran crumbled into countless pieces, vanishing silently.

The viscount, whose ancient surname was Bayn, plummeted from the sky and hit the ground. No new wounds marred his body, but his face was frozen in shock, his eyes lifeless, turning him into a corpse.

In the air opposite, golden wings slowly folded, encircling Qianye, and gently descended, lowering him to the ground before dissipating into countless specks of light.

At that moment, the world was silent.

A large bubble enveloped the girl, lowering her gently to the ground. The moment she touched down, she sprinted towards Qianye, skirts in hand.

Xixi flung herself onto the unconscious youth, her cool cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the strong heartbeat beneath his warm skin. She exhaled, fingers tightening, creasing the fabric over his heart.

She raised her head, but her hand remained on his chest, savoring the vital energy seeping through her palm, bringing life to the monochrome, silent world around them.

Suddenly, Xixi’s expression changed, and she turned to look at the pistol clutched in Qianye’s right hand. The once gilded barrel was now translucent, but the gun’s grip still emitted a dense, vibrant life force, as if the recent bloom was not enough, continuously drawing power from the wielder.

She immediately grabbed Qianye’s hand, pulling the hammer back forcefully. The small, frail body jolted, almost falling off Qianye.

The ancient, ornate pistol returned to the girl’s possession, reverting to its original form. Qianye’s eyelashes flickered, showing signs of waking.

The two elders stood nearby, their faces etched with shock.

Even the fiery temper of the old man of Thunder had cooled, mumbling, “He actually fired it, actually fired it!”

Their keen eyes had seen every subtle change. They knew Qianye could not fully control the Manjushage. If Xixi hadn’t taken the pistol, Qianye might have been completely drained in his coma.

But this didn’t hide the shocking fact that he had driven the Manjushage!

The Ten Great Pistols were so named because they were not just regular weapons, powered by dawn force and less effective. They were fundamentally unusable.

Wang Bo’s expression differed slightly from the old man’s. He studied Qianye intently, seemingly recalling something.

At that moment, Xixi turned, fixing Wang Bo with a deeply unfamiliar, authoritative gaze. Wang Bo, startled, lowered his eyes.

Xixi gathered Qianye into her arms, producing a tiny crystal vial, pouring its blue misty contents into his mouth. She then gestured to the two elders.

Wang Bo and the old man exchanged a glance, rising into the air.

The old man couldn’t hold back, and once they were at a safe distance, he said, “Not taking the boy back? Someone can use the Manjushage—this is a huge matter! Though he seems uncontrollable, we can study it.”

Wang Bo kept his gaze on the ground, saying, “Let’s see what the young mistress says.”

The old man argued, “Such a matter should be reported to the Patriarch, naturally…”

Qianye opened his eyes, sitting up to meet Xixi’s anxious gaze. For a moment, he was disoriented, then remembered firing the pistol. But what happened after?

He stared, seeing the viscount lying fifty meters away, devoid of life. Glancing to his right, he found the pistol missing, reclaimed by the girl.

As a chill brushed against him, Qianye caught Xixi, her weak arms wrapped around him, as if using all her strength.

“Forget it!”

“B-But, this…?” Qianye was utterly confused.

“Forget it! Forget everything, and never speak of what happened here,” Xixi said, staring into his eyes, emphasizing each word.

Her eyes, deep and mysterious, no longer showed vulnerability, but a mix of shock, anxiety, confusion, and fear, and a final, resolute determination.

Qianye nodded involuntarily.

Xixi managed a weak smile, pressing her cool cheek against Qianye’s, “No, remember me.”

With that, Xixi released Qianye, standing up, “Forget what just happened, but remember me.” She turned, sprinting away, her small figure soon becoming a mere dot.

Qianye watched her until she vanished, sighing. He still didn’t know what had happened, but one thing was clear: the pistol and the girl were very problematic.

Qianye sat for a while, the fatigue finally fading. Moving his limbs, he stood, noticing a small crystal vial fall from him.

It was empty, a faint blue trace left on its transparent walls. Bending to pick it up, Qianye recognized it, sniffing the herbal scent mixed with origin power.

It was a healing potion.

The familiar scent triggered a faint memory. Zhao Junhong had given him such a potion during the Spring Hunt, in the same type of bottle. Then, Qianye thought of the crystal box that held the vial.

A flash of insight connected the memories: the crystal box, the Manjushage, the Zhao family, Zhao Junhong, Zhao Ruoxi, Xixi…

Qianye froze, his mind swirling with thoughts, yet he wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Subconsciously, he didn’t want Xixi and Zhao Ruoxi to be the same person.

Xixi was delicate and pure, her innocence, though mostly an act, made Qianye feel a natural closeness. Zhao Ruoxi, the pride of the clan, was more talented than the Second Young Master, a high, untouchable figure.

Then, Qianye grasped a thread of thought from the chaos: the Glowing Fang! Did she still have it? She hadn’t returned it, whether intentionally or not.

Qianye had given it to her, thinking if things went horribly wrong, she could use it to end her life. The Glowing Fang’s ability to absorb blood essence would prevent the viscount from turning her into a puppet before her death.

Why hadn’t Xixi returned it?

Instinctively, Qianye approached Zaran, flipping the corpse. The viscount’s face was frozen in extreme horror, as if still alive. Yet, there were no new wounds, his body still teeming with vitality, as if alive.

But Qianye found that Zaran’s consciousness was completely gone. Even if some secret technique could animate the body, it would be a mere husk without self-awareness.

What kind of power could erase a viscount’s mind without harming the body?

While Qianye was tangled in these questions, Xixi faced Wang Bo and Zhao Kai.

Her expression grave, she said, “Uncle Wang, Uncle Kai, please keep this secret. Even from my father!”

Though her tone was gentle, it was a strict order. With her status in the Zhao family, Wang Bo and Zhao Kai, her nominal protectors and guides, were effectively her underlings.

Wang Bo was still lost in thought.

Zhao Kai, direct from the Zhao family, straightforwardly said, “Young miss, this is a big matter! Someone can use the Manjushage. How can we not tell the Patriarch?”

Xixi bit her pale lip, “He didn’t truly use it.”

Zhao Kai understood, having seen Qianye passively losing power to the Manjushage. Yet, compared to the lack of response from others, this wasn’t an insurmountable barrier.

He argued, “Even if he can’t control it, further research might find a solution. His bloodline or secret technique must be special. Bringing him into our clan could make the Zhao family even more prosperous.”

Xixi said slowly, “Uncle Kai, this is not possible. Let’s forget it!”