Chapter 48: Blood Array Crisis

By the time Song Wei Chen arrived at the cave with Mo Ting Feng, Ding He Ran was already there with nine Heaven Net grievance-breakers. Centered on the cave mouth, they stood in a circle by the Heavenly Stems positions, swords at their sides.

“Dust Warden Official,” Ding He Ran reported, “the bones and personal items have been placed in the required positions. We’re ready to form the array at any time.”

“Good.”

“Heaven Net Ten,” Mo Ting Feng said, “hear my order. Activate Tian Gang Formation at once. Once we break the cave mouth’s Illusion Mirror, Wu Jiu will lead Earth Net Ten into the cave immediately—protect the child and control the situation.”

“Yes!”

Ding He Ran and the others lifted their swords. They stepped the Big Dipper pattern and chanted in unison:

“White qi, chaos—flood my form.

Yu steps push and pull; I climb to Yangming.

Heaven turns, earth shifts; I tread the Seven Stars.

I step gang, I tread dou; in unison with the Nine Spirits.

A hundred gods aid me—cut down demon spirits.

Drive the wicked down; crush evil and deviance.

Let calamity scatter; let my years be prolonged.

May I ascend to Shangqing.

By decree of the Most High—so ordered!”

With the formation complete, they all pointed their swords at the cave mouth.

Even Song Wei Chen could see it: the entrance rippled like water struck by an unseen force.

But after one incense stick, the ripples only washed and layered. The Illusion Mirror showed no sign of collapsing.

Heaven Net Ten were all top-tier experts, yet they couldn’t find the trick. Holding the formation for so long drained their power; sweat beaded on their foreheads, stark under the thin moonlight.

Time slid later. Tension tightened in every throat.

Song Wei Chen pointed at the cave mouth and asked Ye Wu Jiu beside her, “What’s with those red threads? It looks like… blood churning.”

“Yin Mountain’s sinister sect techniques are cruel,” Ye Wu Jiu said quietly. “Lord guessed earlier they’d likely mix the missing boys’ blood into the array. A male chart born at a yin hour and yin quarter, eight characters of pure yin, is the best blood-sacrifice guide.”

“To undo it, you need the blood of a matching female chart as the guide, so the array can be dissolved. But time is tight. We haven’t found such blood, so we can only force the break.”

“I don’t really understand male chart and female chart,” Song Wei Chen said. “But do you mean we need a girl born at a yin hour and yin quarter, eight characters of pure yin—and use her blood as the guide?”

Ye Wu Jiu nodded, then sighed.

“Then try my blood,” Song Wei Chen said calmly.

“Don’t mess around.”

Mo Ting Feng’s voice cut in, cold and final, before Ye Wu Jiu could even react.

Something sharp rose in him—irritation, yes, but something else too. What was wrong with her today? First she’d played with Ruan Mian Mian, and now, with the situation this urgent, she still wanted to stir trouble?

“Why not?” she demanded. “I was born at a yin hour and yin quarter, eight characters of pure yin. My grandmother told me a thousand times—I’m sure of it!”

She glared at him, frustration leaking out of every word. “Messing around? Why do you always see me as so worthless?”

Mo Ting Feng froze. If she was telling the truth, her blood was the best blood guide.

He hesitated.

“But you are… you are a man,” Ye Wu Jiu said carefully. “If male-chart yin blood enters the array again, it will only strengthen the dark technique. It will make everything worse. We absolutely cannot.”

“How do you know if you don’t even try?” Song Wei Chen snapped. “Sure, I’m a man—but I’m a Po Yu Zhe. The only one in history. I’m special. Give me the knife.”

She couldn’t reveal the truth, so she forced a flimsy excuse and reached for Ye Wu Jiu.

Ye Wu Jiu hesitated, half-lifting the dagger—

Mo Ting Feng stopped him with a single motion.

“No.”

He refused flatly.

He didn’t want to see her bleed. Not a little. Not even now, not even with lives on the line. His feelings overruled his reason—brutal and undeniable.

Song Wei Chen’s voice rose. “Dust Warden Official, please be rational!”

“No.”

No room for negotiation.

“You said I never take anything serious,” she shot back. “I’m taking it serious now—so why won’t you agree?!”

She tried to provoke him, but he turned away, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Force the break,” he ordered.

In the next heartbeat, Song Wei Chen yanked the hairpin from her head and slashed her wrist open with it.

Blood surged out.

She lowered her arm and let it drip to the cave mouth. And, visibly—shockingly—the churning red threads weakened.

Mo Ting Feng’s breath caught. “You…”

“Brother Wei, your blood really works!” someone shouted, astonished.

Joy sparked through the circle.

Song Wei Chen lifted her chin, defiant and bright. “See? I told you. You wouldn’t believe me!”

Then, as if to prove it again, she dragged the hairpin across her wrist a second time—harder.

Blood poured.

Mo Ting Feng snatched the hairpin from her hand and flung it far away. His gaze on her was a tangle of need and horror, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. Reason screamed that he needed her blood. Something deeper screamed to stop the bleeding now.

No one noticed that the bloodstained hairpin, thrown aside, was quietly picked up by a rough hand in the shadows.

Mo Ting Feng stared at her wrist, brows knotted, agitation surging without end.

Song Wei Chen saw his expression and assumed he was angry that she’d forced the decision. Cold disappointment spread through her.

“I disobeyed your order,” she said stiffly. “When we return, I’ll accept any punishment.”

“How much longer?” Mo Ting Feng barked at the others, voice raw. “How much longer until it breaks?”

Ye Wu Jiu, misunderstanding his fury, hurried to smooth things over. “The red threads have already faded by more than half. We should break it soon. Lord, please don’t blame Venerable—his heart is sincere—”

“Shut up!”

Mo Ting Feng’s temper exploded. The night went still with fear.

No one dared speak again. They only poured more power into the formation.

Song Wei Chen’s earlier swagger drained away. She wanted to help—to save people—to not be deadweight. She’d been proud that she could finally contribute, and he’d shouted at her like this.

Half out of spite, she pressed her other hand hard against her bleeding arm, trying to make the blood flow faster.

Mo Ting Feng saw it and felt like his chest might split. He couldn’t do much in front of everyone, but he grabbed her other hand, wrenching it away and holding it tight.

“Enough,” he said, voice rough. “Don’t do that.”

Her wound was deep. Blood kept dripping to the cave mouth, and the last red threads were nearly gone.

The grievance-breakers were thrilled, pushing their spells harder—but Song Wei Chen wasn’t happy at all. She felt wronged to the bone.

She tried to yank her hand free from his grip. She couldn’t.

The helpless frustration dragged up the memory of Moonwatch Tower—of trying to pull her hand back then, too, and being unable to escape. Why did he always belittle and shame her in public, right when she was happiest, right when she’d finally done something well?

She’d already lost too much blood. Anger surged. Her stomach clenched, dizziness washed over her, and her vision went black.

Her legs gave out.

Mo Ting Feng caught her instantly, arms wrapping her before she hit the ground.

“She can’t hold on!” someone shouted, panic breaking through.

“Force the break!”