Chapter 49: Cave Shock

“She can’t hold on anymore!”

“Break the formation by force!”

Mo Ting Feng caught the limp Song Wei Chen before she could crumple completely, pulling her against his chest. With hands that shook and yet refused to fumble, he took out a soft silk cloth and wrapped her wounds, tight enough to stop the bleeding, gentle enough not to hurt her more.

“Wei Wei… are you alright?”

The words were barely a whisper at her ear. “I didn’t want you to be a blood guide because I was afraid of seeing you like this.”

But she didn’t hear him. Her consciousness had already slipped into a brief, dangerous blackout.

Mo Ting Feng’s composure fractured. A spike of pain drove straight through his heart, so sharp he nearly lost himself. He forced a slow breath, crushed the chaos in his mind, and held her tighter.

Below the cliffs, black water in the River of Oblivion surged and rolled. The mountain wind rose, cold and restless. Two figures clung to each other on the ground—one faint from blood loss, the other enduring a heart-devouring backlash—like doomed lovers pressed together in the dark.

“Wei Wei.”

Someone kept calling her. She dragged her eyes open.

Mo Ting Feng’s face filled her vision—worry, grief, and that helpless tenderness he tried so hard to hide. She answered without thinking. Then the memory of what had just happened struck her, and she huffed, turning her face away in a sulk.

“How do you feel? Should I send you to Zhuang Yu Heng?”

“No need. I’m fine.” Her voice was thin, stubborn. “Lord, please—stop making trouble.”

She tried to wriggle out of his arms and stand on her own. Once. Twice. She failed both times. She didn’t know her face had gone so pale it looked almost translucent; she was only upright because anger was holding her spine together.

Mo Ting Feng watched her, and his chest tightened. He knew she’d misunderstood his reaction earlier, but he couldn’t explain it—not now. He only rose and supported her carefully, as if she might shatter if he gripped too hard.

When she saw the formation still hadn’t lifted, her nerves snapped taut. “Did my blood not work? Or was it not enough?”

She reached for the cloth around her wrist, fingers already fumbling at the knot, ready to bleed again.

“Don’t—” Mo Ting Feng began, but the world changed mid-breath.

Ripples like water rings flickered across the air, then dissolved in widening circles from the center. In the next heartbeat, the true cave entrance revealed itself, and Ye Wu Jiu led his men inside at once.

Ding He Ran swept in from the other side with a lightness that barely disturbed the dust. “I’ll take Brother down to support Wu Jiu.”

Then he looked at Song Wei Chen, his tone bright with relief and admiration. “Without your blood, we couldn’t have broken the formation. Brother Wei has done great merit today!”

He didn’t linger. He led the remaining grievance-breakers into the cave.

Song Wei Chen craned her neck toward the entrance. It was nothing like what she’d seen the last time. A bonfire burned within, and oil lamps shimmered in the haze, their light trembling like distant stars. Beyond that, swallowed by smoke and night, everything turned to shadow.

“Take me in,” she said quickly. “I need to see whether Bao Er is inside.”

Mo Ting Feng wanted to go in more than he wanted to breathe. He’d hesitated only because of her condition.

“Alright,” he said at last. “But don’t leave my side.”

He slid an arm around her waist and carried her in with a single leap.

Smoke curled thickly through the cave. Even with firelight, the air was dim, visibility poor. The moment her feet touched the ground, Song Wei Chen coughed hard, choking on the bitter haze. She didn’t care. She had to find Bao Er. She had to keep her promise and bring her home.

Not far away, two children lay on the ground while Earth Net grievance-breakers tended them. Song Wei Chen started toward them—and realized her hand was still caught in Mo Ting Feng’s grip, anchoring her in place.

“Let go.”

His gaze was knotted with worry, and for a moment her heart softened. She added, quieter, “Everyone in here is ours. I won’t be in danger.”

Then, with a sharp tilt of her chin, she reminded him of what mattered. “And you have something more important to do. Find the skull.”

Mo Ting Feng held her eyes for a long second, as if forcing himself to release the only thread keeping him sane. Finally, he let go.

“You must keep yourself safe,” he said, voice low. “If anything feels wrong, call my name. Remember—call me. Even if you whisper it, I’ll hear.”

Song Wei Chen turned away and walked toward the children without looking back. He watched her retreating figure, concern tangling his thoughts until it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He shut his eyes and gathered himself. When he opened them again, the softness was gone. Mo Ting Feng was once more the man who could cut through chaos without blinking.

He formed a Bagua hand seal, fixed his bearings, and—after confirming the direction—headed deeper into the cave.

Song Wei Chen crouched beside the two boys. One was unconscious, his arm scored with several deep cuts. He’d lost a frightening amount of blood.

The other boy was barely conscious. Song Wei Chen recognized the household by the look of him—Autumnwater Town folk—but she didn’t know him personally.

“Little brother,” she asked gently, “have you seen Bao Er? A little girl, five or six, with big eyes.”

The boy didn’t respond. He only stared blankly upward, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes had the empty glaze of someone half-lost. His lips moved in broken murmurs, calling for his mother.

Song Wei Chen’s throat tightened. “What happened to him?”

She took out a handkerchief and wiped his face, careful and tender.

A nearby grievance-breaker answered in a respectful hush. “Venerable, this child’s three souls are incomplete. One soul, called ‘youqing,’ has been taken by a soul lamp. He can’t answer you.”

“A soul lamp?” Song Wei Chen echoed, frowning.

Before the grievance-breaker could say more, Ye Wu Jiu appeared at her side, as silent as smoke. Hearing her question, he explained at once.

“There are forty-nine soul lamps in this cave. These children’s living souls are the lamp oil. When the souls are exhausted, the lamps go out. But if the lamps burn for forty-nine days without extinguishing, the person represented by the main soul lamp can return to life.”

His gaze was cold as he finished. “That’s Yin Mountain’s poisonous soul-returning art.”

Song Wei Chen jolted at the name—then swayed, the world tipping. Ye Wu Jiu caught her before she could fall and guided her to a stone stool.

“You only just recovered from a serious illness,” he said quietly, “and today you lost so much blood. You’ve pushed yourself too hard.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, breathing through the dizziness. “Did you find Bao Er?”

Ye Wu Jiu hadn’t even opened his mouth when a timid voice cut in.

“Lord… are you looking for me?”

Song Wei Chen froze.

She turned—and there she was. A skinny little girl with big eyes, standing in the firelight like a trembling shadow.

“Bao Er!”

Song Wei Chen reached out on instinct. Bao Er took a step back.

Only then did Song Wei Chen remember: she was wearing the White Robe. Of course Bao Er didn’t recognize her. And she couldn’t blurt out something foolish like, I’m the sister who went with you to the back mountain to see your mother that night. Ye Wu Jiu was right here. They knew only one thing for certain—that Bao Er had been with White Robe. That thread couldn’t be tugged.

“Wu Jiu,” she said quickly, “go handle what you need to handle. Leave this child to me.”

Ye Wu Jiu did have urgent matters. He didn’t argue. He left at once.

When he was gone, Song Wei Chen beckoned Bao Er closer. The girl hesitated, still wary.

“You’re Bao Er,” Song Wei Chen said softly, coaxing. “From Green Mountain Village. A few nights ago you snuck out to see your mother, and you met an older sister on the road. She went with you, didn’t she?”

Bao Er’s eyes lit up. “How do you know everything?”

Song Wei Chen smiled. “Come here. I’ll tell you a secret.”

Bao Er leaned in. Song Wei Chen lowered her voice until it was barely more than breath.

“Because that sister was me. I’m pretending to be a brother right now. Are you scared? You have to keep it secret for me.”

Bao Er’s face brightened into a sweet grin. “Bao Er isn’t scared! Sister or brother—anyone who can take me to see Mother is a good person!”

As she spoke, she climbed up onto the stone stool beside Song Wei Chen without thinking. Song Wei Chen wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close, letting the child lean against her.

“What happened after that night?” Song Wei Chen asked, heart aching. “How did you end up here?”

“I don’t know.” Bao Er’s voice went small. “It suddenly got foggy. I got scared and wanted to find you, but I couldn’t. I walked and walked in the fog, and when it cleared… I was already here.”

“I’m sorry,” Song Wei Chen whispered, guilt burning. “I didn’t protect you.”

She steadied herself and asked, “When you arrived, were there other children?”

“Yes. Five.” Bao Er nodded quickly. “I didn’t know them, but they were happy here. There was food and drink… and there was Mother.”

“Mother?” Song Wei Chen repeated, stunned.

“Yes—Mother.” Bao Er pointed toward the entrance. “There used to be something like a mirror there. They said you could see your mother inside, and she’d talk to you like she did when she was alive. Everyone liked it.”

Then Bao Er pointed at the unconscious boy. “Nian Niang said if you wanted Mother’s face to be clearer in the mirror, you had to feed it with blood. He hurt himself on purpose and bled a lot…”

Her voice fell. “And the oil lamps pull away your strength. So little by little, nobody wanted to move anymore.”

Song Wei Chen’s blood went cold. “You’ve seen Nian Niang?”

Bao Er blinked up at her with bright, innocent eyes. “Of course. She’s been here with us the whole time. Thanks to her, we could see Mother. She said if we stayed here a little longer, we could be with Mother forever.”

Something snapped taut inside Song Wei Chen. Her gaze sharpened. She scanned the shadows, the flickering lamps, the smoke that hid too much.

“Is she still here?” she asked, voice low.

Bao Er nodded. Then she tugged at Song Wei Chen’s sleeve, urging her closer, as if sharing a game.

“Come here,” Bao Er whispered. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

Song Wei Chen leaned in at once.

And the voice that rose from Bao Er’s mouth was no longer a child’s.

“Little girl,” it said—familiar and strange all at once, cold as grave soil. “You’re hard to kill. Even the River of Oblivion couldn’t drown you.”