Flower Stealing Master

On the roof, Song Qingshu listened with a mixture of amusement and resignation. Lan Fenghuang wasn’t wrong — however beautiful she was, the thought of stripping her clothes and finding venomous snakes and insects waiting inside was enough to kill any man’s enthusiasm on the spot. And there was the other matter: Miao women were said to be fiercely loyal in love and exceptionally skilled at placing love-gu curses. One night’s pleasure, and you might find yourself permanently separated from every other woman in your life. Not a worthwhile trade by any calculation.

“Don’t think I won’t dare touch you!” Wan Gui snarled.

Lan Fenghuang laughed softly. “Then come ahead. Stop talking. Oh — I should also mention, beyond the snakes and scorpions and spiders, I’m also carrying Golden Silkworm Gu and Jade Silkworm Gu. Young Master should know what those are.”

Even Song Qingshu felt his tongue go dry at that. The Golden Silkworm Gu and Jade Silkworm Gu were among the most feared poisons in all of Jin Yong’s novels — rivalling the Heavenly Devil Flower itself.

The Golden Silkworm Gu was cultivated in the Miao borderlands on the Duanwu Festival: a hundred insects sealed in a clay jar to devour each other, and after a year the one survivor — a golden silkworm-like creature — was fed gold leaf for months until it dissolved into golden powder. That powder was the poison. Its victims felt as though ten thousand insects were gnawing through their body simultaneously — unable to live, unable to die.

The Jade Silkworm Gu was listed alongside the Peacock Gallbladder and Crane’s Red Crown among the Nine Forbidden Poisons catalogued by the Venomous Physician. Its spore-dust was colourless and odourless, and in its base form relatively manageable — it required blood contact to become lethal. A person who touched it would develop a faint greenish tinge on the skin. Combined with Peacock Gallbladder and Crane’s Red Crown, however, all visible signs vanished, and the resulting compound was an absolute poison with no antidote.

That said, the Golden Silkworm Gu’s powdered form could be deflected back at the user by anyone whose inner energy was sufficiently superior — a significant limitation. And the Jade Silkworm Gu, while antidote-free in its combined form, could still be cured by someone willing to sacrifice themselves, drawing the poisoned blood out by mouth. So weighing everything together, the Heavenly Devil Flower remained the most truly insidious of all — it killed without warning and defied every remedy, divine or otherwise.

Wan Gui’s face was a mask of vicious frustration. This rose was too thoroughly armoured for any direct approach — yet he was not without cunning, and an idea came to him quickly. “Your poisons are formidable, I grant you that. But you’re caught in a net. I’ll have someone throw you into the courtyard pond and leave you to soak for a few hours. Your snakes and insects will flee at the first touch of water, and as for your Silkworm Gu powders — washed away entirely.”

Lan Fenghuang’s colour shifted slightly. She knew that if she were submerged in water, nine-tenths of her arsenal would be neutralised. She held her composure with an effort. “A pity you don’t have time to wait that long. The red line will reach your chest before any of that.”

Wan Gui tore his collar open and looked. The line was already at his armpit. His expression darkened. “Give me the antidote and I’ll let you go. How about that?”

Lan Fenghuang laughed. “Do you take me for a three-year-old? This is your territory — the moment you had the antidote, you’d never let me walk out.”

The line crept closer to his chest. Wan Gui understood that calling the household guards would take too long. He tipped into a kind of desperate, reckless fury. “Fine. If I’m dying anyway, then having my way with the Golden Serpent King’s woman before I go — at least I’ll die happy.”

On the roof, Qi Fang went rigid with anger. Then she looked at Song Qingshu beside her and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Song Qingshu shook his head. “The shamelessness is his. It has nothing to do with you.”

Below, Lan Fenghuang made a contemptuous sound. “First — I am not the Golden Serpent King’s woman. Second — you’re welcome to try, but I doubt you have what it takes.”

Wan Gui raised his sword and closed the distance step by step. “I know you rely on your poisons. So I’ll use this blade to cut your clothes away piece by piece — and once you’re bare, we’ll see where all those creatures are hiding. Unless —” His gaze dropped to the space between her legs, obscenely deliberate.

The look sent fury through Lan Fenghuang. She had ways of protecting herself even without her clothes — but to have her dignity stripped in front of this vile man was something she could not accept. For all that her manner could seem carefree and brazen, her sense of personal honour ran deep.

“My skin is coated with Golden Silkworm Gu powder,” she said coldly. “Touch me and see what happens.”

“And?” A flash of something unhinged crossed Wan Gui’s eyes. He pointed at the red line moving toward his chest. “I’m already dead. What’s one more poison? If I can taste the leader of the Five Immortals Sect before I go — then when I meet that surnamed Song in the underworld, I’ll make sure he knows: he died by my hand, and his woman was mine before the end. All his invincible reputation and famous name — in front of Wan Gui, he was a complete and utter failure. A green-hatted turtle. Ha ha ha!” [G: 绿毛大王八 — “green-feathered giant turtle”; an extreme Chinese insult compound. 绿帽子 “green hat” is the classic Chinese symbol of a cu*kolded man. 王八 “turtle” is a crude term for a deeply contemptible person, often implying a cu*kold as well. Wan Gui is essentially calling Song Qingshu the ultimate version of a man whose woman has been taken from him.]

The colour finally left Lan Fenghuang’s face as Wan Gui came closer. A man with nothing left to lose was beyond threatening.

Crack.

A sharp tearing of cloth. Half of Lan Fenghuang’s sleeve fell to the floor, exposing the powdery smooth white of her arm.

“Ah~!” She let out a sharp cry and twisted sideways, blocking his line of sight.

“My, my — skin like it’s been soaking in milk,” Wan Gui said, swallowing. “That man Song really does have extraordinary luck.” He raised the sword again, moving toward her chest.

Lan Fenghuang was furious and frightened in equal measure. She was weighing whether to produce the scorpion antidote now — give him just enough to pull him back from the edge of desperation, restore some negotiating space. She could afford to give a small amount; it needed seven continuous days of doses to fully cure the poison, so the first portion wouldn’t exhaust her leverage.

Before she could decide, a voice broke the tension from somewhere in the room — wry and unhurried.

“I hear you’d like to call me a green-hatted turtle?”

Lan Fenghuang spun toward the voice with a surge of disbelief and joy. Wan Gui stared as though he had seen a ghost. “Song Qingshu? Impossible — the Heavenly Devil Flower has no cure. How are you still alive?”

“With your limited understanding,” Song Qingshu said mildly, “it would take too long to explain.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He walked directly to Lan Fenghuang’s side, raised one hand, and sent a sharp thread of sword qi slicing through the net. Lan Fenghuang gave a small cry as the net gave way — suspended in midair as she had been, she lost her balance before she could react, and dropped straight toward the floor. Song Qingshu instinctively moved to catch her, then for some reason checked himself midway, and Lan Fenghuang landed squarely on the floor with an undignified thump.

“Ow~!” She clutched herself and clambered up, giving him a deeply aggrieved look. “You couldn’t have caught me?”

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