Flower Stealing Master

Lan Fenghuang’s voice was soft and pliant — the kind that stirred a man’s protective instincts without any effort on her part. Song Qingshu remained perfectly composed. “The honoured leader is carrying Golden Silkworm Gu and Jade Silkworm Gu. How could I dare touch you?”

The Heavenly Devil Flower’s poison had left its mark on him, and he had no desire to repeat the experience. He had mastered the Supreme Mysteries Scripture and could be said to be genuinely immune to most poisons now — but driving them out still cost effort and discomfort, and he saw no reason to invite that on himself.

“Those two poisons won’t work on you,” Lan Fenghuang said quietly.

“Why not?”

“Have you forgotten the Five-Treasure Flower Honey Wine I had you drink at the Five Poisons Sect? Anyone who’s drunk that has nothing to fear from my poisons.” She gave him a sweet smile.

Song Qingshu turned this over. Lan Fenghuang’s martial arts were not exceptional — her fearsome reputation in the wulin rested almost entirely on her mastery of poisons. By giving him the wine, she had essentially made herself defenceless against him.

‘Does she trust me that much? Or is it because of Dongfang Muxue — loving the house and the crow on the roof?’

He was still musing when Wan Gui, reading the situation, bolted for the door and opened his mouth to shout. Song Qingshu flicked a finger. The shout died in his throat.

“You were so very imposing just now in front of the honoured leader,” Song Qingshu said pleasantly. “What happened?”

Wan Gui turned and said nothing. He had lowered himself in front of Lan Fenghuang because he’d had a specific aim — extracting the antidote through deception. Now that calculation was gone, and with it any reason to demean himself further. He was a proud man at his core, and he would not beg.

Song Qingshu’s acupoint technique was precise — it silenced shouting while leaving normal speech unaffected.

“Honoured leader — give him just enough antidote to stabilise the poison,” Song Qingshu said to Lan Fenghuang, watching the red line approaching Wan Gui’s chest. “If he dies too quickly, things become less interesting.”

“After everything he did to you — you’d give him the antidote?” Lan Fenghuang looked puzzled but drew a small porcelain vial from inside her robe and passed it over.

Feeling the warmth the vial had taken from her body, Song Qingshu smiled. “If he simply dies, that’s letting him off too lightly.”

Lan Fenghuang blinked, then smiled in understanding. “You’re right. Far too lightly.” The Five Poisons Sect had never been considered orthodox by the wulin’s standards, and their approach to these matters was accordingly unorthodox. She saw his meaning immediately.

Song Qingshu went to Wan Gui’s side, unstoppered the vial, and shook a measure of black powder over the wound on the back of his hand.

The antidote was effective. Dark blood began to seep from the wound, falling in drops to the floor — more and more of it, until the red line on Wan Gui’s arm began its slow retreat, down from his chest, back to his elbow, back to his wrist.

When he was certain his life was preserved, Wan Gui let out a long breath. Only then did he notice that his entire body was soaked in cold sweat.

“One thing I need to ask you,” Song Qingshu said. “How exactly did you kill Di Yun?” It was one of the two reasons he had come to Wan Gui tonight — to seek justice for Di Yun alongside his own.

Wan Gui’s expression flickered. “What Di Yun? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Still going to deny it, with Taohong having already told us everything?” Song Qingshu looked at him without warmth.

The name hit Wan Gui like a stone. He went silent.

“Honoured leader — I believe you have poisons that make a man wish he could die but can’t?” Song Qingshu said pleasantly to Lan Fenghuang. “Since Young Master Wan wants to be difficult, perhaps he needs some encouragement.”

“Heh heh — the Five Poisons Sect has all manner of things, though I wouldn’t boast about most of them. Poisons for making people suffer, however, we have in abundance.” Lan Fenghuang’s voice carried its usual lightness, but her eyes were cold as stone. Wan Gui had nearly crossed an unforgivable line with her tonight, and her killing intent toward him had never truly faded. Only Song Qingshu’s presence was keeping her restrained.

Wan Gui looked at her half-smiling face and felt a genuine chill. He knew full well what falling into this woman’s hands would mean. “After my grandfather returned to power, he had us brought back to Lin’an,” he began quickly.

Song Qingshu signalled Lan Fenghuang to wait and let him continue. “We’d also gotten ourselves into some trouble in Jingzhou, so it made sense to relocate the whole household to Lin’an and change our names. We lived comfortably enough. Then one day Di Yun somehow tracked us down.”

“He said he wanted to see Qi Fang. As if I’d allow that — the two of them grew up together, letting them meet would only rekindle old feelings. But Di Yun was nothing like the fool I’d once manipulated into a cell with a few easy tricks — some fortune or other had crossed his path, and his martial arts were formidable. Even the Minister’s household guards couldn’t handle him.”

“So I changed my approach. I agreed to let him see Qi Fang — just to keep him steady — and while he was off his guard, I poisoned him with the Heavenly Devil Flower.”

Song Qingshu kept his face still. He knew from personal experience exactly what the Heavenly Devil Flower’s poison did to a person. Di Yun had had no cultivation anywhere near his own level.

“The Heavenly Devil Flower doesn’t forgive. Di Yun died of the poison not long after.” Wan Gui said this with a note of self-satisfaction — he was plainly proud of having brought down a capable martial artist through wit rather than force.

“Brother Di — I should never have let you come alone.” Song Qingshu pressed the fury down and asked in a flat voice: “Where did you put his body?”

“His body?” Wan Gui could see there was no good outcome for him today, and had stopped pretending. He laughed with contempt. “This little nobody had the nerve to go after my wife, and on top of that, with all his fighting skills, actually had the arrogance to strike me. I had him killed and fed to the dogs. Obviously.”

“What!” Song Qingshu’s fury broke through. His hand was at Wan Gui’s throat — one surge of power would end it in an instant.

But something flickered in Wan Gui’s eyes — the faintest glint of relief. Song Qingshu’s brow creased, and he understood. “I know you’d love for me to finish you quickly and give you a clean death.” He released him slightly. “I’ll say this — for a villain, you have a certain dignity about accepting defeat.”

Wan Gui spat blood and laughed his rattling laugh. “I’m not a fool. I know you’ll never let me go, so why grovel? But I’ve had a good life — I took another man’s sweetheart, I got rid of the rival who loved her, I spent thirty-odd years enjoying wealth and the company of beautiful women. The only thing missing —” his eyes slid to Lan Fenghuang with a familiar, hungry look — “would have been finishing off the invincible Golden Serpent King and having my way with his w0men. Then it would all have been perfect. But heaven doesn’t always cooperate — you had the Heavenly Devil Flower and you didn’t die. How could you not die!”

The handsome face twisted into something ugly as he spoke those last words.

Song Qingshu had been on the edge of erupting since the moment he’d heard what had happened to Di Yun. What Wan Gui had just said pushed him past it. His eyes went cold and still. He leaned close and said quietly: “You want to have my w0men? Qi Fang — come inside.”

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