The cold glint of the scissors, carrying the venomous curse of “she must die,” shot straight toward Wen Yan’s face.
In that split second, Wen Yan did not retreat.
Her mind instantly entered the absolute calm of a forensic autopsy. The angle of the opponent’s wrist twist, the trajectory of force, and the direction of the scissor tips were broken down into a series of calculable data in her eyes.
She sidestepped, her right foot retreating half a step, her body shifting with an extremely subtle motion to avoid the sharp edge. At the same time, her left hand shot out like lightning—not to grab Qiu Chan’s wrist holding the scissors, as that would provoke even fiercer resistance.
Her target was—the elbow joint.
Thwack!
Wen Yan’s fingers precisely struck the nerve on Qiu Chan’s elbow and pressed down hard.
“Ah!”
A short cry of pain escaped as Qiu Chan’s entire arm instantly went numb and weak. The tightly gripped scissors clattered to the ground.
The puppet’s attack was instantly dismantled.
However, before Wen Yan could even catch her breath, something even more bizarre occurred.
Qiu Chan, now disarmed, did not collapse or continue attacking as expected. She stood frozen in place, her body trembling violently with an unnatural frequency.
Her eyes—one was the violent crimson of the “puppet,” while the other revealed the extreme terror and pleading of Qiu Chan’s true self.
Two completely different emotions clashed on the same face, twisting her features into a state of madness.
“Save… kill… me… her…”
Chaotic, fragmented syllables spilled from her throat, as if two souls were engaged in a brutal struggle within her body.
“Not good!” Wen Yan’s pupils contracted. “It’s a ‘Program Conflict’!”
Her forceful intervention had caused Qiu Chan’s weak “true consciousness” to collide head-on with the powerful “puppet command.” It was like a computer running two conflicting operating systems simultaneously—the result could only be one: system crash!
Thud!
Qiu Chan’s body, as if drained of all strength in an instant, fell straight backward.
Wen Yan rushed forward in a single stride, catching her and gently laying her on the ground.
By the candlelight, Wen Yan witnessed a sight she would never forget.
The nine-petal lotus tattoo on the back of Qiu Chan’s left hand now glowed with an eerie, ominous red light, like a branding iron heated to a scorching temperature. The light even penetrated the skin, clearly illuminating the veins and blood vessels beneath.
The “Truth-Seeking Eye” activated, revealing an even more horrifying scene in her vision—the golden light point representing Qiu Chan’s true self had dimmed to the point of a flickering candle in the wind, while the red light from the tattoo, like a greedy black hole, was frantically devouring the last remnants of her life energy.
“Shock!”
Wen Yan immediately made the judgment. She checked Qiu Chan’s carotid artery—the pulse was weak and rapid. Lifting her eyelids—the pupils were dilated, with a sluggish response to light.
This was the most critical state of near-death!
Wen Yan acted decisively. This was not a problem that could be solved with internal energy or elixirs. The tattoo was the root cause—an energy field absorbing Qiu Chan’s life force in a way Wen Yan could not comprehend.
To save her, she had to “physically disconnect” first!
She quickly retrieved silver needles from her medicine chest and, without hesitation, inserted them into several major acupoints around the tattoo—Hegu, Quchi, and Shousanli.
She didn’t understand meridians or true qi, but she understood nerve blocks. By stimulating these nerve clusters with silver needles, she could temporarily induce localized nerve conduction paralysis, forcibly severing the connection between the tattoo and the body’s major circulatory system.
Immediately after, she took out a bottle of strong liquor, soaked a cloth in it, and placed it over the burning tattoo.
“Physical cooling!”
Low temperatures could reduce enzyme activity, and similarly, they could slow down the activity of this unknown energy field.
A two-pronged approach.
A miracle occurred.
The glaring red light, suppressed by both the silver needles and the cold cloth, struggled a few times before finally beginning to dim at a visible rate.
Qiu Chan’s rapid breathing gradually steadied.
Wen Yan didn’t dare relax. She took out the finest needle from her medicine chest. This time, her target was the very center of the tattoo—the location of the faintest golden light point—the Formation Core!
This needle insertion was extremely perilous.
If the force was even slightly too strong, it could completely destroy Qiu Chan’s core spiritual self.
If the force was even slightly too light, it would fail to break through the “Puppet Program’s” blockade.
Holding her breath, Wen Yan focused all her mental energy on the tip of the needle with the aid of the “Truth-Seeking Eye.”
“Now!”
With a flick of her wrist, the fine needle precisely pierced the Formation Core.
She didn’t inject any internal energy; instead, she gently and rapidly twisted the needle’s tail with a specific frequency.
This was the “Micro-frequency Resonance Method” she used in modern times during nerve repair surgeries to activate dormant neurons.
“Mmm…”
A faint, almost imperceptible moan.
Qiu Chan’s eyelids fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes.
This time, her gaze was no longer chaotic but clear—the gaze of Qiu Chan herself, the one Wen Yan remembered, who would secretly slip her candy.
“Young… miss…”
Her voice was as weak as a wisp of smoke.
Wen Yan’s heart settled heavily with relief. Success!
With the blade of modern medicine, she had forcibly snatched a life back from the hands of ancient metaphysics’ King of Hell!
This sense of accomplishment even surpassed her first perfect dissection.
Qiu Chan grabbed Wen Yan’s hand, her icy fingertips gripping so tightly they turned white, as if clutching the last lifeline.
“It’s… the Prince’s residence… that… that Bai… Bai Guniang…”
She mustered all her strength to utter these words haltingly.
Wen Yan’s heart felt as if it were being squeezed tightly by an invisible hand.
Bai Wanyin? Prince Jing’s substitute favored consort?
It was her?!
Just as Wen Yan was about to press for more details, Qiu Chan’s pupils dilated again. The clarity that had just gathered vanished like a popped bubble, disappearing instantly.
The “Puppet Program” was making a final counterattack!
Wen Yan’s expression changed. She immediately checked Qiu Chan’s pulse—the faint beating was rapidly fading!
The earlier “Micro-frequency Resonance Method” had only activated her; it hadn’t eradicated the root cause.
That eerie tattoo was like a time bomb implanted in the body, and now the countdown had begun again!
Qiu Chan’s lips moved silently, as if trying to say something, but no words came out.
With the last of her strength, she raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the dressing table.
There, a bronze mirror lay.
Then, her head tilted to the side, and she fell completely unconscious.
The tattoo on her wrist had completely dimmed, reverting to an ordinary ink-colored pattern, as if everything that had just happened was merely an illusion.
Wen Yan checked her breathing—it was still there, but she had fallen into a deep coma.
“Bai Wanyin… the mirror…”
Wen Yan stood up, her mind in turmoil.
Bai Wanyin is the mastermind behind this? Impossible. Wen Yan recalled seeing her in Prince Jing’s garden—timid, terrified, like a startled bird. How could someone who didn’t even dare to look him in the eye orchestrate such a meticulous, vicious chain of murders?
What did she—or the person behind her—want?
Wen Yan’s gaze fixed firmly on the plain bronze mirror on the dressing table.
What was Qiu Chan’s final gesture hinting at?
Was this mirror connected to Bai Wanyin?
Or was it the key to the mystery itself?