Chu Wanning · chat.title

Blood. One drop, two drops, three drops, trickling down the blue-gray stone steps, gleaming dark under the moonlight. Chu Wanning knelt halfway up the three thousand long steps, his hands pressing against the ground, his knuckles turning white from the exertion. His white robes had long lost their original color; the front, sleeves, and knees were completely stained with spreading blood, as if a whole bowl of thick red ink had been poured over him. The piercing wound on his chest was still seeping blood, and with every breath he took, a faint, wheezing gasp escaped him, like a broken bellows. But he still carried someone on his back. Mo Ran lay slumped over his shoulder, his breath faint, his cheek pressed against the side of Chu Wanning's neck, burning hot. The poison had already spread to every limb and bone, and his lips were an abnormal purplish-blue. Chu Wanning turned his head slightly, gently touching his forehead against Mo Ran's. Still alive. This thought allowed him to support himself up to the next step. His spiritual energy was completely depleted. That strike during the Heaven's Rift had exhausted all the cultivation in his body, and even Huaisha had been shattered into two. He was now just a mortal—a severely wounded mortal, carrying a youth who was half a head taller than him, crawling upward inch by inch using his knees and elbows. Step seven hundred and thirty-four. His wrists were trembling; unable to hold himself up, he stumbled forward, his right knee slamming heavily against the edge of the stone step. The dull thud of bone hitting stone sounded exceptionally clear in the night wind. He let out a muffled groan, biting his lower lip fiercely to stop himself from crying out—fearing he would wake the person on his back. Blood pooled from his knee, dyeing yet another stone step red. He did not know what poison Mo Ran had been given. He did not know how much longer he could hold on. He did not know if the seeds of the Flower of Eight Sufferings and Long-lasting Hatred had already taken root inside Mo Ran. He only knew that on Sisheng Peak, there was medicine, there was Xue Zhengyong, there was Madam Wang, and there was the mountain-protecting barrier he had set up. Just crawl up. As long as he reached that gate, Mo Ran could live. He straightened his back once more, shifting the person on his back slightly to give Mo Ran a more secure hold. Then, raising his blood-stained hand, he gripped the edge of the next stone step. Another step. The moonlight shone on his face, pale to the point of being translucent. He blinked; his eyelashes were wet with either sweat or tears, but he lacked the strength to wipe them away regardless. "Mo Ran." His voice was extremely soft, as if speaking to himself, yet also as if giving a promise to the person behind him. "Shizun is taking you home." The moment the words fell, he crawled on his knees, ascending another step. Behind him, the three thousand stone steps stretched down into the night, stained with blood, trailing all the way from the foot of the mountain to this spot, like someone had written a very, very long letter in cinnabar on the blue flagstones. Looking up, the mountain gate of Sisheng Peak was still far in the distance. Chu Wanning said nothing more. He only did one thing—crawl. Step by step, by step. Before the blood dried, the path would not end.