Chapter Ninety-One: Long Jingshu's Nightmare Is Not Yet Over, and the Demonic Aura Reveals Karmic Burdens That Are Hard to Dispel

When the evening breeze stirred the curtains and a lonely moon shone through the window, it was the fourth watch of the night. Inside a house in Dark Moon City, one side of which had partly collapsed, the Miao girl Long Jingshu had a fine sheen of sweat on her brow, clear as crystal. Her eyes were shut tight, yet she was trapped in a nightmare.

...

"Sister?" Han Moyi was briefly puzzled, but he soon understood. No wonder Ma Ruoxue had looked so much like that short-haired woman; they were sisters after all. The woman with short hair was Ma Ruobing, Ma Ruoxue's elder sister.

The moment Ma Ruoxue saw Ma Ruobing, she seemed to see a savior. She immediately slipped from behind Han Moyi and ran to hide behind her sister.

"Are you Ruoxue's friend? Your murderous aura is too heavy," Ma Ruobing said coldly, fixing Han Moyi with a frosty stare.

"Not exactly a friend. Since you're here, take her away. My affairs do not concern you." Han Moyi gave her no pleasant face either. His eyes were bloodred, and Ma Ruoxue, standing behind Ma Ruobing, could not help but tremble with fear.

"Ungrateful to kindness. A blade user who cannot control the blade in his hand does not deserve to be called one." Ma Ruobing did not seem to care about Han Moyi's coldness. Before she had even finished speaking, Han Moyi's icy voice cut her off.

"I'm not any blade user. But this bunch of so-called blade users are no good either." With one hand, Han Moyi lifted the blade and pointed it at Pockmark and the others. The ruthless look returned to his eyes, frightening Pockmark and the rest into repeatedly stumbling back, nearly collapsing to the ground.

Seeing that Han Moyi remained obstinate, Ma Ruobing's face flickered with displeasure. Yet almost at once her gaze was drawn to the strange blade in Han Moyi's hand.

"What is this..." In her heart, Ma Ruobing made a bold guess about the origin of that strange blade, but she quickly shook her head and denied it.

"No, that blade was lost on Mount Mao," she murmured. Her voice was so low that no one but herself heard it.

Seeing Han Moyi raise the blade again, Ma Ruobing was about to stop him when Ma Ruoxue, behind her, lightly tugged at her leather coat and whispered, "He is Han Moyi of the Han family. The reason he's so angry now is that those blade users were just harassing me."

Ma Ruobing nodded, but still said to Han Moyi, "They do not deserve death."

Seeing her speak up for them, Pockmark and the others seemed to have found a backer, and they turned their eyes toward Ma Ruobing. But her next words made them shiver as though they had fallen into an ice pit in the dead of winter.

Ma Ruobing swept her disgusted gaze over Pockmark and the others, then said coldly, "Death can be spared, but punishment cannot. Leave your right thumbs here and get lost."

Han Moyi clearly had not expected Ma Ruobing to be so ruthless. He froze for a moment, but still lowered the blade, because she was, in truth, right. Pockmark and the others had only been blinded by lust and greed; they did not deserve death. Forcing them to cut off their own thumbs was already a severe punishment. For a blade user, losing the thumb of the right hand made them little better than cripples.

Strictly speaking, what right had he, Han Moyi, to think he could hold another person's life and death in his hand?

At that thought, his eyes drifted to the scar-faced man on the ground. Blood from the stump of the severed hand still gushed out in a steady stream, and his face was as pale as paper. It was obvious he would not survive.

Han Moyi suddenly felt a shock in his heart. What was wrong with him? Why could he treat another person's life with such cold indifference?

No one noticed that the bloodred color in Han Moyi's eyes was slowly fading back to normal, just as the strange blade in his hand was gradually returning to its pitch-black form.

"Get lost." Han Moyi suddenly spoke in a deep voice, to everyone's surprise.

Even the onlookers, including Ma Ruobing, froze. They could not understand why Han Moyi, who had just been ready to kill Pockmark and the rest, would suddenly show them mercy.

Pockmark and the others also clearly had not expected it would be Han Moyi who came to their rescue, but they reacted quickly enough. In no time they had picked up Scarface's severed limb from the ground and, carrying him between them, hurried toward the door.

Since Han Moyi had already spoken, Ma Ruobing could hardly refuse him outright. She stepped aside and let them pass.

"Wait."

Just as Pockmark and the others were about to leave the Northern Desert Inn, Han Moyi called out again. The crowd that had been dispersing gathered back around at once, as though in the next moment his blade would bathe the inn in blood.

Compared with the curious crowd, even Ma Ruobing found the young man before her difficult to read. Her gaze remained fixed on Han Moyi, waiting to see what he would do.

Pockmark and the others nearly dropped to their knees in fear when Han Moyi spoke again. They wanted to run, but it felt as though roots had taken hold beneath their feet; they could not move an inch.

Step by step, Han Moyi walked over to them, took a palm-sized cloth pouch from his chest, and handed it to Pockmark, saying in a grave voice, "Take it. Use it to save him."

Pockmark opened the pouch and froze. Everyone could see clearly that inside the small cloth bag were gleaming silver dollars.

He stuffed the pouch into his chest, bowed deeply to Han Moyi, and then turned to leave with the others, carrying Scarface out of the Northern Desert Inn.

Han Moyi returned to the table deeper inside the inn. The spectators, still unsatisfied, clicked their tongues and gradually dispersed as well. Not long after, the waiter brought up the wine and dishes Han Moyi had ordered.

Judging from the waiter's calm expression, incidents like this must happen often at the Northern Desert Inn, so often that he was already used to them.

Han Moyi poured himself a cup of wine. Yet before he could drink, two figures appeared in front of him.

Looking up, he saw that it was still the sisters, Ma Ruobing and Ma Ruoxue.

Han Moyi raised the cup, drained it in one gulp, then set it down and looked straight at the two women before him.

Ma Ruobing sat down without ceremony, and Ma Ruoxue followed suit. For a moment, none of the three spoke, and the atmosphere grew oddly awkward.

The crowd that had been watching the excitement clearly had not had enough. Seeing the three sitting together now, someone could not help muttering softly, "That brat's got good fortune. He got himself a pair of sister flowers all at once."

Though the voice was not loud, every word reached the three of them distinctly.

Ma Ruoxue's face reddened and she snorted. Ma Ruobing, however, remained perfectly composed. Han Moyi simply lifted the blade in his hand and deliberately struck the ground with it. The surrounding chatter instantly fell silent.

After a while, it was Ma Ruobing who first broke the silence. "What are your plans?"

Han Moyi shook his head but said nothing. Ma Ruoxue had always been a little crafty; seeing him shake his head, she could not help saying, "Since you have nowhere to go, why not come back to the northeast with us and decide what to do from there?"

She had expected him to agree, but Han Moyi simply waved a hand and said, "I want to go south to find a friend."

As he spoke, he lifted his cup and drank again in one gulp, a person's silhouette rising in his mind.

Ma Ruoxue was about to say more when Ma Ruobing, seated beside her, tugged her lightly. Ma Ruoxue obediently closed her mouth.

Ma Ruobing looked at Han Moyi across from her and said, "Since you do not wish to go northeast with us, tomorrow I will see you to the White Pagoda Inn."

The White Pagoda Inn was the nearest inn to the Northern Desert Inn.

At that, Han Moyi did not object. He nodded to show his agreement.

Since the matter had been settled, the three of them said no more.

After the meal, night had already fallen. In the end, they opened two rooms at the Northern Desert Inn and stayed the night.

In the dead of night, the sleeping Han Moyi furrowed his brows. Of course, he did not know that at that very moment, something in the room was beginning to glow with a blackish red light. It was the strange blade.

"Kid, it's about time you got acquainted with who you were before," came a strange, twisted voice from the blade. Naturally, Han Moyi knew nothing of it.

At the same time, in the room next door, Ma Ruobing suddenly opened her eyes and murmured, "Demonic aura?"

After a while, she looked at Ma Ruoxue, who was fast asleep. Her long eyelashes rested against her cheeks, and every so often one could hear her soft breathing.

"Looks like I was overthinking it," Ma Ruobing said to herself, then closed her eyes again.

The crimson light on the blade began to envelop Han Moyi entirely. His breathing grew heavier, and once more there rose in his ears the ghastly shrieks and cries of the ghostly horde from that night in Blood Moon Three-Flag Town.