Chapter 60: Spreading Rumors (Part One)

Sangkun and Jamukha, determined to strike swiftly and decisively, mobilized nearly all their main forces, gathering them outside the camp. Aside from the sentries patrolling the perimeter, only a few scattered soldiers and women remained behind to guard the livestock and treasures. As Cheng Lingsu and her companions were settled in a remote corner of the camp, their presence went largely unnoticed.

Before Cheng Lingsu could utter a word of refusal, Ouyang Ke’s figure suddenly blurred; in an instant, he closed in on her. She retreated two steps, raising her hand, and a silver needle darted swiftly from her fingers. Ouyang Ke let out a cry but did not dodge; instead, he spun his folding fan lightly in his hand. The needle struck the dark surface of the fan with a metallic clang and was promptly deflected, falling aside. The fan, undeterred, whirled toward Cheng Lingsu’s head.

She twisted aside to evade, but the fierce wind stirred by the fan’s ribs rushed at her face, so forceful it seemed to steal her breath. In haste, she bent her slender waist, arching backward. Her loosened hair flew up, caught in the wind of the fan’s edge, and several strands snapped and fell.

Unexpectedly, Ouyang Ke’s arm seemed to lose its bones, as if the joints had melted; where he was in front of her a moment ago, now he twisted in midair, looping behind her, slipping beneath her arched waist, and with a gentle lift, he drew her close. This move happened in a flash—so swift that only then did the deflected silver needle finally land on the ground with a barely audible sound.

“Let go…” Cheng Lingsu struggled. Her clothing was dusted with red scorpion powder for protection; even if Ouyang Ke could later force out its effects, the burning pain upon contact was unavoidable. Yet, worried she might encounter Tuolei, she had donned a short fox-fur jacket over her clothes to prevent accidental harm. She hadn’t expected to face Ouyang Ke instead…

Ouyang Ke felt the delicate waist beneath the thick fur, still yielding and warm, its softness seeping through the fabric. The faint fragrance from her body teased his senses, filling him with delight. He tightened his grip, suppressing her resistance, and laughed lightly, “Relax—even if you show no mercy, I could never bear to harm you.”

Though Cheng Lingsu’s skills were far inferior to Ouyang Ke’s, she would not have lost in a single move. It was his arm, moving in an utterly unexpected direction, that caught her unawares. This maneuver was the “Serpent Fist”—a technique Ouyang Feng invented by studying the twisting movements of snakes. The arm, though boned, moved as if boneless, ingenious and unpredictable. Ouyang Feng had intended it as a trump card for dueling masters, yet it made its debut here, wielded by Ouyang Ke against a young woman, achieving an immediate and delightful success.

Suddenly, distant clamor from the camp reached them—shouts and the clash of blades and armor, faint but growing. The voices spoke Mongolian; Ouyang Ke did not understand, but Cheng Lingsu did. The commotion was caused by sentries discovering the wounded left behind when Tuolei had rushed out; the sentries were now alerting each other and coming to investigate.

Cheng Lingsu heard the patrol approaching, and a thought struck her—she was about to call out, hoping to draw them near and escape amid the confusion. But Ouyang Ke saw through her intention. He tightened his arm, his lips brushing close to her cheek with a sly smile, “Those men are no match for me.”

Before his words had faded, he dashed forward. The alarm horn sounded in the camp, and the hastily assembled soldiers moved to intercept them. But Ouyang Ke’s speed was incredible; before the guards could raise their blades, a white blur swept past. In that fleeting moment, Ouyang Ke freed one hand, brushing lightning-fast over their wrists and necks, striking or pressing with precision. As he reached the camp gate, cries of pain erupted behind him.

Outside the camp, no one dared pursue further. Ouyang Ke noticed how Cheng Lingsu kept looking at his hand and asked, “Why?”

She shifted her gaze from his sculpted fingers to his face. “Wanyan Honglie and Wang Khan are allies, after all. Those men were Wang Khan’s soldiers—why harm them needlessly?”

Ouyang Ke was surprised by her question, laughed freely, “I am the young master of White Camel Mountain. If I left without teaching them a lesson, wouldn’t it seem I fled with my tail between my legs?”

He lifted his chin with a proud air, prompting Cheng Lingsu to snort coldly, saying no more.

Using poisons with no antidote was a forbidden practice of her master, the King of Venoms. Though famed for his deadly arts, he was merciful at heart, especially after taking monastic vows later in life. He would often admonish his disciples, “Poison is not like blade or fist—it does not kill instantly. If the victim repents or pleads, or if one makes a mistake, there is always hope for remedy.” Thus, Cheng Lingsu’s use of poison was always tempered by caution, even when dealing with wayward fellow disciples. Even the candle laced with Seven-Heart Begonia was only ignited due to their own greed.

Ouyang Feng, master of venomous arts, pursued an entirely opposite philosophy. Yet now, with soft fragrance and warmth in his arms, Ouyang Ke was in no mood to ponder such matters. The girl in his embrace was flexible and resilient, not frail or delicate, and her scent intoxicating, as if he were surrounded by lush blossoms, tinged with a faint hint of wine. Coupled with the subtle coquettishness in her gaze, it truly seemed that the wine intoxicated not the drinker, but the heart.

He was about to tease her further, when suddenly he noticed her delicate face waver slightly.

“Hm?” Ouyang Ke narrowed his eyes, tilting his face, his brow furrowing as he sensed something amiss within himself.

Cheng Lingsu’s eyes brightened. She twisted her waist abruptly, one hand blocking between them, the other slicing toward the pulse on Ouyang Ke’s hand at her waist.

Ouyang Ke felt dizzy, as if drunk. Though his mind was clear, his reactions lagged inexplicably; his movements slowed a beat, and even his steps faltered. Cheng Lingsu broke free and struck his chest with a reverse blow.

“What’s happening?” Ouyang Ke, still unsteady, took the blow to his chest. Though Cheng Lingsu used little force, he collapsed, his folding fan falling to the ground. The world spun, and his vision blurred.

Cheng Lingsu, now free, reached into her bosom and pulled out two blue flowers, waving them before his eyes.

“Impossible!” The deep blue buds trembled in the wind, frail and weak, yet Ouyang Ke recognized them instantly as the strange flowers he had seen in Cheng Lingsu’s hand at the cliff’s base, and later planted beside her bed. “I checked these flowers—they’re not poisonous…”

Cheng Lingsu smiled gently, “Let me teach you something. Though my tent is not exactly crowded, people do come and go. If these flowers were poisonous, it wouldn’t do to harm someone by accident. As long as no one touches them, they’re harmless—unless…”

Ouyang Ke suddenly understood, “It’s the wine…”

“You’re not entirely foolish,” Cheng Lingsu laughed, tucking stray hair behind her ear, pressing the back of her hand—reddened from the sun—against her forehead. “The fragrance of these flowers is harmless, but when mixed with wine, it becomes truly intoxicating.”

Ouyang Ke, raised among poisons, should have been cautious of all rare flowers. When he first saw Cheng Lingsu with the flower by the cliff, he was wary, but soon noticed nothing unusual in its scent. Later, he examined it himself in her tent, confirming its harmlessness, and thus dropped his guard.

The flower was cultivated by Cheng Lingsu according to the method of the “Elixir Blossom” from her previous life. Its fragrance was as potent as strong wine, intoxicating without warning. When Ouyang Ke entered her tent, he had already inhaled a trace, but his deep internal energy protected him from its effects. Had he not, moments ago, held Cheng Lingsu so closely, repeatedly breathing in the fragrance she deliberately wafted with her kerchief, the “Elixir Blossom” grown in the desert would not have matched its former potency, and would not have subdued the young master of White Camel Mountain.

Foiled thrice by this young woman, Ouyang Ke’s frustration could not stem the overwhelming intoxication. His eyelids grew heavy, his will dissipated, and as his alertness intensified, his consciousness slipped ever further away…

In his anxiety, he felt a gentle touch in his arms, and a whisper brushed his ear, “This ‘Elixir Blossom’ is like strong wine—it will not harm your life. Just sleep it off…”

A whistle sounded, followed by hoofbeats approaching and then receding into the distance…

Author’s note: One wields the Serpent Fist with dazzling moves, another spreads the Elixir Blossom’s subtle poison—so, in the end, Ouyang Ke, who really won against Lingsu? Haha~