Quick Transmigration: Only You Are the Desire of My Heart

The warm blood didn't bloom like plum blossoms as described in poems; it was more like a pot of overturned hot wine, with a nauseating rusty smell, splashing haphazardly onto Ye Wujiu's face and clothes.

The long sword piercing through her chest and back was still not drawn, its blade trembling slightly, each tremor accompanied by a broken sob from Hua Qianqian's throat. Ye Wujiu felt the dark sleeve in front of him fading, and although the torches around him were brightly lit, he felt the light of day was gradually dimming, like rice paper soaked in ink, leaving only the weight of the bundle in his arms that was rapidly losing its warmth.

His knees buckled, and it felt as if his entire spine had been ripped out. He knelt down in the mud, holding Hua Qianqian in his arms, his knees hitting the gravel. The dull pain took a long time to reach his brain, but it was nothing compared to the empty, cold feeling in his chest.

"Qianqian..."

Ye Wujiu wanted to cover the wound, but he trembled like a novice. He wanted to press the bloody hole, but the sword was still there, and he dared not touch it. His hand hovered over the bloody mess, caught in a dilemma, only his lips trembling uncontrollably.

"You'll be alright... I have medicine, yes, I have medicine." Ye Wujiu stammered incoherently, his bloodied hands frantically groping at his waist, tearing off the jade pendant and ripping apart the brocade pouch, scattering bottles and jars all over the floor. He grabbed a porcelain bottle, intending to pour out the powder, but because his hands trembled, most of the wound medicine spilled onto Hua Qianqian's chin and collar, mixing with blood and turning into a muddy red mess.

"It's no use..." Hua Qianqian's voice was very soft, as soft as the sound of the last autumn leaf scraping the ground.

She didn't have the strength to lift her hand; her fingers merely flicked slightly at Ye Wujiu's sleeve. The sleeve, once embroidered with dark patterns, was now soaked in blood, obscuring everything.

Ye Wujiu abruptly threw down the medicine bottle and cupped her face in his hands. His fingertips were slick with blood, and he couldn't wipe the stains off her face clean. "Don't speak, Qianqian, don't speak. You'll be alright. When we get back to the Netherworld Blood Palace, I have thousand-year-old ginseng, I have... I have the best doctor..."

By the end, his voice was trembling with sobs, all his usual arrogant and fierce demeanor gone, replaced by the pitiful whimpers of a stray dog ​​with its teeth pulled and legs broken.

Hua Qianqian struggled to open her eyes, her pupils slightly dilated. Although the Gu worms had retreated, the life force in her body had been completely severed by this sword strike. Her lungs had been pierced, and each breath felt like swallowing barbed sand, the pain causing her internal organs to convulse.

"Ye... Wujiu..." She called his name, no longer with that sweet, drawn-out tone, but broken and strained, each word uttered with all her might, "I hate you..."

Ye Wujiu's body stiffened, and tears mixed with blood dripped down his face, landing on Hua Qianqian's eyelashes.

"But...I...love you..."

Hua Qianqian's lips twitched, as if she wanted to laugh, but only more blood and foam came out. Her blood-stained hand moved extremely slowly, finally stopping beside Ye Wujiu's face. That face had once made her fall in love at first sight in the market, had once made her blush under the peach blossom tree, and had once made her wake up from the nightmare of her family's massacre.

"This is... how my life is going to be..." Her gaze went past Ye Wujiu's shoulder, looking at the dark night sky, or perhaps into the distance. "I need to go and apologize to Father... to my fellow disciples..."

The Huanhua Sword Sect had over 1,300 members; her father, Hua Wuyou's, head; her fellow disciples' unseeing eyes. These images flashed through her mind one last time. She loved this man, but this love was mixed with too much of her family's blood—too heavy, too heavy for her to bear, too suffocating.

"In the next life..." A tear finally slid down her cheek, washing away a pale trail, "I...don't want to meet...you again..."

These words were sharper than Shen Guanlan's sword, piercing straight into Ye Wujiu's heart and tearing it to shreds.

"Loving you...the price is too high...I dare not..."

"No! Qianqian!" Ye Wujiu shook his head frantically, pressing his face tightly against her cold hands, as if trying to transfer his body heat to her. "Don't leave me... punish me however you want, just don't say things like that..."

"I was wrong, I was so wrong. I shouldn't have lied to you, shouldn't have schemed against you, shouldn't have..." He cried like a lost child, incoherently confessing the past that he had once regarded as strategies and tactics, "You can do whatever you want, I won't be a young master anymore, I'll never lock you up again... Please... Please..."

He spoke extremely fast, as if as long as he spoke fast enough, even the Black and White Impermanence couldn't catch up with the soul of the person in his arms.

"Don't leave me..."

Hua Qianqian could barely hear. It was as if there was a thick film of water in her ears, only a buzzing noise. Her vision began to blur, and Ye Wujiu's face, which had been clear before, gradually turned into a black shadow.

She turned her head with difficulty, her gaze falling on the silent sword mound. The heavy stone gate of the broken dragon had fallen, and inside was her second senior sister, who had protected her since childhood and cleaned up her messes.

"Senior sister..." she murmured, her voice so weak it was almost a whisper, "I'm sorry... I've let you down..."

He did not survive.

They couldn't even protect the last shred of dignity of the sect.

Even in death, she died in the arms of the man who had destroyed her home.

"On the road to the underworld, you... wait... Qianqian..."

"Don't leave...Qianqian..."

The hand that was pressed against Ye Wujiu's face curled slightly at the fingertips, as if trying to grasp something, but in the end it just fell limply, crashing heavily into the muddy water, splashing up a few murky droplets.

Those eyes, once as lively as a deer's, were still open, but completely unfocused, reflecting the flickering firelight above, like a stagnant pool.

Ye Wujiu, I owe you nothing.

The wind stopped.

The surroundings were deathly silent, with only the occasional patter of raindrops falling from the leaves.

"No—Shallow—!!"

A piercing scream tore through the night sky, startling countless crows into flight from the forest.

Ye Wujiu gripped the gradually cooling corpse tightly, his arms straining until his knuckles turned white, as if trying to meld her into his very bones. A metallic taste rose from deep in his throat, and with a "whoosh," he spat out a mouthful of dark red blood, spraying it all onto Hua Qianqian's now unrecognizable clothes.

He stared at the pool of blood, feeling as if his soul had been ripped from his body. He frantically tried to wipe it with his sleeve, but the more he wiped, the larger the bloodstain spread, turning his once pale pink clothes a gruesome, scarlet mess.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Qianqian..." he stammered, his eyes unfocused, his words mumbled incoherently, "I've dirtied you... You're always so clean, I know, I know..."

He mechanically repeated the wiping motion, using his hands when his sleeves got wet, wiping his hands on his clothes when they got dirty, and then wiping her face when he couldn't get them clean.

"I'll clean it for you right away... Don't be angry, please don't be angry..."

That cautious, obsequious humility—where was the trace of the ruthless and decisive young master of the Demonic Sect? At this moment, he was nothing more than a pitiful wretch who had broken his most beloved porcelain and was powerless to repair it.

Not far away, Shen Guanlan leaned on his sword, coldly watching this scene.

He didn't rush to make a move; instead, he seemed to be watching a farce that was about to end.

"Ah."

Only after the opera ended did Shen Guanlan manage to squeeze out a very short sneer, which sounded particularly jarring in the empty and desolate environment.

He lifted his foot, stepping over the mud and corpses, and walked step by step toward the embracing couple. The soles of his boots crunched over broken bones and branches, making a crisp, cracking sound that, in the somber atmosphere, was like a death knell.

"What a devoted couple!"