Chapter 113: There's Another Method
Xu Meijing had not harmed Yang's father and mother; she had merely expelled them from the Yin Qi barrier.
By this point, Yang's father and mother had fully transformed into Corpse Puppets, utterly devoid of any consciousness. Once expelled from the Yin Qi barrier, they howled and furiously slammed against it like wild beasts, clearly resolved not to cease until the barrier was shattered.
Yet, Xu Meijing's strength was unfathomable. Regardless of how the Corpse Puppets outside assailed it, the Yin Qi-formed barrier remained absolutely unyielding, betraying not the slightest hint of fracturing.
Witnessing his parents expelled from the Yin Qi barrier by Xu Meijing, Yang Haoran's emotions instantly surged, and he frenziedly attempted to burst through the barrier.
"Get back here!"
Xu Meijing waved a hand, and a chain woven from Spirit Power coiled around Yang Haoran's body. With a sharp tug backward, Yang Haoran, who had just surged forward, was yanked back to his original position.
"Let me go! Let me go! " Yang Haoran struggled like a madman. He even channeled the Spirit Power within him, enveloping his body in a visible, intense aura of Yin Qi—
He sought to pit his Spirit Power against Xu Meijing's, hoping to shatter the chains that bound him, but the chasm in their strength ensured his failure. The more he struggled, the tighter the chains coiled, and the potent Yin Qi he unleashed even showed signs of faltering, nearing collapse under the strain.
Xu Meijing approached Yang Haoran. Gazing at him, lost in his delirium, she uttered no words, for she knew that anything she said at that moment would fall on deaf ears. Only when Yang Haoran's emotions had somewhat settled might her counsel bear any fruit.
Though her lips remained sealed, Xu Meijing was not content to simply observe. Her gaze fixed on Yang Haoran's shoulders, where the grotesque wounds inflicted by Yang's father and mother were hideously apparent. Yet, what flowed from them now, eerily, was not fresh blood, but a grayish-white liquid.
Xu Meijing knew Yang Haoran had already succumbed to the Corpse Toxin. His blood had transformed into a grayish-white fluid precisely because of its influence. Should this continue unchecked, the Corpse Toxin would soon suffuse his entire body. At that grim juncture, Yang Haoran's very identity would undergo a drastic metamorphosis: from a Night Watcher of the Underworld Office, he would become a Corpse Puppet, subjugated to a Corpse Ghoul.
Were this grim scenario to truly unfold, Xu Meijing harbored no doubt that Deng Feng would "cleanse the threshold," personally ensuring Yang Haoran's eradication from this world.
While Corpse Toxin, once introduced, spelled certain doom for ordinary mortals, for them, the Night Watchers, it presented no great impediment. So long as the toxin had not yet permeated the entire body, one merely needed to channel Spirit Power to expel the still-localized Corpse Toxin.
Yang Haoran was, in fact, capable of this feat himself, but in his current state of emotional turmoil, he was entirely oblivious to the Corpse Toxin raging within him.
However, though Yang Haoran's emotions had spiraled, Xu Meijing's remained steadfast. Her gaze swept over the hideous wounds on Yang Haoran's shoulders, and she extended her hands to hover, suspended, just above the injuries.
Visible Yin Qi ascended from Xu Meijing's hands. This Yin Qi, seemingly imbued with a life of its own, eagerly burrowed into Yang Haoran's body through the wounds.
In less than a minute, Xu Meijing's hands, which had remained suspended motionless above the wounds, abruptly snapped upward. Drop by drop, clump by clump, grayish-white liquid of various sizes was forcibly siphoned from Yang Haoran's body by Xu Meijing.
The grayish-white fluid erupted from the wounds, then coalesced beneath Xu Meijing's palms. In but the blink of an eye, a fist-sized mass of gray liquid appeared beneath each of Xu Meijing's palms.
The two gray masses squirmed erratically as if alive, emitting the putrid stench of rotting corpses. It was utterly repulsive, truly nauseating.
Xu Meijing's brow furrowed, her face twisting into an expression of profound revulsion. With a flick of her hands, the two gray masses were flung away.
Boom!
Boom!
Two walls were instantly ruptured, blasted with head-sized holes. Though mere liquid, when propelled by Xu Meijing, the masses were as ferocious as cannonballs, effortlessly tearing great holes in both walls.
This grayish-white liquid was the very Corpse Toxin extracted from Yang Haoran's body.
In truth, the Corpse Toxin within him was not initially so copious. After Yang's father and mother bit Yang Haoran, only a minuscule amount of Corpse Toxin had been injected. Yet, the toxin's virulence was extreme, and its propagation rate frighteningly swift. Hence, in just a short span, the Corpse Toxin within Yang Haoran had proliferated to the extent of two adult fists.
Fortunately, Xu Meijing acted promptly. Had she delayed even a moment, even her personal intervention would have failed to save Yang Haoran's life. Beyond preemptive cremation, the only grim alternative would have been to watch helplessly as his Hún soul dissipated and his Pò soul remained, transforming him into a Corpse Puppet.
With the Corpse Toxin expunged from his system, Yang Haoran's shoulders ceased to ooze the grayish-white fluid. Now, what seeped forth was crimson, vital blood.
Watching the fresh blood steadily seep from the wounds, Xu Meijing sighed, shaking her head in resignation. She then extended her hands once more, channeling Spirit Power to mend the lacerations on Yang Haoran's shoulders.
Aided by Xu Meijing, the rate at which blood seeped from Yang Haoran's torn shoulder wounds decelerated. Only when the wounds completely ceased their effusion did she retract her hands.
Throughout all this, Xu Meijing had not once concerned herself with Yang Haoran, still tethered by the black chains. Only upon the completion of her tasks did she notice that, at some imperceptible moment, Yang Haoran had ceased his struggles, quieted his frantic wails, and even voluntarily dispersed the dense Yin Qi that cloaked him.
He simply slumped onto the ground, appearing utterly helpless and profoundly desolate.
Perceiving that Yang Haoran's emotions had achieved a measure of stability, Xu Meijing felt it was time to offer a word of solace. Yet, before she could utter a sound, Yang Haoran, still slumped upon the ground, spoke before her.
"You can release me now," he murmured. "I'm fine."
His voice was neither deep nor frantic, but rather soft, imbued with an uncontainable sorrow.
"Are you. . . are you truly alright? " Xu Meijing inquired, a note of hesitancy in her tone.
No sooner had the words left her lips than Xu Meijing realized the utter foolishness of her question. No one, confronted with such an ordeal, could possibly recover so swiftly; how could he truly be 'fine'?
Yet Yang Haoran lifted his head to meet her gaze, a faint smile gracing his lips. "Truly," he affirmed, "I am truly fine."
That faint smile was strained, unnatural, devoid of even a shred of genuine happiness. Instead, it concealed an unspeakable desolation and profound grief. In truth, it would have been better had he not smiled at all; the more he forced this facade of cheerfulness, the more it wrung one's heart.
Witnessing Yang Haoran forcibly suppress his inner anguish, Xu Meijing was reminded of her own past, and a profound sense of shared suffering, of 'kindred spirits,' blossomed within her.
"Any wound will, with the passage of time, gradually heal. I can well understand your current state of mind, but I implore you to rally," Xu Meijing murmured softly, shedding her customary cool arrogance.
Yang Haoran forced a faint smile, merely offering a nod.
He yearned to offer thanks, but dared not utter a word. He feared that should he open his mouth, his voice, thick with unshed tears, would create an opening for the helplessness and grief within him to pour forth, and he would lose control, weeping anew.
Upon Yang Haoran's nod, Xu Meijing retracted the black chains. Without any discernible motion from her, the black chains coiling around Yang Haoran spontaneously dissolved into a wisp of Yin Qi and vanished completely.
Regaining his freedom, Yang Haoran's gaze drifted beyond the Yin Qi barrier. An increasing number of Corpse Puppets were amassing in the courtyard, violently striking the Yin Qi-formed shield—and his parents were among them.
Watching his parents' bloodthirsty, frenzied visages, Yang Haoran felt his entire heart hollowed out. Recalling his mother's nagging and his father's earnest advice from that very morning before he departed, his recently stabilized emotions nearly unraveled once more.
He had never conceived such an occurrence. Just a few hours had elapsed since his morning departure, yet upon his return, everything had irrevocably changed; nothing was as it had been.
His kin in Yangjiawan were no longer his kin, and his parents were no longer his parents. Recalling the words his mother had spoken in that fleeting moment of regained consciousness, he was suddenly struck by the depth of his own unfilial nature.
Before, his mind had been utterly blank, preventing him from contemplating why his mother had, for a fleeting instant, regained a shred of consciousness.
Now he understood. It was because his mother harbored an intensely profound obsession regarding this, which had allowed her to momentarily regain a flicker of consciousness. Consuming all her lingering attachments and expending every last ounce of her strength, she had voiced her innermost, final hopes for her beloved son.
Yet. . . yet for her, everything had ended. She would never live to see that day.
"Can their Pò souls be extracted? " Yang Haoran asked, turning to Xu Meijing beside him, forcing a strained smile. His voice, however, was noticeably choked.
"When the Hún soul dissipates and the Pò soul remains, the Pò soul becomes entirely fused with the physical form. Their Pò soul *is* their body, and their body *is* their Pò soul. In this state, it's impossible to re-extract the Pò soul from within. To be blunt, they no longer possess a Pò soul; they are Corpse Puppets, and nothing more," Xu Meijing replied.
In truth, Yang Haoran was well aware of what Xu Meijing conveyed, but deep in his heart, he still clung to a sliver of desperate hope. He believed that perhaps Xu Meijing might, against all odds, possess some forgotten method.
However, Xu Meijing's reply plunged him into profound disappointment.
Perceiving the raw disappointment in Yang Haoran's eyes, Xu Meijing's expression shifted to one of hesitation. Perhaps unwilling to witness Yang Haoran persist in his current state, she pondered for a moment, then spoke once more.
"There is one other method," she began, "though I strongly advise against its use."
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