Chapter 34 — Mystery of Origin (Part I)

　　Vines soaked with blood surged toward Ruoshui, each tendril reaching out in unison.

　　She sensed danger and stared helplessly as the vines encircled her.

　　“Ruǒ’er!” Qiwú cried, rushing to her.

　　The vines had already bound her wrists and ankles; they tightened with measured, merciless strength, pinning her firmly to the cavern wall. She struggled, but each wriggle only tightened the grip.

　　Qiwú cut through tendrils with his sword, but they were endless—he cut and they multiplied. Fresh from battling the octopus, he was exhausted, yet he kept hacking, severing the vines that coiled around Ruoshui.

　　“Go, Sūmù—leave me. Don’t bother with me,” Ruoshui said, thinking herself a burden. Qiwú had the power to escape—she didn’t want him to sacrifice himself for her.

　　Qiwú behaved as if he hadn’t heard, continuing to swing his blade.

　　While Qiwú fought the vine-demon and kept an eye on Ruoshui, poison-spider snuck up from behind and clamped a hand on his back. Deep claw marks bled; the wound darkened in an instant—poison spread from her nails. Under her black sleeves, she had not only spider-legs but long venomous talons.

　　Qiwú turned to face poison-spider. The toxin burned through him; weakness crept in. But he could not fall—if he did, who would protect Ruoshui? She was young; she deserved a chance at life.

　　Ruoshui watched Qiwú’s back wound with anguish and cried, “Sūmù, go! I don’t know who I am; I’ve disrupted your life—don’t risk yourself for me.”

　　“You are my lawful wife—I can’t abandon you,” Qiwú said firmly. She was not merely someone he protected; she was the person he wanted to guard with his life.

　　“Your wife?” the snake-girl sneered at the sight of Ruoshui pinned on the stone wall. “I thought she’d be a world-stunning beauty, but she’s plain and undersized. For you to refuse me for her—and risk your life! I pity you, master.”

　　“We’ll let her go, and I’ll see to getting you out,” Qiwú said, recalling their earlier uneasy agreement. It had been their plan—only a twist of fate had turned things so sour.

　　“Do you really think you can?” poison-spider toyed with her talons and said coldly, “My poison would kill a god. How dare you be so arrogant.”

　　At that moment vines constricted Ruoshui so tightly her wrists bled; she cried out in pain.

　　Sensing blood, the vines went wild—reaching, drawing up life force. Tendrils lengthened and thickened visibly; leaves unfurled and grew with alarming speed.

　　Qiwú looked at Ruoshui’s pallid face and hacked at vines, but he was near collapse. He dropped to one knee, bracing himself on the sword to keep upright. He had thought himself strong, but against this unknown enemy he was powerless; the one he wanted to protect was slipping away.

　　He forced a bitter smile. If they could not live together, perhaps they could die together; maybe in the next life they would meet again.

　　The snake and poison-spider sensed a change. For long years they’d coexisted with the vine-demon in uneasy balance—helping or preying on each other as needed. But the vine’s new rapid growth meant it would soon consume them all; their days were numbered.

　　Ruoshui’s blood loss made her faint.

　　Poison-spider, calculating, thought: the vine-demon’s sudden surge was fueled by Ruoshui’s blood. If she could drink it herself, perhaps she too could grow powerful.

　　She morphed into a spider and crawled up to Ruoshui; when it bit, Ruoshui felt the pain but could not move. Qiwú was powerless to help; he could only watch her being drained by the spider.

　　The snake-girl looked on, seemingly uncertain. Ruoshui’s blood was indeed like a nourisher for living things—the poison-spider began to swell little by little.

　　The vine-demon detected competition and struck a feeding vine at the poison-spider. Startled, the spider was slammed to the ground.

　　Tasting the sweetness, poison-spider persisted. This time she crawled toward Ruoshui’s ankle to bite, but the vine slapped her away.

　　Now appearing half-human, half-spider and at least a head taller, the spider’s once-floor-length robes could no longer conceal the legs; her hands became claws and her nails grew razor-sharp. A single sip of Ruoshui’s blood could provide centuries of cultivation. The spider was not about to stop. She grabbed a vine and hurled it aside and engaged the vine-demon directly. A flurry of vines attacked; the spider used both hands and feet—grabbing, cutting, dodging.

　　The snake-girl, who had been watching from the side, looked at the unconscious Qiwú and the bound Ruoshui and for a moment decided she too would act. Would she, like the spider, drink Ruoshui’s blood to increase her own power?

　　No—she did not plan to drink Ruoshui. Instead, she strode to Qiwú, lifted his sleeve, and bit him. A fresh, bloody bite mark remained.

　　Qiwú suddenly woke. He glanced at the bitten wrist with confusion.

　　“How do you feel? Let’s cooperate—save your wife first,” the snake-girl said.

　　Qiwú looked at Ruoshui, full of pain. Slowly his consciousness and strength returned. Taking advantage of the vine-demon and spider’s battle, Qiwú recovered and began cutting the vines entwining Ruoshui. The loosened Ruoshui slid down the wall; Qiwú caught her and cradled her in his arms.

　　By the time the vine realized and retaliated, Qiwú had already moved them into a separate spot and erected a ward—snake-girl followed close behind.

　　The vine-demon raged and attacked the barrier. Fortunately Qiwú’s ward held; the vine’s attacks did nothing.

　　The vine-demon, furious, went back to finish off the spider—without the spider’s diversion the vine might not have been distracted. It tightened again and again until the spider could not escape. Poison-spider, tangled and weakened, pleaded hoarsely, “Save me, save… me…”

　　Snake-girl hesitated; after eons, there was some bond between them, a sliver of affinity. But none could reach through the mass of vines; no one expected to face such overwhelming growth.

　　Qiwú had little sympathy; the spider had bitten him and had coveted Ruoshui’s blood. If the vine didn’t kill her, any opportunity would be seized. In the end, the spider’s neck was crushed—its head rolled, eyes wide and unseeing.

　　Snake-girl averted her eyes, partly remorseful.