Chapter 43: The Arrival of Plum Blossom

Sixth floor of the Provincial Library.

After Jasmine’s figure vanished from Pumpkin’s side, Gentian, Snapdragon, and Ziyuan remained locked in combat with the spectral white phantoms.

Gentian’s long whip whistled through the mist, its deep violet light flickering and obliterating three to five phantoms with each strike. Yet, these entities seemed endlessly regenerative; as soon as one group dispersed, another would coalesce from the swirling fog.

Several of her recently healed wounds reopened, and fresh blood dripped down her skirt, forming a small pool of dark crimson at her feet. Still, she refused to yield an inch, her long whip dancing with increasing ferocity.

“Tsk, this is endless!” she cursed through gritted teeth.

Ziyuan’s grimoire floated before her, its pages fluttering rapidly as dark golden light continuously emanated from it. She was analyzing—dissecting the phantoms’ movements, the flow patterns of the mist, and the rhythm of Ghost Orchid’s every ‘dispersion’ and ‘reformation’.

“She is toying with us,” Ziyuan’s voice remained languid and soft, yet a hint of seriousness permeated it. “These phantoms are merely expendable. The true her—”

Her gaze pierced through the dense layers of mist, settling upon the motionless, grayish-white figure in the distance.

Ghost Orchid stood there.

She didn’t even glance at them.

Her eyes remained fixed on the goose-yellow figure suspended mid-air, bound by tentacles, as if admiring a cherished collection.

Snapdragon weaved through the battlefield, each swing of her rose-gold fan scattering a shower of flower petals. These petals floated and spun in the air, mesmerizing the phantoms and disrupting their judgment.

She attempted to approach Ghost Orchid’s position several times, but each time she came close to touching the grayish-white figure, it would vanish like a ghost, only to re-materialize elsewhere.

“Oh my, oh my~” she tsked softly, sweat already beading on her forehead. “She’s quite the dodger.”

Just then—

Ziyuan’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Jasmine’s aura…” she murmured. “It’s gone.”

Gentian snapped her head back. “What?”

“She was likely teleported when she tried to flank them,” Ziyuan closed her grimoire, her tone still calm, but a trace of solemnity flickered in her eyes. “The direction… seems to be the rooftop.”

All three women paused simultaneously.

Another one lost.

Gentian gritted her teeth, her whip lashing out with even greater force. Snapdragon’s smile faded slightly, and her fan-waving accelerated. Ziyuan reopened her grimoire, the dark golden light shining brighter than before.

Yet, they all knew this couldn’t continue.

The phantoms were inexhaustible. The grayish-white figure was elusive. And their allies were disappearing, one by one.

Ghost Orchid remained in place, unmoving.

Still not looking at them.

Just then—

A chilling aura surged from the stairwell.

It was cold and sharp, yet devoid of any killing intent. It swept through like a gust of icy wind, instantly permeating every inch of the sixth floor.

The white phantoms, previously drifting aimlessly, froze in unison.

They emitted uneasy, high-pitched shrieks, as if terrified of something.

The mist seemed to be torn apart by an invisible hand, receding to either side.

‘Sparse shadows slant, obscuring.’

A voice, clear and cool as flowing water under the moon, drifted from the stairwell:

“Sparse shadows slant across the water, clear and shallow.”

No sooner had the words fallen than a frosty white light illuminated the darkness.

Immediately after, countless illusory plum branches surged forth from the light!

These plum branches crisscrossed, instantly filling the entire sixth-floor space. They appeared elegantly refined—gnarled branches, faintly visible buds, and even a few fallen petals—yet each branch contained a piercing sword intent.

The sword intent was silent.

But omnipresent.

The plum branches pierced through the mist, through the white phantoms scattering in every direction.

The phantoms didn’t even have time to shriek a second time before they were pinned in place by the plum branches—one, two, ten, nearly a hundred—then collectively dissolved into mist, vanishing into the air.

In merely an instant.

All the phantoms they had struggled with for half the day had dispersed.

Gentian stood stunned.

Snapdragon’s fan hung suspended mid-air.

Ziyuan’s grimoire lay half-open, frozen.

A figure slowly emerged from the stairwell.

She wore a frost-white cross-collared gown, its hem gradually deepening to an inky black, embroidered with subtle plum branch patterns that shimmered with her every step. A black half-sleeved jacket was cinched at her waist by a wide vermilion sash, and a drape of frost-white light gauze flowed from her shoulders.

Half of her long hair was swept up, a vermilion plum blossom hairpin angled into it, from which delicate silver tassels dangled.

Most striking was the sword in her hand.

The blade was frost-white, and a clear, cool fragrance now permeated the air—a scent that cut through the mist and the smell of blood, instantly revitalizing one’s spirit.

Ghost Orchid finally stirred.

The grayish-white figure, which had been standing motionless, subtly turned to face the stairwell.

She saw the frost-white figure, the sword, and the lingering illusory plum branches.

“Tsk.”

She tsked softly.

Then her form began to disperse—as she had done countless times before, turning into white mist, preparing to escape.

But this time—

The illusory plum branches suddenly glowed brightly.

They seemed to have locked onto her aura, following closely no matter how she tried to evade them. The moment she moved, the branches wove into a net, blocking all her escape routes.

‘Faint fragrance drifts, assailing.’

And the frost-white figure had already vanished from her original spot, reciting the unfinished poem from earlier.

“A faint fragrance drifts in the twilight moon.”

The next instant, that figure appeared behind Ghost Orchid.

The sword tip gently touched Ghost Orchid’s back.

Yet, it felt as if it had touched the very center of the entire space.

All the illusory plum branches trembled simultaneously, and countless sword intents converged, gathering at that single point.

A crimson light ignited, spreading along the sword’s spine, instantly dyeing the three inches of frost-white.

Then—

It pierced.

Ghost Orchid’s form froze in place.

She lowered her gaze to her chest—the frost-white figure had already sheathed her sword and retreated three steps.

She opened her mouth, intending to speak.

But nothing came out.

The grayish-white husk began to disintegrate from within, like a clay sculpture shattered internally, countless cracks spreading from her chest outward, and then—

She shattered.

Breaking into countless grayish-white fragments that scattered across the floor.

The moment these fragments hit the ground, they transformed into mist, like phantoms, and along with the bound goose-yellow figure, dissipated into the air.

As they dissipated, however, a wisp of blood-red light burst from the fragments, flashing and vanishing into the night sky.

The frost-white figure glanced at the fragments, her gaze as calm as still water.

Then she turned to face Gentian and the other two.

Moonlight streamed through the broken mist, illuminating her.

Gentian’s mouth hung open, and after a moment, she managed to stammer, “The witch… was she destroyed?”

The frost-white figure looked at her.

“It was a clone,” she said, her voice clear and cold. “The main body has already left. The captured magical girl is not here either.”

She raised her hand, sheathed her longsword, and spoke again.

“I am a Magical Girl, Fifth Tier, Flower Steward. Deputy Director of the Flower Pavilion, Plum Blossom.” Her voice was clear and cold as flowing water under the moon.

Gentian was greatly astonished upon hearing her identity, and her mouth fell open again.

She wanted to say something else, but found herself utterly speechless.

She recalled those few sword strikes from earlier…

The illusory plum branches that locked onto an aura, the ghost-like movement technique, the calm, single-strike victory…

Ziyuan closed her grimoire, bowing her head slightly in a respectful gesture.

Snapdragon still smiled, but her smile held a newfound restraint; she also bowed her head slightly with deference.

Gentian was a beat slow in reacting, but quickly made up for it, bowing deeply.

None of them had expected that the Deputy Director of the Flower Pavilion, the ‘Queen of Flowers,’ the ‘Noble of Flowers,’ the ‘Scholar in Snow’—and also the legendary strongest combatant—Plum Blossom, would personally arrive here.

Wait, hold on!

Could this person… also be a clone?

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