Chapter 3
1354 Words
Lily took a deep breath, curiosity quickly overriding her fear as she scanned the opulent interior. Her gaze eventually landed on the resplendent throne at the center of the room, glowing with a cold and regal light.
“Emperor of Fengdu,” she whispered, mouthing the carved inscription with a mix of awe and intrigue.
Her thoughts drifted back to that dream—the icy coffin, the woman within, the bitter enmity between Xie Linzhuo and Qi Bimian. If the two truly were at each other’s throats over that woman… then maybe she, Lily, could swoop in and reap the rewards while they tore each other apart.
She was already mapping out her little schemes, the abacus in her mind clacking with excitement. All the fear from earlier had melted away.
“Fighting to the death over a woman? And you—profiting from the chaos?”
A low, raspy male voice slithered past her ear like an icy wind. It chilled her to the bone, rattling her very joints as if her skeleton had been flash-frozen.
Thud! Lily dropped to the floor in a panic.
She turned her head slowly… and saw an embroidered hem, pitch-black robes patterned with intricate silver threads. Ink-dark hair cascaded nearly to the ground.
Her eyes trembled upward, inch by inch, until they met a pale, wan face—otherworldly in its tired beauty. His lips were tinted blood-red, striking and dangerous, and his eyes…
Green.
A deep, spectral green like ghostfire from the underworld.
The moment she saw them, Lily forgot how to breathe.
Qi Bimian looked down at her with half-lidded eyes, a ghost of indifference flickering behind his gaze, as if bored with the whole world. He waited.
“Y-you… you can read minds?” she stammered after a long, stunned silence.
Qi Bimian yawned lazily and walked toward the throne. “Of course. It’s a ghost clan trait.”
With a flick of his wide, ornate sleeve, he leaned sideways on the throne. His pallid fingers tapped the armrest, rhythmically and softly—tap, tap, tap.
But to Lily, each tap sounded like shackled spirits screaming behind iron bars, threatening to break free and devour her alive.
She wiped the cold sweat from the tip of her nose and forced a nervous, flattery-laced smile. “Y-you’re amazing, my Lord… heh… heh heh…”
Another yawn. Qi Bimian looked like he hadn’t slept in a century.
“Come here, little failure.”
Lily’s face twitched. She hated that word. “Failure.” The only thing worse than hearing it… was knowing it was true.
Yeah, she was a mess. No need to rub it in.
To be fair, Xie Linzhuo had never forbidden her from cultivating. But her spiritual root was so muddled, it barely qualified as a cultivator’s. Worse, she had no tolerance for pain. She remembered the first time she underwent spiritual cleansing—she’d only been ten. After just a few moments in the cleansing pool, she passed out from the agony, bleeding from every pore. And despite all that, her root remained murky.
It was then she realized she wasn’t cut out for cultivation. Over the years, that self-awareness turned into resignation, and despite spending more than a decade in Changliu, she was still stuck at the Qi Condensation stage.
Since childhood, she had been terrified of Xie Linzhuo. Whenever she saw him, she turned into a shivering wreck. It was like a mouse seeing a cat—instinctual, irreversible terror. And now this demon wanted her to… seduce him?
She’d rather throw herself into a pit of ghosts.
Lily’s gaze flicked toward Qi Bimian, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. There was a pout to her lips, the kind that might have worked on softer men.
He wasn’t one of them.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles cracking like thunder. His voice, when it came, was sharp with rare anger.
“Keep your filthy thoughts to yourself.”
Before Lily could respond, the world shifted once again.
The grand hall around them dissolved like smoke on the wind. In its place rose a different landscape—dark, briny, suffocating.
A vast sea stretched endlessly into the distance, its waves thick with the stench of rot and salt. It crashed violently against nothing, and yet... something moved in the water.
There were people—naked, writhing, swimming through the churning black waves, their screams piercing and pitiful. They struggled toward a shoreline that never got any closer.
Behind them, shadows loomed.
Giant, grotesque fish with gaping mouths filled with jagged teeth hunted them relentlessly. One by one, the swimmers were caught, ripped to pieces, their howls swallowed by the crashing waves.
And then—reborn.
In a blink, their bodies reformed, and the torment began again.
An eternal cycle of pain.
Lily’s knees buckled. The truth slammed into her like a tidal wave.
This was Hell. Not metaphorical, not symbolic—real.
This was the Sea of Suffering. A punishment reserved for the worst of the worst: men who defiled others, murdered their wives, violated their own blood. Here, they would swim and scream and be devoured for all eternity.
A cold hand rested on her shoulder.
She flinched.
Qi Bimian leaned in close, his voice ghostly and sharp against her ear. “Should you ever again harbor desire for me… I’ll toss you into the Sea myself. And let you learn how long eternity truly is.”
Then he straightened, voice crisp with finality. “You have half a month. If Xie Linzhuo’s Dao Heart collapses, the gates of the Demon Realm will open for you. But if he emerges untouched…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
Lily nodded so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. Her hand lifted instinctively to tug at his sleeve, but stopped mid-air—afraid even a brush would condemn her to that nightmare.
The palace doors closed behind her with a thunderous boom.
She collapsed in front of them, her legs too weak to stand. Her face was pale as ash, lips trembling. The grotesque images from the Sea were still seared into her mind, and her soul hadn’t stopped shaking.
A voice broke through her daze.
“Oi.”
Wanshu squatted in front of her, head tilted in confusion. “The master told me to escort you back to Changliu. But what the hell happened to you? You look like you’ve seen death itself.”
Lily didn’t answer.
She simply slumped forward, straight into Wanshu’s arms.
His entire body stiffened, the fur on his tail puffing up like a porcupine. He reflexively tried to shove her away—but her arms locked around his waist like iron shackles.
She wasn't letting go.
Not after that.
“Lord Wanshu... I can’t walk anymore. Just… carry me back to Changliu,” Lily whispered, her voice soft as mist.
She buried her face against his chest, breathing in the faint fragrance of night-blooming datura clinging to his robes. Her lashes trembled, and a single tear slid down the curve of her cheek, warm and silent.
Her arms wrapped tighter around him, clinging as if to the last solid thing in a crumbling world.
Wanshu blinked, staring blankly at the tear track on her face.
He had never cried in his life—not once. Yet this girl, whom he'd only met twice, had already shed more tears than he could count.
Curious, he reached out with a claw-tipped finger, catching a droplet from the corner of her eye. He brought it to his lips and tasted it.
Bitter.
His brows furrowed.
Without a word, he scooped her into his arms, muscles flexing beneath his robes. His frame was tall, powerful, and carried her effortlessly—making her look even more delicate and breakable in contrast.
Lily let a ghost of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
She couldn’t fool a thousand-year-old ghost lord like Qi Bimian.
But this young tiger cub, who still smelled faintly of milk?
She could fool him just fine.
- Writer
