"Wait, Ninth, calm down!"
Song Tieniu saw Ninth suddenly grab Song Chunming by the throat and hurried over to intervene, but before he could get close, a green snake leaped out, baring its fangs at him. Its triangular head was a clear sign of deadly venom.
Song Chunming strained to speak, "What are you... talking about? I don’t understand."
Ninth had little patience. His fingers dug into flesh. "Lan Yingying kidnapped Ah'He. You dare say you know nothing about it?"
"Impossible... Yingying would never... do such a thing." Even in the face of death, Song Chunming’s first instinct wasn’t to beg for mercy but to defend Lan Yingying’s character.
That girl, who took such tender care of even the smallest animals—how could she possibly do something evil?
Song Tieniu snapped to attention, rushed into the room to check, then ran back out, shouting, "My wife—no, Miss Chu... she’s really gone!"
"Her disappearance... has nothing to do with Yingying."
Ninth smirked. "Fine. You’re in my hands now."
Song Tieniu cried out, "Ninth, think this through!"
But his words came too late.
Two sickening cracks echoed as Song Chunming’s arms went limp, hanging uselessly at his sides. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he stifled a groan—his arms had just been brutally snapped.
Song Tieniu was horrified. "Ninth, have you lost your mind?!"
Ninth remained silent. Around them, the faint hum of insects grew louder. The airborne swarm, unable to locate Chu'he or catch her scent, had other tasks to fulfill.
The young man’s gaze was icy. "Tell that woman she has until the time it takes for one stick of incense to burn. If she doesn’t bring Ah'He back unharmed, I’ll take her man’s head. If she’s a breath too late, I’ll start with his hands. Two breaths, and I’ll take a leg. Remember—she doesn’t have much time."
The insects scattered, carrying his message.
Song Chunming, enduring the pain, still managed to lift his head defiantly. "Yingying... is not the kind of person you say she is."
Ninth released his grip on Song Chunming’s throat and watched as the man slid down the wall. Then, with full force, he kicked Song Chunming square in the chest.
Song Chunming heard his ribs crack. His breath hitched, and agony surged through him—this time, he didn’t even have the strength to cry out.
Song Tieniu tried to rush forward despite the venomous snake’s warning, but a white-haired boy grabbed his arm.
"Mother... gone," Chongyang said, looking up. "Find mother... then save him."
Ninth’s killing intent and fury were now fully unleashed. The hidden swarm of venomous insects stirred restlessly.
If Chu'he didn’t return, Song Chunming’s death would only be the beginning.
Song Tieniu understood. "Stay here—I’ll go find her!"
Lan Yingying knew she had done wrong, and guilt weighed heavily on her.
Chu'he was a good person. She shouldn’t have killed her.
But she had no other choice. Chu'he was a threat. One day, Song Chunming might remember everything because of her. Once he realized this peaceful village was nothing but an illusion, he would leave.
And if he stepped outside, his life would be in danger.
People prioritized those they loved. Even if Lan Yingying knew she shouldn’t harm an innocent like Chu'he, for Song Chunming, she was willing to do anything.
Suddenly, she heard the hum of insects.
Lan Yingying tensed, watching as the swarm approached. She knew better than anyone how terrifying Miaojiang’s venomous insects could be.
These insects were coming for her—which meant Ninth had already discovered her role in Chu'he’s disappearance.
How? How had he found out so quickly?
The swarm drew nearer. Lan Yingying gripped a medicine vial, but before she could open it, the insects halted before her.
Their wings synchronized, carrying Ninth’s voice.
"You have until one stick of incense burns. Bring Ah'He back unharmed, or I’ll take your man’s head. One breath late, and I’ll cut off his hand. Two breaths, and I’ll take a leg. Remember—time is running out."
Lan Yingying panicked. "Chunming!"
The Miaojiang people were notorious for their ruthlessness. When it came to killing, they never made empty threats.
But Chu'he was already at the bottom of the lake. How could she possibly bring her back unharmed?
Lan Yingying clenched the vial. "You Miaojiang people... you’ve gone too far!"
Deep beneath the earth, where black vines and eerie purple flowers sprawled, strange, membrane-covered "fruits" pulsed with life.
When the first half-formed "head" opened its eyes and called out, others followed.
"Mother."
"Mother."
"Mother."
Chu'he felt as though she had stepped into a nightmare. Surrounded by these grotesque creatures, she stumbled back, her foot crunching on a brittle skeleton. The sound sent chills down her spine.
She studied the "heads" growing from the vines and hesitantly called a name. "Chongyang?"
The awakened heads didn’t respond, only repeating their eerie chant.
They—no, it—weren’t human. They were plants, mimicking human voices.
As if their flesh-like stems had absorbed the lingering obsession of those they had consumed.
Realizing these half-human "fruits" couldn’t move, Chu'he gathered her courage and stepped forward. Her sharp eyes caught a small, tattered shoe tangled in the vines.
She picked it up. Parts of the cloth had disintegrated with age, matching the decayed clothing on the skeletons nearby.
Scuff marks suggested a child had once struggled free from this place.
A glint of metal caught her attention.
Chu'he knelt, brushing aside dead leaves to uncover a sword—cold, heavy, undoubtedly a masterwork.
In a flash, a name surfaced in her mind. "Heartseeker."
She looked around, shuddering. "Ghostbloom!"
The sinister plants surrounding her were the same "ghost flowers" she had seen in the caves of Xiaocheng—only older, more mutated, and far more bloodthirsty.
Chu'he jolted upright. "Ninth!"
She turned and ran. Strangely, the ravenous plants didn’t pursue her. But as she passed the skeletons again, horror struck her.
Their clothing was identical to what the villagers had worn the day she first arrived.
What's more, the clothes on one of the skeletons were unmistakable—she recognized them as the very garments the village chief had worn.
If these people had died here long ago, then who—or what—were the villagers they had been living among all this time?
