Upon hearing the news of Chu Sheng's misfortune, Chu'he was frantic with worry. Fortunately, Ninth was highly skilled in tracking people, and Fang Songhe, ever the righteous man, couldn't stand by idly—especially since Chu Sheng was the father of a friend. Naturally, he stepped in to help.
The two of them managed to infiltrate the dungeon guarded by malevolent spirits with little effort, even coaxing out useful information along the way. But the real stroke of luck was when Ninth overheard Chu Sheng's "true feelings."
Turns out, the old man had always seemed to disapprove of him, deliberately making things difficult—but in reality, he had long regarded him as a son.
Ninth couldn’t help but think that his timely appearance to rescue Chu Sheng from peril would surely make the old man adore him even more as a future son-in-law.
"Dad, you’re so weak. The ground is cold—you’ll catch a chill. Let me help you up."
Chu Sheng heard the faint jingling of bells and looked up to see the white-haired youth eagerly rushing toward him, hand outstretched. He recoiled instinctively. "I can get up myself, no need for your help!"
Ninth stopped three steps away, blinked, and obediently replied, "Oh."
Chu Sheng’s legs trembled as he braced himself against the wall, slipping several times before finally steadying himself enough to stand.
In those brief moments, every memory of him yelling at Ninth flashed through his mind like a final life review, sending cold sweat down his back. That he was still alive and well was nothing short of a miracle.
The dungeon held many other prisoners, but none could tell whether the strangely beautiful Ninth was friend or foe. His methods of killing seemed even more terrifying than those of the malevolent spirits, leaving them all holding their breaths in silence.
Luckily, Ninth paid them no mind.
Chu Sheng swallowed hard. "These people inside..."
Ninth asked, "Should I kill them all?"
The prisoners shuddered. "Great Philanthropist Chu, spare us!"
Wiping sweat from his brow, Chu Sheng clarified, "That’s not what I meant. They’re innocent—can we let them go?"
Ninth tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes sweeping over the prisoners.
Under that gaze, they instantly huddled together, trembling.
The boy was undeniably eerie—pale as death, blood-red eyes, hair white as frost—exactly like the child-eating demons parents warned their kids about at night.
Ninth had always been acutely sensitive to others' emotions, but their fear meant nothing to him.
Chu'he loved nothing more than running her fingers through his silver hair, calling it the color of moonlight.
She would gaze into his ruby eyes and say they held glittering gemstones.
Then, she’d kiss his snow-pale skin, whispering that it was like frost settling on branches—crisp yet tender.
There wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t beautiful. These foolish Central Plains folk simply lacked the sense to appreciate it.
Ninth glanced back at the old man who supposedly saw him as a son. With a snap of his fingers, the prisoners screamed in panic.
Black insects swarmed over the chains, and for a moment, they feared they’d meet the same fate as the corpses they’d seen. But the bugs only corroded the locks before vanishing in an instant.
So the eerie boy wasn’t here to kill them after all.
The clamor slowly died down. Though they longed to flee, the sight of the youth lingering kept them frozen in place.
Gao Fan took a deep breath, mustering the courage to speak first. "Thank you, young master, for saving us."
Gradually, others murmured their gratitude as well.
Ninth scratched his ear, finding them annoyingly loud. His eyes curved into a sweet smile. "Dad, Chu'he is waiting for us."
Chu Sheng hurriedly agreed, "Let’s go back at once!"
Meanwhile, in the dark passage ahead, swordlight flickered like a net, slicing through the swarm of venomous insects. Their foul juices splattered against the damp stone walls, evaporating into wisps of gray smoke.
The cane-wielding elder clearly had no intention of prolonging the fight, retreating hastily—but in the blink of an eye, a gust of swordwind forced him to halt.
Fang Songhe had already cut off his escape. The hem of his water-soaked blue robes rippled faintly in the dim, damp air.
His gaze sharpened imperceptibly. "Skulking in the shadows like a coward. State your name."
"Cough…" The elder feigned frailty, his voice weak. Behind his white mask, his eyes were murky. "Young Master Fang, I have no desire to fight to the death today. Must you be so relentless?"
"You bring harm to the innocent and spread chaos among the people. How can I let you go?" Fang Songhe’s blade gleamed coldly as he advanced. "The sea of suffering is vast—repent before it’s too late."
As the swordlight surged forward, the black-clad elder slammed his cane against the ground.
The dark jade embedded in its head cracked, releasing a thick black mist that coiled up the shaft. A shadowy serpent materialized, jaws gaping to devour the sword’s radiance—only to be split in two by its razor edge, dispersing into smoke.
Seizing the moment, the elder pivoted, his cane screeching against the stone. A hidden spike shot from its base, glistening with blue venom, aimed straight for Fang Songhe’s ribs.
The vicious strike betrayed none of his earlier feebleness.
Caught off guard, Fang Songhe leaped back, his sword sweeping defensively—but not before the spike tore through the fabric over his chest.
Suddenly, the elder convulsed, coughing violently as if his lungs might rupture. Black blood dripped from beneath his mask, the droplets writhing with tiny, frenzied insects.
Fang Songhe seized the opening, lunging again. The elder, sluggish now, barely raised an arm in defense—earning a deep, bone-exposing gash.
His blood, too, teemed with squirming parasites.
Horror dawned on him—he’d been poisoned with gu without even realizing it. That Miaojiang youth’s identity was anything but ordinary!
As Fang Songhe closed in once more, the elder blocked with his cane—only for it to splinter in half. With desperate speed, he pressed a loose brick in the wall.
The mechanism triggered instantly.
The walls burst open, flooding the passage with river water. Fang Songhe submerged, holding his breath as countless black serpents darted through the murk.
Chu Sheng, weighed down by his heavy robes and unable to swim, flailed helplessly. His scream became a stream of bubbles as the snakes surged toward him.
Then—a pale hand gripped his arm, dragging him upward.
Chu Sheng’s heart clenched tighter than the water’s suffocating grip when he saw the fresh snakebite marring Ninth’s ghostly skin.
