Leng Yeting ran over from a distance and, seeing that Ruan Zhizhi was unharmed, let out a sigh of relief. Glancing at the dark room behind her, he asked, "Well? Find anything?"
Ruan Zhizhi shook her head. "Just dust. Nothing unusual."
Leng Yeting’s expression darkened. "Guess we’ll have to look somewhere else."
According to the records, one dose of the serum used to suppress the experimental subjects back then was still hidden somewhere in the Mist World. The records might be wrong, but for now, Leng Yeting had no choice but to cling to this slim hope.
Leng Yeting led Ruan Zhizhi forward, cautiously feeling their way through. They climbed the stairs and turned a corner in the hallway—when suddenly, Leng Yeting, who was walking ahead, stopped in his tracks.
Ruan Zhizhi frowned. "What’s wrong?"
The sound of dripping echoed unnervingly in the silent darkness.
Ruan Zhizhi looked down and saw blood pooling into a crimson puddle on the floor. Her gaze followed the droplets upward—only to find a knife embedded in Leng Yeting’s chest.
A pale hand yanked the blade free.
Leng Yeting staggered, the delayed shock of pain and terror hitting him as he clutched his wound and collapsed. But he wasn’t dead yet—the knife had deliberately missed his heart, as if to deny him a quick death and leave him struggling for breath.
From the shadows, a carelessly slouching figure emerged.
One hand in his pocket, the other lazily twirling the bloodstained knife, the boy flicked the blade, splattering crimson across the wall. His lifeless eyes held a mocking glint as he regarded the two before him—now little more than insects beneath his notice.
Ruan Zhizhi stood frozen, stunned by the sudden turn of events.
In her mind, Leng Yeting had always been invincible—a natural leader, effortlessly commanding respect. That was why so many at the academy idolized him without question.
Yet here he was, struck down without warning, bleeding out before her eyes.
As the terrifying figure drew closer, Ruan Zhizhi instinctively retreated, her heart hammering in her throat. She knew she stood no chance of outrunning a killer like him.
Her face was deathly pale, but despite her terror, she forced herself to stand tall, refusing to collapse in a pathetic heap.
She was just a delicate, soft-spoken girl—but unlike most, she hadn’t broken down sobbing or lost control. Surely that would earn her some grudging admiration.
Then she remembered Xia Miao.
Eyes red-rimmed like a frightened rabbit, Ruan Zhizhi bit her pink lips before whispering in a trembling voice, "P-please… don’t kill me. I just want to live. I’ll… I’ll do anything you ask."
The boy actually paused.
She’d guessed right!
That night, she’d seen Xia Miao offering herself to the killer. If he’d accepted her advances, then he must have desires like any other man.
If Xia Miao could do it, why couldn’t she?
Still, shame burned through her. She’d never have humiliated herself like this if not for survival.
The shadowy figure tilted his head. "Anything?"
Ruan Zhizhi nodded. "Yes."
"Good."
As the monstrous boy closed in, Ruan Zhizhi clutched the collar of her dress. She’d only ever been intimate with Leng Yeting—she prided herself on being a proper girl, never imagining she’d be entangled with anyone else.
But now this blood-soaked, feared killer had set his sights on her. What choice did she have?
Leng Yeting lay dying on the floor, watching the scene with a pang of emotion.
Ruan Zhizhi was timid and soft-hearted. For her to go this far… she must be doing it to save him.
He never expected such a sacrifice from her. Yet the thought of owing his life to her degradation filled him with shame.
Still, he forced himself to stay silent. If he tried to intervene now, wouldn’t that just waste her efforts?
Gritting his teeth, Leng Yeting swore to himself—once he found the inhibitor, he’d kill this monster. And when they escaped this hellish world, he’d make it up to her.
The "killer" drew closer.
Up close, Ruan Zhizhi realized he looked almost ordinary—just a boy, albeit one dressed strangely, his face wrapped in white bandages that lent him an eerie, mysterious air.
But his presence was magnetic, an unsettling allure that made her pulse race despite herself.
Her grip on her collar loosened slightly, though her nerves remained frayed.
The boy’s eyes curved in amusement. "Your breathing’s uneven."
Ruan Zhizhi trembled, too afraid to meet his gaze. "I-I’m just… nervous."
"Don’t be. It’ll only hurt for a second."
Her face flushed.
Then—a hand clamped around her throat, slamming her against the wall with enough force to rattle her bones.
She choked, the pressure cutting off her air. The delicate flush drained from her face, leaving only terror.
Leng Yeting gasped weakly. "Zhizhi—!"
His voice was little more than a mouse’s squeak.
The boy laughed, raising the knife until its tip hovered perilously close to her eye. Ruan Zhizhi’s breath hitched, her pupils dilating in fear.
"You said you’d do anything, right? Then let’s play a game." Lu Yan giggled. "Choose—you die, or he dies?"
The color drained from both Ruan Zhizhi’s and Leng Yeting’s faces.
When no answer came, Lu Yan’s grin widened. "My girlfriend taught me something—ladies first. So I’m letting you pick. But if you won’t…" He glanced at Leng Yeting. "Then I’ll let this pig decide."
A monster was still a monster. No matter how human he looked, his cruel nature would always see people as playthings to torment.
And in that moment, Ruan Zhizhi realized—she’d made a terrible mistake.
