Deep into the night, a bright carriage throttles over the empty streets. Inside it sits the young master of the Yuan family. Fawning over him is his latest mistress, Lady Yanmei. Her delicate hands run all over his highness' plump body. Their faces are pink due to the copious amounts of liquor they have consumed, and some other primal emotion. Their vulgar actions are not at all deterred under the company of another young man travelling in that carriage. In fact, his presence seems to make Lady Yanmei feel even more hotter.
He Bolin feigns his intoxication as he smiles at the woman lopsidedly. He can obviously feel her piercing gaze cover his entire body but her hands wisely stick to serving her young master. Young master Yuan, who is oblivious to the real reason behind the lady's arousal, snidely remarks at He Bolin. "Prince He. You turn even more outrageous as the years pass by!"
"It's not befitting. Of a prince. To lose their belongings." He slurs. A throaty laugh escapes. "Especially a whole ass carriage! How did you even- Ohhh those bastards are going to have a field day when they hear of this! Ha-ha!"
With a pitiful expression, He Bolin coquettishly requests. "Please. I beg you to keep your big mouth shut."
"No! No way! If tomorrow allows me to remember, you. Are. Toast. You owe me one for dropping you off."
He Bolin holds his head in his palms and groans like a pitiful animal making the young master laugh even more. Their banter continues until the carriage rolls to a halt. He Bolin peers out of the window. Upon seeing his face, the demons guarding the formidable iron gates permit the carriage to enter the estate. As the carriage is driven to his front door, He Bolin says his goodbyes and goodnights to his true friend and saviour, young master Yuan and jumps out of the carriage after throwing one last flirty look at the woman lusting after him.
As he watches the carriage leave his estate with furrowed eyebrows, he tries to figure out that short man's first name.
Ah, fuck it.
He is not important enough to remember. He Bolin just wanted to keep the tales of his debauchery strong and alive. Even in times where the mantises and cicadas were fighting. Something of that sort. And that Yuan person is just the right kind of wastrel to spread word of his wild stories.
He Bolin walks inside his palace. The one he inherited from the death of his mother's bloodline. This huge palace was the He family's residence. And now he lived here all alone. He dumps his coat on a couch and lies down on the long sofa feeling exhausted. After all, it is hard being creative all the time. He Bolin yawns with his eyes closed and curls up on the sofa, completely ignoring the man sitting on the couch adjacent to him.
A groan threatens to escape his throat as he feels a sharp blade hovering over his neck, which is already cutting a few strands of his long hair.
He Bolin's eyes slightly open, their amber shade darkens with poisonous ideas. But he waits. He dredges out his remaining patience as he waits for the man to speak. And eventually, he does. "How long do you think I can wait before I accidentally cut you?"
The impatience vanishes like a whiff of cloud as a sharp laugh rumbles through his chest. "You aim a sword at my throat and call it an accident. Well, aren't you bold?"
While He Bolin seems to lie harmlessly on that sofa, he slowly relieves the constraints off his cultivation. The water in the vases near them begin to tremble. The razor-sharp resonance cruelly magnifies in intensity, no longer sparing even his own servants and guards. They all collapse with a fit of tears as if affected by mass hysteria. But He Bolin isn't deterred by their suffering and in turn, he further increases the pressure. Until no one's left standing.
Except for the man who he was aiming for.
"Impressive." The man sits untouched by his spiritual pressure. As if it was naught but wind. "The way you have knocked out all your workers out of commission. Now, whoever will lace up the prince's boots tomorrow?" He taunts with a light laugh. He Bolin's eyes narrow.
He isn't bothered by this result. It's not as if he was aiming to kill him. After all, he had expected it. But he still had to test the man's strength himself. And if this guy crumbles under a little pressure, there is simply no need for him to live and be a burden upon this realm.
He should just go ahead and die. Again.
He Bolin lazily gets up and looks at the man illuminated by the warm light coming from the fireplace. This is the first time he has seen him in such proximity. The thin gold borders on his robe glint somewhat unnaturally, and He Bolin presumes that his robes are an exquisitely made armour. Covert and effective. Like a tired father being pestered by his son, he asks. "What do you want?"
Zhang Xiyu looks at this 'loafer' with amusement and wonders why the prince has broken out of character. Shouldn't he atleast try to deceive me?
The He Bolin in front of him is no longer wearing a flirtatious smile, doesn't look airheaded, and his eyes are filled with a rare sharpness. Even though he's just sitting there, properly for once, Zhang Xiyu can feel his natural aggression. Ren Jiang and Liu Xue, these were the two characters that pull everyone's attention. They are the ideal princes of hell who the citizens are vying for. And Zhang Xiyu can read both of them like an open book. But He Bolin, he has been skilfully flying under the radar as the ambitionless and worthless son of Lord Enma. No one in the courts will ever vouch for him. So clearly, Lord He is set on losing the battle for the throne.
So, what is he scheming for? What does he want?
Zhang Xiyu had already started to suspect him after Renhu revealed his investigation. It is likely that the man who saved him from that illusion was He Bolin. Putting together the strange behaviour of He Bolin and the Blue Lotus, Zhang Xiyu comes to a peculiar conjecture.
Zhang Xiyu is here to gamble on it.
"I am not here for something I want."
To gamble, one must always stake something of value.
Zhang Xiyu sighs like an overworked clerk. "You know why I am here. I have been sent to collect the fragments. Yours and Liu Xue's."
The listlessness drains from He Bolin's body. His amber eyes pin Zhang Xiyu eerily. Unmoving and abstruse.
There it is again—that feeling. In the past, Zhang Xiyu had been tortured, directly and indirectly, by the other two princes. Even then, he had felt no fear—only boredom. Who would have known this frivolous prince would remind him what wariness used to feel like?
Ah. Things are finally getting exciting.
He Bolin sneers. "Your boldness makes you a terrible beggar."
Zhang Xiyu raises a brow, feeling bewildered. "Excuse me, 'beggar'?"
"You're a prince, aren't you?" Zhang Xiyu exhales as though humouring a petulant child. "You should be begging me to take those fragments off your hands. Otherwise, will not Lord Father reprimand you?"
"Why else would you be helping me?"
He Bolin presses his lips together to hide a smile, then admits plainly, "That's true."
He slides his bandaged hand into his interdimensional ring and withdraws two palm-sized gemstones. Zhang Xiyu forces his eyes away from the injury on his hand and moves it to the fragments it holds Their azure light paints their faces in eerie luminescence. "Two measly fragments wouldn't make one a king."
"Don't beat yourself about it."
Zhang Xiyu calls the floating fragments to his hand, tossing them into his space with a flick. "A million of them wouldn't make one either."
He Bolin's eyes momentarily widen with surprise. "I… thought so."
The performative hostility recedes from him as schadenfreude takes its place. To a point where He Bolin couldn't help but laugh. "My brothers are complete fools."
The tension eases further. He Bolin leans forward, laughing harder. "My lecherous ways have achieved more than their ignorant schemes."
Zhang Xiyu can't help but smile himself. "How tragic. All they had to do was get high enough to lose their carriage." He Bolin's laughter fades, but Zhang Xiyu's smile only widens.
"Damn. You really are running out of ideas, aren't you?"
"…"
He Bolin's lightly frowns at him. "Why haven't you fucked off already?"
"If I was just here for the fragments, I would have killed you already." Zhang Xiyu says lightly, as if commenting on the weather.
It's time.
He sheds his earlier levity, adopting the tone of a court official. His next move must be convincing—and his assumptions correct. If not, then…
"The Blue Lotus has a message for your father."
He Bolin is taken aback. "How do you- "
"She's asked you to guide me to him. The matter is of grave importance." Zhang Xiyu forces sincerity into his expression.
He Bolin hesitates. Bringing Zhang Xiyu there would be no small act. Even his own brothers were not welcome in that place. And his father—vulnerable as he was—what if this was a trap?
"She's like a mother to me."
He recalls his father's warm tone when he spoke of her.
"He Bolin. Stand on the side of the Blue Lotus."
He Bolin exhales and rises from the sofa. His lethargic gaze meets Zhang Xiyu's solemn one. "I'm tired. Let's do that tomorrow. Is that acceptable, Sir Zhang?"
Zhang Xiyu acts out a hesitant expression. As if the matter can't be delayed even by a minute. After all, what if he gets busted by tomorrow morning. He Bolin misreads his unease and claps his shoulder. "Come on. I will show you to a room. Sleep—and let other people sleep."
This guy. Zhang Xiyu blankly follows him at a distance, watching him drag his footsteps up the stairs.
He is weird, right?
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In yet another endless tunnel, Zhang Xiyu trudged behind He Bolin, his footsteps echoing in dull rhythm against the damp stone. They had been wandering this underground labyrinth for nearly half a day now, and Zhang Xiyu had already decided—when he finally met that old man, the first thing he'd suggest was installing an elevator. He'd seen one before. Efficient. Civilized. Not this madness.
This morning, He Bolin had teleported them to some forgotten backwater, and from there, the nightmare began.
When Zhang Xiyu had asked why they couldn't just fly on his sword to find the man, He Bolin's response was maddeningly casual.
"Do you even know the way?"
"You know the way!" Zhang Xiyu shot back.
He Bolin just smiled, shaking his head like someone enjoying a private joke. "I don't know the way either."
Zhang Xiyu expressionlessly waits for the man to explain himself before he decides to stab him. Fortunately, He Bolin elaborated, voice echoing faintly through the gloom. "The gates holding my father… their location changes every second. They're moving as we speak."
He paused, running his fingers along the wall as if feeling for a heartbeat. "This maze is alive, in a loose sense. A creature absolutely loyal to my father. Back then, when his condition began to deteriorate, this was the only place he could safely recuperate."
Recuperate? Zhang Xiyu hides his surprise at this new information. After all, He Bolin must be under the impression that the Blue Lotus trusts him and that she keeps their best interests in mind. Zhang Xiyu wouldn't know that even if that is the case. Because he is just her puppet. Not her prodigy.
And he would never tell He Bolin that.
Still, the revelation gnaws at him. Lord Enma hadn't abandoned this realm, contrary to what everyone believed. He was hiding—wounded, recuperating in the dark. But from what?
And why had the Blue Lotus's return dragged him back to the courts? Surely not because he was afraid of being scolded by that woman. No—his reappearance felt different.
Like a lion roused from its slumber to tear apart the scheming hyenas circling its carcass.
As the two of them cut down monsters, dismantled arrays, and trudged deeper into the convoluted maze, Zhang Xiyu found his mind drifting toward the intricate, forgotten history of Hell—stories that almost no one alive remembered. A sigh from He Bolin broke his thoughts. The prince looks around, frowning. "This is surprising. This maze seems to have been emptied out. Normally, it would be teeming with ghosts and monsters of all kinds. The deeper we travel, more they appear…"
He glanced at Zhang Xiyu. "Today's journey is way easier than it usually is…"
He Bolin stops and looks meaningfully at Zhang Xiyu. He knew what he was implying and honestly, he can't refute it. The level of his cultivation would be hard to achieve even after a millennium of honest hard work.
But Zhang Xiyu and Yutao certainly weren't raised in some honest household. Their quick strength was built on blood, bone, and hunger. Like cannibalistic beasts, the two of them have ruthlessly devoured the nascent cores of countless monsters—some as ancient as Lord Enma himself. The Blue Lotus had watched them feast on these great ancestors without a flicker of emotion.
Now, those devoured souls pulsed faintly through his meridians, a grotesque chorus that kept any sane creature far from his path. Since he can't reveal the cruel details behind his advancement, he will let the prince believe in some fantasy revolving around the Blue Lotus. Let him believe that he was some sort of rare talent that has ever graced this ground.
"Then it's settled," He Bolin said suddenly, flashing a wicked smirk. "From now on, you will accompany me through this maze."
When was this decided? I don't recall signing up for this.
""Normally, I'd suffer in here for at least a day," He Bolin continued, "but now I've found myself a fine talisman."
"Hey," Zhang Xiyu deadpanned. "Don't objectify me."
He Bolin laughed, the sound startlingly genuine in this place of stone and silence. For a brief moment, something warm flickered in his chest—a sensation he hadn't felt in centuries.
When was the last time I felt like this?
He saw flashes: a sunlit courtyard, the aroma of fried dough wafting from the kitchen, his mother's exasperated glare as he stole a basket of fritters.
It was the simple feeling of ease.
This realization makes the prince feel a little pathetic. Let alone having a friend, when was the last time he made light conversation without any pretences?
And so, while Zhang Xiyu pressed forward through the twisting dark, it became He Bolin's turn to drift into thought.
A few more hours slipped by in the monotonous crawl through the maze. Dungeon after dungeon. Trap after trap. Illusion after illusion. The two of them moved like wraiths through the dark, relying on sharpened senses until finally, the path led them to a pair of talisman-ridden iron gates.
The stench of their sinister energy hung thick in the air—a metallic musk that made Zhang Xiyu's skin prickle. Veins, thick and pulsating, were tied to the rusted handles like grotesque roots.
He Bolin raised a brow. His eyes followed the veins until he realized something. His own artery—still wounded, still refusing to heal—had been imitating a vine, branching outward and grafting itself onto the cursed door.
Zhang Xiyu's gaze fell on the prince's left hand. It was still raw and weeping, the flesh refusing to knit together. Do those veins belong to him?
He Bolin steps closer to the gates. Since his flesh is still thriving on this door, he doesn't needlessly sacrifice more of it. After all, it won't fucking heal. Under his breath, he began to recite an ancient spell. The veins pulsed red, light bleeding through the cracks in the metal. When it grew blinding, He Bolin barked a single command— "Kai!"
The gates burst open with a metallic bang that rattled the air.
Zhang Xiyu frowns slightly, not from fear, but from the sudden surge of demonic energy radiating off He Bolin. This place—it was feeding on him. Or perhaps awakening something buried deep within his bloodline.
He turned his gaze toward the darkness beyond the door. The chamber yawned before them like a maw. Now is not the time to get distracted.
This was it. The moment he had been denied for centuries. He is going to meet the judge he was supposed to meet centuries ago. He is going to meet the root of it all, the man whose absence has doomed countless of souls. He is the man who got him into this quagmire and now, he will be the one to pull him out of it.
But first-
"Lord He."
Zhang Xiyu's voice cut through the silence. "I have been instructed to speak with him alone."
He Bolin turned toward him, eyes bloodshot, his expression tightening as the demonic influence gnawed at his restraint. For all their shared banter, trust was still a foreign concept between them. His father might not be helpless, but he was far from his prime—and Zhang Xiyu's strength was… immeasurable. If they clashed, the shock alone could undo years' worth of progress. But He Bolin wouldn't have agreed to escort him here this easily if not for his previous conversation with Lord Enma. His amber eyes narrow to contain his rising frustration.
Zhang Xiyu belongs to the Blue Lotus. Father belongs to the Blue Lotus.
"Father!" He Bolin called out, his voice echoing. "Should I send him in alone?"
As his words fall, the black fog covering the chamber roughly parts into two to show his agreement. Zhang Xiyu's cold face shows no fluctuations as he walks past He Bolin. The prince leans against the gate, a flicker of concern shadowing his features, but he didn't move to stop him.
This insane gamble had bought Zhang Xiyu an audience with the King of the Underworld.
He followed the narrow path carved through the fog until a faint silhouette appeared—a peculiar partition screen, standing tall and ominous.
The final round of the gamble has begun.
It is time to go all in.