While Ning Fengzhi was thinking about the implications, the beggar child shook his head violently, panic in his wide eyes. "Master Ning Fengzhi, I… I don't understand what you are saying!"
He didn't get to finish.
A huge, bony hand shot out like a striking viper, clamping around his throat.
Gu Rong's long fingers dug into the boy's neck as he effortlessly lifted him off the ground. The child's legs kicked uselessly in the air, his hands clawing at the iron grip.
"Arghhh—" the boy choked out, face turning red as he twisted and squirmed, but Gu Rong's expression remained like stone—cold and merciless.
All eyes were on the scene, all except one.
In the corner, Mr. Zhou was trembling. Sweat poured down his face in unnatural rivulets, soaking the collar of his robe. His eyes darted to the emblem still lying on the table, and for a split second, his pupils constricted as though it was staring back at him.
It was then that he moved, subtle, almost imperceptible, slipping a hand into his inner pocket. His fingers fumbled against something small and hard as he found a pill.
Without hesitation, he popped it into his mouth and bit down. The faint crunch was swallowed by the boy's strangled gasps.
The moment the bitter powder hit his tongue, a memory slammed into him—blinding, vivid.
A pair of beautiful, inhumanly luminous purple eyes, gazing into his soul.
A sudden icy burn flooded his veins. His breath hitched as his vision swam. His hands clutched at his throat as if invisible fingers were squeezing the life from him.
Then came the change.
His skin blanched to a sickly, waxy white. Veins stood out in livid blue against his flesh. Red blotches spread across his cheeks like ink in water, quickly turning an ugly, mottled purple. His lips swelled grotesquely, oozing blood at the corners, and his tongue thickened until it protruded obscenely from his mouth.
His eyes bulged, bloodshot and watering, rolling wildly in their sockets before fixing in a glassy stare. A wet, choking sound rattled in his throat as foam bubbled at the edges of his lips.
By the time anyone noticed him, it was already too late.
"Mr. Zhou!" Ning Fengzhi's voice cut through the heavy air. Gu Rong lowered the boy abruptly, who collapsed to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.
Ning Fengzhi strode forward, the chill of his earlier suspicion replaced with urgent focus. He crouched beside Mr. Zhou, whose head lolled unnaturally to the side. The man's jaw trembled, as though he was trying to form words.
A single tear slid from the corner of his bloodshot eye. His gaze locked on Ning Fengzhi—pleading, desperate.
Mr. Zhou's trembling hand rose shakily, each movement labored as though he were lifting a mountain. His finger extended… pointing straight at the emblem of the Twilight Hermit Order sketched on the parchment.
His lips moved soundlessly, no words, just the faint rasp of air escaping his ruined throat. Then, with one final exhale, his body slackened and his arm fell limply to the floor.
Silence descended.
Not the peaceful kind. This was the heavy, suffocating stillness that seeps into one's bones, the kind that makes the hairs at the back of the neck stand on end. Even the faint creak of the wooden beams above felt too loud.
Gu Rong, usually unshakable, slowly loosened his grip on the beggar child. The boy collapsed onto the ground, coughing violently, his small frame shuddering with each breath.
But no one looked at him. All eyes were fixed on the corpse sprawled across the polished floorboards.
Ning Fengzhi's expression hardened, the warmth from earlier gone without a trace. His voice, when it came, was low and edged with steel.
"This… is Datura Poisoning."
Yu Luomian's brows furrowed. "Datura?"
Ning Fengzhi nodded grimly. "It's one of the most sinister toxins in the underground market. The preparation requires precision, patience, and resources only a master poisoner could possess. Once it enters the body, the victim suffers a… horrific end in less than ten seconds." His eyes flicked to Mr. Zhou's twisted, purple-streaked face. "You've just seen the result."
Even Bone Douluo, whose hands had dealt death to countless foes, felt a faint shiver crawl down his spine.
Ning Fengzhi continued, "It is infamous for another reason—it has a distinctive smell. Sweet, fishy mixed with rotten. However this poison needs to be ingested to take effect it does not work with only coming in contact with skin. But anyone with knowledge will immediately identify it's peculiarity the moment they smell something off."
But the explanation brought no relief.
If anything, the tension in the room deepened.
Because they all knew the implication.
Yu Luomian's face darkened, his gaze darting to every shadow in the room as if expecting something—or someone—to emerge.
Gu Rong's voice was rough, almost a growl. "Which means…"
Ning Fengzhi's sharp eyes swept across the gathered faces, his tone like ice. "Which means the poisoner was either close enough to touch him without us noticing… or far beyond the skill of anyone we've dealt with before."
No one dared to breathe too loudly.
And in that silence, the symbol of the Twilight Hermit Order on the table which seemed to be gazing at them burned itself deeper into their minds, mocking them.
----
After several tense hours of quiet discussion, Ning Fengzhi and Gu Rong finally departed the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan Branch. Yet, there was something else, Gu Rong had a bloody scent around him. The beggar never left that room.
Neither man spoke a word as they stepped into the waiting carriage, both wore the same grim, heavy expressions, the kind that come only when the enemy's shadow has grown larger than expected.
Yu Luomian stood on the steps, watching their backs vanish into the distance. His eyes were narrowed to slits, a cold gleam within them.