The forest transformed into a cathedral of shadows, wind whispering through branches like the breath of unseen spirits. Deep within this realm of twisted trees, Chi Ruyan stood before Hua Ling, her silhouette barely more substantial than smoke in the dim light.
"Your Highness," she murmured, stepping closer with predatory grace.
But Hua Ling's legs betrayed him—strength bleeding away like water through cupped fingers. He stumbled, catching himself against rough bark.
His breath caught in his throat. Something was catastrophically wrong. His spiritual energy moved like honey in winter—sluggish, unresponsive. His limbs felt weighted with invisible chains.
Drugged.
The realization struck like lightning to still water.
His vision blurred at the edges as he clenched his jaw until teeth threatened to crack. I need to return... I must protect them... If I don't... they'll die.
He staggered forward, commanding his treacherous body through sheer will. Chi Ruyan caught him before collapse could claim him, cradling his face with deceptive tenderness.
"Just rest," she whispered with honeyed venom. "You've done enough."
But Hua Ling's eyes, though hazed with poison, burned with the fury of winter storms. I shouldn't have left them... never should have...
He gathered the remnants of his strength for one final push—
—and darkness claimed him in her waiting arms.
On the forest's other side, Chen Xinyu writhed upon cloth Lingque had spread beneath the sheltering trees. Sweat transformed his skin to liquid silver in moonlight's kiss. The soul mark blazed against his pale neck like a brand forged in hell's own fires.
Lingque wiped his fevered brow with maternal desperation. "Xinyu, hold on... just hold on for me!"
She pushed back his robe's collar, exposing the mark's malevolent glow. His breath hitched like a broken bird's wing.
Rustling erupted from the surrounding woods—deliberate, threatening.
"There he is!" a harsh voice shattered the night's fragile peace. "That's the boy—end him now!"
Lingque's eyes widened with primal terror. Several masked cultivators, their spiritual energy corrupted by demonic taint, burst from shadow's embrace.
One sneered with cruel anticipation, "What about the woman?"
"Kill her as well," another laughed like breaking glass. "Fewer witnesses to trouble us!"
Lingque rose like an avenging spirit, arms spread wide to shield Xinyu's vulnerable form. "Stay away from him!"
But her powers waned like dying embers. Her cultivation remained deliberately suppressed, leaving her weak as a newly hatched chick. She gritted her teeth, preparing for hopeless battle—
A blur of midnight darkness tore through the clearing.
With a single gesture of his sleeve, Mochen materialized between them.
Dark spiritual energy exploded outward like a thunderclap, sending attackers flying like autumn leaves before hurricane winds.
The surviving men froze in absolute terror.
"Wait—that's Bai Mochen!"
"We cannot victory against him!"
"Retreat—!"
They scattered like disturbed ants, vanishing into the forest's protective embrace.
Mochen chuckled with lazy amusement. "They weren't even sufficient to serve as warm-up exercises. Pathetic creatures."
He turned and approached Xinyu with fluid grace.
Kneeling beside the suffering youth, he pressed two fingers to Xinyu's wrist, then to the cursed mark.
"Tch. This boy's willpower... strong enough to endure such torment for so long. The agony must be beyond description."
Lingque stepped forward with anxious urgency. "How is he? Please, you must tell me!"
Mochen glanced up with amused curiosity. "Are you his lover, perhaps?"
"What—absolutely not!" she bristled like an offended cat. "I'm his sister!"
"Mm," he murmured thoughtfully. "Then I'll take him with me."
"No—you cannot! I'm coming as well. I don't know you, and I refuse to abandon him."
Mochen's smile held winter's sharp edges. "As you wish. I have no intention of harming him... only easing his suffering."
Xinyu stirred weakly, face contorted with unspeakable pain. His hand trembled, reaching out like a drowning man seeking salvation.
"...Shidi...?"
Mochen leaned closer, voice soft as falling snow. "Yes, Yu-ge. I'm here."
Xinyu's fingers brushed his, weak and fever-warm. "...Make it stop... please..."
Mochen's voice dropped to intimate whisper. "Do you want me to ease the pain?"
Xinyu managed the faintest nod, brows still knitted with agony's cruel threads.
Mochen gently peeled aside silk to expose the shoulder where the soul mark pulsed like a malevolent heart. "Then remain still."
"Why should I look away?" Lingque demanded with growing suspicion.
"No particular reason," Mochen replied without meeting her gaze. "But I did warn you."
He lowered his head with predatory purpose.
His lips brushed Xinyu's neck like a butterfly's whispered kiss.
He inhaled slowly—drinking in the intoxicating scent of spiritual qi mingled with poison and liquid fire. His fangs barely pricked tender skin.
Then—he bit.
The mark's glow pulsed with otherworldly light.
Spiritual energy flowed from Mochen into Xinyu—cool as mountain streams, stabilizing as ancient stone. Xinyu arched slightly, his hand gripping Mochen's arm with desperate strength.
"Hey—what are you doing to him?!" Lingque's voice cracked with panic.
Mochen ignored her protests completely. His hand cradled the back of Xinyu's head with surprising gentleness as he continued the transfer, giving just enough energy to quench the mark's burning hunger.
Gradually, Xinyu's grip loosened. His body went slack as relief claimed him.
Then consciousness fled like a startled bird.
Mochen pulled away slowly, tongue darting to catch a trace of blood from his lips, expression unreadable as ancient scripture.
Lingque stared at him, breathless with shock. "You're completely insane."
"Perhaps," Mochen replied with perfect calm. "But he's safe now."
Chen Xinyu stirred like morning breaking through storm clouds.
The crushing ache had subsided to a manageable throb, and breathing no longer felt like swallowing broken glass. Slowly, he opened eyes that caught filtered sunlight like captured amber.
"Xinyu!" Lingque rushed to his side with maternal desperation. "How's your pain now?"
He sat up carefully, still dizzy from his ordeal. "Much better... Where is His Highness? Why hasn't he returned?"
Lingque's expression darkened with worry. "I haven't seen him. He never came back."
Before Xinyu could respond, Mochen's low voice drifted from behind like smoke on still air.
"No need to concern yourself with him, Yu-ge," Mochen said smoothly, approaching with predatory grace. "He's perfectly capable of handling himself."
Xinyu lowered his gaze, lost in troubled thoughts. "...You're right." Yet something fluttered in his chest like a caged bird—restless, uneasy.
He looked up and reached for Mochen's hand with grateful warmth. "Thank you, Shidi. You truly saved me from unbearable suffering. I'm deeply in your debt."
Mochen's fingers curled around his with careful possession. "I did very little. Just a small... bite." His smile held secrets sharp as hidden blades. "Did it cause you pain?"
Xinyu touched his neck absentmindedly. "No. It didn't hurt at all."
Lingque, still positioned nearby like a watchful guardian, released an exaggerated sigh. "Tsk, tsk, tsk... If you two insist on flirting, could you at least find somewhere private? I'm sitting right here!"
Xinyu's cheeks bloomed like spring roses. "It's not like that, you ridiculous chicken!"
Her eyes flared with divine wrath. "Call me 'chicken' once more, and I swear by heaven's mandate I'll break both your legs!"
Xinyu clicked his tongue with fond exasperation. "Half-beast, entirely temperamental."
While they bickered with familiar affection, Mochen stood apart, his gaze fixed not on their faces—but on the faint crimson mark still visible on Xinyu's throat.
The memory returned in vivid detail—biting him, feeling skin so close, the surge of energy beneath his lips like liquid lightning.
Mochen's heart quickened its rhythm.
The experience had been thrilling. Intimate. Almost addictively intoxicating.
And he desperately wanted to taste that forbidden sweetness again.
Meanwhile, in a makeshift tent deep within the forest's heart, Hua Ling lay motionless as carved marble.
His vision had cleared, but his limbs remained weighted as if chains forged from lead bound his very soul. His breathing came slow and measured as he pushed spiritual energy through every vein, burning poison from his system with methodical precision.
The purification process felt like molten metal flowing through his meridians. But Hua Ling had endured far worse torments.
I left him behind... again... always leaving him when he needs me most...
The tent's entrance flap stirred.
Chi Ruyan entered carrying a lacquered tray bearing delicate tea service. "Oh, Your Highness has awakened," she cooed with saccharine sweetness. "Did you rest peacefully?"
Hua Ling remained silent, his gaze fixed on her with revulsion cold as winter's deepest night.
She placed the tray down with careful ceremony, then leaned close—far too close for propriety or safety.
"My prince, you've labored so tirelessly... Allow me to care for you now..."
She moved to claim his lips with hers.
Her mouth never found its target.
Lightning-quick, Hua Ling's hand shot upward, seizing her hair and yanking her backward with violence that made her gasp in shock.
With a single, precise twist of his fingers, he struck a pressure point. Her body went limp, consciousness fleeing like morning mist before sunrise.
He released her without ceremony, letting her crumple to the ground like discarded silk.
Guards stationed outside heard the body's impact.
When Hua Ling stormed from the tent like an avenging deity, they looked up in alarm—but not one dared impede his path. They bowed immediately, stepping aside in terrified silence.
He spared them not even a glance.
Fury rolled off him in waves like heat from forged steel, making the very air tremble with suppressed violence.
Hua Ling raised one elegant hand, murmuring incantations for a tracking spell. Light flickered from his palm—Xinyu's spiritual signature, faint but unmistakably familiar, pulsed in response through the forest's depths.
Without another word, without backward glance, he launched himself into the night.
The hunt for his heart's unwilling prisoner had begun anew.