Cabin 404 had ceased to be a miserable shelter and had become a sealed furnace.
Following Xie Luan's precise and paranoid instructions, Li had spent the last hour sealing every crack, every wormhole, and every gap between the wooden planks with a mixture of clay mud and damp rags. No fresh air was allowed inside—and more importantly, not a single thread of vapor was allowed to escape.
The interior was a private hell.
The heat was suffocating, a physical wall that struck the face with every breath. A single tallow candle, nearly consumed, struggled to stay lit in the rarefied air, casting long, dancing shadows that clung to the corners like starving specters.
At the center of the wooden floor, atop a stolen charcoal stove, a black clay pot bubbled with a thick, wet sound.
Glup. Glup. Ssshh.
Xie Luan sat before the fire in a lotus position. He had removed his upper robe, wearing only his coarse cloth trousers. His bare torso glistened with a slick sheen of cold sweat. His ribs stood out painfully beneath pale skin, and the fresh scars from the ravine fall mapped violence across his flesh.
Beside him, the bamboo cage rattled. The three Iron-Scale Vipers slammed against their prison walls, agitated by the heat and the scent of imminent death.
"Hold the cage, Li," Xie Luan ordered. His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse from a parched throat.
Crouched in the farthest corner with a cloth over his mouth and nose, Li shook his head frantically, eyes watering from the acrid fumes."Master… it's dangerous. Those things can kill an ox in minutes. If they escape in here—"
"If they escape, you'll die before they touch the floor," Xie Luan said without turning."Now hold it. I need them still."
Li swallowed hard and crawled reluctantly toward the table. His hands trembled so badly that the cage clattered against the wood as he gripped it."I've got it… I've got it…"
Xie Luan did not hesitate.
There was no ceremony.
He thrust his bare, pale, elegant hand into the cage.
The motion was so fast the human eye barely followed it. One viper struck—a gray-black blur lunging for exposed flesh—but Xie Luan's hand was already gone. His fingers snapped shut like a steel trap just behind the serpent's triangular head, at the base of the skull.
He pulled the hissing beast free.
Nearly a meter long, the viper instantly coiled around Xie Luan's forearm. Its iron-hard scales scraped against his skin as it constricted with bone-breaking force, cutting circulation.
Xie Luan's arm darkened under the pressure, veins bulging beneath translucent skin.
Li stifled a scream.
Xie Luan did not even blink.
His face was a mask of absolute concentration. He brought the serpent's head—its jaws snapping, yellow liquid dripping—to the edge of the boiling pot.
"Generosity is a virtue," Xie Luan murmured to the animal.
With thumb and forefinger, he squeezed the venom glands behind its eyes.
The snake convulsed, hissing in agony. A jet of thick, neon-yellow venom burst from its curved fangs and splashed into the boiling liquid.
The pot reacted violently.
It hissed and expelled a column of green vapor. The smell changed instantly—the earthy scent vanished, replaced by a sharp, metallic chemical stench, like old coins dissolved in acid.
"More," Xie Luan ordered, tightening his grip.
He milked the viper until only white foam dripped from its fangs. The snake hung limp in his hand, spent.
Li exhaled shakily, thinking he would release it.
Xie Luan picked up a rusted kitchen knife prepared beside him.
No hesitation.
Thwack.
The blade fell with surgical precision. The viper's head separated and dropped into the pot with a wet splash. The decapitated body, still wrapped around Xie Luan's arm, thrashed violently in post-mortem spasms, spraying cold, dark blood across the table and Xie Luan's bare chest.
"Iron-Scale blood is extremely Yin," Xie Luan explained calmly as he unwound the corpse from his arm and tossed it aside."Cold. Coagulant. We need that to counter Elder Mo's natural fire."
He repeated the process with the second viper.
Milk.The hiss of toxic steam.Decapitation.The dull chop of the blade.Blood splattering the wood.
By the time he reached the third, the air had become so toxic Li felt faint.
Xie Luan, however, seemed to thrive in it.
His eyes burned with a dark fever, reflecting the charcoal flames. Reptile blood stained his chest. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips.
He looked like a sacred butcher performing a forgotten rite.
When the third head fell into the pot, the mixture had transformed. It was no longer water—it was a viscous sludge of deep violet, bubbling slowly, releasing bubbles that burst like diseased lungs.
Xie Luan took the vial of Lotus Dream Powder and poured the entire contents into the pot. The bright blue powder dissolved instantly. The metallic stench softened, masked by a cloying sweetness—burnt almonds and rotting funeral flowers.
Xie Luan coughed.
It was deep and wet, shaking his skeletal frame. He covered his mouth; when he pulled his hand away, thin strands of blood streaked his palm.
The vapors were corroding his lungs—but he did not stop.
"The catalyst is missing," he said, studying the murky liquid with critical displeasure.
"Catalyst?" Li croaked from the corner."Isn't that enough poison to kill an army?"
"This poison is garbage," Xie Luan spat."Crude. Vulgar. It would kill a mortal in seconds—turn their blood to stone. But a Foundation-stage cultivator…"
He shook his head."Mo Zha's body is saturated with Qi. He has a spiritual immune system. The moment this touches his tongue or bloodstream, his energy will react—expel it, burn it, vomit it out before it reaches the heart. To kill a god—even one made of mud—you don't use a club."
"You use a lie."
Xie Luan picked up the rusted knife and wiped the snake blood from the blade. Then he looked at his own left wrist.
The skin was flawless and white. Blue veins traced vulnerability along the inner wrist.
"To deceive a cultivator's blood," Xie Luan said softly,"you need blood of higher quality. Blood that carries intent."
"Master…" Li stood, horrified."What are you doing? You're already weak!"
"Be quiet. Watch."
Xie Luan placed the blade against his wrist—not on the surface, but over the radial artery.
He closed his eyes.
He invoked the Sutra of the Red Theatre, visualizing his ancient, monstrous soul compressed within this mortal vessel.
He pressed.
He slid.
The cut was deep and clean.
Blood flowed.
Not the bright red of a healthy mortal—but dark, dense, almost black in candlelight. It carried karma's weight, the cold of the void between planes, the authority of one who had ruled stars.
Xie Luan held his wrist above the boiling pot.
Drip… drip… drip…
The sound was different.
No splash.
A sharp hiss—like molten metal striking ice.
The mixture convulsed. The violet sludge began to spin on its own, forming a vortex at the center.
Xie Luan clenched his teeth.
The pain was sharp—but the blood loss was worse. Cold crept up his arm. His vision darkened at the edges. His heart hammered, pumping more and more of his vital essence into the cauldron.
Ten drops.Twenty.Fifty.
His face turned ash-gray. His lips went pale. Cold sweat soaked his trousers.
Li stared, frozen.
He could feel the pressure emanating from that blood—a heavy, malignant presence that thickened the air like water.
Then it happened.
The dirty purple vanished. Impurities burned away in a coil of black smoke.
What remained in the pot was a crystal-clear liquid with a faint pink hue. It glowed with its own seductive light—beautiful and deadly.
Xie Luan collapsed backward, gasping.
He quickly wrapped a clean cloth around his wrist, tying it tight with his teeth to stop the bleeding. His hand shook uncontrollably.
"It's done," he whispered.
He extinguished the stove, waited for the liquid to cool, then poured it with infinite care into a small white porcelain vial, sealing it with wax.
He raised it to eye level.
The liquid flowed with perfect viscosity—like luxury massage oil or expensive perfume.
"Crimson Silence Dew," Xie Luan named it.
"It looks… harmless," Li said cautiously as the fumes faded.
"That's the point," Xie Luan replied, tucking the vial against his skin to keep it warm."It doesn't destroy tissue. It kills flow."
He met Li's gaze, exhausted yet feral."When a cultivator circulates their Qi, this poison acts as a spiritual binding agent. It coats the meridian walls, turning energy into sludge. It blocks acupoints from the inside."
He clenched his fist."It makes them mortal. Paralyzed. Unable to fight. Unable to scream."
"But… how do we make him drink it?" Li asked."Elder Mo has tasters. He never eats untested food."
Xie Luan leaned against the wall, eyes closing. Blood loss dragged him toward unconsciousness, but he forced himself to speak.
"Mo Zha is a man of vices, Li. And vices have many entrances—not just the mouth."
A cracked smile split his lips."He won't drink it. He'll apply it. He likes shining skin. He likes the scent of flowers and almonds in bed. I'll gift this oil as a tribute of submission."
His voice sank into a dark whisper."When his temperature rises with lust… when his blood flows fast with arousal… the poison will enter through his open pores."
His head fell back."It will be his own desire that drags him under."
Xie Luan slipped into unconsciousness.
"Clean this," he murmured faintly."Burn the remains. Open the windows. If there's a smell by morning, we're dead."
"Yes, Master. Rest."
Li cleaned frantically, watching his master with reverent terror and absolute loyalty.
He had just witnessed a man bleed himself willingly to forge a weapon capable of killing gods.
Outside, the rain began to fall again, drumming on the cabin roof.
Eight days remained.
But in Xie Luan's fevered, anemic dreams, he was already walking the halls of Mo's Pavilion—a vial of pink death pressed against his heart.