The air inside Elder Mo's private chamber was suffocating, thick like heated molasses. It reeked of overburned Spirit Deer Musk, a heavy, animal scent meant to stimulate blood flow and dull moral judgment. To Xie Luan, it smelled like cheap desperation and fear poorly concealed.
Mo Zha paced back and forth in front of the bed, occasionally kicking the shards of porcelain from a Ming vase he had smashed against the wall moments earlier. His white silk inner robe was stained with wine and hanging open to his navel, revealing a sweaty, hairy chest that glistened under the lantern light.
"Those damned dogs from the Administration Hall…" Mo muttered to himself, ignoring the trembling youth by the door. "A surprise audit? Me? I've fed this sect for twenty years! I brought in the River Valley contracts! And this is how they repay me?!"
Xie Luan remained motionless, head lowered, but his senses were stretched to their limits. The Crimson Puppet Sutra did not merely consume emotions—it tasted them. Beneath Mo's explosive rage, Xie Luan could sense the sharp, metallic tang of fear. The Elder was terrified of the fake account book. He knew that if they dug deep enough, they wouldn't just find theft—but treason.
Fear makes him reckless, Xie Luan analyzed, noting the erratic rhythm of Mo's breathing. But it also makes him volatile. A cornered beast. If I move too abruptly, he'll kill me on reflex before thinking.
Mo suddenly stopped mid-rant and turned his head toward Xie Luan. His bloodshot eyes locked onto him with manic intensity.
"You," Mo growled. "You said you had a gift."
Xie Luan nodded, slowly slipping a hand into his robe, careful that every movement was smooth and non-threatening. His fingers brushed the warm skin of his chest, tearing the vial free from the wax holding it in place with a dry tug that pulled out fine hairs, before producing the small white porcelain bottle.
"Yes, Elder…" His voice was broken, filled with pathetic submission. "It's… Yin Lotus Oil. It cost all the money you gave me. I didn't eat for two days so I could afford it."
Mo approached but didn't take the vial immediately. His paranoia—sharpened by the day's events—was on full alert. "Oil? For what? Are you trying to poison me?"
Xie Luan looked up. His eyes were wide, wet, filled with innocent terror. "Poison you? Elder, you're my only protection. If you die, the sect will throw me to the dogs. I bought it so that… so it wouldn't hurt."
He swallowed, feigning shame. "I heard your cultivation is… powerful. Great. I'm afraid I'll break. The black-market seller said this relaxes the body, opens the meridians, and… helps receive Yang without tearing."
Crude flattery mixed with the promise of total, voluntary sexual submission struck directly at Mo's fragile ego. The idea that his "toy" was so frightened of his virility and power that he'd spent his own money preparing himself was intoxicating.
Mo snatched the vial from Xie Luan's hand, cracked the wax seal with a dirty fingernail, and brought it to his nose.
Xie Luan held his breath, his heartbeat slow and steady in his ears.
The scent was sweet, almond-like, with a floral undertone. But more important was the energy. Xie Luan's blood—used as the venom's base—carried an extremely pure Yin nature due to his demonic soul origin. To a corrupt orthodox cultivator like Mo, who practiced fire-aligned Yang techniques and was desperate to cool his overheated system, that energy smelled like divine sustenance. Like salvation.
"It has strong Qi…" Mo murmured, surprised, his pupils dilating. His tongue flicked over his dry lips. "Very Yin. Almost freezing. Like mountain spring water."
He looked at Xie Luan again, suspicion mixed with desire. "Where did you get this? An outer disciple shouldn't have access to alchemy of this level. This is worth more than your life."
Xie Luan delivered the answer he'd rehearsed for hours. "I bought it from a hooded inner disciple in the gray zone… He said he stole it from the personal reserves of a concubine from the Jade Lotus Sect who was killed last week."
The lie fit perfectly. The Jade Lotus Sect was infamous across the continent for dual-cultivation and bed-arts. It explained the quality, purpose, and illegal origin.
Mo let out a hoarse laugh. "Hah! Thieves robbing whores! Good. Very good. Looks like fear has finally made you useful, boy. You've brought treasure to my bed."
He sat on the edge of the massive bed, sinking into the feathered mattress. "Use it," he ordered, holding the vial out to Xie Luan.
"E-Elder?" Xie Luan blinked.
"I'm not an idiot." Mo's eyes gleamed. "It could be a trick. Use it on yourself first. I want to see how your skin reacts. Put it on your neck, collarbone, and chest. I want to see you shine."
It was a basic and cruel poison test. If the oil were corrosive or instantly toxic, Xie Luan's skin would burn.
Xie Luan did not hesitate. Any pause would get him killed. His trembling hands—acting—poured the pink liquid into his palms. It was cold, viscous. Slowly, he rubbed the Crimson Silence Dew onto his own throat, prominent collarbones, and upper chest.
The oil warmed against his skin. The fragrance intensified, flooding the room with an intoxicating scent that made the air itself dizzy. Xie Luan felt a mild numbness where it touched. His own meridians—barely functional and carrying no active Qi—felt heavy, as if filled with mercury. But since he didn't rely on Qi for movement, his physical mobility wasn't immediately affected. It was spiritual paralysis, and he was an empty shell.
"Smells good…" Mo said, leaning forward and inhaling deeply like an addict. The vapor entered his lungs, his blood.
"Do you… feel the heat, Elder?" Xie Luan asked softly, rubbing the oil in slow, sensual motions meant to hypnotize, to keep Mo focused on skin rather than danger. His pale flesh now gleamed under the lamplight, slick and inviting.
"Yes…" Mo stood. Lust replaced paranoia. The sight of that beautiful, pale, shining creature offering himself in his chamber was too much for his eroded self-control. "Come here."
Mo grabbed Xie Luan's arm and threw him onto the bed. Xie Luan landed on the red silk sheets. He didn't struggle. He lay still, arms open, staring at the ceiling painted with cranes flying through golden clouds.
Mo climbed onto the bed, crawling over him like a heavy, clumsy beast. "You'll make a fine cauldron," Mo panted as his hands fumbled with his clothing. "Once I absorb your Yin Jing, I'll break through the mid-stage barrier. I'll show those auditors who truly holds power."
He paused, glancing toward a landscape painting hanging slightly crooked in the corner. "And then I can finally pay what I owe the Crane Envoy and stop being his lapdog."
Xie Luan, motionless beneath him, stored that information away. Crane Envoy. Debts. So Mo isn't the head of the snake—just the tail. Someone higher is pulling the leash. Interesting.
Mo refocused on Xie Luan and leaned down, licking the oil from his neck. The contact was repulsive, wet, abrasive. Xie Luan used every ounce of mental discipline not to retch. But it was necessary. The venom entered Mo's mouth. The vapor his nose. His sweating skin absorbed the residue as he rubbed against Xie Luan's oiled chest.
"Now," Mo growled, eyes glassy from lust and the narcotic lotus powder. "Prepare yourself. I'm going to activate my Devouring Yang Art. It might burn a little at first."
Mo straddled Xie Luan's hips and closed his eyes, forming seals to circulate his Qi. He needed to push his energy to the limit—heating his blood, opening every pore for extraction.
Xie Luan felt Mo's weight, the furnace-heat of fire-Qi building within him. And he waited, counting Mo's accelerating heartbeats.
One… Two… Three…
Mo frowned. His hands froze mid-seal. "What…?" He opened his eyes.
He tried forcing Qi from his dantian to his limbs. Normally it surged like a roaring river. Now it felt like dried mud. Worse—like his veins were filled with glue.
"My Qi…" Mo stared at his trembling hands. He tried to rise, but his legs wouldn't respond. The lotus powder mixed with demonic blood was acting with terrifying speed due to his accelerated circulation.
Xie Luan stopped trembling.
The terror mask vanished. His face relaxed completely. No villainous grin. No mad laughter. Just the absolute indifference of a glacier.
Xie Luan raised his right hand and placed his open palm on Mo's bare, sweating chest—directly over his pounding heart.
"Elder," Xie Luan said calmly, clearly, without a trace of the stutter. The voice of an adult addressing a child. "It seems you have a blockage."
"You—" Mo tried to grab Xie Luan's throat, but his arms moved in slow motion, heavy as lead. Paralysis was climbing his neck. "What did you do to me?! What is that oil?!"
"I told you the truth," Xie Luan replied softly, meeting his gaze. "It helps you receive. Just not Yang. It helps you receive the end."
Mo opened his mouth to scream for the guards. His lungs filled with air.
Xie Luan moved his index finger.
A Crimson Thread—fed by Mo's pure, rising desperation—burst from Xie Luan's nail. It shot upward, straight into Mo's open throat. It didn't cut the skin. It sank inside, wrapping around the vocal cords and tightening.
Mo's scream died in a wet, choking gurgle.
"Shhh."
Xie Luan slowly sat up, casually shoving Mo's paralyzed, heavy body aside.
Mo collapsed onto the bed, eyes bulging with panic, unable to move, speak, or summon his power. A prisoner inside his own flesh.
Xie Luan swung a leg over him, reversing their positions. He looked down at the Elder from above.
"The performance has just begun, Mo Zha," Xie Luan said softly. "And you are the main instrument."