The young boy, Dai Sui, had already run far ahead, driven by a profound sense of guilt.
Wen Yaozhi walked alone through the dim corridor, carrying the weightless soul on his back. Lu Xincheng clung to him, feeling the searing body heat of the living man radiating through the thin layers of clothing. Since entering this world, this was the closest he had ever been to Wen Yaozhi. The method for resurrection mentioned earlier by the Felt Hat resurfaced in his mind. Lu Xincheng instinctively tilted his head to look at the man beneath him. Feeling the movement, Wen Yaozhi turned his head slightly.
Those thin lips were now exposed directly within Lu Xincheng’s line of sight.
Lu Xincheng thought to himself, “If I suddenly kiss him now, he probably won’t have time to react. Would that count as a success?”
Back in the dream, there had actually been an opportunity, but Wen Yaozhi was unconscious then. Fearing it wouldn’t count, Lu Xincheng hadn’t tried. But this time, he mentally rehearsed it and concluded that the success rate was quite high. The worst-case scenario was simply Wen Yaozhi flying into a rage and trying to kill him; Lu Xincheng was confident he could use his acting skills to play dumb and smooth things over.
Lu Xincheng’s Adam’s apple bobbed restlessly. The man beneath him turned his head again, his thin lips slightly pursed. Wen Yaozhi’s lip shape was beautiful, with a vivid color that stood in stark contrast to his cold personality, inexplicably reminding Lu Xincheng of red cedars in winter. It had to be said that these lips hit Lu Xincheng’s aesthetic preferences perfectly.
Unfortunately, not only was Lu Xincheng a straight man with absolutely no interest in men, but he also harbored a hidden case of intimacy phobia. Even though it was a face he did not dislike, he still could not overcome his instinctive repulsion. Conversely, as he stared at the visible blue veins on the side of Wen Yaozhi’s neck, the suppressed desire within him surged again. His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, the blood-red tint in his eyes deepening.
Suddenly, Wen Yaozhi felt a sharp pain in his neck. He let out a muffled groan, “What are you doing?”
Teeth had already broken through the resilient skin. The handsome young man’s head was buried deep in the crook of Wen Yaozhi’s neck, an extremely intimate position. If not for the heavy scent of blood, it would have been a sensuous scene. Only when the sweet taste of blood filled his mouth did Lu Xincheng pull away slightly, a glistening silver thread connecting his teeth to the skin. From deep in his throat, he let out an uncontrollable sigh of satisfaction.
Wen Yaozhi touched the side of his neck in disbelief. He was so shocked that he did not immediately throw the other man off his back. Seconds later, the broken Peachwood blade was pressed against Lu Xincheng’s throat. The young man, who had not even had his fill yet, lifted his face with a sincere and apologetic smile.
“Sorry, you smelled too good. I could not help myself.”
Wen Yaozhi scrutinized that handsome face, seemingly considering whether to throw a punch. However, amidst his anger, he noticed Lu Xincheng’s eyes; they did not seem as red anymore. It appeared he was slowly digesting the negative emotions in his body.
“Lu Xincheng,” Wen Yaozhi’s voice was laced with warning. He slowly moved the Peachwood sword an inch away, letting it rest right against Lu Xincheng’s chest. “Next time, it goes here.”
Lu Xincheng’s lips were coated with the scent of blood, looking glistening and crimson. He lowered his head, unhurriedly licking the corners of his mouth clean, and made a swearing gesture. “There will not be a next time.”
“Walk the rest of the way yourself,” Wen Yaozhi said coldly.
Lu Xincheng gave a light cough. He could indeed walk on his own now; the discomfort from before had subsided significantly. It seemed Wen Yaozhi’s blood was quite effective.
“What? You cannot find them?” Dai Shengfan shouted into the phone, his voice rising.
On the other end, the bodyguard reported truthfully, “Yes, sir. The surveillance has been sabotaged. We have searched the entire villa and found no one.”
“Useless! You are all useless!” Dai Shengfan roared and slammed the phone down. He took a sip of tea to suppress his rage, hesitating over whether to call the bureau ahead of time to give them a heads-up. After all, it would be troublesome if the police were alerted.
Just then, a ghostly wind swept through the hall, causing the wall lamps to flicker and dim for several seconds. Immersed in thought, Dai Shengfan did not notice at all. Several faint figures flickered in the shadows behind the sofa, watching his back with sinister gazes.
Dai Shengfan dialed another number. “Director Lin? Yes, it is me. Sorry to call so early, but there is an urgent matter.”
More and more figures gathered behind him. A long-haired female ghost’s sharp claws descended toward his head, but before she could crush his skull, she was repelled by a flash of gold and black light. None of the other vengeful spirits could harm him either. They were startled and enraged, screeching in dissatisfaction. Suddenly, as if sensing a terrifying presence, the spirits vanished into hiding.
Dai Sui was the first to step out of the basement. He spotted his father sitting on the sofa, and a layer of gloom instantly clouded his eyes.
“Xiao Sui,” Dai Shengfan called out, stopping his son who intended to slip away quietly. Dai Sui did not stop, continuing toward the exit.
“Son,” Dai Shengfan stood up to intercept him, his face showing a softness Dai Sui had never seen before. “Dad was forced by circumstances earlier. Things are not what you think.”
Dai Sui abruptly jerked his hand away and said coldly, “I am not your son, and you have never been my father.”
Dai Shengfan choked on his words, then continued to persuade him gently. “But you were indeed carried for ten months and born by your mother. My blood flows in your veins, and I… I raised you with much hardship for seventeen years.”
Dai Sui fell silent. Right then, a clear, refined voice drifted over.
“If locking someone in a dark room for over a decade counts as raising them with hardship, that is.”
As if seeing a savior, Dai Sui ran quickly to Lu Xincheng’s side. The moment he saw Lu Xincheng, Dai Shengfan was shocked. “You are still alive?” Then, the crisp sound of black leather boots hitting the marble floor rang out. A man with a face as cold as frost stepped out from the shadows.
Dai Shengfan looked as if he had been struck by lightning. “No, that is impossible. Where is the Master? Master Lyu and his top disciples?”
Wen Yaozhi gave a cold snort. “Master? They are just trash.” He deftly struck Dai Shengfan’s hand, knocking the phone away.
Almost simultaneously, the sound of a lock turning came from the main door behind them; it was now deadbolted. Lu Xincheng hooked his index finger slightly, and immediately, all the curtains slid shut with a swish.
“You, what do you want?” Dai Shengfan was terrified. He had heard that Ghost Hunters were a bunch of people with a weak grasp of the law; many were ruthless, dark-hearted, and had blood on their hands. Though the person before him was young, he possessed a fierce aura. He had not expected someone of Master Lyu’s caliber to fall by his hand.
Dai Shengfan stared at the man, the fear in his eyes unmistakable. Wen Yaozhi said indifferently, “I can give you ten seconds for your last words.”
Dai Shengfan’s eyes widened. “You are crazy! You dare to commit murder? There are cameras all over the villa; you will not get away.”
Wen Yaozhi remained calm. “The cameras have already been smashed.”
“You did that?” Dai Shengfan had lived for decades and dabbled in both the legal and criminal underworlds, but he had never seen such blatant criminality. It was pure lawlessness. He was silent for a few seconds. “Do you know? Based on what you have done so far, I could sue you into bankruptcy and have you spend the rest of your life in prison.”
Wen Yaozhi shrugged nonchalantly. “Is that so? But you will not live that long.”
“Look,” Dai Shengfan swallowed hard, maintaining a final shred of composure. “Mr. Ghost Hunter. There might have been a misunderstanding between us, but it has not reached a point of life and death, has it? How exactly have I offended you?”
Wen Yaozhi was silent for a moment. He tilted his head slightly toward the person behind him. “You killed my dearest friend.”
Behind him, a curve formed on Lu Xincheng’s lips, a deep, meaningful smile. Everyone knew it was just an act. Wen Yaozhi might truly want to kill Dai Shengfan, but it certainly was not because of him. Dai Shengfan was speechless; that reason was indeed sufficient.
“You cannot kill him.” Everyone’s gaze turned toward the boy who spoke.
Dai Shengfan felt as if he had grasped a lifeline. “Son.”
But Dai Sui did not even look at him. He addressed only Lu Xincheng. His face was pale, but his eyes held a stubborn light. “He has killed so many innocent people. If he is to be killed, it should be by them.”
“You!” Dai Shengfan nearly lost his breath. Then, the look in his eyes suddenly changed.
“The blood in my body, I am giving it back to you.” The boy’s freshly cut wrist was still dripping blood. His lips were pale, but he resolutely slashed the same spot again, driving the wound even deeper.
Dai Shengfan’s expression shifted violently. As if sensing a summons, the spirits began to manifest like scattered sparks. In an instant, a ghostly wind rose in the room, and resentment filled the air.
“No!” Dai Shengfan’s wails were quickly drowned out by the swarm of vengeful souls.
The ghosts were delighted to find that the protective shield on his body had vanished, and they scrambled to pounce on him.
“You are not going to step in?” Lu Xincheng looked at Wen Yaozhi with interest.
Wen Yaozhi’s Ziwu sword was sentient; sensing the intense soul power, it let out a faint hum against his back, its dark purple glow flickering. Yet its master simply watched the scene with his arms crossed. “No, they cannot kill him. Let them vent their anger; they have been suppressed for so many years, after all.”
Lu Xincheng smiled. “Do Ghost Hunters actually empathize with ghosts?”
Wen Yaozhi did not answer directly. “What about you? Are you not going to go up and take a few bites?”
Lu Xincheng shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Too filthy.”
It was unclear if he was saying Dai Shengfan’s flesh was filthy, or if he was calling Wen Yaozhi’s suggestion dirty. As the bodyguards outside began ramming the door, the distant sound of police sirens echoed from outside the villa. Lu Xincheng moved the temporarily unconscious boy to the sofa and performed a quick, simple bandaging of that scarred wrist.
Wen Yaozhi glanced at the professional technique. “When did you learn to bandage?”
Lu Xincheng lied effortlessly. “Just learned it on a film set.” As Lu Xincheng set the boy’s hand down, he saw the back of it was covered in needle marks of varying shades.
“Dai Shengfan must have been constantly drawing his blood,” Wen Yaozhi looked down briefly before averting his gaze.
“He was also forcing Dai Sui to drink his blood,” Lu Xincheng stared forward apathetically, a slight smirk appearing a moment later. “However, not being able to die right away might not necessarily be a good thing for him.”
Amidst the swarm of vengeful spirits, Dai Shengfan was in a wretched state, enduring the wrath of the souls. Every curse was clearly audible. Those hideous faces were either from long ago or fresh in his memory, but he could clearly remember the circumstances of each of their deaths. Though he suffered no physical harm, he could neither escape nor drive them away; he could only endure in silence.
The black line on Dai Shengfan’s wrist gradually faded until it vanished completely. This signified he had completely lost his connection with the Taisui.
“Conservation of energy. Having lost the blessing of luck, all that good fortune must be paid back,” Wen Yaozhi said, resting his chin on the back of his hand. “However lucky he was before is how unlucky he will be from now on.”
Hearing the sirens drawing closer, Lu Xincheng gave a kind reminder. “If you do not leave now, your bad luck is about to arrive too.”
Wen Yaozhi looked at Lu Xincheng and gave a slight smirk. “Forgot? I have connections in the police force.”
Lu Xincheng said nothing. Just as he was thinking of a retort, a dark shadow pressed in front of him. He happened to be standing by the wall, and Wen Yaozhi closed the distance to within half a meter, pinning Lu Xincheng into the narrow space.
Wen Yaozhi was half a head taller than Lu Xincheng. Looking down from above, he exuded the calculated aura of a hunter in total control.
“Lu Xincheng.” This seemed to be the first time Wen Yaozhi had called him by his name.
Lu Xincheng was momentarily dazed. Hearing the name so clearly, he wondered if Wen Yaozhi was calling him or the soul that had long since ceased to exist. The other man, however, forcefully demanded eye contact. Pressing the cold hilt of his sword against Lu Xincheng’s chin, he forced him to look up. Lu Xincheng actually disliked this feeling, the feeling of being restrained from below. A deep voice vibrated near his ear.
“I will be keeping an eye on you. You had better behave. Otherwise, I will personally find someone to perform a rite of passage for you, or,” the cold glint of Ziwu flashed before his eyes, the voice continuing airily, “I will handle you myself.”
The sword hilt shattered a large pane of floor-to-ceiling glass just as the bodyguards burst through the door, only to find their target gone. Wen Yaozhi sprinted out and started his flashy black motorcycle at the villa’s back gate. The two-wheeler roared as it lunged down the steep slope, forcefully carving out a mountain path where none existed, perfectly evading the police cars converging from all directions.