Fu Yunmo had been knocked unconscious. She hadn’t even seen how the person struck; she only felt a sudden darkness before losing consciousness.
When she finally woke, she found herself in a gloomy cell. Torches were fastened to the walls outside, offering a flickering, meager warmth to the cold stone. However, the damp, filthy environment and the occasional squeak of rats caused Fu Yunmo’s nerves to snap tight. She scanned her surroundings: her bundle was gone, and Nan Kunlun was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, sheer terror dominated her senses.
She scrambled to her feet. She wasn’t particularly afraid of rats, but in a place like this, where there were rats, there were bound to be cockroaches—and she was deathly afraid of those.
Rushing to the cell door, she saw no one outside. Trembling, she called out softly, “Nan Kunlun?”
She needed to know if he was there. If he were, his presence might alleviate the suffocating fear currently paralyzing her. Her voice echoed through the hollow silence of the dungeon, only heightening her dread. She raised her voice, “Nan Kunlun!”
This time, amidst the silence, she heard the faint rustle of fabric. Clutching onto that sliver of hope, she called again, “Nan Kunlun?”
Finally, a familiar voice drifted from the adjacent cell: “Sister Mo?”
Fu Yunmo collapsed to the floor, her body going limp with relief. It felt as though she had finally grasped a ray of light in an endless abyss; she was on the verge of weeping with joy.
“It’s me…” she managed to reply after a long pause.
By then, Nan Kunlun had moved to his own cell door. “Sister Mo, where are we? Is this the Ye Yue Sect?”
Looking at the eerie surroundings, he figured it was either a government dungeon or the Ye Yue Sect’s prison—though the grim atmosphere certainly fit the style of a “Demonic Cult.”
Fu Yunmo grabbed the heavy iron chains locking her door and tugged. They didn’t budge an inch, emitting only a sharp, metallic clinking sound.
“Probably. Kunlun, can you break these chains?”
Nan Kunlun immediately tried, making a fair amount of noise. Eventually, he let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t. This is likely Blackwood Steel. With my current internal energy and strength, I can’t break it.”
Fu Yunmo was stunned. Was the Ye Yue Sect truly so wealthy that they used rare Blackwood Steel just to forge dungeon chains? No wonder that woman, Ye Xi-han, felt so secure leaving them without handcuffs or shackles—she knew they couldn’t possibly pry their way out of these cages.
Suddenly, the dungeon door creaked open, the sound piercing the silence. They heard steady footsteps descending the stairs. Ye Xi-han appeared, dressed in striking blue robes, her face still concealed behind that white jade mask. Following her was a man wearing a Shura mask, his burly arms carrying her and Nan Kunlun’s belongings.
In front of the cells sat a crude wooden table and chair. The man placed the bags on the table, bowed respectfully to Ye Xi-han, and withdrew.
Ye Xi-han sat leisurely in the chair, her long legs crossed beneath her blue robes. In this chilling dungeon, she looked like a beautiful, lethal Shura—a single glance from her felt like it could claim a life.
“I’ve searched your bags and found nothing I want,” she said, leaning forward. Her lips curled into a half-smile that felt mocking. Even with Fu Yunmo’s keen observation, she couldn’t read the woman’s true emotions under the flickering torchlight. “Tell me, where is the Fengyun Manual?”
“You probably saw that salted fish in my bag!” Fu Yunmo replied. The absurdity of the fish suddenly swept away some of her fear, and a small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips.
At the mention of the fish, Ye Xi-han’s brow furrowed behind her mask. Her lips thinned in an expression of pure loathing.
“If I told you that the salted fish was the very thing the man in black gave me that day… would you believe me?”
Upon hearing this, Ye Xi-han took a sharp breath. She grabbed Fu Yunmo’s bag and hurled it toward the cell in a fit of rage.
“You dare toy with me!”
Her fury seemed to set the cold dungeon ablaze. In the neighboring cell, Nan Kunlun watched, slack-jawed. He had thought she was a “Cold Beauty,” but she turned out to be an icy volcano—one spark and she erupted.
The bag hit the bars violently. Some clothes fell outside, but the salted fish flew straight into the cell, landing perfectly as the pungent scent of salt and dried fish filled the air.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” Fu Yunmo said, spreading her hands. It was expected; no one in their right mind would believe such a story.
Ye Xi-han’s eyes turned glacially cold, a sharp contrast to her earlier outburst. Fu Yunmo had wanted to laugh, but meeting that gaze, she shivered. She felt like a rabbit being stared down by a tiger.
Ye Xi-han walked toward her, that enigmatic half-smile returning. Fu Yunmo marveled at how quickly this woman could switch her temperament.
“I will give you one more chance,” Ye Xi-han said, her eyes narrowing. In the other cell, Nan Kunlun could only watch in frantic helplessness.
“I am telling the truth.”
Fu Yunmo truly couldn’t produce any “Fengyun Manual.” If the woman wouldn’t believe her, there was nothing she could do. Trapped in this cage, she was merely meat on a chopping block.
Ye Xi-han’s lip twitched with disbelief. She drew the sword from her waist. Fu Yunmo looked down and saw it wasn’t a standard blade; it looked like segments of spiked bone linked together.
Cold sweat broke out on Fu Yunmo’s forehead. Ye Xi-han flicked her wrist. Fu Yunmo scrambled back, but the two-foot blade suddenly extended like a whip. The spiked segments lunged toward her, connected by nearly invisible silver wires that shimmered only because of the firelight.
Fu Yunmo hadn’t expected the sword to transform. Fortunately, it wasn’t aimed to kill; instead, it coiled tightly around her left arm. The more she struggled, the tighter the silver wires constricted, and the bone spikes sank deeper into her skin.
“Ah…! Ow, ow, ow! It hurts!”
Fu Yunmo tried to move forward to ease the tension, but the weapon didn’t loosen at all.
“Sister Mo! Sister Mo! You she-devil, if you have a problem, take it out on me!” Nan Kunlun cried out, his heart wrenching at her screams, yet he remained powerless. He only caught a disdainful glint in Ye Xi-han’s eyes.
“Your little lover certainly is devoted to you,” Ye Xi-han remarked. She pulled back slightly on the hilt, tightening the bind. Blood began to seep from the puncture wounds.
Fu Yunmo grimaced, her face contorting in pain. She didn’t dare touch the wires with her other hand, fearing she’d only end up bleeding from both.
“…He’s not my lover!” she hissed through the pain. Even now, she felt the need to deny it. Nan Kunlun wasn’t hers; he belonged to Mo… wait, no… he didn’t seem to belong to Mo Lixi anymore either…
“You dare let your mind wander in my presence?” Ye Xi-han’s chilling voice snapped her back. She pulled again. Fu Yunmo felt as though her arm was about to be shredded into pieces.
“I really… didn’t lie to you…”
Fu Yunmo was drenched in cold sweat, her voice squeezed out through gritted teeth. If Ye Xi-han didn’t let go, her arm was going to be ruined.
Ye Xi-han paused. With a sudden flick of her hand—some sort of martial arts trick—the weapon uncoiled from Fu Yunmo’s arm and snapped back into its rigid sword form.
As the spikes retracted, the sharp, drilling pain made Fu Yunmo want to burst into tears. Why was she suffering like this over a piece of salted fish?
She actually started crying. Since arriving in this world, she hadn’t cried once. She had endured hardships and stayed strong, but the combination of the salted fish, this “Villainess’s” relentless bullying, and the physical injury finally broke her. She felt utterly wronged.
Ye Xi-han was taken aback. She had assumed Fu Yunmo was a woman of tempered steel; she hadn’t expected her to break down over such a wound.
“What are you crying for?” Ye Xi-han snapped, though her tone had softened slightly.
“I told you I don’t have the manual! You don’t believe me! How should I know why he gave me a salted fish?” Fu Yunmo sobbed, clutching her bleeding arm. Her words became a muffled blur of hiccups and tears. She had acted out crying scenes many times before, but this genuine crying felt exhausting and miserable.
Ye Xi-han remained silent for a long while, staring coldly at her, before she finally sheathed her sword.
“Sister Mo, don’t cry, I’m right here with you,” Nan Kunlun called out, gripping his bars so hard his head almost squeezed through, though he still couldn’t see into her cell.
Ye Xi-han reached into her sleeve, pulled out a small vial, and tossed it into the cell. It landed with a soft clink.
“If I hear you crying again, I’ll sew your eyes shut,” Ye Xi-han muttered, sounding irritated by the sight of Fu Yunmo’s streaming tears. With a flick of her sleeves, she turned to leave.
But just as she reached the exit, a piercing scream erupted from the cell.
“A COCKROACH! THERE’S A COCKROACH!”
The irritation in Ye Xi-han’s heart suddenly found an outlet. She let out a short, genuine laugh—a sound so enchanting it would have captivated anyone who heard it. But the moment was gone in an instant, fleeting as a night-blooming cereus.
After stomping the cockroach to death, Fu Yunmo looked at the wounds on her arm and felt a wave of self-pity. She was a girl, after all; what if these left scars? Her eyes caught the small vial Ye Xi-han had thrown in. She walked over and picked it up.
What is this?