Lin Shijin’s fingertips brushed Jun Yewu’s chest through the thin fabric. The stone in his heart shattered entirely. His expression stiffened.
“You grabbed me first…” He had tried to scam someone and ended up being the one scammed. Why was he being blamed for that?
He tried to pull his fingers back. Jun Yewu tightened his grip on his wrist, that half-smile deepening.
Still speaking gently, he said, “I almost forgot… Do you know what I was thinking when I was captured?”
Lin Shijin very much did not want to know. His wrist was being crushed; he could almost hear the bones cracking. A sharp, splitting pain shot up his arm.
He bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out. In Jun Yewu’s grasp, he dared not make the slightest move.
He had no idea why Jun Yewu was here, nor what had become of Sheng RufeI. If Jun Yewu had escaped, the one he would resent most was undoubtedly Sheng Rufei.
“I don’t know.”
Lin Shijin’s fingertips were turning white, his wrist twitching helplessly from the pain. Forced half-kneeling before Jun Yewu, he barely had time to breathe before a harsher pain surged through him. A sudden “crack” rang out; a red line slashed across his wrist.
“Ah—” His vision whitened. For a moment, he could see nothing. A suffocating gaze pressed down from above, and a low voice whispered into his ear.
“What did I tell you before? I didn’t ask for an answer. Who told you you could speak?”
Lin Shijin felt as though his wrist might snap entirely. Cold sweat soaked his back, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. He curled in on himself, bowing slightly.
The red mark on his wrist seemed to fuse with the blood beneath his skin. His fear was strong, but his worry was stronger. He kept silent, breath shallow.
He needed to find a way to tell Sheng Rufei that Jun Yewu was here.
The oppressive gaze above him withdrew. Jun Yewu’s expression softened again. He tapped the wound lightly; the bloodline vanished. Then he kneaded the wrist gently as though consoling him.
“Be obedient. I might go easier on you.”
Lin Shijin’s face went chalk-white. He said nothing. His wrist still throbbed painfully. He could only watch as the demonic robes before him dissolved into snow-white monk’s robes once more.
Jun Yewu was back to being that handsome monk.
Moments later, footsteps sounded outside. Someone was begging for an audience. The doors burst open, and a monk stepped inside.
“Holy Monk, the man imprisoned next door requests to see you.”
Jun Yewu, fully disguised and turning a string of prayer beads through his fingers, replied, “No. If he asks again, put him in the water dungeon.”
At the words water dungeon, Lin Shijin immediately looked up. He stared at Jun Yewu. Whatever spell Jun Yewu had cast, the monk seemed unable to perceive him at all.
The monk hesitated. “We’ve not yet investigated the matter. The water dungeon is for criminals, and they are disciples of Fuguang…”
The rest of his words died on his tongue under a single look from Jun Yewu. He shut his mouth and left quickly.
Lin Shijin could barely lift his arm. Barely sitting upright, he forced out, “What are you planning? Aren’t you going to ask whether you killed them?”
No wonder they had been imprisoned the moment they stepped onto the mountain. If Jun Yewu was behind this, everything made sense.
Jun Yewu sat before the tray of divination sticks, idly brushing a finger along one before tossing it aside. He looked up. “I didn’t say you could ask questions.”
Lin Shijin shut his mouth. Jun Yewu had always been a pervert; now that they were enemies, who knew what he might do?
A red welt circled his wrist. Jun Yewu’s handiwork. It was already turning bluish-purple, a stark, ugly mark.
He remained silent, tending to his wrist, unaware of the man’s gaze flicking toward him again and again.
Jun Yewu watched his movements closely. For once, the youth wasn’t crying out in pain. It seemed he’d learnt something from last time. Back then he’d been tricked, and he’d intended, upon their next meeting, to play with the youth to his heart’s content before tearing him apart.
But time had cooled his fury. He wouldn’t dismember him… but a little punishment was only fair.
The youth, his wrist broken and re-set, was still reeling. His face contorted in pain, then calmed, then twisted again. He seemed lost in thought.
Lin Shijin struggled even to move. One question troubled him: how had Jun Yewu managed to infiltrate Jinyue Temple? It should have been impossible.
As he pondered, a familiar voice sounded beside him.
“Stay here. Do not go looking for your shixiong.”
The voice was cool. Lin Shijin caught something from the corner of his eye and nearly yelped, but forced himself to swallow the sound.
He couldn’t speak, only stare wide-eyed.
Lin Fuheng’s face was dark as ink. He cast a glance at the grotesque figure skulking nearby, then at the youth who was enduring pain in silence. His aura grew heavier still.
He knew exactly how low his reincarnation’s tolerance for pain was. And he recognised the stench clinging to that ugly creature in the corner.
Both were equally nauseating.
“If you run off to find your shixiong, neither of you is the snow demon’s match. You’ll both be captured. Even if you warn him, he won’t flee, and that useless little pastry will rush here to save you. In the end, you’ll both still be caught.”
“Don’t start telling me your shixiong won’t be captured,” Lin Fuheng said coldly, catching the youth’s bristling expression. “His cultivation is far too weak. He is not the snow demon’s opponent.”
“The snow demon has full control of this temple. You’re prey caught in its web.”
Lin Shijin had yet to react. At the words snow demon, fragments of ancient texts surfaced in his mind. Snow demons were the lowest of the demon clans, hideous in appearance, scorned even among their own kind.
A doubt crept in. Was he referring to Jun Yewu? He glanced over instinctively. Jun Yewu’s appearance wasn’t hideous at all. He was strikingly beautiful.
Seeing this, Lin Fuheng snorted. “His transformation technique is crude. That face he’s wearing isn’t his.”
A horrifying thought flashed through Lin Shijin’s mind. Jun Yewu loved collecting the bones of beautiful people. Could it be… skin instead?
“Stay by the snow demon’s side for now. He’s searching for the sacred artefact of Jinyue Temple. You must not let him obtain it.”
Lin Shijin listened intently, half-believing, half-doubting. He no longer questioned why Lin Fuheng could materialise beside him in a Buddhist sanctuary.
This was a holy ground of the Buddhist sects. If he remained unaffected, there were only two possibilities: either he wasn’t a malicious spirit at all… or his cultivation was so high that Buddhist wards no longer influenced him.
Any ordinary soul would be forced to reveal its true form in front of the Buddha’s power.
Neither possibility was anything he could influence. He couldn’t speak; if he drew Jun Yewu’s attention now, it would only end badly.
So he touched the ground lightly with his fingertips and wrote two characters.
He wrote “shixiong”. He wanted to know how Sheng Rufei was faring, and… if he was taken away by Jun Yewu, what would become of Sheng Rufei then?
Although he trusted Sheng Rufei’s strength, he inexplicably didn’t want him falling into Jun Yewu’s hands. If there was any chance of escape, he would far rather Sheng Rufei slip away first.
“You’re still worrying about your shixiong?” Lin Fuheng had seen the characters the youth had written. Even now, the youth was thinking of his shixiong. He said coldly, “He’s in the water dungeon. The Snow Demon is more interested in dealing with you. Your shixiong is merely being held. You’d best think about yourself first.”
Lin Shijin felt a faint breath of relief, only for it to knot again. The water dungeon was freezing, miserable.
If only Sheng Rufei could get out of there.
His fingertips were still throbbing. He slowly drew his hand back, and only then noticed Jun Yewu watching him.
Jun Yewu’s voice was gentle. “Have you nothing to say to me?”
Moments ago he hadn’t been allowed to speak, and now he was being expected to. Utterly unreasonable. The sensation of his broken wrist lingered horribly. Lin Shijin stayed silent; he truly had no desire to engage.
He sat as quietly as a chick, tucked into a corner. There was a barrier across the hall; Jun Yewu clearly thought he couldn’t put up resistance, and hadn’t even bothered locking him properly.
Snapping his wrist earlier had been warning enough.
Lin Shijin didn’t dare look at the injury. He pushed the pain from his mind on instinct. If he focused on it, he’d probably faint on the spot. He didn’t answer, and Jun Yewu’s gaze cooled.
A single glance was enough to make Lin Shijin feel threatened. He pressed his lips together and murmured, “I don’t know what I ought to say.”
“If you mean the matter in Rakshasa City… you’re a demon, and I’m a disciple of the Immortal Sect. Our stances are fundamentally opposed. Should I simply let you go?”
He certainly had a way with words. Jun Yewu took in the youth’s expression: lips faintly tightened, injured wrist hidden behind him, looking as though he were terribly wronged.
That look had fooled countless people. He really did appear pure and innocent.
Lin Shijin was still kneeling, unable to move. A corner of a monk’s robe came into view. Jun Yewu stood in front of him, looked down at him, and smiled. “I didn’t realise you were so articulate.”
Jun Yewu’s eyes darkened, but he quickly pressed the emotion down. There was still business to be handled. The item had not been found. He couldn’t stay here endlessly.
Now that the youth was in his hands, he had considered various methods. He’d originally intended to break his limbs, but changed his mind. Seeing how frightened the youth was of him, he suddenly didn’t want to.
And for the moment, he couldn’t think of a fitting way to punish this useless little thing.
Lin Shijin was growing more anxious. He tried to make himself as small as possible, glanced at Jun Yewu. Then, without realising, his gaze drifted to the edge of Jun Yewu’s cheek, his thoughts wandering.
Could one really paste human skin onto one’s face…?
A cloud of black mist formed in mid-air, revealing a figure kneeling on the ground, hesitant to speak.
Only after receiving Jun Yewu’s permission did the figure say, “My Lord, the entire temple has been searched. Nothing was found…”
“However, we did discover a trace of Feng Rugao’s sword light on Bu Wen’s corpse.”
Jun Yewu’s expression darkened at the report. He glanced again at the kneeling youth, his fingertips twitching. In an instant, the youth who was still kneeling, was restrained. Heavy shackles appearing at his wrists and ankles.
With a harsh clang, a chain materialised at Lin Shijin’s wrist, twisting his arms back, the cold metal biting into him.
“Don’t try anything clever,” Jun Yewu murmured gently, brushing the youth’s cheek. “Stay here obediently. I’ll deal with you when I return.”
Still uneasy, Jun Yewu summoned a guard. A faint black mist gathered within the chamber.
There was a metallic clatter as the chains shifted. Lin Shijin struggled slightly, his gaze catching on the mist. At first he paid it no mind. Then, his attention snagged, and he looked more closely.
A figure stepped forth from the haze: a tall, slender youth dressed in black robes patterned with demonic sigils, a standard demon-tribe halberd in hand. Where he had acquired it was anyone’s guess. He stood motionless, awaiting orders.
Lin Fuheng, standing nearby, recognised him at once. “…”
Wasn’t this brat supposed to be in the water dungeon?
