Inside Tianqing Temple.
A Shui and Fengfeng were locked in a secret chamber beneath the tea garden. The place bore a striking resemblance to the Drifting Eyebrow Garden, with many dimly lit corridors lined with rooms housing masked individuals.
They were eerily similar to the red-robed and white-robed female attendants of the Fengliu Dian.
A Shui could even catch a faint medicinal scent lingering in the air after they passed by.
Among the white-robed attendants of Fengliu Dian, many were infatuated with Liu Yan. They were captivated by his qin or pipa melodies, his graceful demeanor, and even more so by the fantasy of winning his favor. However, the more skilled attendants were not starry-eyed maidens. Though A Shui had never seen their faces beneath the veils, she could sense they were much older.
Yet, just like the masked figures in these corridors, those highly skilled attendants obeyed Liu Yan and Yu Konghou without question. They seemed indifferent to who led Fengliu Dian yet toiled tirelessly under Bai Suche’s command, one after another.
They all took the Nine Hearts Pill. Beyond that, Fengliu Dian poisoned their daily food and water, coated the walls of Drifting Eyebrow Garden with medicinal powders, and burned incense in the deep underground passages.
Those unnamed secret drugs and fragrances clouded the mind, gradually eroding one’s sense of self. She had once thought it was Liu Yan’s secret concoction. But now, it seemed that wasn’t the case. The tea garden in Tianqing Temple had been built long before Fengliu Dian, and the secret drugs used here were clearly the same as those in Drifting Eyebrow Garden.
Perhaps… even Lord Liu had not been spared.
Though Tianqing Temple housed strange death warriors, it did not mistreat prisoners. Abbot Chunhui had instructed Wen Yao to deliver food to A Shui and Fengfeng, as if showing mercy before execution to ease their conscience when the time came.
This might be her last night alive.
Fengfeng had already fallen asleep, but A Shui remained wide awake, still racking her brain for a way to escape—or at least to save Fengfeng’s life.
As she pondered, a faint metallic clinking echoed from afar, the sound of heavy machinery turning.
It was as if something massive was being moved.
A Shui lifted her head, peering down the dimly lit corridor.
In the flickering shadows, she saw a heavy iron cart.
No—it was a prison cart.
Forged from refined steel, the cart had four iron wheels supporting its body—a sealed iron box without even a window.
She stared blankly as the enormous iron coffin slowly approached from the distance, passing by her cell before disappearing deeper into the hidden recesses of the corridor.
Though the prison cart had no windows, blood trailed in its wake.
Drip by drip, fresh blood seeped from the corners of the iron box.
There was someone inside, grievously wounded, bleeding incessantly.
She didn’t know who it was, but a sense of foreboding gripped her.
Whoever it was—if they were an enemy of these people, they were her ally.
And… who would require these people to use a windowless, doorless iron box forged from refined steel to capture them?
Who had they caught?
The iron prison cart moved slowly.
Inside, pitch-black darkness enveloped the space. Tang Lici leaned against the wall, eyes closed in rest.
Sharing the cart with him was Fu Zhumei, who trembled uncontrollably.
Without seeing who was bleeding, it would be hard to believe in the darkness that the severely wounded one was Tang Lici."...Keep shaking, and you'll be thrown off... say you quit." Tang Licheng's eyes were closed, blood dripping from the hem of his clothes, the corners of his lips slightly curved in a faint, ambiguous smile.
Fu Zhumei whispered very softly, "Why won't your wound heal..."
Tang Licheng didn't answer. He listened to the sounds of the moving carriage, the faint clicks of numerous hidden weapon mechanisms in the airtight compartment—this carriage held at least a dozen lethal traps, all designed for Tang Licheng. After a while, he asked quietly, "Is Xue Xianzi dead?"
Fu Zhumei stared blankly at him.
Though he could see nothing—inside the iron prison carriage, there was only darkness.
Yet he could almost picture it: A'Li with his eyes closed, smiling faintly at the corners of his lips.
Before, he had thought it was because A'Li had everything, so he cared about nothing.
Now he knew it was probably just because he had no other choice.
Other children, when they did wrong and got scared, would wail loudly—then they'd be guided to what was right, then loved and forgiven. A'Li never had that. He was never afraid. No matter what he did, those around him praised him, then feared him—whether it was good or bad. The praise and the fear were identical, so perhaps from a very young age, A'Li had been at a loss.
At a loss, he couldn't show the right expression.
"How did he die?" Tang Licheng asked.
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