The young woman was currently in a state of drowsiness, resembling a cat that had yet to stretch out its sharp claws. Liang Shanyuan walked to her bedside, holding a brocade quilt. “Miss Hua Zhuo, are you very scared?”

Hua Zhuo was extremely sleepy, so much so that she didn’t even have the energy to scold him. Sitting on the bed, clutching the quilt, she let out a faint sound through her nose, “Mm,” and added, “Just a little.”

“Miss Hua Zhuo, I’ll stay here tonight and sleep on the floor,”

She responded with a soft murmur.

“The wooden plaque hanging over the bed looks like it’s about to fall. Miss Hua Zhuo, I’ll go blow out the candle— take that plaque down. It wouldn’t be good if it fell and hit you while you’re asleep.”

After all, this girl was still not yet sixteen; she was dependent on her elder brother, spoiled, and willful by nature.

Liang Shanyuan had long grown used to others being fond of him, and just as used to their dislike. It was always out of jealousy, or because they believed he wasn’t as kind as he appeared. Yet within two or three days, their opinions would inevitably change. They would come to see him as those who admired, envied, or loved him did.

To him, the living were all the same.

This girl held caution in her heart, but to Liang Shanyuan, breaking through it was all too easy.

Hua Zhuo lazily lifted her eyelids.

The candlelight burned brightly. Standing before her in plain robes, Liang Shanyuan wore a gentle smile, his face as serene and flawless as a jade Bodhisattva. Even a demon would find it hard to refuse him the slightest request.

In the book, Liang Shanyuan was often like this, too.

She used a gentle appearance to ask Xu Ruyi to give up everything. She persuaded Xu Ruyi to bury his natal copper coin sword, which he once was reluctant to put away even when it rained, in the soil, throw away all the talisman papers on his body, and break up with Meng Qiuci. On the last day, she smiled and pointed to the dark forest ahead.

“Mr. Xu, I’m really tired. Can you and I go inside to rest?”

Xu Ruyi, who had nothing with him, was taken into a dark forest by Liang Shanyuan, and his heart was dug out. In the dark forest, there were humans everywhere who were deceived by Liang Shanyuan. The heart-eating evil ghost seduced people, then dug out their hearts and ate them, and then threw the corpse with an empty chest into the deserted dark forest.

Hua Zhuo had always been curious—how exactly did Liang Shanyuan deceive people?

Perhaps… just like this.

The wooden plaque was a ghost-repelling charm, keeping spirits from entering the bed’s canopy. Hua Zhuo had already used it once to fend off a ghost. And now Liang Shanyuan wanted to take it down—what was she really trying to do?

Hua Zhuo blinked slowly and said, “Mind your own business. Who do you think you are? This plaque was tied on by my brother. If it’s to be removed, it’ll be by him—no one else.”

The girl’s voice was delicate and willful. After speaking, she drew the bed curtains shut and lay back down on the mattress.

The moment her cheek touched the soft pillow, a sharp alarm rang out in her mind. Hua Zhuo’s heart leapt in fear, all sleepiness vanishing at once. Her eyes flew open, staring toward the outside—only to see the blurred silhouette beyond the bed curtains calmly laying out bedding on the floor.

…Huh??

The alarm in her mind didn’t fade, not even after Liang Shanyuan laid down.

What did this killer want to do?

Did she really want to get into her bed and kill her?

Hua Zhuo was totally confused. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She summoned the system, and the alarm that was giving her a headache stopped.

“Hello, system, can you detect Liang Shanyuan’s current killing intention towards me?”

“Of course, Zhuozhuo. It’ll cost ten units of virtuous merit.”

“Alright.”

A sound like a coin dropping into a jar echoed in her mind. Then came the system’s usual flat, emotionless tone:

“Zhuozhuo, currently detected intent to kill from Liang Shanyuan, is at 90%.”

Hua Zhuo: …What?

Hua.Zhuo couldn’t help but open her eyes. She lifted a corner of the bed curtain—there was Liang Shanyuan, lying right beneath her bed. The moonlight filtered through the shadows of the trees, casting a dappled glow across her jade-like, beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, expression peaceful and gentle. If she hadn’t read the original story, if she didn’t know she neither slept nor ate, she might have believed she was truly asleep.

“Miss Hua Zhuo, can’t sleep?”

Liang Shanyuan’s voice rang out, calm and kind, even as her eyes remained shut.

“Would you like to talk with me for a while?”

Damn it!

Even the usually mild-tempered Hua Zhuo couldn’t help but curse under her breath.

“I don’t need that! I can sleep just fine! Stop talking and bother someone else!”

With that, she swiftly dropped the bed curtain, wrapped herself tightly in the blankets, and huddled in the corner, a shiver running down her spine as goosebumps appeared on her arms.

She continued her conversation with the system. “System, hello. Can you confirm—is Liang Shanyuan really, really harboring 90% intent to kill me?”

“Not at all, Zhuozhuo,”

Hua Zhuo froze for a moment, then let out a relieved sigh. Right, right, the system must have made a mistake! There was no way in this world—there couldn’t possibly be anyone so terrifying! Even ghosts were once human! How could someone be so capable of hiding their true nature?

But then the system continued.

“Current detected intent to kill from Liang Shanyuan is at a staggering 95%, an increase of five points! Zhuozhuo, you’re so impressive, but while you’re completing your mission, please make sure to stay safe!”

Hua Zhuo: …

“System, hello. Can you tell me how much virtuous merit I have right now?”

“Total of 230 points, Zhuozhuo! A friendly reminder—becoming closer to the original’s love interest, Xu Ruyi, or sending letters and gifts to the original owner’s parents can also earn you more virtuous merit! It’s not just about cursing Liang Shanyuan, you know!”

Hua Zhuo pressed her lips together. “Alright, thanks for the reminder. Please unlock the original owner’s death scenario for me.”

*

By day, he felt the burning touch of the sun on his skin, the inner flames scorching him with unbearable pain.

By night, the flames inside him didn’t cease; they simply didn’t torment his flesh the same way they did under the daylight. He could find moments of respite—however brief.

But it was still excruciating.

Excruciating to the point that he truly wanted to destroy everything living in this world. Every person, every thing.

Liang Shanyuan lay on the bed, his body turned to the side, the pale blue moonlight casting soft shadows around him. His jet-black eyes remained motionless, fixed on the figure behind the bed curtain.

That young lady’s neck, he mused, was probably as warm and soft as her wrist. To strangle her would be as effortless as squeezing a face powder—no need for much force, and her head would fall to the ground.

Perhaps sensing his murderous intent, the flames inside him surged higher. Liang Shanyuan closed his eyes for a moment, then he gradually lifted himself, sitting up from the bed.

His dark hair cascaded down like flowing water.

But just as he was swaying and about to reach the girl’s bed curtain, he stopped in his tracks, a flicker of complex emotions crossing his face.

He didn’t want to “regret” again.

In a daze, lost in thought, he kept recalling that one experience the heavens had “rewarded” him with.

He had no name, no past, and had forgotten everything from before. Perhaps he had drunk the Meng Po soup, yet somehow, by accident, he had returned to the world of the living. The Black Wuchang, who was supposed to bring him back, had never come for him. He had become a wandering soul, an aimless ghost, with no knowledge of his past, lost in this world.

At that time, there was only the unbearable pain of his flesh, scorched by the sunlight. He couldn’t endure it, and only through killing did he find any semblance of relief.

He didn’t know why he felt such murderous intent and hostility toward everything living. At first, he slaughtered livestock. Later, he wandered through bustling crowds, gradually sensing something strange.

No matter where he went, the people he encountered—whether men or women—would look at him differently.

They built him houses, gave him clothes, and brought him food every day. But he could not eat the food that the living consumed. Every day, he threw the food away.

He couldn’t understand why the living humans treated him the way they did—until one night, when a man came to bring him food and touched his hand.

The way he touched him was strange, and Liang Shanyuan didn’t like it at all.

So, he smiled and called the man into the room. It was always like this—whenever he smiled, all the humans around him would inexplicably obey his words. He didn’t fully understand it, but he knew that as long as he smiled, they would listen.

The man, like every other human, stepped into the room.

Then, he skinned the man’s entire body like he was treating livestock.

He was curious about the differences between the human body and the body of livestock.

Conclusion: the human heart was really delicious.

Very delicious.

Very delicious.

So, that night he knocked on everyone’s door in the village with a smile, caught everyone he could, opened their chests and took out their hearts.

Very delicious.

Very delicious.

Really, it was delicious.

He felt very happy when he heard the humans wailing. He had never understood why these humans were so stupid but still alive.

Alive.

These humans were so stupid, yet they were still not abandoned by God. Humans walked through the six realms of reincarnation, but he had been abandoned. He had to avoid sunlight as much as possible and couldn’t appreciate the fragrance of the food that humans ate. They said the food was fragrant, but he just felt like vomiting when he smelled it. They said the food was delicious, but it always felt like eating the dirty dirt on the ground.

God treated him like this, abandoned him, but was so kind to these humans.

He laboriously dragged the bodies of the humans in the village into the wilderness one by one. These humans had helped him, sewed clothes for him, cooked for him, heated the stove for him because they were afraid he would be cold. They looked at him with obsessive love, but now, there were big holes in the chests of these humans, and their hearts fell into his stomach.

“You’ve always been curious why I don’t eat, haven’t you?”

As dawn broke, he started a fire.

He smiled, gazing at the pile of bodies before him.

If these bodies were to come alive, would they hate him? Probably not. The living would always forgive him. And if they didn’t forgive him, all he had to do was smile, and they would forgive him, just like that.

“Thank you all. I finally understand what it means to be ‘full.'”

He threw the burning stick of wood onto the pile of corpses, and soon, a raging fire began to consume everything. As the sky neared dawn, he hid himself away, ready to move on to the next village, the next city.

He had killed countless people.

He had eaten an innumerable number of hearts.

And so, years passed. He didn’t know how many.

It might have been a long, long time—because, within the cities, chaos had gradually erupted. Wars broke out, dynasties fell, and empires changed hands. Time circled on, yet he remained, the only one still alive. During this period, many humans had been searching for his whereabouts, giving him many names: the Heart-Eating Demon, the Heart Witch, the Murderous Ghost. There were even countless folk songs created about his deeds, turning him into a legend. Yet, even when he passed right before their eyes, these people couldn’t recognize him. Instead, they would gaze at him, utterly captivated.

It was truly strange.

It was truly laughable.

Unrestrained, he killed without mercy, and on one Mid-Autumn night, he jumped into a secluded mountain temple.

He killed all the monks in the temple. Finally, these monks stopped looking at him with obsessed eyes. Instead, they tried to stop him and struggled desperately, trying to stop him from going inside.

He just smiled faintly as he emptied out one heart after another. He was too lazy to eat them anymore, so he pulled out the hearts and threw them on the ground, then walked forward, stepping on the corpses and the sea of blood.

Under the golden Buddha statue, sat an old monk in meditation.

He thought the old monk would beg for mercy.

But the old monk just raised his eyes, which were still bright even though old, and looked at him with pity.

“What are you looking at?”

He felt disgusted with that look for unknown reasons and cut out the old monk’s eyes with a knife.

He didn’t want to just rip his heart out and kill him.

He wanted to torture him to death.

“Evil ghost, stay here,”

The old monk just said this in a trembling and weak voice.

“Stay here. You resent the heavens in your heart. Your mind, which was originally as clear as a mirror, has been corroded by hatred. You must have suffered endless injustice in your life and could not speak. Now you are filled with hatred, but you are burdened with too many karmic debts. You have to pay them back. You can’t. You can’t see it, but your body is soaked in the blood of the dead. If you keep going down this path, sooner or later, you will be in extreme pain and regret it. What a sin, what a sin…”

“You think I’m pitiful?”

He laughed—wildly, absurdly—as he pulled out the old monk’s fingernails, one by one.

“Pity me? You’d better pity yourself, wouldn’t you… monk?”

The old monk trembled in agony, his body convulsing from the pain.

But just before death could claim him, he spoke—calmly, with a voice that cut through the blood and madness.

A single sentence that Liang Shanyuan would never forget for the rest of his existence.

——“Debts must be repaid. There is no other way.”

He had found it laughable then, and he killed the monk without hesitation.

But from that moment on, the karmic flames ignited within him.

Whenever he harbored malice or murderous thoughts, the flames would surge from within,

searing not his flesh, but his very soul. And when he did good—when he saved a life, when he acted with compassion—the flames would still and quiet, like a beast pacified.

It was a binding.

A curse.

A prison—left behind by that old monk.

And he regretted it. Bitterly. If only he hadn’t entered that temple. If only he had chosen another place…

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