Chapter 25 (Part 2)

The priest touched every inch of his skin, like a cold centipede crawling across his body. He resisted fiercely, and for every struggle, the priest carved a new wound into his back.

His scars ran deep, and the priest cast a curse into the wounds, one that ignited searing pain whenever it rained, as if tearing him apart from within.

Only dragon marrow could ease the torment. The priest sought to turn him into a submissive slave, like his mother before him.

But he killed the priest.

The price he paid was steep—his dragon tendons were torn, his scales stripped away, and everything that was his was grafted onto the concubine’s child.

As these grim memories surfaced, Rong Shang lowered his gaze.

He gently touched his lips, as though savoring the sweetness left behind.

Perhaps… it wasn’t so unbearable after all?

His mind seemed to drift into a blank void, a faint buzzing in his ears as if some memories were being forcibly erased.

Knowing he couldn’t rely on Yu Zhengzheng, he struggled to bite his finger, using his blood to scrawl the word “puppet” on the floor.

At this moment, he didn’t even have the strength to bite through his own finger. After trying two or three times, his teeth couldn’t pierce the skin.

The puppet master—he had searched for them for a thousand years. He must find them.

He placed his finger against her sharp canine tooth. She blinked dazedly, her face full of confusion.

In a low and hoarse voice, with a hint of weakness, he said, “Bite.”

She stared blankly for a moment, then softly took his fingertip between her lips.

His back stiffened, and his raised arm trembled slightly. The sound of his heavy breathing in the quiet, rainy night was jarringly loud.

She eventually bit through his finger, though it wasn’t intentional. Her sharp canine grazed his fingertip, leaving a small, bleeding cut.

Distracted, he lowered his arm and used the small amount of blood to trace a single character on the floor: 傀 (puppet).

Ultimately, he couldn’t hold on. He hadn’t even finished writing the word when he lost consciousness, murmuring faintly as his lips moved: “Pup… puppet…”

Rong Shang passed out. Yu Zhengzheng frowned, muttering the word he had just spoken twice to herself: “Puppet… puppet?”

At some point, the thunder ceased.

The surface of the river glimmered faintly, the air fragrant with damp earth carried by a gentle wind brushing against her cheek. Nestled against him, her teeth still seemed to hold a faint metallic taste of blood.

She smacked her lips, found a comfortable position, and drifted off to sleep.

As the morning sun filtered through the window lattice, casting golden streaks on his face, Rong Shang furrowed his brows and slowly opened his eyes.

A heavy weight on his chest made it hard to breathe. The wet sensation soaking through his undergarments brought a surge of discomfort.

He frowned deeply. Lying against him was a woman reeking of alcohol, her mouth slightly open, drooling on him. With a single shove, he pushed her off.

Touching his damp undergarments and breeches, his expression turned icy.

Why was he here?

Why was she lying on him?

Where had his robe gone?

What had she done to him?

One question after another raced through his mind.

The shoved Yu Zhengzheng groaned twice before lazily waking up.

As soon as she opened her eyes, she was met with his cold, grim face. After a moment’s thought, she shut her eyes again.

Something must have gone wrong with the way she woke up.

She opened her eyes again, but the grim-faced “King of Hell” hadn’t disappeared. Worse yet, he had crossed his arms and was staring at her darkly.

Yu Zhengzheng wanted to muster up the courage to ask, What are you staring at? But before she could utter a sound, her sliver of bravery vanished.

He was dressed only in undergarments, his robe missing. The white fabric was crumpled and damp, covered in her drool.

His sharp, bony fingers lightly tugged at the collar of his damp undergarment, visibly uncomfortable.

Just as he was about to remove the drool-stained clothing, he caught her staring intently at his chest.

Rong Shang sneered faintly and retracted his hand.

Why let her benefit from it?

Better no one does.

The river, washed clean by the rain, gleamed especially clear. A cool breeze drifted through the window. Gazing out at the wet deck, he vaguely recalled the rainstorm from the night before.

He had asked her to apply medicine for him. Beyond that, he remembered nothing.

Could it have thundered last night?

If it had only rained, why would he inexplicably lose a portion of his memory?

He rose, intending to leave, but his eyes caught a smear of red on the floor beneath him.

Rong Shang narrowed his long eyes, fixing his gaze on the stain.

It appeared to be writing.

He examined it carefully, but after a while, all he could discern was a vaguely human-shaped radical—亻. As for what it was meant to form, it was impossible to guess.

One thing was clear: the blood forming the word was his.

Yu Zhengzheng was extremely uneasy. If he didn’t leave, she wouldn’t dare move either.

Why had he stopped after appearing ready to leave?

In a tone laced with cold authority, he said, “Come here.”

Hearing his near-commanding tone, Yu Zhengzheng’s face darkened slightly.

A hangover left her head in a haze. Her lower abdomen ached dully, and if the man before her weren’t the King of Hell, she would have slapped her menstrual cloth on his face out of sheer defiance.

She wanted to straighten her back and refuse, but a fleeting glance from him made her shrink back, bowing her head as she walked toward him obediently.

Pointing at the bloodied character on the floor, he asked, “What do you think this is?”

Glancing at the single radical resembling a lone figure, with something akin to “ghost” above it, she promptly replied, “It’s ‘idiot.’”

Rong Shang: “?”

She continued, her tone neutral, “Perhaps it rained last night. Amid the romantic ambiance, you had the sudden urge for self-reflection and wrote the word ‘idiot.’”

Rong Shang: “…”

His gaze softened ominously. “How do you prefer to die?”

Yu Zhengzheng flinched. “I prefer immortality.”

Rong Shang shot her a glance, bent down to pry up the bloodstained floorboard, and leaped out the window.

She sighed in relief at his departure, only to realize a fatal problem.

The storeroom door was locked, and the window was two stories above the deck. If she attempted to follow his daring exit, she’d likely end up with a shattered body.

Yu Zhengzheng tried to call out to him, but he was already gone, leaving no trace.

Gripping the window ledge, she yelled for help: “Somebody! Help!”

After who knows how long, someone finally heard her cries and rescued her from the storeroom.

When Yu Zhengzheng rejoined the group, everyone looked at her with faintly peculiar expressions.

Yu Jiangjiang said meaningfully, “Sister, you’re finally back. We searched for you all night and couldn’t find you. We were so worried.”

Ziyu sneered. “The moment Miss Anning gets injured, Miss Yu suddenly disappears. What a coincidence.”

Ziqian chimed in, “Exactly. If we didn’t know better, we might think Miss Yu fled to avoid being held accountable.”

Yu Zhengzheng had no idea what they were teaming up to insinuate this time. She hadn’t even seen Anning the night before, so what did Anning’s injury have to do with her?

She couldn’t be bothered to argue, but Shanshui wasn’t as patient. “Miss Zhengzheng has no grievances with Miss Anning. Why would she stab her foot with a dagger?”

“And besides,” Shanshui continued, “if they really had a grudge, that dagger should’ve been aimed at her heart, not her foot.”

Only now did Yu Zhengzheng notice Shanshui, who was standing behind Xiangfeng. Somehow, in just two days, Shanshui had slimmed down significantly.

Her face no longer had its youthful roundness, her twin buns had been replaced by an elegant flying fairy hairstyle, and her usual apricot-colored dresses had given way to a refined snow-white silk gown.

Gone was the childishness—Shanshui now looked poised and graceful, almost like a completely different person.

When Shanshui finished speaking, Xiao Yuqing nodded in agreement. “Miss Anning has yet to regain consciousness, so jumping to conclusions now would be premature.”

He glanced at Ziyu and Ziqian and said gently, “I trust Miss Yu. This matter surely has nothing to do with her.”

That one sentence—“I trust Miss Yu”—calmed Yu Zhengzheng’s agitated heart.

Xiangfeng, however, was growing irritated by all the noise. When they’d found Anning, she’d been lying in a pool of blood, her clothes disheveled, as if she’d been assaulted.

The room belonged to the King, and even his outer robe had been left behind inside. Xiangfeng couldn’t figure out what might have transpired.

Yu Zhengzheng had been the one missing with the King, and despite searching the entire ship through the night, Xiangfeng hadn’t been able to find them.

He took a deep breath. “Where were you last night?”

Yu Zhengzheng heard the accusatory tone in his voice and responded irritably, “I didn’t run away. You’re overstepping, Protector Xiang. Do I have to report to you every time I go somewhere?”

Xiangfeng was momentarily at a loss for words. Seeing tempers flaring, Xiao Yuqing stepped in to mediate. “Miss Yu, don’t take it to heart. Protector Xiang is just worried about Miss Anning and didn’t mean anything by it.”

Since Xiao Yuqing had offered her an out, Yu Zhengzheng softened her tone. “I drank too much last night. When I woke up, I was locked in a storage room and had to wait for someone to rescue me.”

She conveniently omitted any mention of the Ghost King to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings.

Xiao Yuqing nodded. “You did drink quite a bit of peach blossom wine last night. It’s sweet and goes down easy, but it’s also very potent.”

At this point, there wasn’t much more they could glean from her. If she had blacked out from drinking, her lack of memory would make sense.

The ship had docked, but with Anning still unconscious, they had no choice but to let Xiangfeng carry her back.

None of them held out much hope for the assessment anymore.

Last night, they had exhausted themselves trying to bring Nangong Tianba and the Princess closer together, but Nangong Tianba had repeatedly embarrassed the Princess, nearly reducing her to tears.

Finally, the Princess had given up, retreating to her room with a few jars of fine wine to drink alone.

Only one day remained for the assessment, but even if they were given a year, they doubted they could make any progress with the steel-reinforced, emotionally oblivious Nangong Tianba.

Even Xiangfeng had resigned himself. He decided to simply drag Nangong Tianba to the Yan King and threaten him. If the Yan King refused to hand over the family heirloom, Xiangfeng would kill them all and turn the Yan Palace upside down.

If he had to dig three feet into the ground, he was determined to find that letter.

While everyone else was weighed down with worries, Yu Zhengzheng was in a surprisingly good mood.

She discovered her chicken had laid an egg—large, round, and with a glossy shell. It was quite a rare find.

Feeling a bit hungry, Yu Zhengzheng patted the hen on the head, retrieved the egg from beneath it, and tossed it into the Wangfu’s small kitchen to boil.

While the egg was cooking, she grabbed the ox penis hanging on the wall, chopped it into rectangular chunks, and tossed it into a pot of cold water to make a large batch of soup.

The ox penis had been a gift from the Ghost King, and it seemed a shame to waste it.

Carrying the large bowl of soup, she returned to their temporary quarters.

Anning had woken up, and the palace doctor had tended to her wounds. She was leaning weakly against the couch, talking quietly with Xiangfeng.

No matter what Xiangfeng asked, Anning’s response was always the same: “I don’t remember.”

Seeing how frail Anning looked, Yu Zhengzheng kindly served her a bowl of the soup. “You’re weak; I made this to help you recover.”

Anning’s gaze turned strange, with a faint hint of gritted teeth.

Yu Zhengzheng pushed the bowl closer. “Come on, Miss Anning, have some. Don’t let my good intentions go to waste.”

Reluctantly, Anning accepted the bowl, forcing a smile. Under Yu Zhengzheng’s encouraging gaze, she took a few sips and a small bite of meat.

As a puppet, Anning had no sense of taste, so she couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. Still, she forced herself to compliment, “Miss Yu, your cooking is excellent. What’s the secret ingredient in this delicious soup?”

Yu Zhengzheng, a little bashful at the praise, smiled shyly. “Ox penis.”

Anning immediately sprayed the soup out in a fine mist. Her pale face now carried a faint greenish hue.

Unfortunately, the spray landed all over Xiao Yuqing, soaking a section of his robe.

Flustered, Anning tried to wipe it clean, but Xiao Yuqing stepped back with a gentle smile. “It’s fine. I’ll just change into something else.”

Seeing that Anning was more or less fine, everyone left her to rest. Exhausted from the sleepless night, they all looked weary.

Yu Zhengzheng, curious, took a sip of the soup herself. The intense saltiness nearly made her retch.

Perhaps she’d added too much salt—it was overwhelmingly briny, oily, and utterly disgusting.

At last, she understood why her companions in the apocalypse had preferred eating raw rats and ants to her cooking.

She froze for a moment.

How could someone drink such an awful soup without even flinching and even go as far as to praise its taste?

Initially intending to eat the egg to soothe her hunger, she found the soup so revolting that her appetite disappeared entirely. She had no choice but to stash the egg in her storage bracelet, deciding to eat it later when her stomach had settled.

Carrying the bowl of bull pizzle soup, she headed to the kitchen to dispose of it. As she stepped out of the courtyard, she suddenly remembered that Xiao Yuqing’s robes had been splashed with the soup earlier.

He had helped her so much recently; it would only be right to check on him.

The Yan King’s estate was large, with each of them assigned their own room. Since one courtyard couldn’t accommodate everyone, they were split between two adjacent courtyards.

The women stayed in one courtyard, while the men stayed in the other.

Xiang Feng was still in An Ning’s room, and the two male disciples from Mount Penglai had gone back to sleep, leaving the men’s courtyard eerily silent, like a graveyard.

Xiao Yuqing’s room was tucked away in a more secluded corner, and the door was slightly ajar, leaving a narrow gap.

Peeking through the gap, Yu Zhengzheng thought she might catch a glimpse of something enticing—perhaps Xiao Yuqing changing clothes. But to her disappointment, the room was empty.

Assuming he had gone out, she was about to leave when her eyes caught sight of his robes draped over the screen.

Her lips twitched; so he was bathing.

Suppressing the impulse to sneak in for a look, she hesitated for a moment but ultimately decided against it.

Just as she was about to walk away, faint voices drifted from inside the room.

“What do you plan to do next?”

“No rush. His time is running out.”

“Now that the snake has been startled, things will only grow more dangerous.”

“No matter. I think I’ve found his weak spot.”

“What weak spot?”

Frowning, Yu Zhengzheng leaned closer to hear more, but the porcelain bowl in her hands accidentally bumped against the doorframe, making a sharp creaking sound. Her heart skipped a beat.