AEDBE CHAPTER 15

 

A Eunuch’s Dream of Being Emperor by Li Ximin

Chapter 15 

On the first day of the first lunar month in the thirtieth year of Guangxu, a living nightmare truly descended upon Tang Town.

A blood-red dawn stained the eastern horizon, and the early-rising folk of Tang Town stared in awe as the crimson glow slowly saturated a vast expanse of the sky. In their hearts, this was an auspicious omen—today was the day Eunuch Li ascended the dragon throne, and the day Tang Town birthed its very first emperor.

Facing the bloody morning light, Li Hongtang walked out of Tang Town. She had neither wrapped her white hair in blue calico cloth nor veiled her face; gone was the frantic panic she had displayed when the gale tore away her veil the previous dusk. Her gaze was resolute, her head held high and chest squared. The complex, judging stares of passersby could no longer pierce her armor of indifference. Her stark white hair had been neatly braided into a long tail that hung naturally down her back. Her deeply wrinkled face bore zero expression, and a travel bundle was slung over her forearm.

Everyone knew she had once again set foot upon the agonizing, desolate road to search for her mother.

Wang Hairong and another militia guard were patrolling when they spotted Li Hongtang before they even cleared Xinglong Alley. She stood at the mouth of the alley, gazing deep into its depths—doubtless hoping to catch one final glimpse of Dongzi before departing, though she knew that wish was a hopeless pipe dream.

Catching sight of her grotesque visage, Wang Hairong felt a wave of nausea and frantically averted his gaze. In days past, his eyes would have stuck like glue to her once-radiant face, desperate to lunge forward and ravage her. Yet now, Li Hongtang marched past entirely unbothered by his look of visceral disgust, utterly disdainful of him, much as she disdained Eunuch Li proclaiming himself emperor in Tang Town. Her choice to resume her search for her mother on this specific day was no flight from reality; she simply felt her strength had recovered and her rest was complete, signaling it was time to hit the road once more. In her soul, no task transcended the urgency of finding her mother.

Wang Hairong, conversely, was paralyzed by panic. He had yet to deliver his final answer to Li Cilin, fully aware that once the grand chaos of Eunuch Li’s coronation ceremonies concluded, Li Cilin would hunt him down for a verdict. How was he supposed to reply? Should he genuinely take Li Hongtang to wife, he might bask in superficial glory and wealth, or he might spend every remaining breath of his life trapped in a waking nightmare—for Li Hongtang was his nightmare.

Li Hongtang strode out through the wide-open gates of Tang Town, stepping onto the eastern mountain track and leaving the town swallowed by the bleeding, crimson dawn.

The sun crested the eastern ridge, and Tang Town erupted into the frenzied clamor of an extraordinary day. The townsfolk watched as a brilliant apricot-yellow banner was hoisted up the coiling-dragon flagstaff before the gates of the Li estate; two fierce, powerful characters were stitched across the silk: "Shunde." Instantly, a deafening cacophony of ceremonial drums, gongs, and uninterrupted firecrackers detonated from within the compound. The residents of Tang Town swarmed out of their homes, surging toward the open plaza fronting the Li estate.

Following several thunderous blasts from earthen matchlock cannons, the grand gates of the Li estate swung wide.

A grandiose coronation procession emerged from within.

At the very vanguard marched the ceremonial drum and music troupe—members of the local theatrical troupe, their faces carved from stone as they beat their instruments with mechanical fury.

Trailing behind the musicians marched a dozen guards carrying apricot-yellow banners, sabers buckled at their waists, drawn from the ranks of the elite militia.

Behind the banner-bearers came an opulent, eight-bearer sedan chair crowned with a silk canopy, carrying Eunuch Li clad in a bright yellow dragon robe, a cunning yet terrifyingly majestic smile plastered across his face. Flanking the massive sedan on either side walked Li Cilin and Li Saogu, their expressions carved from granite, hands resting heavily on their saber pommels.

Behind the eight-bearer chair followed a smaller, four-bearer sedan carrying a visibly terrified Dongzi. He found zero joy in this bizarre spectacle forced upon him; he felt utterly trapped, stripped of all personal freedom and blanketed by an acute, suffocating sense of dread.

Trailing the second sedan were Zhu Silver-Mountain and a retinue of clan elders, local gentry, and prominent dignitaries from the surrounding agrarian hamlets, their faces split by radiant, greedy grins as though they had stumbled upon buried treasure.

Bringing up the rear of the procession was a heavily armed phalanx of militia wielding eighteen varieties of traditional weaponry.

Winding its way out of Xinglong Alley and onto the main commercial thoroughfare, the procession marched toward the Earth God Temple at the eastern edge of town, trailed by a massive, hooting mob of townsfolk. They were not merely idle spectators; they were conscripted participants in the pageant. Eunuch Li had decreed that dozens of banquet tables would be laid out across the open plaza before the Li estate to feed the entire town in a continuous, flowing feast lasting from noon till night, accompanied by non-stop grand theatrical performances.

After paying ritual homage to the Earth God at the temple, the procession reversed course, slowly parading back down the small street toward the West Gate to tour the sprawling fields beyond Tang Town—Eunuch Li was formally inspecting his newly conquered domain. Along the route, fresh onlookers continuously swelled the ranks of the crowd, driving the deafening roar to fever pitch.

Abao heard the commotion and stepped out of his cottage. His father, Zhang Faqiang, and mother had already departed to gawk at the spectacle. Though Abao initially wished to stay behind, thoughts of his dearest friend Dongzi stirred a desperate hope that he might catch a glimpse of him.

Spotting Dongzi amidst the passing dignitaries, Abao began waving frantically, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Dongzi! Dongzi—!"

His voice was instantly swallowed by the unprecedented roar of the mob, and his slight frame was shoved aside into the gutters of the lane.

Dongzi scanned the sea of faces lining the street, searching in vain for his sister, only to catch sight of Abao. He shouted back, "Abao! Abao—!"

Abao continued to scream, "Dongzi! Dongzi—!"

As Abao was swallowed entirely by the churning human tide, a bitter, stinging ache twisted Dongzi's chest.

Far from the festivities, a solitary man sat in his darkened home, sighing without pause.

It was Hunchback Li.

Unlike the delirious masses, Hunchback Li felt no festive thrill—his soul was steeped in profound sorrow and bone-chilling dread. He knew with absolute clarity that a catastrophic doom was hurtling toward Tang Town, and he possessed zero confidence in his ability to survive the impending bloodbath.

As the ceremonial procession reached the center of the open fields, the crowds gasped in sudden terror: a dense, suffocating pall of black fog erupted from the peak of Wugong Ridge, billowing into the mid-air before abruptly transforming into a colossal, shrieking swarm of corpse-crows. The monstrous birds shrieked hideously as they swept down directly over the heads of the people, blotting out the sun and plunging the landscape into sudden twilight.

shrieks of panic tore through the crowd.

Someone roared hysterically, "It’s the red-haired foreign devil working his sorcery! Slaughter the foreign devil! Drink his blood and consume his flesh, and only then will Tang Town know peace again!"

Another voice shrieked from the front, "Long live the Shunde Emperor! Ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years—!"

Instantly, the mob caught the refrain, roaring in unison: "Long live the Shunde Emperor! Ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years—!"

The unified chanting crashed like an ocean wave, overwhelming the heavens.

The sun-blotting swarm of corpse-crows shrieked and scattered back toward the peaks of Wugong Ridge.

As sunlight finally pierced back down upon their faces, the crowd exhaled in collective relief. Yet the ominous shadow of the corpse-crows lingered heavily in their minds; local superstition held that if these death-birds congregated over a household's roof, a funeral would soon follow. Even Eunuch Li felt a prickly unease—did the emergence of the death-swarm on his coronation day portend an ominous omen?

Completing its rural inspection, the procession marched back toward the Li estate.

Passing through the main gates of the Li estate, the elite entourage was admitted, while the common townspeople were barred at the threshold. Though anxious, the crowd obediently waited outside, dispatching teams to haul tables and benches from various homes to set up the outdoor feast plaza.

Observing the preparations, the townsfolk noticed two massive cauldrons erected beneath the coiling-dragon stone flagstaff: one filled to the brim with cooking oil, and the other with pristine water, stacked high with dry pine logs waiting to be torched into an inferno. Puzzled whispers rippled through the crowd regarding the purpose of the cauldrons, especially since the primary banquet kitchens operated deep within the interior compounds—even Hu Xilai had been drafted to cook inside the estate.

The cauldrons would undoubtedly serve a grim purpose; the populace waited with bated breath.

The formal coronation rite commenced within the grand hall of the Baozhu Courtyard.

Eunuch Li sat regally upon the central dragon throne, his piercing gaze locked straight ahead.

Zhu Silver-Mountain, the clan elders, and local dignitaries stood arranged in disciplined rows facing the throne, with Dongzi positioned at their head.

Li Cilin stepped forward holding an ornate, jewel-encrusted imperial crown resting upon a yellow silk cushion. Dropping to both knees, he reverently raised the crown aloft.

Eunuch Li rose, bending his perpetually hunched spine to lift the crown and settle it heavily upon his own head.

At that exact cue, Zhu Silver-Mountain dropped to his knees, bellowing, "Long live! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand times ten thousand years!"

The entire assembly followed suit, crashing to the flags in unison: "Long live! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand times ten thousand years!"

Dongzi viewed the ritual as a meticulously staged farce and stubbornly refused to drop to his knees.

Eunuch Li pinned a razor-sharp, malignant glare upon him.

Zhu Silver-Mountain reached out, frantically tugging at Dongzi's trouser hem while hissing, "Imperial Grandson, kneel quickly—!"

Dongzi remained frozen, entirely unmoved.

Noticing the breach, Li Cilin whipped his head around, scrambled across the floor to Dongzi's side, and forcibly shoved the boy down onto his knees. Dongzi knelt rigidly, staring up with dead, hollow eyes at Eunuch Li, thinking bitterly: Is this what an emperor looks like? The atmosphere inside the hall turned suffocatingly heavy, oppressive, and murderous.

Only then did Eunuch Li pronounce, "Rise, my loyal ministers!"

Shouting renewed cries of longevity, the assembly scrambled back to their feet.

Eunuch Li was now the undisputed sovereign of Tang Town, establishing the dynastic reign title of "Shunde"—marking this year as the first year of Shunde. Eunuch Li promptly appointed Zhu Silver-Mountain as his Civil Chancellor, Li Cilin as his Military Chancellor, while elevating the remaining clan elders and village heads to aristocratic princes. Li Saogu was promoted to General of the Imperial Guard—the imperial guard being simply the re-designated militia.

All parties supposedly rejoiced.

Meanwhile, back at his forge, the blacksmith Shangguan Qingqiu found Zhu Yueniang in a state of frantic hysterics because Shangguan Wenqing had vanished entirely, nowhere to be found after a morning of searching.

She rounded on her jubilant husband, snapping, "What are you gloating over? Wenqing is missing again!"

Shangguan Qingqiu scoffed, "His spirits have been high these past two days; his health is clearly improving. You know his eccentric nature—he loves wandering about. Once he exhausts himself, he'll crawl back home. What is there to fret over?"

Zhu Yueniang wept, "Rationalize it all you want, but my intuition screams that something foul has happened to him."

Shangguan Qingqiu chuckled, pulling a folded strip of red paper from his pocket to wave before her face, "Rest your worried mind a hundred times over—Wenqing will come to no harm! Look at this, what do you suppose it is?"

Zhu Yueniang sighed bitterly, "If he suffers a single scratch, I won't care to live. What could possibly matter more than our son?"

Smugly, Shangguan Qingqiu boasted, "Do you realize this is a formal imperial invitation dispatched directly by His Majesty's decree, summoning us to a banquet inside the imperial palace? Think about it—I am merely a village blacksmith, yet I am granted entry to a royal banquet! The Emperor has bestowed supreme face upon us; common folk are restricted to the outdoor plaza, whereas our family dines within! Isn't that an honor beyond measure?"

Completely deaf to his boasting, Zhu Yueniang wept into her palms, "Oh, Wenqing... where have you dragged your broken body? Don't frighten me like this, my heart is already shredded!"

Furious at her indifference, Shangguan Qingqiu cursed, "Ungrateful, unappreciative shrew!"

A short distance away, veteran physician Zheng Shilin's herbal shop remained tightly shuttered. Father and son sat in grim silence within their parlor.

Zheng Shilin’s face was carved from thunder as he muttered, "Tell me—should we attend this banquet, or boycott it?"

They too had received an imperial summons demanding their family's attendance at the Li estate feast.

Zheng Chaozhong urged, "We must attend, Father. Anyone with eyes can see that eunuch is a vicious, psychopathic butcher. If we snub him, it acts as an open declaration of war. He has co-opted the minds of the entire town, backed by Li Cilin's armed enforcers. Offend him, and none of us will survive the week."

Zheng Shilin sighed heavily, "Your logic holds, but courting disaster is foolish. Who knows how long this farcical 'empire' can endure? Once the Qing authorities catch wind of a treasonous rebellion, execution awaits nine generations of our families! He might die a eunuch's death, but he drags the entire town down as his funeral companions! At the very least, our family refuses to act as his political martyrs. If we break bread with him, we brand ourselves as accomplices, impossible to scrub clean when the reckoning arrives."

Zheng Chaozhong argued, "Damned if we do, damned if we don't—what other path remains?"

Zheng Shilin replied grimly, "Weigh it carefully before casting our die."

"I am done thinking," Zheng Chaozhong snapped. "We go. Survival today eclipses tomorrow's phantom executioner. Father, make your command; I follow your lead."

Zheng Shilin pinned his son with a long stare, "Your mind is fully made up?"

Zheng Chaozhong nodded.

Li Shihuai likewise clutched an imperial summons demanding his presence at the banquet.

Terror paralyzed his limbs.

Recalling Li Cilin's recent tyrannical ascendancy, he felt a razor-sharp blade pressed permanently against his jugular—and the throats of his entire household. To placate Eunuch Li and mollify Li Cilin, he had already disgorged staggering fortunes in silver bribes, yet failed to purchase safety; Li Cilin's eyes remained fixed upon him with murderous, unmasked hatred.

For Li Shihuai, this feast was indisputably a Hongmen Banquet.

Shen Zhuniang marched into her cottage, aggressively shoving her husband, Yu Gouzi, who lay snoring like a dead hog across the mattress: "You lazy gambling addict, wake the hell up! Drag your carcass out of bed; arrive late, and every seat will be stolen by the eager masses! Word is that the first wave of guests gets the finest dishes, while the leftovers grow progressively swill-like! Did you hear me, you worthless slug? Up!"

Roused from his alcohol-and-gambling stupor, Yu Gouzi grumbled irritably, "Piss off! What ghost banquet am I supposed to care about? I have zero interest. Drag the kids if you want to stuff your face; I need my sleep! Starving glutton, obsessed with swill—choke on it!"

Shen Zhuniang’s expression darkened instantly. Leaning down, she hissed, "Shut your foul trap, walls have ears! Dismissing the Emperor's feast as a 'ghost banquet'—want your tongue sliced out by the guards? Furthermore, when the entire town responds to an imperial summons and you are the sole absentee, it constitutes open treason! Look at the enforcers guarding him—they're rabid wolves. Cross them at your peril. If you possess an ounce of self-preservation, haul yourself up, arrive early, grab a premier seat, and stuff your belly with good meat. Relying on your earnings means our family eats dung!"

Yanking himself upright, Yu Gouzi blinked away the fog, "Fine, fine! I'm moving!"

Shen Zhuniang jabbed a sharp finger against his forehead, "That's more like it! Didn't you see? The Emperor rides in an eight-bearer chair, radiating supreme majesty! Even trash like Li Saogu has transformed into an aristocratic lord! You waste your life rolling dice—when will you ever carry yourself with the swagger of Li Saogu so we can finally live in luxury?"

Scrambling into his garments in frantic silence, Yu Gouzi offered zero argument, wondering darkly why his wife’s tongue constantly revolved around Li Saogu of late.

By the noon hour, a dense ceiling of slate-grey storm clouds rolled in from all horizons, suffocating the sky and plunging Tang Town into premature twilight.

Across the surrounding woodlands and atop the bamboo tips of the defensive walls, thousands of black corpse-crows congregated, their piercing, desolate shrieks forming a sickening counterpoint to the festive roar of the town.

Noticing the macabre flock, Li Cilin barked at Li Saogu, "Why are there so many death-crows today? Bizarre! Take a squad and clear them out—if they ruin the Emperor's view, heads will roll."

Li Saogu protested, "With a swarm this massive, how on earth are we supposed to clear them?"

Li Cilin roared, "I gave an order, execute it! Managing crises is what generals do!"

Gritting his teeth, Li Saogu mustered a squad, armed several matchlocks, and marched out of the estate. Stepping into the outer plaza, he beheld tables and benches packed densely with clamoring citizens. The banquet was organized into rigid hierarchical tiers: the elite aristocracy and titled princes dined alongside Eunuch Li inside the inner Baozhu Hall; the mid-tier gentry—including Zheng Shilin, Shangguan Qingqiu, Li Shihuai, and Zhang Faqiang—were seated within the courtyard of Dahe House; while the common plebeians, such as Shen Zhuniang and her family, crowded the outdoor plaza. Bitingly cold winds swept the open square, raising goosebumps across the shivering faces of the commoners, while children wept with clear mucus freezing to their lips.

A salvo of matchlocks echoed across the perimeter. A massive cloud of corpse-crows erupted into the air, only to wheel in wide circles and settle right back onto their perches, completely unbothered. The failure left Li Saogu in a cold sweat, muttering dark premonitions. His mind drifted to the brutalized travelers murdered in Tang Town; were their restless ghosts haunting the heavy air, hovering directly behind his neck and breathing glacial air down his spine?

He resolved firmly that no matter the command, he would never personally butcher another foreign devil—slaughtering men brought zero thrill; it was an excruciating psychological torment.

Hearing the matchlock volleys, the catering staff assumed the signal for service had been given, following Zhu Silver-Mountain's standing instructions to unleash the kitchen.

The overworked kitchen crew eagerly hauled out platters heaped with braised meats. Within the Baozhu Hall, the newly minted princes exchanged gleeful, sycophantic toasts. As the dishes hit the table, Eunuch Li wrinkled his nose in disgust. Zhu Silver-Mountain scrambled forward, hitting the floor in a desperate kowtow: "Your Majesty, forgive this humble minister's oversight!"

Eunuch Li grunted coldly, "Very well, let the feast commence!"

Bounding to his feet, Zhu Silver-Mountain roared, "Be seated, let the banquet begin!"

Spotting Li Cilin re-entering from the courtyard, Zhu Silver-Mountain snapped, "What took you? Where is Li Saogu? I gave no order to fire cannons, yet the matchlocks discharged prematurely!"

Li Cilin muttered an acknowledgment, hurried back to the courtyard, and barked at a passing soldier, "Fetch General Li back immediately—sound the signal cannon and formally open the feast!"

The soldier sprinted out like an unleashed arrow.

While the inner hall waited in tense, rigid etiquette—forbidden from lifting chopsticks until the formal cannonade—the outer courtyards and freezing plaza observed no such restraint. The moment food touched the tables, the commoners fell upon it like starving wolves. Chawing massive hunks of fatty pork, men bellowed across the tables, "The feast has started, why hasn't the opera begun?!"

The crowd roared in agreement, demanding the theatrical performance.

All eyes locked onto the temporary wooden stage erected at the edge of the plaza, where the actress Zhao Hongyan had yet to make her entrance.

By the time Li Saogu and his squad slunk back into the estate, the Dahe courtyard and outer plaza had dissolved into absolute anarchy.

Twelve cannon blasts thundered across the town, accompanied by the crashing of gongs and drums from the stage. Zhao Hongyan glided into the spotlight, striking her opening pose to an eruption of thunderous applause. Her opening aria for the day was The Imperial Concubine Intoxicated.

Aside from active sentries manning the town gates, exactly four souls in Tang Town boycotted Eunuch Li's coronation banquet:

First was Li Hongtang, who had departed at dawn to hunt for her mother, and would have refused in any case.

Second was Hunchback Li, who sat alone in his shuttered shop, warming a flask of rice wine and quietly drinking to his own despair.

Third was Shangguan Wenqing, whose whereabouts remained entirely unknown.

Fourth was Zhu Yueniang, who scoured every dark alley and stinking latrine pit across Tang Town, terrified that her son might have suffered a sudden medical crisis and tumbled into human waste.

Ignoring the finest delicacies imaginable, her heart bled for Shangguan Wenqing—her darling, her treasure, her entire reason for drawing breath!

At three quarters past noon, Eunuch Li exchanged a subtle, chilling glance with Li Cilin.

Li Cilin nodded, slipping quietly out of the Baozhu Hall.

Down in the Dahe courtyard, Witch Wang suddenly began to convulse violently, foaming at the mouth as she pitched backward onto the flagstones. Her limbs thrashed in wild spasms, her fingers clawing at the dirt, while a stream of demonic, unintelligible gibberish spewed from her throat. The surrounding banqueters leaped to their feet, staring down at her with wide-eyed terror.

Li Cilin glided forward, raising his hands: "Calm yourselves, citizens! Fear not—Immortal Auntie Wang has merely been possessed by the Earth Goddess!"

Zheng Shilin and Zheng Chaozhong exchanged grim, knowing glances; they understood perfectly that Li Cilin and the witch were engineering another theatrical deception. Yet, lacking the courage to voice dissent, they kept their mouths sealed tight.

Li Shihuai sat paralyzed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Witch Wang abruptly froze, hauling herself stiffly to her feet. Staring vacantly into space for a heartbeat, she adopted a bizarre, altered cadence and announced: "I am the Earth Goddess..."

The possessing spirit had manifested.

The superstitious crowd immediately dropped to their knees in unison.

Only Zheng Shilin and his son remained standing, prompting Witch Wang to whip a bony finger toward them, shrieking, "Why refuse the kowtow?!"

Forced by peer pressure, father and son reluctantly sank to their knees.

Witch Wang shrieked on, "A foreign red-haired demon has slithered into our town—he must be exterminated! Consume his flesh, drink his broth, and only thus shall peace be secured! Otherwise, plagues and apocalyptic destruction shall devour you all, leaving not a dog or chicken alive!"

Collapsing instantly, Witch Wang tumbled to the flags, dead to the world.

After a long, breathless pause, she fluttered her eyelids open, struggling to her feet with a dazed blink: "Where am I? What has happened?"

Li Cilin stepped in smoothly, "Immortal Auntie, the Earth Goddess just descended into your mortal vessel."

Witch Wang gasped, "You don't say?!"

Li Cilin offered a sinister, knowing smile, "Indeed, the entire assembly witnessed it with their own eyes!"

Abruptly pivoting his gaze toward the trembling Li Shihuai, Li Cilin demanded, "Tell me—did you witness it?"

Drained of all color, Li Shihuai stammered, "Y-yes! I witnessed it!"

Witch Wang feigned a dramatic gasp of shock.

Outside the main gates, beneath the coiling-dragon stone flagstaff, the pine logs stacked beneath the two massive iron cauldrons were torched into a roaring, licking inferno.

Ignorant of the cauldrons' true purpose, the crowds continued to gorge themselves, shouting and laughing over wine.

Stepping out onto the front stone steps, Li Cilin swept his gaze across the plaza, letting his eyes linger cruelly upon Zhao Hongyan performing upon the stage. A predatory, depraved grin split his thick lips.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and roared: "Silence, everyone!"

The thunderous command instantly silenced the plaza; even the musical troupe halted mid-note, and Zhao Hongyan froze on stage, her eyes swimming with helpless, petrified dread.

Li Cilin bellowed his next command: "Drag the red-haired demon out!"

A murmur of shock rippled through the masses.

Several guards hauled a battered, half-conscious John out from the shadows.

A collective gasp echoed across the plaza.

The guards hoisted the missionary up, binding him tightly against the tall wooden flagstaff.

Li Cilin raised his voice to a booming carry: "Just now, the Earth Goddess manifested her divine will, demanding that we execute this foreign demon, boil his flesh, and consume his broth to annihilate his lingering soul and prevent him from cursing our soil! Speak—shall we grant him justice?"

John slumped forward, his head lolling limply; his face was obscured, hiding whatever expression remained. Stripped of speech, his ruined throat produced only a dry, rattling gurgle.

Listening to the horrific decree, John clung desperately to his fading faith, whispering inwardly: Only the merciful Lord can deliver me from the agony of this cruelty and the malice of death. Our deaths are never according to God's ultimate desire. God takes no pleasure in my slaughter. By divine will, we are meant to endure in life! Jesus offers us peace, joy, and redemption from mortal depravity. He is the gateway to eternal salvation. God predetermined that we should not face His wrath, but rather inherit grace through our Lord Jesus Christ! Yet God alone holds the power to snatch us from the jaws of the grave...

Li Cilin watched the oil in the first cauldron and the water in the second begin to bubble, churning violently with rolling heat. Drawing a gleaming dagger from a soldier's belt, he approached John with a cool, unyielding smile of absolute psychopathic detachment.

With savage brutality, Li Cilin slashed his blade across John's woolen garments.

The fabric fell away in shredded strips, exposing the missionary's bruised, cyan-marbled flesh to the biting winter air.

The entire plaza fell into a tomb-like silence.

Every eye was locked in paralyzed horror upon the helpless captive.

Li Cilin swept his gaze across the terrified faces of the crowd, shouting, "Citizens, tell me—how shall we treat this foreign fiend? Spare him, and none of us shall know safety! Had Immortal Auntie Wang not invoked the Earth Goddess to unmask him, many among us would already lie dead by his black magic! Speak—what is his sentence?"

Dead silence choked the square.

In their hearts, the townspeople still recognized John as a human being, however bizarre his foreign features appeared. Butchering a living man in cold blood crossed a moral abyss far removed from slaughtering livestock. Moreover, executing a man on the very day of the Emperor's grand coronation felt deeply, ominously inauspicious.

No voice broke the collective paralysis.

Above them, the corpse-crows circled lower, filling the freezing air with their death-screams, as though intoxicated by the scent of fresh gore.

Li Cilin’s chilling gaze swept the terrified faces before locking directly onto Shen Zhuniang, who sat chewing a morsel of food. Their eyes collided; Shen Zhuniang jerked violently as though struck by lightning, choking down her mouthful before raising a trembling hand to shriek at the top of her lungs: "Carve him! Carve him to pieces for our safety—carve him!"

Her hysterical shriek acted as a magical catalyst, shattering the mob's collective hesitation and unleashing the dormant, bloodthirsty beast within the ignorant masses.

In a fraction of a second, a tidal wave of bloodlust erupted from the crowd: "Carve him! Carve him—!"

Blind conformity and bottomless ignorance defined the tragic villagers of that dark era; devoid of independent thought, they operated merely as breathing corpses.

A wretched, pitiable herd of humanity.

Stepping forward, Li Cilin drove his dagger into John’s chest, drawing a stream of dark, viscous blood. John shuddered, lifting his head to part his lips in a soundless plea, his deep, luminous eyes swimming with total innocence.

What an agonizing, haunting gaze!

The mob quieted once more, staring blankly at the dying man.

Li Cilin murmured softly down to him: "Do not blame me; blame the Emperor. A minister must die if his sovereign commands it—I have no liberty to defy his will. Forgive me."

With a practiced flick of his wrist, he sliced a small strip of flesh from John’s chest and tossed it directly into the boiling oil cauldron.

Upon the stage, Zhao Hongyan gazed upon the carnage with wide, horror-struck eyes, her knees buckling as she collapsed backward into a dead faint. No one spared her a glance; every soul was riveted to the horrifying spectacle unfolding before the flagstaff.

Li Cilin sliced rhythmically, tossing strip after strip of human flesh into the spitting oil.

With every stroke of the blade, John forced his head upward, as though compelling the people of Tang Town to bear witness to every graduation of his agony. Soon, his strength failed him, his head dropping heavily as his chest heaved in shallow, rattling gasps. His shattered body convulsed violently, pouring rivers of sweat that mixed with his own blood to pool upon the frozen dirt.

Two soldiers stood expressionless beside the cauldrons: one holding a bamboo basket, the other wielding long bamboo chopsticks to fish out the crisp, golden-brown strips of fried human flesh, dropping them into the basket.

A spectator instinctively reached out to shield his young child’s eyes, only for the child to violently shove his hand away, locking wide, unblinking eyes onto the butchery. The child's pupils mirrored the bloody crimson reflecting off the snow. Overcome by a sudden, creeping terror, the adult glanced sideways at his neighbors, only to discover their eyes glowing with the exact same unnatural, blood-red sheen. He wondered if his own eyes mirrored the same demonic madness.

At that moment, a burly, ashen-faced man pushed through the crowd, shouting, "Lord Chancellor, let me take over! Your hands lack a butcher's precision—watch a professional!"

It was Lao Wuzi, the town butcher. Li Cilin had originally intended to delegate the task to his subordinates, but feared their cowardice might ruin the political theater, forcing him to execute the butchery personally. He had temporarily abandoned his lofty title of Military Chancellor, regressing entirely into a common executioner.

Lao Wuzi stepped up, reeking heavily of stale rice wine mixed with the raw metallic stench of fresh blood.

Accepting the bloody dagger, Lao Wuzi chuckled, "How could we trouble the Grand Chancellor with such base labor? You should have called upon me instantly. Carving flesh is my lifelong trade; it differs not a whit from slaughtering swine."

Li Cilin smiled thinly, "Proceed."

True to his profession, Lao Wuzi executed the task with terrifying, clean efficiency; strips of human meat rained like red petals into the spitting oil. The cauldron erupted with an ear-splitting, hair-raising sizzle, venting pale blue clouds of greasy smoke.

A rich, bizarre aroma of roasted meat began to permeate the freezing air.

The scent grew progressively heavier, sweeter, and more nauseating.

Several onlookers felt their stomachs heave, violently fighting down the urge to vomit.

John finally lapsed into unarousable unconsciousness, his chest laid bare down to the bone, exposing his rhythmically pulsing ribs.

Lao Wuzi’s garments were soaked from head to toe in fresh gore.

Standing nearby, Wang Hairong felt as though his lungs were collapsing. Should Li Cilin command him to step forward and carve the missionary, he would undoubtedly faint and soil his trousers in sheer terror. His fear of Li Cilin scaled new, insurmountable heights. If I reject his demand to marry Li Hongtang, will he carve me alive next? He is a monster capable of any atrocity.

At that moment, Li Saogu sauntered over to his side.

Leaning in close, Li Saogu whispered into his ear, "How is the view? Terrified? Let me tell you, you are a stubborn fool! Why hesitate over such a magnificent match? If I were in your boots, I would be begging to wed Hongtang by tonight! Consider this brotherly advice: yield to Li Cilin's will. Should you cross him, don't expect me to lift a finger to save your skin when disaster strikes!"

Wang Hairong turned the color of death!

He narrowly avoided urinating in his own trousers.

Li Shihuai, too, stood trembling so violently he nearly leaked down his stockings, convinced he was next in line for the butcher's knife. He wept bitter tears of remorse for his crimes decades prior, cursing his past greed with every fiber of his being. If a next life existed, he prayed only to live as a humble, harmless soul untouched by malice.

Inside the Baozhu Hall, Dongzi remained blissfully unaware of the butchery unfolding at the threshold, though he sat trapped at the head table directly beside Eunuch Li, flanked by the newly appointed aristocratic princes. The sycophants vied endlessly to heap praises upon Eunuch Li while tossing obsequious flattery toward Dongzi.

Dongzi sat mute, refusing to touch a morsel, feeling precisely like a kidnapped hostage. He desperately wished to sprout wings and flee this gilded prison camp he called an imperial palace, fantasizing that his uncle You Chengtuo might swoop down from the heavens riding a white paper horse to rescue him from this cesspool of conspiracy and gore. He rejected all wealth and luxury, yearning only to return to their former life of poverty—where a simple bowl of watery rice gruel tasted of pure sweetness. He ached for his mother, his sister, his uncle's family, and above all, his dearest friend Abao.

Abao must have attended the banquet, Dongzi thought, yet I cannot break free to find him.

Every time Dongzi attempted to shift his posture, Eunuch Li’s corpse-cold, skeletal fingers would clamp down instantly upon his wrist like a vise!

At that moment, Li Cilin entered carrying a steaming platter laden with dark, fried morsels. What manner of meat it was, Dongzi had no inkling; he never dreamed it was human flesh harvested from John, complete with charred hairs clinging to the crust. The overwhelming, rich stench of fried meat hit Dongzi’s nostrils, setting his stomach into violent, rolling convulsions.

Placing the platter centrally upon the table, Li Cilin bowed and silently withdrew.

A predatory gleam flickered across Eunuch Li’s eyes as he lifted his chopsticks, smiling with chilling malice: "Distinguished ministers, please partake! Sample this freshly fried 'ghost-meat'!"

Aside from Dongzi, every single adult seated at the table understood with crystalline clarity that they were staring at cannibalistic horror.

Their expressions fractured into a mosaic of grotesque reactions.

Zhu Silver-Mountain offered a stiff, unnatural smile: "Your Majesty, please honor us by tasting first. How dare subordinates lift chopsticks before the dragon partakes?"

Eunuch Li chuckled darkly, his teeth clicking together: "Very well! Let Us taste this ghost-meat and judge its flavor!"

Eunuch Li speared a charred chunk of human flesh, inspected it closely, and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, deliberately, before swallowing.

Maintaining his eerie, unbothered smile, Eunuch Li pronounced, "Not bad at all! Quite palatable indeed. Eat, everyone, partake freely!"

As he chewed the human flesh, cold sweat broke out across the foreheads of several ministers.

Spurred by the imperial command, their chopsticks moved as one toward the platter.

They forced the meat into their mouths, their facial expressions contorting into grotesque, sycophantic grins as they chewed, staring obsequiously at the sovereign.

Zhu Silver-Mountain swallowed first, gasping, "Delicious! Truly exquisite!"

Noticing two final morsels remaining on the plate, Eunuch Li speared one and dropped it directly into Dongzi's bowl: "Grandson, sample this as well! Consume this ghost-meat, and your heart shall be forever fused with Mine!"

Turning his predatory gaze to Zhu Silver-Mountain, he added, "Since you found it so delectable, finish the final piece as well!"

Zhu Silver-Mountain hesitated: "This—"

Eunuch Li’s voice dropped, "Eat. Do not stand on ceremony."

The table chorused in unison: "Chancellor Zhu, partake of the imperial grace!"

Though visibly nauseated, Zhu Silver-Mountain hoisted the piece to his lips: "I thank Your Majesty for this supreme honor!"

Taking advantage of the diversion, Dongzi stealthily snatched the piece of human meat from his bowl and shoved it deep into his trouser pocket, his soul violently rejecting the act of cannibalism.

Watching Zhu Silver-Mountain swallow, Eunuch Li pivoted back to Dongzi, "Grandson, why do you not eat?"

Dongzi lied, "Imperial Grandfather, I am already full!"

Eunuch Li smiled, "How was the flavor?"

Dongzi forced out, "Magnificent!"

Extending a freezing, talon-like hand, Eunuch Li stroked the boy's neck, cooking, "Truly, you are Our most beloved grandson!"

Moments later, Li Cilin returned bearing a second tureen, emitting a strange, metallic broth odor. Placing it silently upon the table, he retreated.

The tureen contained a clear, steaming broth floating a layer of yellow fat.

The ministers instinctively reached for their handkerchiefs to mop their streaming brows.

Aside from Eunuch Li and Dongzi, every official was drenched in cold sweat.

Eunuch Li ladled a small bowl of the broth, blew gently across the surface, and sipped it incrementally. Finishing the bowl, he beamed evilly at the table: "This broth is equally superb! Drink it while it remains piping hot, lest it grow fishy and lose its savor!"

Obediently, every official filled their personal bowls.

As they ducked their heads to consume the broth, Eunuch Li personally ladled a portion into Dongzi's bowl: "Grandson, drink up! Once this bowl is emptied, you shall never know fear again!"

Dongzi’s stomach churned violently, a severe gag reflex threatening to choke him. He lifted the bowl with trembling fingers; as he raised it toward his lips, his grip suddenly failed. The porcelain bowl slipped from his fingers, shattering violently against the flagstones as scalding broth splashed in all directions.

Eunuch Li’s expression darkened instantly.

Zhu Silver-Mountain scrambled to salvage the tension, laughing nervously, " Splendid! Excellent omen! Shattering porcelain ushers in peace and prosperity for the coming years—such auspicious fortune!"

The entire table eagerly chimed in: "A most auspicious omen! Wonderful fortune—!"

Outside the main gates, the figure of John had vanished from the flagstaff, leaving behind only a dark pool of congealed gore and a blood-stained hemp rope. The two iron cauldrons continued to bubble furiously; though the frying oil had been exhausted of flesh, the boiling broth tureen clearly displayed the severed skull and stripped bones of the missionary. Frigid gales howled across the plaza, wrapping the silent, traumatized crowds in an icy shroud.

The low, rhythmic bubbling of the cauldrons echoed ominously.

From the surrounding darkness, the corpse-crows resumed their desolate, mournful cawing.

Two soldiers—one bearing the basket of fried human flesh, the other carrying a wooden bucket of bone-broth—were led by Li Cilin and Li Saogu as they made the rounds from table to table. At every single seating, they forced each guest to consume a chunk of fried human meat and swallow a bowl of bone-broth, standing sentinel until every morsel was wiped clean before advancing to the next table. Not a single face retained a trace of expression; glazed as though possessed by malevolent spirits, the townsfolk mechanically chewed the flesh of a murdered man and drank his liquefied bones.

Above them, dense storm clouds churned violently, unleashing a blinding blizzard of heavy, charcoal-grey snow.

The entire populace shivered violently beneath the freezing fury of the winter storm.

That night, the homes of Tang Town echoed with the violent, wretched sounds of mass vomiting, though every retching heave was swallowed by the howling rage of the gale. Crimson lanterns across every lintel were battered into bloody shreds by the wind, some hurled into the mud only to be snatched up by swirling vortexes into the black void. Tang Town sank completely into an abyss of irredeemable darkness, sealing their front doors tight in terror, terrified that opening a latch might summon the howling winds to drag their souls into the void. Even the imperial militia abandoned their posts, too terrified to patrol, huddling inside their barracks with wide, dilated eyes of primal panic. The grand compound of the Li estate lost all its daytime pageantry, lapsing into a tomb-like dead silence—though an occasional wailing cry of female anguish drifted out from the secluded reaches of the Ruanhua Courtyard, instantly devoured by the heavy night.

Li Cilin was arguably the most unhinged soul in Tang Town.

That evening, he gathered his closest enforcers for heavy drinking, repeatedly warning them to maintain strict security across the estate while he himself indulged in reckless, suicidal quantities of alcohol, polishing off several entire jars of glutinous rice wine.

Li Saogu watched in mounting alarm, having never witnessed such manic, destructive intoxication.

Unable to restrain him, Li Saogu abandoned the effort.

Stumbling drunkenly to his feet upon emptying the jars, Li Cilin staggered blindly toward the Ruanhua Courtyard.

Li Saogu stepped forward to offer physical support.

Shoving him away with savage force, Li Cilin roared, "Get the hell away from me!"

The winding corridors leading to the Ruanhua Courtyard were blanketed in thick snow—a peculiar, ash-grey snow devoid of clean white luminescence.

Li Cilin tumbled repeatedly into the drifts along the way, picking himself up with coarse curses muttered under his breath.

Li Saogu trailed stealthily behind him in the shadows, murder burning in his eyes.

Reaching the circular moon gate of the Ruanhua Courtyard, Li Cilin shoved his weight against the heavy wooden panels; they were bolted securely from within. Baring his teeth in a snarl, Li Saogu muttered to himself from the shadows, "Li Cilin, you selfish bastard—even blackout drunk, you remember to lock your whore away! I must remain perpetually on guard; a man who would butcher his own sworn brothers and allies will not hesitate to slide a knife into my back when convenience dictates."

Li Cilin battered his fists against a specific guest chamber door within the courtyard.

Kicking the timber panel hard, he roared, "Open up, you ungrateful bitch!"

Weeping echoed from within, but no latch was drawn.

Blinded by incandescent rage, Li Cilin reared back and drove his boot forward, shattering the door off its hinges with a splintering crash.

Zhao Hongyan sat huddled upon the edge of the bed, tears carving twin tracks through the dust on her cheeks like rain over blossoms. Clutching an object tightly in her palm, she scrambled backward in terror as Li Cilin lunged into the room, instantly diving to shove the hidden item beneath her pillow.

Her panicked maneuver did not escape Li Cilin's notice. Marching forward, he thrust his hand beneath the pillow and yanked the object free: it was an exquisite butterfly jade pendant.

Li Cilin sneered, "Do you take Me for a fool, thinking I'm too drunk to see? Just a jade pendant—what are you frantically concealing? Afraid I'll plunder your trinkets?"

Shrinking back against the headboard, Zhao Hongyan stared at him with wide, paralyzed eyes—he was the embodiment of unadulterated evil!

Tossing the jade pendant back onto her lap, Li Cilin chuckled darkly, "Keep your bauble, I have no desire for it! Though... should I feel generous tomorrow, perhaps I shall cast a gold butterfly for you!"

Trembling violently, Zhao Hongyan gasped, "I desire no gold butterflies... I desire nothing! I beg of you—release us, let the troupe walk free. Please!"

Li Cilin’s face twisted into a vicious snarl, "Walk free? Heh! I warned you the moment you set foot in Tang Town that your fate was sealed. If you depart, what becomes of His Majesty's theatrical entertainment? And what becomes of Me? Let me speak plainly: I am thoroughly bewitched by your vixen's charms. Within days, I shall petition the Emperor to formally decree you as My concubine—you belong to Me!"

Clutching the butterfly pendant to her chest with white knuckles, Zhao Hongyan was reduced to a state of absolute, hollow despair. Entering Tang Town with her troupe had been akin to straying blindly into a tiger's den—an inescapable trap. This was a lawless purgatory ruled by merciless demons.

Stripped of speech, she offered zero further resistance.

Grinning obscenely, Li Cilin tore away his garments, slurring incoherent obscenities as he lunged heavily onto the mattress to ravage her.

Zhao Hongyan withered beneath him like a shattered flower battered by an unyielding storm.

Yet her fingers remained welded in a death-grip around the jade pendant, her mind numbly invoking the name of a specific man, praying he still drew breath to drag her out of this slaughterhouse. The pendant had been his token of eternal devotion; she had sworn an oath that while her breath remained, the pendant would never leave her side—it was her singular anchor and fantasy in this dying world. She seemed to hear his voice echoing through the gale: "No matter the cost, you must survive... even if you must crawl like a beast, you must live!"

Zhao Hongyan understood the hidden weight of his command: live to exact blood vengeance! Yet, weighed against her shattered strength, vengeance felt like an impossible dream. She hovered on the absolute precipice of absolute collapse; death would be infinitely sweeter than this endurance! Yet to die now is to die in vain. Survive—survive! So long as breath remains, retribution retains a spark.

At that exact microsecond, a howling vortex of icy wind tore through the chamber, extinguishing the oil lamp in a single breath.

Li Cilin caught the sound of an unearthly, piercing shriek riding the wind.

Roaring in drunken fury, Li Cilin rolled off Zhao Hongyan’s body, snatched his sabre from the table, and whipped the blade free from its scabbard. Lashing out blindly into the pitch-black darkness, he bellowed, "I'll hack your lingering soul to ribbons and deny you reincarnation! You think a living man fears a wandering ghost? Show yourself if you dare—I'll shred your spirit into nothingness!"

From the bed, Zhao Hongyan wept out into the dark: "Lin Zhong, flee! Pay me no mind, you cannot match his malice—flee and seek reincarnation, Lin Zhong!"

The howling gale wailed mournfully, and an invisible presence bolted out through the shattered door, dissolving into the blizzard outside.

Silence reclaimed the bedchamber.

With a heavy clatter, the steel saber slipped from Li Cilin's trembling fingers, striking the stone flags.

And out of the quiet dark, Zhao Hongyan heard a heavy, rattling sigh.

On this snow-choked night, Dongzi suffered from a profound, leaden stupor, his mind swimming in a toxic fog. Unaware until midday that his father had butchered John to feed them fried human flesh and bone-broth, the horrifying truth had shattered his sanity upon discovery. Revolted to his core, he had slipped away to a secluded corner and vomited until his throat ran dry of bitter bile.

All afternoon, his skeleton had shivered uncontrollably. Refusing his evening meal, he had watched Eunuch Li and the aristocratic murderers gorge themselves on human meat while exchanging incomprehensible pleasantries, utterly baffled by how mortal men could consume murder with such casual grace. Following nightfall, refusing to join the crowds at the Baozhu theater, he had retreated early to his bedchamber.

Surrendering to a heavy, feverish sleep.

Hours later, Dongzi drifted into a sleepwalking trance, rising mechanically from his blankets to step out into the corridor.

The main hall was shrouded in an eerie, dim glow cast by palace lanterns that bled an ash-red mist.

He drifted through the crimson fog entirely unguided, hearing no voices—not even the phantom whispers of his imagination.

Void of thought, moving like an automaton, Dongzi’s feet carried him directly toward the Baozhu theater.

Patrolling guards carrying festive lanterns crossed his path, marching past him in complete silence without casting a single glance in his direction—as though his physical form possessed zero mass, rendering him entirely non-existent.

Stepping into the theater, he found the hall illuminated by the same dim, crimson palace lanterns, bleeding an identical ash-red mist. The quarters surrounding the courtyard sat deathly still, devoid of the snoring actors or breathing men who normally inhabited them; the troupe members remained locked in an eternal, lifeless slumber. They were not merely sleeping; they possessed the hollow stillness of corpses. Dongzi halted before the empty stage, gazing out across the bare timber. No masked figures danced across the boards, nor did any emaciated corpse hang from the flies. They slumbered everywhere—death being merely another variety of sleep, save that those who crossed its threshold never woke, their flesh rotting back into the soil.

Driven by an irresistible, sleepwalking compulsion, Dongzi stepped behind the backstage partitions.

He had never explored this hidden sector of the compound.

There, half-concealed in the shadows, stood a heavy iron door—a thick, reinforced portal that radiated a distinct, cold metallic scent reminiscent of the iron forge of Shangguan Qingqiu. Every human possessed a unique olfactory signature: his father Li Cilin reeked of copper-stained blood; his mother You Sisi carried a sweet, milky fragrance; his sister Li Hongtang smelled of pristine orchids. Dongzi possessed a quiet faith that he too radiated a distinct personal scent, though mortals remained as blind to their own aromas as they were incapable of touching their own souls.

Without warning, the heavy iron door swung inward with a groaning creak.

A wash of dim, ash-red light spilled out from the interior.

Dongzi stepped across the threshold, and the iron door slammed shut behind him with a deafening, final boom.

Whether an exit remained accessible was entirely unknown to him; yet his mind registered zero panic—only a voracious, consuming curiosity.

A long flight of stone stairs descended deep into the subterranean earth, leading seemingly into a sealed vault. Exactly how many secret chambers had been riddled beneath the foundations of the Li estate? Why did Eunuch Li harbor such an obsession with subterranean architecture? Descending step by step into the depths, Dongzi reached the floor of a cavernous underground chamber. Several palace lanterns hung from the low stone ceiling; absent their illumination, the space would have mirrored the pitch-black abyss of hell itself—cold, severed from the living world, and littered with instruments of torture.

Dominating the center of the subterranean vault stood a colossal iron cage.

Crouched inside the bars of the cage was a naked, battered human figure, beaten into a bloody pulp so unrecognizable that neither features nor identity could be distinguished.

He sat motionless, yet his eyes blazed with electric intensity, crowned by a faint, shimmering halo of supernatural light.

Dongzi approached the bars, wrapping his small hands around the freezing iron pickets.

He whispered softly to the captive: "Why are you locked away down here?"

The battered figure remained mute, simply shaking his head slowly.

Dongzi pressed, "Are you freezing? Does the pain torment you?"

Again, the captive shook his head.

Dongzi persisted, "Who on earth are you? Will you not tell me?"

Still, the man offered only silence.

Confusion clouded Dongzi's chest.

The stranger proved entirely incapable of satisfying his childish curiosity. Yet, as the man gazed down at Dongzi, tears welled in his eyes—not clear moisture, but dark, crimson tears of blood. Dongzi lacked the emotional maturity to comprehend why a stranger wept blood, nor could he fathom the fathomless ocean of sorrow and tragedy locked within that breast. Suddenly, the stranger reached out through the iron bars, extending his open palm. Resting squarely across his palm was a gleaming silver crucifix, featuring the detailed, agonized figure of a naked man with outstretched arms and head slumped in eternal torment—the man himself merged seamlessly into the cross. The crucifix hung suspended from a delicate silver chain.

The silver crucifix exerted an instantaneous, hypnotic fascination over Dongzi.

He murmured dreamily, "Do you wish to gift this to me?"

The stranger nodded once.

Reaching his hand through the bars, Dongzi snatched the silver crucifix from the captive's palm.

An electric shock—like a bolt of lightning—coursed violently through his entire skeletal frame.

Dongzi's eyes flew wide open. He discovered himself lying safely beneath the heavy quilts of his expansive, warm bedchamber. Had the entire ordeal been nothing more than an elaborate nightmare? No—it was no dream! He felt a hard, metallic pressure clutched tightly within his right fist. Prying his fingers open, he stared down in stunned disbelief at the gleaming silver crucifix resting upon his palm. The artifact radiated a soft, mesmerizing luster that seemed to actively purge the heavy, ash-grey shadows weighing upon his chest.

At that exact instant, the distinct scuff of approaching footsteps echoed outside his door.

Panic spiking his adrenaline, Dongzi scrambled to shove the silver crucifix deep beneath his pillow.

The footsteps halted directly outside his threshold.

Dongzi's heart leapt straight into his throat...