Soft, muffled voices drifted from beyond the hall, carrying a hint of laughter, low and rich. Xue Laohu and Li Zhameng pressed themselves into the shadows, moving with careful, deliberate steps as they neared the walls of the dormitory. The air grew warmer as they approached, thick with an almost cloying scent of incense and steam. Silently, they peered through the narrow crack in the wall, their eyes widening at the opulence within.
The room before them was nothing short of magnificent—a sprawling, elegant space draped in rich red and gold. Silken sheets, embroidered with intricate patterns, cascaded down from the wide bed like waterfalls, with delicate tassels dangling at the edges, swaying slightly in the warmth of the room a fire burning vividly. A hot spring bubbled gently in the corner, filling the air with a dense, almost mystical mist that blurred the edges of the room, casting everything in a hazy glow.
At the center of it all lay a man of considerable presence. His skin was a deep, smoldering crimson, its rich hue striking against the cool white sheets that draped around him. His hair, long and jet-black, was slicked back into a pointed tail, yet a few rebellious strands had escaped, framing his sharp, handsome face and adding an air of mystery. Set into his forehead was a single, large, twisted horn—a formidable mark of his lineage—gleaming subtly in the dim, amber light of the room.
His eyes, a piercing shade of molten orange, flickered like embers, sharp and alert even in repose. Draped across one side of his chest was a rugged tiger fur, its stripes stark against his crimson skin, running down to his waist where it met the deep black of his trousers. His bare arms were powerfully built, the muscles taut and well-defined, while his torso held a soft, fuller shape—a rounded chest and abdomen that exuded both strength and a certain indulgent comfort.
Propped up against a lavish pile of silk pillows, he reclined with regal ease, a small smile curving his lips as a slender, beauty knelt beside him, offering grapes one by one. The delicate man's fingers moved gracefully, each grape lifted with careful reverence, his expression demure, though his eyes sparkled with quiet mischief as he met the larger man's gaze.
A thunderous knock shattered the quiet, echoing through the chamber. Lord Yanhua's expression darkened, a low growl rumbling from his chest. "Who dares disrupt this venerable one's time with his beautiful wife?" he demanded, his voice laced with irritation.
Through the heavy wooden door, a guard's voice answered, breathless and strained. "My Lord, please grant us mercy, but… Huo Mountain has been infiltrated."
"Huo Mountain, infiltrated? Come in!"
The doors swung open, and two guards hurried in, immediately dropping to their knees, heads bowed low. Lord Yanhua rose from his bed with an imposing grace, turning first to his wife. His expression softened, and he took his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. He gave him a reassuring smile, his thumb grazing his hand before he released it and turned to the guards.
Stretching his neck with a sharp crack, Lord Yanhua rolled his shoulders, his powerful frame flexing as he took slow, deliberate steps toward the trembling soldiers. He stopped before them, hands planted firmly on his hips, his gaze intense and unwavering. "Explain," he ordered, his voice sharp as steel.
One guard swallowed, his eyes flicking nervously between his lord and the floor. "My Lord… on the west quadrant… we found guards strung up like puppets—all of them, deceased." His voice quivered, as he dared not look up, the gruesome memory fresh in his mind.
From the shadows beyond the doorway, Xue Laohu's eyes widened at the mention of the west quadrant. There was no mistaking it; he knew exactly who would leave such a grisly signature behind.
The second guard cleared his throat, his face pale. "And on the east side, my Lord… all the guards were found in a deep sleep. We tried everything to wake them—shouting, water, even slaps to the face—but they wouldn't stir. They're alive but… unresponsive."
Xue Laohu cast a glance at Li Zhameng, whose gaze met his own in an instant. No words were necessary; they knew exactly who was behind that scene.
"All of the guards who fell asleep..." the guard stammered, his voice trembling as he continued, "they appear to have been struck by some sort of potent sleeping pellet. Each one of them bears a round bruise on their body."
Lord Yanhua's eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening with fury. "Call for reinforcements. I want them dead or alive-it matters not to me." His voice was low, brimming with an unmistakable threat. Turning, he crossed the room to retrieve his arm guards and a long, gleaming spear, the steel polished to perfection.
As he strapped on his arm guards, he turned to the young man in white beside him-a strikingly handsome figure with delicate features, dressed in flowing white robes that shimmered in the dim light. "Wife," Yanhua said firmly, "you shall remain here." His tone softened, a rare tenderness slipping through his otherwise steely demeanor.
From a carved wooden box resting nearby, its surface finely decorated with the intricate image of a crane in mid- flight, Yanhua drew an amber hair ornament. He turned to his wife, gently sliding the ornament into his hair. "Call my name, and I shall be at your side," he murmured, his fingertips lingering for a moment before he straightened. With one last glance, he departed with his guards, his spear casting a glinting shadow in the flickering torchlight.
As the footsteps faded, Xue Laohu's eyes sharpened. Now is our chance. Watching the guards disappear down the hall, he clenched his fist and struck the wall with his palm. The stone cracked and crumbled under the force, deteriorating into rubble within seconds.
The young man in white gasped, wide- eyed as the dust swirled around him, fear written clearly on his face. Xue Laohu patted himself down, brushing off the fine layer of dust coating his sleeves, while Li Zhameng coughed, waving a hand to clear the air.
"My apologies," Xue Laohu said, as he straightened up, turning his attention to the elegant young man in front of him. "We are here to save you!" Xue Laohu declared with a dramatic flourish, extending his intricately patterned fan like a hero from a legend. He struck a pose, his voice brimming with confidence, though the effect was slightly undercut by the coughing fit Li Zhameng was having in the background, dust still clouding the air around them.
The young man, dressed in elegant white robes, took a hesitant step back, his brow furrowed with worry. "Save me?" he asked, glancing between the two unexpected intruders with a mix of confusion and caution.
In that moment, Yi Ming heard the familiar chime echo in his head, clear as a bell.
NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED: SHILIU
"Thanks, system, for once you're actually useful," Yi Ming muttered under his breath. He quickly composed himself, then addressed the young man with renewed determination. "Shiliu, was it? We've come to rescue you. Your family is worried sick." Xue Laohu flashed a friendly smile, extending a hand to the young man. But to his surprise, the young man took several steps back, eyes wide with shock. "How-how do you know my name?" he stammered.
Scratching his head, Xue Laohu tried to sound reassuring. "Your parents requested help from our Lord's sect, and he agreed," he replied with a confident grin.
Shiliu's face immediately twisted into a frown. "I don't need rescuing."
Xue Laohu's smile faltered, confusion written plainly on his face. What does he mean, he doesn't need rescuing?
"I want to stay by my Lord's side," Shiliu said firmly, crossing his arms and averting his gaze, as if dismissing the two intruders entirely. Without another word, he turned, his lips parting to call for the guards. But before he could shout, Xue Laohu moved swiftly, clamping a hand over Shiliu's mouth and pressing a small blade to his throat.
"I didn't want it to come to this," Xue Laohu muttered, irritated. "Have you been bewitched or something?" His mind raced, wondering if this was some twisted version of Stockholm Syndrome.
Shiliu's eyes narrowed, and before Xue Laohu could react, he sank his teeth into Xue Laohu's fingers, forcing him to let go. Taking a step back, Shiliu straightened, glaring defiantly. "I'm not leaving Lord Yanhua! And go back to my parents? For what? So they can marry me off to some perverted old lord? No, thank you!" He pulled the amber hairpin from his hair, readying to chant an incantation.
But before Shiliu could finish, Li Zhameng acted, darting forward and kicking the pin out of Shiliu's hand. "I'm sorry," Li Zhameng said, his tone flat, "but what's so great about this Lord Yanhua, anyway? Isn't he just another man who lures unsuspecting humans into his lair?"
Good one, Meng Meng, Xue Laohu thought, glancing at him with a flash of pride, at his little NPC.
Shiliu's face tightened with anger as he defended his lord. "Lord Yanhua is kind and just! He's gentle and charming—"
"To you, maybe," Li Zhameng interjected, arms folded and expression skeptical. "But what about all the people he's imprisoned?"
Shiliu's eyes flashed. "They came of their own volition! No one forced them. They chose to gamble, and they lost. My lord is fair and just."
Xue Laohu, exasperated, cutting in. "And what about you?" His voice softened as he looked at Shiliu. "Weren't you brought here against your will?"
"Hmph." Shiliu crossed his arms and cast a disdainful look at the two men, his lip curling with disgust. "I begged my Lord to take me as his bride," he sneered.
Xue Laohu and Li Zhameng's jaws dropped, the confidence they had moments before swiftly dissolving. Shiliu didn't miss their shock, and with a scornful shake of his head, he continued.
"My parents wanted to marry me off to Lord Chanchu," he spat, his voice tinged with bitterness. "A rich, lecherous old man with… unspeakable tastes. Twisted, vile things no one should be subjected to. I was just another piece they could sell to the highest bidder." He paused, a shadow passing over his face as the memories surfaced. "So I went to Lord Yanhua. I begged him to take me away. He's the only one who didn't look at me like something to be bought and sold."
"Lord Yanhua and I have known each other since we were very young…" he murmured to himself, his gaze drifting toward the burning fire in the bedroom.
He could still recall the moment he'd first stumbled upon that small, flickering fire inside the cave, a soft glow against the damp, shadowed walls. Drawn by curiosity, he had stepped inside and found, lying there on the dirt floor, a boy no older than four, shivering. The boy's face was flushed a dark crimson, his breaths shallow and labored as if each one might be his last. The fever was relentless, consuming him from within.
Shiliu's heart had pounded in his chest, and he'd felt a rare urgency—despite the boy being a demon he'd wish to save him. Moving with quiet resolve, he knelt beside the young boy, recognizing the tell-tale signs of a fever far too high for a child so small to endure alone. He'd rummaged through his herb pouch, hands steady, selecting the right blend of herbs and roots to bring the fever down.
He grounded the plants between his fingers, the earthy scent filling the air, and made a paste to dab on the boy's wrists and temples. Then, with a gentle hand, he placed a cool, damp cloth across the child's forehead, a small protruding lump laid there. At the time Shiliu thought nothing of it but as the young boy would mature it would become his all imposing horn. He spoke soft and comforting words that he wasn't even sure the boy could hear.
Hours passed, and slowly, the fever broke. The child's breathing steadied, but the fierce flush never faded. Shiliu allowed himself to exhale, feeling the knot in his chest unravel.
After that day, Shiliu returned to the mountains often, gathering herbs and studying the terrain. And every day, like clockwork, he would catch a glimpse of the young Lord Yanhua watching him from a safe distance, half-hidden behind a tree or peeking out from the tall grass. Shiliu would glance up and see those curious eyes, always wide and wary, always watching. The boy was too shy to come closer, but his presence was as constant as the wind that rustled through the mountain foliage.
Lord Yanhua would leave flowers for Shiliu at the river's edge—wild orchids, peach blossoms, and lilies gathered from the mountain slopes, petals still damp with morning dew. Shiliu would rush to the riverbank each day, his heart lifting at the sight of yet another gift left by his mysterious friend. But then, one day, the flowers stopped appearing, and a strange hush fell over the village. Rumors spread like wildfire, whispers of a demon lurking in the mountains. The village elder declared they would hunt the creature down. Demons and humans were never meant to coexist, he proclaimed, and the words hung heavy in the air.
Shiliu's heart shattered. He waited by the river until dusk, hoping to see Yanhua again, but he never appeared. Days turned into weeks, then months, and finally years. For ten long years, Shiliu lived with the ache of loss, haunted by the belief that they had killed the only friend he had ever known.
Then came the day when his parents arranged a marriage for him—to a man he despised, a wealthy lord with a reputation for cruelty. Faced with a future he couldn't bear, Shiliu did the only thing he could think of: he fled, running as fast and as far as his legs would carry him, deep into the heart of the mountain. Exhausted and overwhelmed, he collapsed.
When he opened his eyes, he felt a warmth beside him, a presence that made his heart race. There, kneeling at his side, was Lord Yanhua. His skin glowed in the soft light, his features now strikingly handsome yet still bearing traces of the gentle boy Shiliu had once known. A sharp, twisted horn rose proudly from his forehead, the once small bump now a symbol of his demonic heritage.
"It's you…" Shiliu's voice broke, tears flooding his eyes as he gazed up at him. He reached out, arms wrapping around Yanhua's shoulders as he buried his face against him, the sobs he had held in for so long finally breaking free.
Yanhua's brows knitted with concern as he gently held Shiliu, his hand moving to wipe away the tears that streaked down his cheeks. "What's wrong?" he asked softly, his voice filled with worry.
"I—I thought you were dead," Shiliu choked out. "I thought they—"
Yanhua placed a warm hand on Shiliu's face, his thumb gently caressing his cheek as he brushed away the fresh tears. His expression softened, a faint, comforting smile curving his lips. "This venerable one is alright," he murmured, his voice soothing and calm. "Please, you mustn't cry."
Shiliu's heart swelled as he gazed into Yanhua's eyes, for the first time in years, he felt safe—truly safe—in Yanhua's arms. In the decade that had passed, Yanhua had transformed into a striking figure, exuding strength and confidence. His handsome face still retained traces of the youthful charm that had first captivated Shiliu, but it was now complemented by a strong jawline and defined cheekbones. His jet-black hair, tied back into a simple knot, framed his face and accentuated the sharpness of his features. He wore nothing but a tiger fur skirt, its vibrant patterns contrasting sharply with the rich crimson hue of his skin. The fur clung to his hips, leaving his muscular torso and legs bare, showcasing the powerful form he had developed over the years. Though he had once been lean, after his elopement with Shiliu spending several months in bliss, he had added a few extra pounds, forming a soft belly that added to his charm.
Shiliu, still clinging to Yanhua, shook his head vehemently. "Please, take me with you," he pleaded, his voice trembling with urgency.
Yanhua's expression softened at Shiliu's request, but he shook his head. "This venerable one is honored by your words, but he cannot."
"Do you—do you have someone else?" The hope that had flared in Shiliu's chest dimmed, and he released his grip on Yanhua, looking down. His long lashes brushed against his rosy cheeks as he stared at the ground, unable to meet Yanhua's piercing gaze.
"There has not been a single day when this venerable one has not thought about the beauty in Huo Mountain," Yanhua declared, his voice rising with intensity. His amber eyes shone brightly, igniting with fierce emotion as he searched Shiliu's face for understanding.
"Then take me and make me yours!" Shiliu demanded, cupping his hands sweetly around Yanhua's face. With a surge of courage, he leaned in and pressed his lips against Yanhua's, pouring all his longing into that kiss.
In that moment, something shifted. Yanhua wrapped his arms around Shiliu, pulling him closer, and with a fierce determination, he took Shiliu "hostage." In a spectacular display of power, he summoned flames that erupted around them, setting the mountain ablaze to create an impenetrable barrier against anyone who might come searching.
As the fire crackled and roared, Shiliu took a deep breath, feeling a mix of exhilaration and dread. "And you want to return me to my parents?" he exclaimed, his voice rising above the sound of the flames. "Return me to the village that persecuted a small demon child… just for being a demon? I will not!"