The door creaked open.

  I straightened my robe — still rumpled from whatever storm that “illusion trial” had thrown me through — and braced myself.

  If the legends were true, any second now a cold, imperious figure would stride out: blade in hand, crimson robes swirling, the true Master of the Blood Lotus Sect.

  Instead, what I saw nearly stunned me.

  The room was quiet, almost ascetic.

  Incense coiled lazily from a bronze burner. A thin curtain hung before a low couch.

  And there, on that couch — the rumored “butcher of clans,” the man who had “bathed the southern provinces in blood”—

  was lying half-dead.

  He looked pale as paper, lips drained of color, one arm hanging loosely over the blanket.

  If a breeze had come through the window, I swear it might’ve blown his soul clean out of his body.

  “…”

  A soft cough. The man on the bed stirred, eyelids fluttering open, unfocused at first.

  Those eyes—clear as spring water, long-lashed, gentle as I remembered.

  Slowly, he reached a hand toward me.

  “...Gong, my young master.”

  Even his voice was the same — low, tender, the kind of sound that made flowers stop blooming just to listen.

  Every alarm in my head went off, but I managed a strained smile.

  “Ah— Lian! What—what happened to you?”

  “He injured his lungs a few days ago,” came another voice from the side — warm, lilting, with just enough irony to cut skin.

  I turned toward it, and sure enough—

  there he was: white-robed, folding fan in hand, eyes curved in lazy amusement.

  The host of the pleasure house of boys (male brothel), Hua.

  Now better known as Lian’s right-hand man.

  I gave a stiff nod. “Bro... long time no see.”

  “Indeed.” He smiled like a cat with a secret. “Last time I saw you, you were surrounded by our rather emotional disciples. You tripped, rolled, and—ah, that thud—you really made an impression.”

  I coughed, feeling heat crawling up my neck.

  This man’s tongue had been forged in the fires of hell. Even the old monks from the temple next door would’ve lit incense after listening to him, just to calm their nerves.

  Meanwhile, on the bed—Lian’ looked as if a single sigh would kill him.

  But those hands—those deceptively delicate hands—were the very same that once dragged me out of Hua’s pleasure house, chained me in the dungeon, and, with unnerving calm, drew a leather whip across my back a hundred and eight times.

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  Not hard. Not soft either.

  Just enough to cut through my pride and skin.

  And at the end, he had wiped the blood from my cheek and said gently, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

  Yeah. Here. I still had the scars.

  Now, seeing him draped across a couch like some fragile immortal, I couldn’t tell if I should be terrified or amused.

  “Feeling any better?” I asked, voice trembling despite myself.

  He lifted his gaze, the faintest smile touching his lips.

  “Mhm.”

  That one syllable froze me from neck to spine.

  System, system, system, system—

  You still alive?!

  If you are, pop a dialogue box right now! Flash! Beep! Anything!

  …Silence.

  Of course. The useless thing was pretending to be dead again.

  I forced a grin and accidentally backed into a meditation cushion. My heel nearly slipped.

  Was he really sick—or just baiting me into another trap?

  Hua, ever the spectator, twirled his folding fan. “Funny,” he said lightly, “these past few days, the first thing our dear Master said upon waking was, ‘Ah, Gong’s face when he fell off that cliff—quite adorable.’”

  “Shut up.” My face burned hot.

  “Oh?” Hua raised a brow. “Not the compliment you wanted?”

  I shot him a glare that could’ve curdled milk, but before I could answer, Lian stirred again. Hua rushed over.

  “Careful,” he murmured, “the poison hasn’t cleared yet. If you move, we’ll have to fetch that divine physician from Hundred Flowers Valley again.”

  “Poison?” My ears perked.

  Hua nodded, folding his fan with an elegant snap. “Ah yes, the side effect of cultivating that forbidden scripture of his. Damaged his meridians, then someone took the chance to strike him down. His five veins are scrambled, his qi unstable. Were it not for pure luck…” He paused, eyes sliding toward me. “...you wouldn’t have made it in time.”

  “...Excuse me?”

  He smiled. “You’ve heard of the Northern Vine Triflower, haven’t you? Blooms once a year, disappears in a night. Miss it, and not even the gods can save him.”

  Every word hit me like a thunder.

  Main storyline. Alert.

  Hua went on, perfectly calm: “If you’re willing to accompany us to the Northland, perhaps he might yet live. Dangerous journey, of course, but better three travelers than one corpse.”

  “You’re coming too?” I asked warily.

  “Me?” He gave that gentle, lying smile. “I take side paths. You walk straight. We’ll balance each other out.”

  I stared. Somewhere in my head, the emergency sirens started screaming.

  Mountain expedition. Rare herb. Time limit. Dying beauty. Talkative companion.

  I’d seen this script before.

  The words flashed in my mind like fire:

  “Act One: A Journey Together — And Straight into the Pit.”

  I bit down on my tongue. “So this damned book is still updating, huh?”

  Right on cue, the system finally reappeared, cold as ever:

  “Main quest detected: Escort the Sect Master to Northern Falling Star Ridge.

  Party members: You + Sect Master, Lian + his right-hand man, Hua.

  Reward: Random system feature unlock.”

  Fantastic.

  One (allegedly) dying beauty.

  One snide flirt.

  And one suicidal questline that was definitely going to end in blood.

  I sighed deeply, put on my most loyal, tragic expression, and said, “...Very well. For Lian’s sake, even if it costs me my life, I shall go.”

  I even threw in a tender look, with effort.

  But in my head, I was already plotting escape routes.

  If the road forks — I’m taking the fork.

  If there’s a forest — I’m gone with the wind.

  Call it cowardice, call it strategy — I call it risk management.

  And who knows? Maybe this Falling Star Ridge really will drop me a falling star.

  Preferably on the plotline.

  I smiled faintly, playing the loyal fool to perfection.

  “System,” I muttered under my breath, “be a dear and give me a map, will you? I need to find the fastest way out of this story alive.”