The pain was viscous, seeping from the gashes under his ribs and left shoulder, soaking through the coarse linen shirt and then bleeding darkly into the shattered rock on the ground. Every breath felt like a blunt knife scraping inside his chest. He tried to move his fingers—the rough texture of crushed stone met his fingertips, along with the sticky, cooling feel of his own blood. That arm seemed no longer his. Dark red patterns spread all the way from his shoulder blade to the side of his neck, as if countless tiny living things were burrowing under his skin. They pulsed intermittently with heat, emitting faint, ominous crimson glows. Each throb brought a searing sting, intertwining with the dull ache of his wounds, threatening to tear apart his remaining shreds of consciousness. A sharp ringing filled his ears. The outlines of the altar ruins swayed and melted in the twilight's dim light. A sound—very light, very urgent, stepping over the rubble with deliberately subdued caution. Not the composed, calculated stride of Xiao Han. These footsteps… were finer, more frantic. He clenched his teeth, trying to push himself up, but his left arm jerked violently—the patterns suddenly flared bright, a burst of scorching pain. He grunted, crashing back heavily onto the ground, his forehead striking a sharp edge of stone. His vision went completely black for an instant. Just as he thought he was about to sink into eternal darkness, the sound came again—faster, closer, almost a run. The clatter of stones being kicked aside, the rustle of cloth brushing past broken pillars. Then, a familiar voice, hushed low, carrying a hurried, breathy quality, cleaving through the buzzing in his ears: In his blurred vision, a slender figure knelt down on one knee, blocking the last sliver of distant sky. Su Wanqing's face looked pale in the gloom, fine beads of sweat on her temples, a few stray locks of hair sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes, always so quietly downcast, were now wide open, their pupils reflecting his blood-soaked appearance. Her hand reached out, fingertips cool, a barely perceptible tremor in their touch against his cheek. "Hold on," she said, her voice lowered further, yet possessing a strange penetrating force. "Look at me." Lin Yi tried to speak, but only a muffled groan rolled from his throat. The taste of blood welled up, mingling with the earthy smell of soil. Su Wanqing didn't wait for his response. Her movements suddenly became brisk—those cool hands quickly examined the wound on his ribs, the pressure of her fingertips light but professional. Lin Yi gasped in pain, his body curling up instinctively. "Broken bone," she judged in a low voice, more to herself. Then came the clear, sharp *ripping* sound—she had torn a strip from the hem of her inner garment. The sound of tearing cloth was particularly jarring in the silent ruins. Lin Yi saw her lips pressed tightly together. She didn't look at him, her focus fixed on the wound under his ribs, pouring a pale yellow medicinal powder from a small pouch at her waist. The moment the powder touched the wound, it brought a sharp sting first, followed by a spreading coolness. Her actions were swift, using the torn cloth strip to bind tightly around his chest. While bandaging, her fingers inadvertently brushed against the dark red patterns spreading on his left arm. Su Wanqing's fingers froze mid-air. Her breath hitched. Lin Yi felt the throbbing inside his left arm intensify abruptly—those "living things" seemed disturbed by the external contact, beginning to writhe more violently. The patterns' glow brightened for an instant, a crimson aura illuminating the outline of her fingertips and her abruptly constricted pupils. But the expected gasp or retreat did not come. He heard Su Wanqing draw a deep breath—short, forceful, as if forcing some emotion back down. Then, her hand withdrew, and she continued the bandaging, her movements even faster than before. "We need to leave here first," she said, that tremor in her voice forcibly flattened. "Can you stand?" Lin Yi tried to move his right leg. The severe pain made his vision darken. Su Wanqing didn't ask again. She hooked his right arm over her shoulder, pulling him up with effort. Most of Lin Yi's weight pressed onto her; he could feel the bones of her slender shoulder and the fine but constant tremor in her arm as she supported him. Yet she stood firmly. The first step they took, Lin Yi's foot slipped on the rubble, nearly causing them to fall. Su Wanqing held him up desperately, the two of them staggering forward. Her breathing grew heavy, mixed with his suppressed gasps, starkly clear in the dead silence of the ruins. They skirted around a half-collapsed altar pillar But the searing pain in his left arm instantly dragged him back to reality. The patterns were burning again, this time lasting longer. The squirming sensation beneath his skin grew increasingly distinct, almost as if he could feel those "things" trying to burrow deeper. He clenched his teeth, a faint grinding sound escaping between them. "Don't stop," Su Wanqing said, her voice low but brooking no argument. "There's something ahead." A dozen or so paces ahead, behind a collapsed stone wall, two points of dim green light were swaying. They were low, skimming the ground. Bone-gnawing lizards—the most common low-level demon beasts in the outer reaches of the Abyssal Ruins, keen of smell, bloodthirsty. They usually moved in packs. She dragged Lin Yi, moving slowly, extremely slowly, to the side, trying to skirt around that patch of shadow. Lin Yi could feel her heart pounding rapidly in her chest, the sensation transmitted through the thin fabric of her clothes. Her fingers gripped his wrist tightly, her nails almost digging into his flesh. Lin Yi sensed she was weighing her options—risk speeding up to dash past, or… She suddenly released the arm supporting him. Lin Yi's body tilted, leaning against a broken half-pillar. He saw Su Wanqing crouch down, fish something else out from the small pouch at her waist, and scatter it on the ground. Those tiny, faintly glowing particles spread out on the ground, emitting an even richer scent of vegetation. She was using this to mask the smell of blood. The green lights swayed again, seemingly disturbed by the scent of the tracking powder, shifting in another direction. Su Wanqing didn't move immediately. She remained crouched, waiting for a full three breaths, until those two points of green light completely disappeared behind the stone wall. Only then did she rise, supporting Lin Yi again, her voice so low it was almost inaudible: Each step felt like treading on knife blades. Lin Yi's consciousness began to blur again, the excruciating pain and the icy chill from blood loss alternating in their assault. Darkness encroached at the edges of his vision; the outline of Su Wanqing's profile wavered and doubled in the dim light. He heard her say something, but the sound seemed to come from deep underwater, far away. Lin Yi forced himself to focus. He felt Su Wanqing dragging him around a bend, skirting a pile of rubble covered in dark green moss. Ahead lay a denser cluster of collapsed structures, where vines and withered parasitic plants tangled together, forming a natural barrier. She freed one hand to part the vines—moving cautiously, avoiding making too much noise. Behind the vines, a half-collapsed, pitch-black opening was revealed. The stones at the edge of the opening were severely weathered, covered in moss, looking as if they had been abandoned for countless years. "Go in," she said, a trace of exhaustion finally seeping into her voice. It was darker inside than outside, almost pitch-black. The air was damp, heavy with the smells of earth and mildew. The ground sloped, covered in a thick, soft layer of humus that made almost no sound underfoot. Su Wanqing followed him in, then pulled the vines back into place. Darkness surged up like a tide, drowning all outlines. Lin Yi slid down to sit with his back against the cold, damp stone wall, finally unable to hold on, coughing violently. Each cough tugged at the wound below his ribs, sending stars dancing before his eyes. "Don't cough," Su Wanqing's voice was close in the darkness. "Hold it in." Lin Yi bit his lower lip, stifling the subsequent coughs. A metallic taste rose in his throat; he swallowed it down. Faint rustling sounds came from the darkness. Su Wanqing was fumbling for something. A moment later, a weak light appeared—she had taken out a small piece of glowstone from her bosom. The glowstone's light was faint, illuminating only a few paces around them, but enough to see each other. He looked down and saw the cloth strip around his left ribs was already soaked through with blood, dark red stains spreading at the edges. The clothing over his left shoulder was completely torn, revealing the ghastly, bruised and swollen skin beneath, the outline of the bone protruding unnaturally. But most shocking was his left arm— The dark red patterns had already spread from his shoulder and neck to above his collarbone, even faintly encroaching towards his chest. Under the weak light of the glowstone, those patterns seemed to wriggle slowly as if alive, the protrusions beneath his skin rising and falling intermittently, emitting a dim red glow. Each time the light flared, it illuminated the fine, blood-vessel-like branches on the surface of the patterns. For a long time, the only sounds in the cellar were Su Wanqing began tearing fabric again—this time, the sleeves of her outer robe. The sound of ripping was especially clear in the confined cellar. She tore off several long strips of cloth, then took out a few thin, roughly two-finger-wide wooden boards from a small pouch at her waist. “This will hurt,” she said, glancing up at him with a complicated expression. “Endure it.” Su Wanqing took a deep breath and reached out to remove the tattered clothing from his left shoulder. Her fingers were steady, but when they touched his skin, Lin Yi could feel a subtle, uncontrollable tremor. She was afraid. The clothing was peeled away completely, revealing the bruised, swollen, and already distorted shoulder joint beneath. Lin Yi saw Su Wanqing’s pupils contract, but she pressed her lips together and began to work. She first pressed her palm against the area above his shoulder, her other hand supporting his elbow. “I need to reset it,” she said. “Count to three.” A massive, tearing pain exploded from his shoulder. Lin Yi heard a suppressed roar escape his own throat. His body instinctively tried to curl up, but Su Wanqing held him down firmly. Her strength was astonishing; her fingers almost seemed to dig into his flesh. “Don’t move!” Her voice carried a hurried breathiness. “It’s not done yet!” Lin Yi’s vision darkened, and a buzzing filled his ears. He could feel Su Wanqing quickly placing the thin wooden boards against both sides of his shoulder, then wrapping the cloth strips tightly around it, one loop after another. The sensation of the cloth biting into his flesh, the hard edges of the boards pressing against bone… every detail magnified the pain. Those dark red patterns seemed utterly enraged by the intense pain, beginning to writhe and glow frantically. The light was no longer intermittent but burned continuously, growing brighter and brighter, casting the entire cellar in a dim crimson glow. The protrusions beneath his skin surged violently, as if countless tiny insects were ramming about beneath, trying to break free. His muscles spasmed and twitched involuntarily; his fingers clenched and unclenched uncontrollably. A strange, cold, devouring pulse surged up from the depths of the patterns, climbing along his spine, trying to erode his consciousness. “Lin Yi?” Su Wanqing’s voice sounded beside his ear, clearly panicked. “Your hand—” Lin Yi’s left arm suddenly lifted—completely beyond his control—fingers splayed, reaching toward Su Wanqing. The glow of the dark red patterns reached its peak at that moment, dazzlingly bright. Even fine, scale-like patterns began to emerge on the surface of his skin. Her hand pressed against the small of her back—where a short dagger was tucked. The glowstone light illuminated her pale face and her wide-open eyes, filled with shock, fear, and… a certain resolve. She only stared fixedly at his bizarre arm, breathing rapidly, her chest heaving. Lin Yi mustered all his strength and slammed his out-of-control left arm against the stone wall beside him. Pain shot from the back of his hand, temporarily suppressing the internal pulse of the patterns. The glow dimmed for a moment, and the writhing slowed. He leaned against the stone wall, gasping for breath, cold sweat beading on his forehead. After a long while, Su Wanqing’s voice sounded again, soft, carrying a barely perceptible tremor: “What is this?” She didn’t ask “What’s wrong with you?” or “What are you?” She asked, “What is this?” Lin Yi twitched the corner of his mouth, wanting to smile, but only managed to tug at the wounds on his face. He opened his eyes and looked at Su Wanqing in the dim light. She still sat on the ground, a few steps away, her hand still on the dagger at her back, but her gaze hadn’t wavered. Lin Yi opened his mouth. His throat felt so dry it seemed about to crack. He swallowed, tasting more blood. “It’s Xiao Han,” he heard his own voice, hoarse and broken like an old bellows. “Cold River Lone Shadow.” “He ambushed me,” Lin Yi continued, each word seeming squeezed from his lungs. “In the stone hall… He said the Lin family’s destruction… was because my father… made a deal with ‘Heaven’.” He paused, catching his breath. Another wave of burning pain came from the patterns on his left arm, but he forced himself to ignore it. “The price…” He looked into Su Wanqing’s wide, shocked eyes and said word by word, “…was the lives of our branch.” “I’m the one that got away,” Lin Yi pulled at the corner of his mouth, revealing a smile uglier than crying. “A mistake.” Having said that, he Su Wanqing had moved closer again at some point, kneeling beside him. In her hand was the relatively clean cloth she had torn off, dipped in water from the waterskin, gently wiping away the cold sweat on his forehead and the bloodstains on his face. Her movements were light, careful, avoiding the abrasions on his face. Her eyes were lowered, not looking at him, her eyelashes casting fine shadows in the glow of the luminous stone. "Mistake?" she spoke, her voice very low but clear. "I don't understand any Heavenly Dao contract." She paused, the cloth wiping past the bloodstains on his chin. "I only know," she continued, the tremor in her voice forcibly smoothed out, "when I found you just now, you were covered in blood, your left hand... had become like that." The cloth moved to his neck, wiping away the half-dried scabs there. "But your right hand," her voice grew even softer, "was still clutching something tightly." He remembered that just before losing consciousness, he had indeed been gripping something in his palm. Rough fabric, with crooked embroidery along the edges... Su Wanqing pulled something out from her bosom and opened her palm. It was a blood-stained, faded old handkerchief. In one corner, a few crooked bamboo stalks were embroidered with green thread—the stitches were clumsy, the bamboo was also embroidered lopsidedly, but one could tell the person who embroidered it had been very careful. It was the same handkerchief Su Wanqing had secretly slipped to him last time he was injured. The handkerchief was now soaked through with dark red blood, the pattern of green bamboo almost completely obscured, with only the edges showing a hint of its original color. Then she lifted her head and looked at Lin Yi. The glow of the luminous stone reflected in her eyes. Those eyes, always quietly lowered, now held a complex emotion Lin Yi couldn't decipher. "Lin Yi," she said, her voice very soft, but each word seemed to strike his heart. "Next time." "At least tell me you're going to meet a monster like Xiao Han." Having said that, she folded the handkerchief neatly and stuffed it back into his right hand. Her fingers, touching his palm, were cold but steady. Then she turned around and began tidying the wooden planks and cloth strips scattered on the ground, her movements returning to their previous briskness. She put the items one by one into the small pouch, checked the vines at the cellar entrance, and listened carefully for any movement outside. Only after doing all this did she sit back down beside him, leaning against the opposite stone wall. The glow of the luminous stone cast a small halo of light on the ground between them. Su Wanqing hugged her knees, resting her chin on her arms, her eyes looking into the dark depths of the cellar. Her profile in the dim light appeared very calm, but Lin Yi could see her tightly pursed lips and slightly furrowed brows. Afraid? Regretful? Or weighing whether she should continue staying here? All he knew was that the patterns on his left arm still throbbed faintly with pain, the wound under his ribs twinged with every breath, and the chill from blood loss was slowly devouring his body temperature. And in this damp, dark, musty-smelling cellar, Su Wanqing had not left. Despite seeing those bizarre patterns, despite hearing the terrifying truth about the "Heavenly Dao contract" and the "mistake," despite possibly putting herself in danger as well— A strange, heavy emotion surged up, almost crushing him, mixed with intense pain, exhaustion, and something... a faint warmth he himself was unwilling to acknowledge. The blood-stained old handkerchief in his palm, its rough fabric pressing against his skin. Outside came the mournful sound of the night wind sweeping through the ruins, along with the distant howls of demonic beasts. Inside the cellar, there were only the two of them, their suppressed breathing, and the swaying, uneasy shadows cast by the luminous stone's glow on the stone walls. She turned her head and looked at him. The glow of the luminous stone illuminated half of her face, the other half hidden in darkness. "Survive first," she said, her voice soft, but each word clear. "The rest..." She paused, her gaze falling on his hideous left arm. Then she added one more sentence, her voice even lower, but carrying undeniable weight: The two of them looked at each other in the dim light. Su Wanqing's eyes were complex—fear, confusion, struggle, but at their deepest, there was a strange, almost stubborn firmness. After a long while, he nodded, extremely slowly, almost imperceptibly. Su Wanqing seemed to let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders relaxing slightly. She hugged her knees again, burying her face in the crook of her arm, revealing only half In this cellar filled with the stench of blood and mold, that scent was like an extremely fine thread, pulling at him, preventing him from sinking completely. From the cracks in the vines at the cellar entrance, a faint thread of moonlight seeped in. Su Wanqing lifted her head, looking in that direction. Her face appeared pale in the shadows, her eyes bright, devoid of sleepiness. She maintained that posture, unmoving, listening for a long time. No footsteps, no howls of demonic beasts approaching, no traces of spiritual power fluctuations. She slowly let out a breath, her shoulders finally relaxing completely. But her hand remained pressed on the hilt of the dagger at her waist. In the cellar, only the staggered, suppressed breaths of the two remained. Su Wanqing’s hand was still frozen mid-air, her fingertips retaining the bizarre sensation from earlier—a touch that didn’t belong to human skin—warm, yet faintly squirming, as if something living was hidden beneath the flesh. He tried to swallow, but his throat held only the burning pain of blood and dryness. The patterns on his left arm began to heat up again, the scorching heat crawling up his shoulder and neck, reaching his temples. The edges of his vision darkened. “Speak.” Su Wanqing’s voice was very low, almost inaudible. She withdrew her hand, wiping it forcefully on the rough hem of her clothes, her movements hurried, as if trying to wipe away something filthy. “What is this, Lin Yi?” Pain and weakness were like two blunt saws, cutting back and forth through his consciousness. Water droplets seeped from the cellar ceiling, one, two, striking the broken stones at his feet. The sound was amplified. Each one sounded like a countdown. “…A price,” he finally spoke, his voice terribly hoarse, like a torn bellows being pulled. “The price for defying heaven… and altering fate.” “What defying heaven? Who wanted you to alter fate?” Su Wanqing pressed, leaning forward slightly. In the dim light, her face was pale, but her eyes were startlingly bright, fixed intently on the fierce, dark red patch on his left arm. “You just said… Xiao Han? Hanjiang Guying? He ambushed you?” “Not an ambush,” he corrected, speaking deliberately slowly, each word seeming squeezed from between his teeth, carrying the taste of blood. “An execution. Cleaning up… the family’s mistake.” “The Lin family’s destruction… wasn’t an accident.” Lin Yi closed his eyes, then opened them again. The cold of the stone wall seeped through his soaked clothes into his spine. He needed this cold to fight against the continuous, nauseating heat in his left arm. “My father… Lin Zhenyue. He made a deal with ‘Heaven.’ Traded the lives of our branch… for a century of peace for the family.” His chest felt stuffed with broken glass, every breath bringing sharp pain. “The Heaven’s Gift Ceremony three years ago… my innate full spiritual root was the sacrifice.” He heard his own voice, frighteningly calm, as if speaking of someone else’s affairs. “The ritual should have drained me dry, letting me die ‘in a qi deviation’ quietly. But I… survived.” “Surviving made me a mistake,” Lin Yi continued, his gaze falling on her tense fingers. “A mistake that should have been erased. Xiao Han… is the executor sent to correct this mistake.” “So…” Su Wanqing’s voice trembled, “this on your arm… is ‘Heaven’s Punishment’?” “No.” Lin Yi shook his head, the movement pulling at the bone fracture in his left shoulder. He groaned, cold sweat beading on his temples. “This is… something I stole from the gaps in the rules.” He raised his right hand, using the fingertips he could still control, lightly touching the thickest dark red pattern on his left arm. The pattern suddenly brightened for an instant, an ominous gold shining through the dark red. The light illuminated half his face, and also lit up Su Wanqing’s abruptly constricted pupils. “I don’t know what it’s called,” Lin Yi said, watching as the light gradually dimmed, leaving only the continuous, subtle throbbing beneath his skin. “It burrowed in when I was nearly dead. Like a parasite. It survives by devouring spiritual power, devouring… others’ ‘Dao.’ It also devours me.” “Now you know,” he pulled out a broken smile, carrying self-mockery and a kind of reckless resolve. “I might… not even be considered ‘human’ anymore. I’m a mistake, a monster, a loophole that shouldn’t exist… in the rules of Heaven’s Dao.” Only the sound of dripping water remained. Drip. Drip. He even began to calculate how long he could last after she left. The mutation in his left arm was accelerating. He could feel those patterns spreading toward his chest. Perhaps before the pursuers arrived, he would first transform into... something else. She didn’t back away. Instead, she moved half a step forward, kneeling to sit on the damp ground before him. Her movements were light, as if afraid of startling something. From within her robes, she took out that flat, small metal flask, unscrewed the cap, and brought it to his lips. "Drink," she said, her voice low but clear. Su Wanqing fed him patiently, waiting for him to swallow a few mouthfuls before withdrawing her hand. Then, she tore off a relatively clean corner of her inner garment, moistened it with the remaining water from the flask, raised her hand, and gently wiped away the cold sweat at his temple and the half-dried bloodstains on his face. Lin Yi's eyelids closed heavily. Before his consciousness completely sank into darkness, he only vaguely sensed that gentle coolness at his temple. He fell into a deep sleep, yet his brow remained tightly furrowed. Su Wanqing set down the damp cloth and watched him quietly. With the bloodstains gone, his face was left with only a frightening pallor. And that left arm, even through his clothing, showed unnatural swelling and a menacing, distorted outline.