Chapter 128 A Familiar Face
“The system,” I murmured, lowering my voice. “Can it really bring someone back?”
[In principle—]
“Shut it,” I cut in, cold. “Say ‘in principle’ one more time and I’m uninstalling you.”
[…Running diagnostics. Please remain calm.]
Lian pushed himself upright with one hand. His expression was steadier than mine. “He might not be fully dead. His obsession runs deep, and the silver box amplified it. If he really turned into a lingering remnant, he could reappear.”
“So should we be running?” I offered immediately. “There’s still time to get out of here, right?”
Lian gave me a look. “Do you think we can?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. No rebuttal.
Below us, the frozen silhouettes all shuddered at once.
My gut clenched. I backed up until I was right beside Lian.
The system’s voice spiked, unusually sharp: [Residual energy fluctuation detected. The silver box shows anomalous activation.]
“Speak human!”
[Bug. It may be reassembling.]
“What?! Didn’t he get—”
Before I could finish, a thin red glow seeped from the cracks of the silver box. It spread slowly, like blood soaking through metal.
A flicker of cold light passed through Lian’s eyes. He stood. “If this thing comes back again, we’re going with it.”
He raised his hand to smash it.
“Wait—”
A violent tremor cut me off. Then, impossibly, a voice spilled out of the box.
Hoarse. Warped. Indistinguishable. Yet the cadence was unmistakable—familiar, eerie, nearly deranged.
“All beings… are guilty…”
Every hair on my body stood on end. My instincts roared. Something was coming. Before the echo even faded, the silver box jolted, flooding with a blinding white light as if ready to drag us back into that endless void.
I stumbled back on reflex—
A crisp crack split the air.
The silver box exploded under a single palm strike.
Shards burst upward like scattered frost. The light dispersed. Everything stilled.
I stood frozen, heart hammering like a war drum.
—Danger? Gone.
—Distortion? Dispelled.
Only Lian remained, withdrawing his hand. A faint trace of wind curled from his fingertips.
His voice was calm, brows slightly raised. “My apologies. The box was too strange. I had to act first.”
I had no words for a moment. Then I forced out two dry laughs. “Fine… fine strike.”
Lian paused a fraction, then the corner of his mouth curved—almost boyishly pleased. The smile vanished so fast I wondered if I imagined it.
I studied him, trying to see whether he had pieced together anything from the visions in the void—the past, the almost-bare truth, the system pulling strings behind it all. If he understood any of that, he’d be interrogating me already. But his gaze shifted elsewhere.
He was staring toward the rack—
At Hua.
At the moment the silver box shattered, Hua’s fingers twitched. A faint cough escaped him.
“He’s coming to,” Lian murmured.
Relief washed through me.
Sure enough, Hua slowly opened his eyes. First confusion, then fear, then a wry smile. “So I survived again?”
“More or less.” I hurried forward with Lian to undo his restraints.
In a few clipped sentences, I summarized what had happened. Hua listened, then sighed deeply. “A fine dream… though far too long.”
Below us, the others began waking too.
Vacant eyes regained clarity. They looked like corpses rousing from a nightmare.
Some rubbed their eyes, some muttered, some laughed weakly.
Strangely, no one panicked. They simply drifted off in small groups, each heading home like leaving a late-night procession.
The shattered altar lay silent. Wind threaded through broken stone, carrying an uncanny stillness.
The matter, for now, was settled.
But a knot remained in my chest. Elder An—or rather that “Bug”—was he truly gone?
I wasn’t certain.
As we left the altar, Lian crouched, gathering the remaining fragments of the silver box. He wrapped them in cloth with care and tucked them into his robe.
I couldn’t help asking, “Hey? Didn’t you say the thing you were looking for was inside? It’s smashed to bits—so now what?”
Lian looked up, face unreadable. “It’s fine. We’ll resume our journey first. We can revisit this.”
His tone was light, emotionless.
Hua approached then, clapped my shoulder, his voice unusually tired. “We’d better hurry. Every place we pass ends up crawling with demons or disasters. At this rate, we won’t reach North Ridge until the next dynasty.”
But that night, we didn’t make it out of the city.
Dusk had barely fallen when I collapsed.
The pain tore through my gut like hot blades. Cold sweat soaked my clothes. The familiar burning surged from below the navel all the way into my organs, as if someone had stuffed lit charcoal into my body.
I bit down hard. Couldn’t even manage to roll over. Inwardly, I cursed, “Hell—don’t tell me my ‘Monthly Crimson’ is acting up again?”
Counting the days, the timing was slightly delayed.
The system chimed in, indifferent. “Correct. You should have had an episode earlier, but due to storyline interference by the Bug, your survival was extended for several days.”
I spat inwardly. This mess was something I’d brought on myself several chapters ago.
Monthly Crimson—the deadliest sort of poison-gu. The Eighth Prince forced my eldest brother and me to drink it to coerce us into finding Blood Lotus Sect’s treasure. Without the monthly antidote to ease it, the organs burned, the abdomen twisted, and death came in agony.
I thought the yin–yang chamber in the tomb would yield the ultimate antidote—its key ingredient, Day-by-Day Green. Instead, that seductive bastard led us in circles. We found nothing and nearly died for it.
After the chaos in Crane Ridge City, I planned to pack tonight and slip out before dawn.
But fate refused. My packing was done. My body wasn’t.
The agony made one thing clear: I might actually die in this shabby inn.
I groped for a cup. Didn’t even get the water to my lips before another spasm hit and darkness swallowed me.
I blacked out.
When I came to, night had deepened. The room held only the dim glow of an oil lamp. Lian sat at my bedside, brows drawn tight.
Hua was nowhere in sight.
My voice rasped like cracked metal. “…Where’s Hua?”
“Out,” Lian answered softly. “You collapsed. He panicked and went to find a doctor.”
I wanted to laugh, but lacked the strength. “A doctor… won’t know what this is.”
He looked puzzled. And suddenly I felt it—this was the time to explain.
As he reached to check my temperature, I grabbed his hand. My breath trembled. “Lian, I need to tell you. My stomach—this pain—it’s because—”
A sharp pounding cut me off.
Thud-thud-thud!
Urgent. Heavy.
Lian tensed, one hand already on the hidden weapon in his sleeve. His voice dropped to ice. “Who is it?”
A familiar voice answered from outside. Deep. Tinged with worry.
“It’s me. Gong’er’s elder brother.”
I froze. Certain I’d misheard.
“Eldest Brother?!” My voice cracked halfway between relief and disbelief. “You’re finally here!”
I pushed myself up—and nearly collapsed again. Between gritted teeth, I blurted, “Right, right—you sent Juan to deliver that stupid silver-handkerchief thing, yeah? Tell me, did you bring the antidote too?”
Silence followed.
Then that familiar voice replied—slowly, almost amused.
“…Of course I did.”
But that tone was wrong. Nothing like the brother I remembered.
It carried a strange, unsettling tenderness.
Lian’s brows drew together. A blade of light flickered in his hand.
As for me, I hadn’t yet processed the unease. Only that the silhouette outside shifted—
Swaying under the lamplight.
Not quite like something human.