The Hei Yi Ren extinguished the flames in his palm and quickened his pace toward the source of the light.
The brightness grew stronger, and the building within became clearer.
It was a bamboo hut, quietly emitting a white glow amid the boundless darkness.
In front of the bamboo hut stood a man, his back turned, his face unseen.
The Hei Yi Ren knelt on one knee, head bowed low, only the golden trim on the man’s robe visible.
“Did you get it?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
The Hei Yi Ren produced a glass bottle and offered it with both hands.
The man gestured for it, taking the bottle carefully to inspect it.
The Hei Yi Ren remained motionless, still kneeling.
“Did you think you could fool me with just any ordinary cultivator’s blood?”
The man spun around angrily, his eyes glinting with faint red light despite the backlight.
The Hei Yi Ren lowered his head further, placing his right hand on his left shoulder.
“Your subordinate would never deceive you.”
The man sneered coldly and flicked his hand lightly, retrieving another glass bottle from his chest.
The Hei Yi Ren’s heart pounded, cold sweat soaking his back, yet he dared not raise his head.
“I told you, don’t try to be clever. I’m letting you off this time, but next time, you won’t be so lucky.”
“Yes.”
The Hei Yi Ren dared not speak further, bowed deeply, stepped back several paces, then turned to leave.
The man gently rubbed the glass bottle in his hands; the blood inside was vivid, faintly shimmering with golden light.
A slight smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he turned and entered the bamboo hut.
Inside, near the window, a low couch held a chessboard.
The man passed by without stopping and came to the cold spring behind the hut.
Amid the steaming water stood a transparent ice coffin.
The man stared obsessively at the person inside, carefully lifting the coffin’s lid.
Within lay a young man with delicate features, thin lips pressed together, a look of coldness on his face.
But the man knew better—this was all just a facade.
No one’s heart was softer than his.
“I’ve found your descendant. His blood will definitely awaken you,” the man muttered to himself.
“When you wake, I will bring you the Huangquan Bamboo. You always loved its fruit…”
He trailed off as he dripped a single drop of blood onto the young man’s forehead.
The tiny droplet froze instantly in the cold air, solidifying on the youth’s brow.
But nothing happened.
The man’s smile faltered, his expression darkened.
Black energy surged from within him.
“Useless. How could it be useless?”
He closed the ice coffin and staggered backward, his eyes glowing a deep red. His entire being spiraled into madness.
“You still refuse to wake. You refuse to forgive me.”
He shouted at the figure inside the coffin.
After a long silence, he covered his face and began crying hysterically.
“I was wrong…I truly know I was wrong, Li…”
The night remained still.
The spring water was calm; the ice coffin motionless on the surface.
By the edge of the pool, the Wutong Shu tree shimmered faintly but failed to illuminate the endless darkness.
Bai Maomao was on his way to the Mo Family estate.
Mo Qin had said that Yan Miao had finally taken human form.
Though he still had no memories, dazed and unrecognizing of others, it was still much better than before.
Mo Qin hadn’t wanted Bai Maomao to come.
He merely wanted to brag a little, throwing back some dog food he had eaten before.
But unexpectedly, Bai Maomao insisted on seeing Yan Miao.
Mo Qin had inadvertently brought trouble upon himself and was quite displeased.
The servants were trembling with fear, worried they might offend the family head.
So when Bai Maomao arrived, they greeted him with fervent eyes.
Though unwilling to let Bai Maomao disrupt his private time, Mo Qin couldn’t very well send him away now that he had come.
He could only sulk while holding Yan Miao out to greet him.
Yan Miao had just transformed.
His body was still weak, and he wasn’t very steady on his feet. Inside the house, Mo Qin always carried him around.
At this moment, the small figure was cradled in Mo Qin’s arms, hands obediently clutching his neck.
His black eyes looked around curiously.
Since taking human form, Mo Qin rarely brought him outside, so everything beyond the room was new and fascinating to him.
As soon as Bai Maomao entered, he was force-fed a handful of dog food.
The two were glued together like glue; Mo Qin held a small spoon, feeding Yan Miao yogurt.
Yan Miao sat on his lap, opening his mouth obediently to be fed.
“Aren’t you planning to take him out for a walk?”
Bai Maomao sat down on a chair.
Mo Qin didn’t even raise his eyelids.
“I won’t let him leave me again.”
Bai Maomao’s gaze was complex as he looked at the person in Mo Qin’s arms—still small and thin, with pale skin and large dark eyes, so well-behaved that one wanted to gently squeeze him.
Yan Miao looked back at him, blinking curiously, even forgetting to eat the yogurt brought to his lips.
Mo Qin scowled fiercely, holding the spoon high in one hand while using the other to turn Yan Miao’s face back and feed him a big mouthful.
Yan Miao swallowed contentedly, then turned his head to continue looking around.
Mo Qin glared menacingly at Bai Maomao.
They used to be close, but now that Yan Miao remembered nothing, how could he still care so much?
Bai Maomao raised an eyebrow, ignoring the glare, and smiled at Yan Miao.
“My name’s Bai Maomao. What’s yours?”
Yan Miao stared blankly at him, then after a long pause, slowly replied, “I…I’m called…Miao Miao.”
He spoke haltingly, his tongue twisting inside his mouth until the words tumbled out sloppily.
After speaking, he seemed a little embarrassed, lowering his head to fidget with his fingers, cheeks and ears flushed red.
Seeing him like this, Bai Maomao’s heartache finally eased.
Taking advantage of Mo Qin’s distraction, he ruffled Yan Miao’s hair.
“I’ll go first. I’ll come back to play next time. Bye.”
He didn’t want to sit there getting death glares from Mo Qin.
Yan Miao remained dazed, always a little slow to react.
He waved his hand slowly and said, “Bye.”
Bai Maomao was in high spirits.
Lang Junxian stopped by to pick him up after finishing his errands.
He saw Bai Maomao walking leisurely by the roadside, humming happily with a bright smile.
Lang Junxian honked and rolled down the window, calling him over.
Bai Maomao’s eyes lit up, and he hopped into the car with a bounce.
“So happy?”
“Yeah, Yan Miao’s better,” he squinted and smiled.
“Though he doesn’t remember anything, his wish came true.”
Lang Junxian listened as he drove.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed. Bai Maomao took it and expertly unlocked it.
There was an unread message: “Be careful, protect Bai Maomao.”
“What does this mean?”
Bai Maomao frowned, showing the message to Lang Junxian.
Lang Junxian’s expression darkened, the smile gone.
“Note the number. I’ll have someone investigate.”
Bai Maomao was about to agree when the message suddenly showed as deleted.
He gasped, “It deleted itself.”
Whether the sender was friend or foe was unknown.
Suddenly sending such a cryptic message, Lang Junxian couldn’t fully trust it but couldn’t ignore it either.
He pressed the accelerator and headed swiftly toward the Lang Family estate.
When they arrived, before they could enter the courtyard, the butler stopped them.
The butler bowed respectfully but firmly blocked their way.
“The family head said the eldest young master has returned. Please come meet him.”
Lang Junxian’s face darkened, his mood sour.
But this was not the time to lose his temper.
He took Bai Maomao and changed direction toward the main hall.
Inside, Lang Junqi wore a white suit, his hair slicked back, revealing a full forehead.
Silver-rimmed glasses perched on his face, making him appear even more refined and handsome.
He was completely different from Lang Junxian.
One was iron-blooded and domineering like a wolf, the other sly and cunning like a fox.
Lang Junqi sat upright in his chair, occasionally sipping fragrant tea, his posture relaxed.
He had been held back by insufficient strength before, but now that he had reached the same realm, he thought Lang Junxian should return what was rightfully his.
Lang Juntian also observed his eldest son carefully.
Not having seen him for two years, he hadn’t expected his mediocre son to suddenly break through.
His strength was unclear, but at least reaching the same height qualified him to speak.
Lang Junxian came over and, seeing the seated man, showed no surprise, not even pausing. He casually sat down, hands resting naturally on his knees.
His sharp gaze swept over Lang Junqi as he spoke calmly, “Big brother.”
“Second brother,” Lang Junqi bit his tongue in irritation but suppressed it, replying politely, putting on a show of brotherly harmony.
Lang Juntian, the father, seemed oblivious to the undercurrents between his sons.
Smiling brightly, he spoke as if they truly were a harmonious family.