This was the Mu family’s small estate in Tianhai City. Yun Muchen and his mother were in the third-floor bedroom, while I hid in the attic above, separated from them by only a thin ceiling.
From here, I could clearly hear their conversation, and through the gaps in the attic, I even caught glimpses of their animated expressions.
“You heard all that?” I whispered into the secret channel, forcing a bitter smile.
“Mm.” Cluru responded softly through the channel.
Her quiet murmur was laced with suppressed cold fury.
Damn it… How did this bastard get to see the worst side of me…
These things should have rotted away in the past, never to be unearthed, yet now she had heard everything.
For a disciple to hear such a humiliating past of their master… seriously…
“How did you find this place?”
“Your Mark, and the Secret Passage,” Cluru said. “I once lived in this estate and know its layout well.”
Besides, with my tentacles, I could scale walls and move across eaves effortlessly. Cluru quickly climbed up from the wall to the attic and joined me.
The tentacles slowly crawled up, wrapping gently around my slender waist that felt like it might break.
In the dark loft, Cluru pulled me into her arms, soothingly patting my trembling back.
It was like comforting a freshly hatched bird, using the warmth of her palms to drive away all fear and unease.
“Don’t be afraid. You have me,” she whispered.
.
The small, cold, trembling body in her embrace allowed Cluru to clearly feel how fragile I was at this moment.
This was the mighty Little Luo Immortal, who repeatedly shattered the world’s understanding of power, yet never uttered a word about this heavy past that no one could imagine.
I didn’t pull away. At this moment, Cluru’s warm embrace and soft tentacles were like a lifeline.
I collapsed into her arms, clutching two of her tentacles tightly, biting down hard on my teeth, fighting to suppress the effects of PTSD.
“All right, all right.”
Cluru pressed my small head against her shoulder and comforted me gently:
“Foolish Master, you’ve helped me so many times… This time, let me help you.”
Domain Expansion!
Eternal Dream Domain: Eighteen Games!
.
Yun Muchen and his mother were still reminiscing about their past victories.
It seemed that reliving these moments gave them a fleeting sense of superiority, helping them forget the losses brought by Yun Xian’s return.
“Hm? What’s that smell?”
In the servant girl’s view, Yun Muchen’s smile suddenly twisted into something sinister.
At first, the servant girl paid no attention—after all, during their past acts of cruelty, Yun Muchen’s expression had been just as eerie.
Until Yun Muchen picked up the pliers.
“Mom, I’m having a relapse.”
“What relapse?” The servant girl felt an ominous premonition.
“I want to pull out your tongue. I really want to! I can’t hold back anymore! Mom… don’t move, open your mouth obediently!”
“??!”
Before the servant girl could react, Yun Muchen lunged forward and kicked her in the stomach.
Taking advantage of her falling back into the chair, he shoved the pliers into her mouth.
A few minutes later.
.
“Ahhhh—ahhhh—”
“Are you crazy?! Are you insane?! How dare you do this to me? I’m your mother!”
The servant girl’s screams tore through the air, desperate for the Guards outside to hear her cries, yet… at this moment, it seemed as if every Guard had vanished.
No one came in.
An unprecedented pain radiated from her mouth throughout her body, causing her muscles to spasm uncontrollably.
“Don’t be afraid, Mom, it’s just one tongue pulled out. I won’t let you bleed to death.”
Yun Muchen smiled as he lit the Furnace, then heated an Iron Needle until it glowed red.
With the aid of immortal spiritual power, the Furnace quickly turned a scarlet hue.
Yun Muchen then lifted the iron needle.
He welded the bleeding wound shut to prevent her from bleeding out too quickly, thereby prolonging the punishment.
The servant girl had never experienced such agony; she was on the verge of fainting… Yet under the influence of that strange fragrance, she not only couldn’t pass out but felt the pain intensify several times over!
Why? How could this be? How could he treat me like this?
The pain brought fear, disbelief, and burning anger from betrayal.
“You’re amazing.” Yun Muchen happily clapped his hands as he stomped on her stomach. “You actually survived one eighteenth.”
One eighteenth?!
The servant girl’s eyes widened in terror. What did that mean? You unfilial beast! What do you mean by that?!
She wanted to question him, but her entire mouth was completely destroyed, and all she could manage were miserable screams and guttural sounds.
“Don’t worry, our fun is only just beginning,” Yun Muchen said with a smile. “Eighteen layers of hell, eighteen ways to play. We’ve only gone through one; we have a long time of joy ahead of us.”
You damned little bastard! Ungrateful white-eyed wolf! I raised you with so much effort, gave you all my resources and love! Yun Muchen! You beast! How could you treat me like this? How could you?!
The servant girl cursed frantically in her heart.
Yet little did she know, the real Yun Muchen was enduring exactly the same torment.
In Yun Muchen’s dream, he was tightly bound to a chair, unable to summon immortal spirits or move an inch.
His tongue had just been pulled out, and now, from his point of view, the servant girl pulled out a pair of Scissors.
“This second hell is called Scissor Hell,” in Yun Muchen’s dream, his most trusted person—the servant girl—smiled cruelly.
She yanked one of Yun Muchen’s arms so he could clearly see his own hand.
Then.
“Zzzzt—”
Ten fingers, directly connected to the heart, drove Yun Muchen to scream in agony. He desperately wished to faint.
But unfortunately, he couldn’t.
And he was painfully lucid.
He didn’t understand how his own mother could suddenly turn into such a demon.
Why was she torturing him… Didn’t she know how much it hurt?!
“Let go! Let me go! Please spare me… I beg you…”
Yun Muchen shook his head frantically, trying to plead with his expression.
But he forgot one thing.
For sadists,
the very thing they crave is the desperate, pitiful pleas.
Those only stoke their pleasure further, immersing them even more deeply in this game.
He should have known. As a sadist himself, he had enjoyed this kind of twisted joy.
Yet now, he too was making the deadliest mistake.
“Crack—crack—”
One by one.
Fingers after fingers.
Until all ten fingers and ten toes were crushed by blunt scissors.
Then.
“Congratulations, you’ve completed the second of eighteen games.”
“The third and fourth games are even more thrilling if done together… The third game is called: Iron Tree Through Back.”
“And the fourth game is called: Boiling Feces Hell.”