Chapter 503: Blood Fingerprint

The Hēimǎng and Feng Xianqiu were outwardly allied but inwardly divided, and this was strongly confirmed tonight.

Otherwise, Feng Xianqiu shouldn't be lurking here to block me now; he should be off with the Hēimǎng at the Wild Grave Hill.

In a sense, Feng Xianqiu himself is my breakthrough.

So even if my internal strength is slightly inferior, I'm not afraid; he wouldn't dare kill me.

He fears the Hēimǎng, and I am valuable enough to use.

Especially after seeing that carving behind the Screen Wall, I became even more resolute.

Me and the Little Guy in my belly are too precious to them; that's my death‑exempt gold medal.

What I need to do now is not fear losing to Feng Xianqiu, but to stir up trouble as much as I can.

I sneered, "Feng Xianqiu, if I were you, what you should be doing now is not questioning where I went, but thinking hard about how to face your lord's wrath."

"Don't change the subject!" Feng Xianqiu snapped harshly, "Answer my question."

"Feng Xianqiu, I truly feel sorry for you." As I spoke, I kept my eyes locked on his face, missing none of his expression changes: "Di Luan is such an important pawn—if they say he's discarded, he's discarded. Do you think your status can surpass his? Was it you who personally peeled off his skin? Oh, even if not, you must have witnessed the whole process, etching that scene into your mind, because in the near future your fate will be countless times more miserable than his."

I hadn't finished speaking when Feng Xianqiu grabbed my throat, his face full of brutality, yet his eyes flickered uncertainly.

He was recalling, and also afraid.

Such behavior doesn't prove Feng Xianqiu is a coward.

His fear doesn't stem from Di Luan being skinned and discarded; rather, his memories have been altered, making him hypersensitive, irritable, and emotionally unstable.

Even someone like the Seven Halls Yama can't resist the erosion of the Fifth Chapter of Dream Weaving, so what merit or ability does Feng Xianqiu have?

Moreover, Wu Ling is secretly tampering.

Feng Xianqiu's descent into madness is only a matter of time.

"His skin wasn't peeled by me—no, even if it was, what of it?" He shook his head violently, seeming unsure himself, "Peeling the skin… I did it… he deserves to die! He deserves to die!"

I clearly knew my words could stir Feng Xianqiu's emotions, but I didn't expect him to break down so quickly.

I had thought that if he heard me mention Di Luan, he'd question what deal I'd made with them, and I'd even prepared harsher wording, but he simply lacked the energy to pay attention.

It seems the Hēimǎng has been attacking him for more than just a day or two.

Feng Xianqiu initially gripped me tightly, but soon he let go, clenched his fists and hammered his own head, muttering over and over, "He deserves to die!"

Tang Xun had once described to me the scene when the Seven Halls Yama flared up, and now Feng Xianqiu's condition is worsening likewise.

He was in agony, pressing his head against the wall and shouting outward, "Wu Ling! Wu Ling! Hurry and get the medicine!"

Wu Ling quickly ran in from outside, produced a small porcelain bottle, and poured its powder into Feng Xianqiu's mouth.

Wu Ling had said these powders could temporarily numb Feng Xianqiu's nerves, have a hallucinogenic effect, and make him mistakenly believe this is an effective medicine to suppress the Fifth Chapter of Dream Weaving.

Sure enough, Feng Xianqiu soon calmed down, and Wu Ling helped him sit back in his chair.

He leaned his whole body against the chairback, relaxing completely; at that moment, Feng Xianqiu's eyes were glazed.

This state resembled that of an addict after a fix.

After a while, Feng Xianqiu finally came to, sat upright, glanced at me, then stood up and headed out.

Mental torment can cripple a person even more than physical torture; as Feng Xianqiu took those first steps, his steps were unsteady.

He lingered no longer, only throwing out, "Wu Ling, watch her, nail the windows shut—don't let her step out of this room even half a step!"

Wu Ling obeyed, gave me a reassuring look, then escorted Feng Xianqiu out and ordered his subordinates to seal the windows.

Immediately, several additional layers of guards were posted inside and outside the palace.

He really had me imprisoned.

I found clean clothes to wash up, then wrapped myself in the blankets and went to sleep.

These past days have been exhausting; I'm genuinely worn out, almost falling asleep as soon as I lay down.

I'm certain no one will come again to demand an accounting; I'm already in their control, just waiting for the right moment to be sent to Nirvana.

As for when the moment will ripen, what they're still waiting for—that's not for me to consider.

I slept so soundly it was dark, and when I woke, it was already afternoon.

I was awakened by hunger.

On the table lay cold leftovers, sent by someone unknown; I made do to fill my stomach.

Afterward I pretended to be full, unable to go out, only able to stroll around the room, and began a thorough inspection of the chamber for the first time.

This is the Phoenix Lord's living quarters—spacious, fully furnished with all necessities, everything exquisite, even the candlesticks carved.

But every locked place I examined had no lock that could be opened with the Thousand‑Work Key.

Di Luan wouldn't have hidden something in this room in an obvious spot.

I turned this way and that, saw nothing suspicious, yet felt that anything could be hiding something.

Finally I decided to stop searching, sat down, and sipped tea while analyzing.

Before being discarded, Di Luan, unskinned, could never have imagined trading the Thousand‑Work Key with me.

So when he hid it, it must have been when he'd just escaped the dungeon, in a hurry, stashing it here.

During his imprisonment, he must have rehearsed this scenario many times in his mind.

He had little time, so he surely headed straight for this room, hid the item, and left.

He had been skinned, his body covered in blood, yet he wore boots.

The boots effectively prevented bloody footprints that would have given him away.

But his hands had no protection, so while hiding the item he would inevitably have left a trace of blood.

After all, the item wasn't on the surface; pushing the cover back would inevitably touch it.

I don't believe Di Luan could have been so meticulous as to leave no trace even in that extreme tension.

Yet I scanned the room with my eyes and still found no bloodstains.

No one came to disturb me—just the right time for seated meditation and cultivation.

I sat down to meditate and entered concentration; only when someone brought dinner in did I finish.

After eating dinner, I walked around the room observing everything, yet still found nothing.

I began to doubt my judgment—could I have been wrong? Are the things hidden by Dilan, or are they in that mountain cave beneath the mass grave hill?

But it was obvious that I had no chance to go again.

I regrettably lay back on the bed, wanting to review again what I had experienced underground, to see if I had missed anything.

But just as I lay down, eyes staring upward, preparing to review, I saw that on the beam facing the bed, on its inner side, there was unmistakably a bloody fingerprint……