Shi Qingxuan heaved out his grievances as he turned to Xie Lian. “Your Highness, you saw it, right? They were asking for it! I wasn’t using my powers to bully them.”
“That’s right, I saw it,” Xie Lian said.
Shi Qingxuan felt his face again and mumbled under his breath, “Even my brother wouldn’t dare…” He turned around again. “Let’s go find that stone door.”
Xie Lian nodded silently and watched Shi Qingxuan fix his clothes and hair until he looked properly dashing once more. Unfortunately, he was still dressed in a bedraggled purple silk dress, so it was a dash of peculiar flavor.
It was a truly unforgettable sight. Xie Lian couldn’t help but marvel.
Thinking back on when they first met at Banyue Pass, the Lord Wind Master had seemed like such a bright and scintillating figure, and Xie Lian had thought him a powerful being with immeasurable depth—if not a peerless demonic cultivator, then a supreme master. Now that they were better acquainted, he realized all of that was but an illusion…
The two walked relentlessly in circles through the forest and finally found a set of stone doors beside a different tree hole. This time, Shi Qingxuan refused to roll the dice and shook his head.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but even though my luck isn’t always the best, it’s not always the worst either. Fortune doesn’t seem to be with me today; I rolled twice, and the first time was that earthworm tunnel, the second time a bloodthirsty spirit playground. Who knows what’s next.”
Xie Lian cleared his throat softly and guiltily replied, “Maybe it’s because I’m with you. I must’ve brought your luck down with me.”
“What are you saying?!” Shi Qingxuan exclaimed. “It’s impossible for anyone to bring down my luck—me, the Lord Wind Master! But why don’t you give it a go? Maybe there’s still some of that luck you borrowed from your San Lang left.”
For some reason, Xie Lian felt a little embarrassed when he heard “your San Lang.” He wanted to explain, but at the same time, what was there to explain? If he tried, it would only be weirder, so he didn’t say anything in the end. He felt the dice in his hands and rolled them lightly.
Two sixes.
Xie Lian held his breath as he watched the images on the stone door transform and mentally prepared himself to face whatever came next. But this time, the picture didn’t change, and the stone door creaked open.
Behind the door was another long stairway that descended into darkness, and brisk air whirled up from the depths.
The two exchanged a look, both thinking, After all that, did we circle back to the beginning?
Even if they were back at the beginning, that was still better than these strange perils; they’d had enough. Thus, the pair resolutely stepped in. But the moment they entered, the door closed behind them, and when they reached out to push, they only felt the smooth surface of a stone wall.
“Looks like our only path is down,” Xie Lian said.
“Ugh, all right,” Shi Qingxuan sighed. “Let me take a breather, and we’ll continue to play that despicable Crimson Rain Sought Flower’s game!”
The two once again descended through the long, rectangular, stony path. After two hundred steps or so, Xie Lian realized something.
“Good news, Lord Wind Master. This isn’t the same path we took the first time, even though they appear similar.”
Shi Qingxuan noticed it too. “You’re right. The first time we reached the stone wall after some two hundred steps, but not this time.”
Xie Lian said softly, “Looks like we’re on the right path this time.”
As soon as he spoke, they came to a stop.
Ahead of them in the darkness wafted the stench of blood. And accompanying that smell was the heavy breathing of a man.
The two didn’t move a muscle and said nothing. There was neither light, nor flames, yet the other party had already sensed their presence. Right after they stopped, a cold voice rang out.
“I have nothing to say,” spoke the deep voice of a man.
At the sound of that voice, Shi Qingxuan immediately ignited a palm torch.
Chapter 17:
Paradise to Ashes, the Second Coming of Fangxin
XIE LIAN DIDN’T EXPECT Shi Qingxuan to suddenly light a fire, and he didn’t even have time to stop him before it was too late. The flames were exceedingly bright and revealed the silhouette of a black-clad man.
The man in black had his head hung low against the stone wall at the end of the path. His face was white as a sheet, his black hair a mess, but underneath that unkempt appearance was an expression that shone with determination and a gaze like burning ice. Although he sat cross-legged without a trace of discomfort, the stench of blood was thick in the air. He was clearly gravely wounded and was obviously imprisoned here. His “I have nothing to say” was probably him mistaking them for interrogators.