Chapter 36 Part 2

Bathed in moonlight, Tong Yuwu’s pale face appeared utterly haggard. A single droplet clung to her long, curly eyelashes—it was impossible to tell whether it was a bead of sweat that had trickled down or a tear welling from her eye.

Meng Yiran drifted closer, arms outstretched in an embrace, drawing her into a gentle hold.

In the next moment, she opened her eyes to find herself in a bizarre room.

The chamber had no windows. Not a sliver of sunlight pierced its confines; only the flickering flames along the walls provided illumination. A faint, cloying scent of damp earth hung in the air, thick enough to stifle the breath.

Meng Yiran sensed immediately that this was no ordinary surface structure. It felt like something built deep underground.

Before her stood a middle-aged man with graying temples. He tilted his chin upward, his gaze sweeping indifferently over her and those around her. “You three newcomers,” he said. “Follow me.”

Meng Yiran glanced down and realized that she and everyone else in the room wore the uniforms of Tong Family servants. Noble servants’ attire was much the same across houses, but the family crests differed—and the emblem embroidered on every cuff here was unmistakably the Tong Family’s.

Servants had their hierarchies too. The simple floral patterns worked into the middle-aged man’s clothes marked him clearly as a manager, a cut above the rest.

The two others who had been standing beside Meng Yiran were already hurrying after the middle-aged manager. She snapped to attention and chased after them.

As they walked, the manager briefed them on their duties.

“The ritual has reached a critical stage,” he said. “They’re short on hands down here, which is why they’ve pulled you lot in. If you don’t want to spend your lives as lowly servants, make the most of this chance. The work itself is straightforward. Just keep two rules in mind—

“First: Stick to your tasks. No stray thoughts.

“Second: No interaction with ‘her’ whatsoever. That means no eye contact, no words, no gestures—nothing.”

The maid ahead of Meng Yiran looked up. “Uh… who is ‘she’?”

The middle-aged manager shot her a sidelong glare and let out a cold chuckle, offering no straight answer. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The four of them pressed on until they entered a vast chamber.

Its ceiling soared so high that calling it a small plaza would have been no exaggeration. At the far end stood a structure like an altar, its surface etched with deep grooves resembling blood channels. The grooves wove together into a complex pattern, converging at the southernmost point to point straight at a weathered stone slab bed in the room’s center.

Meng Yiran caught a vague glimpse of someone lying on the stone slab bed. Before she could narrow her eyes for a better look, a burly male servant marched past, dragging a struggling maid—their path crossing right in front of the group.

As the maid passed the middle-aged manager, she shuddered violently. A piercing wail tore from her throat, and she lunged wildly at him.

Meng Yiran and the other two newcomers scrambled aside.

She heard the maid shrieking, “This place is hell! This is a devil’s ritual! How can you treat her like that? God of Light above, you’ll face retribution—”

The male servant who had been holding her came back to his senses and stepped forward to pull her away. But the berserk strength of someone in a frenzied state was no joke—even as a man, he couldn’t budge her an inch. The male servant glanced around and suddenly spotted a spiked weapon leaning against the wall. In a few quick strides, he snatched it up and swung it straight at the back of the maid’s head.

If that strike had landed true, the maid would have had her skull caved in and died right there on the spot.

Meng Yiran moved faster than thought, thrusting out her hand to block it. The spiked weapon crashed into her arm, knocking it off course, but it still slammed into the maid’s left shoulder. Her flesh split open in an instant, and she let out a agonized cry before crumpling to the floor.

Blood poured from her left shoulder, soaking into the floorboards before spreading lazily outward, staining the soles of the middle-aged manager’s and the male servant’s shoes.

The middle-aged manager shot Meng Yiran a glance while smoothing out the wrinkles clawed into his clothes. “Take her out,” he ordered.

The male servant bowed at once, then grabbed the maid by the ankle of her left foot and dragged her from the room.

Her blood left a deep gouge on the floor, and a faint, coppery scent filled the air, sending chills racing up Meng Yiran’s spine despite her best efforts to suppress them.

The blow her arm had taken while blocking should have hurt far worse than the maid’s shoulder wound by all rights, yet her limb was utterly unharmed now—not even a twinge of pain.

It reminded Meng Yiran once more—

She was inside Tong Yuwu’s dream, not the real world.

“What a pain,” the middle-aged manager muttered under his breath. He turned to Meng Yiran and the other two. “Didn’t expect a follower of the God of Light to slip in here. What about you three—any faiths to declare?”

Meng Yiran shook her head, copying the pair beside her.

“Heh.” The middle-aged manager let out a cold chuckle, his gaze lingering longest on Meng Yiran. “If you do, you’d best confess now or renounce it quick—still time while you’re new.”

He added with heavy implication: “But if it’s found out later… I can’t promise what’ll happen.”

None of the three newcomers said a word. Satisfied, he gave a curt nod and led them deeper into the room.

The chamber was enormous. By the time they reached its center, the bloodstain by the door was far behind them. Yet for some reason, Meng Yiran could still smell that cloying blood right under her nose.

The manager singled out her and one of the other new maids. “Go over there. If she wakes, pin her hands and feet so she can’t get up, then shout for me at once.” He paused. “And no talking to her—none.”

“Yes,” Meng Yiran and the other replied, turning toward the stone slab bed.

A woman lay atop it—or rather, a young girl. She wore a flimsy white dress that bared her slender arms and ankles, so fragile they looked like they’d snap under the slightest pressure. And those bare patches of skin were covered in ugly purple bruises, the unmistakable signs of prolonged abuse.

But what truly set Meng Yiran’s heart pounding was the girl’s slightly wavy black hair, unkempt and splayed across the stone slab like a little blanket—eerily similar to Tong Yuwu’s own locks.

A dreadful suspicion bloomed in Meng Yiran’s mind. Her breath caught as she prayed silently that she was wrong.

Only when she drew close enough to make out the girl’s face did harsh reality hit. The fragile thread of her composure nearly snapped. She rushed to the bedside of the girl who was Little Tong Yuwu, hands hovering uselessly as she murmured in distraught collapse, “How… how could this be?”

There lay Little Tong Yuwu, looking no older than fourteen or fifteen, eyes shut tight on the stone slab bed. Her face was utterly bloodless, a ghostly pallor. Deep scars marred the insides of both wrists, sealed over with thick, reddish-brown scabs.

“Isn’t this our young miss from the Tong Family?” the maid who had come with her asked. “We’d always heard she was so frail she couldn’t even leave her bed. Guess it’s all true.”

“Are you blind?” Meng Yiran snapped, glaring at her. “That’s not ‘frail’—that’s deliberate harm!” She drew a sharp hiss of breath at the sight of those wounds.

The maid blinked. “But she’s the esteemed Tong Family young miss… Who’d dare hurt her?”

She eyed the stone slab bed and the altar nearby, venturing a guess. “I’ve heard mages use special rituals for healing. Maybe the madam set this up as a treatment room just for her.”

Meng Yiran opened her mouth.

Meng Yiran instinctively knew that what the other woman had said couldn’t possibly be right, but she couldn’t come up with a solid counterargument. This was Tong Yuwu’s dream, after all—it could be entirely made up and utterly absurd, defying all logic. The only thing she was certain of was that Tong Yuwu in her current state didn’t look like she was receiving any kind of treatment. Otherwise, the dream wouldn’t have her breaking out in cold sweats, tossing and turning without any real rest.

After a moment’s thought, Meng Yiran asked, “Where is that Madam?”

“Are you asking me?” The maid shook her head and shrugged. “How should I know?”

Suddenly, Tong Yuwu—who lay on the stone slab bed with her eyes closed—tilted her head slightly and murmured something in her sleep. Meng Yiran bent down, vaguely making out the word “Mother.”

The maid nearby asked nervously, “Is she awake?”

Meng Yiran looked up. “She’s looking for the Madam.” She added, “She seems to be in really bad shape. Shouldn’t we…”

Before she could finish, the maid pointed at Tong Yuwu and shouted, “She’s awake!”

Meng Yiran lowered her head and saw that Tong Yuwu on the bed had indeed opened her eyes at some point.

Those purple pupils were just as she remembered them—dreamy and crystalline, as if they held an entire mysterious galaxy. But compared to the real world, this smaller version of Tong Yuwu had no light in her eyes at all. Those big purple orbs looked almost eerie against her frail, bloodless face.

The maid said in a fluster, “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her move around. I’ll go notify the manager.”

Meng Yiran couldn’t stop her and could only watch as she hurried off. She lowered her head and tried speaking to Tong Yuwu. “Yuwu? Tong Yuwu? Are you all right?”

Tong Yuwu rolled her eyes toward her.

She seemed not to recognize Meng Yiran at all. Her gaze held no flicker of emotion as she asked in a low voice, “Where is Mother?”

That voice was weak and raspy, even stumbling a little—nothing like the tone Meng Yiran remembered from Tong Yuwu.

The realization made Meng Yiran’s nose sting.

“Mother… I don’t know where she is,” she replied. But she quickly changed tack. “Don’t be scared. None of this is real—you’re dreaming, you know that? Everything will be fine once you wake up! Come on, wake up!”

Tong Yuwu, however, acted as if she hadn’t heard a word. Her eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling.

She licked her lips—her mouth so parched it couldn’t even moisten them. “Mother, can you come see me?” Meng Yiran noticed her toes twitch. “I’m a little cold.”

“She will come see you,” Meng Yiran said. “She will come save you and take you away from here.”

No sooner had she spoken than a sharp shout rang out from nearby. “Don’t talk to her!”

The manager arrived at the stone slab bed, accompanied by the maid. “What do you think you’re doing? Did you just let my words go in one ear and out the other?”

Meng Yiran straightened up. “The young miss wants to see the Madam. Manager, where is the Madam?”

She sounded urgent. “Can I go fetch the Madam?”

The manager glared at her fiercely, on the verge of responding, when the maid behind him cried out in surprise. “The Madam’s here!”

Meng Yiran followed her gaze and saw two figures—one tall, one short—appear in the doorway.