Chapter 82: Folklore Horror (12)
The temple was deathly silent, the only sound the sizzle of the red candles. A crushing pressure hung in the air, making it hard to breathe. Even the candlelight seemed to dim.
The Mother Goddess looked terrified.
Jian Yuntai’s expression was even more horrified.
Seeing Fuzhu about to approach the Mother Goddess, he panicked. This couldn’t happen! If Fuzhu continued to absorb her divine grace, the Mother Goddess might survive the Nine Lives continuation, but he would die.
Jian Yuntai struggled to lift himself. “Wait…”
Fuzhu’s feet paused on the tips of his toes. He turned back, eyes full of anxiety.
He almost immediately came to Jian Yuntai’s side.
His fingers trembled slightly as he wiped the blood from Jian Yuntai’s lips. His eyes darkened. “I’m going to kill her.”
“…….”
They stared at each other silently for several seconds. Thinking quickly in the moment, Jian Yuntai coughed and said, “Y-you protect the candles!”
“…” Fuzhu froze for a moment.
Jian Yuntai’s face was pale and stiff; even he felt the words were abrupt and strange.
Breathing was difficult, as if his nostrils were packed with cotton—cotton soaked in blood. Every inhale brought the metallic scent of blood so strongly it threatened to burst his skull.
It was unbearably painful.
So painful he could barely think.
He didn’t know how to explain to Fuzhu, so he awkwardly avoided eye contact and looked toward the Mother Goddess.
The Mother Goddess looked like a paper figure. Her head was fixed tightly toward the candelabrum, not the slightest tilt. She seemed to be waiting for something—what was she waiting for?
Jian Yuntai tried to judge from her gaze, but those black ink-drawn eyes made it impossible to tell exactly where she was looking.
He could only roughly see that she was staring at the candelabrum.
The spark must not be extinguished; if it is, retreat is certain.
The Mother Goddess… was she waiting for the candle to go out?
But the red candles were only halfway burned. Even with the cold wind outside, it was not nearly enough to blow out the flame. Jian Yuntai looked at the candelabrum again.
A hundred red candles burned together, filling the hall with a deep orange-red glow. Smoke from the incense twisted upward, giving the temple a solemn, almost sacred feel.
Wait… incense?
Jian Yuntai’s expression suddenly changed.
The hundred red candles, standing together in a grand display, were enough to distract from the small incense stick burning in the censer behind them.
The incense had burned almost to the end; the tiny spark at its tip was barely visible, about to go out.
Could it be that the “spark must not die” didn’t refer to the candles, but to this small incense?
Before the thought fully formed, a soft laugh came from outside the hall. “Do you think I brought you here to see the last two murals for nothing?”
“Do you think I asked you all those questions for nothing?”
“Because…” The Mother Goddess’s voice suddenly sharpened, cutting like a blade, “because I was stalling for time!”
As soon as she finished speaking, there was a light click.
The incense flame went out, ash fell into the censer, and the final wisp of smoke rose and dissipated into the air.
Boom! Boom!
Everything happened in an instant. The temple floor split open violently. Jian Yuntai’s body plummeted through the air, surrounded by a cascade of rubble.
“!!!”
He instinctively tried to grab anything nearby to stabilize himself. But with the light-injury buff, although the command reached his brain, his limbs were numb and unresponsive.
He could only fall, and fall again.
His last memory before losing consciousness was of Fuzhu, like a swift swallow on the beams, lightly stepping on the debris. Without hesitation, he leapt into the chasm with him. The rubble gathered around Fuzhu, who stretched out a hand as if to grab him—
And then everything went black.
His consciousness plunged into darkness.
※※※
When he woke again, three hours had passed.
The livestream viewers had watched three hours of empty footage. When Jian Yuntai’s figure reappeared on screen, everyone sighed in relief:
“Finally awake!”
“I thought he might stay unconscious like Fatty until the end. Glad Jian Dadan woke up.”
“So is this when a new map opens? Yay! Jian Dadan, go! Finding Nong Lingling will complete the main quest! And Fatty… he still hasn’t woken up.”
“Hss—” Jian Yuntai propped himself up and realized he had been resting on something soft. Lowering his eyes, he saw it was Fuzhu’s fluffy fox tail.
He had been using Fuzhu’s tail as a pillow for three hours.
When he got up, Fuzhu’s tail didn’t move for a long time; it was probably numb from the weight.
Looking up, Jian Yuntai saw Fuzhu’s eyes slightly red, his voice hoarse as he spoke, “I thought you…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Jian Yuntai paused, then shook his head sluggishly. “Where is this?”
“The underground palace beneath the temple,” Fuzhu’s gaze darkened. “This palace stretches for miles under the temple. The mountains were hollowed out—it’s not human workmanship.”
The fourth mural had mentioned that the Mother Goddess, fearing that past calamities might happen again, hid the Nine Lives statues in an unknowable place.
Now it seemed… that place was this underground palace.
Jian Yuntai began to carefully examine the underground palace.
Buried beneath the temple, there was no natural light. The faint illumination inside the corridor came entirely from the murals on both sides.
These murals were the same four as in the temple.
In this dim light, visibility was extremely poor. Jian Yuntai could only see a couple of meters around him. Beyond that, everything looked like deep, unknowable voids.
A few meters ahead, a tall black shape rose, like a mound of sandbags piled into a small hill.
A comment in the livestream had been slightly misleading—saying Jian Yuntai was career-driven. He wasn’t driven by ambition; in a world on the brink of apocalypse, if he didn’t force himself to act, every bit of laziness he had ever allowed would find a way to create problems later.
He could not relax for a moment.
Even in discomfort, Jian Yuntai pressed against the wall and struggled to stand.
“Huff…”
Just that motion felt like hiking hundreds of kilometers; he was panting heavily.
He took a step forward.
Crack, crack. The bones in his knees made an unusually sharp snapping sound. Jian Yuntai’s legs went weak, and he collapsed forward—
—falling right into Fuzhu’s arms.
The underground palace was cold and sinister, but that embrace was warm. Jian Yuntai almost didn’t want to get up. His eyelids wouldn’t even lift; he whispered weakly, “What is that black mass up ahead?”
“I don’t know,” Fuzhu said.
Jian Yuntai was surprised. “You didn’t go check? It’s just a few meters away—didn’t even take a look?”
Fuzhu: “…”
Fuzhu had stayed by Jian Yuntai’s side the whole time, not leaving for a single step.
Just now, he had genuinely been afraid—a feeling he had never experienced before. Not even after getting separated from his clan and captured by the demon hunter sect did he feel this crushing, heart-cramping despair.
He was afraid Jian Yuntai would die.
Demon hunters were human. Humans were weak.
He had watched the color drain from Jian Yuntai’s face bit by bit, his breathing weakening.
No matter how much he called out, he couldn’t wake him.
Eventually, he almost touched Jian Yuntai’s pulse every minute. Thump, thump.
Even such a small pulse gave Fuzhu an unprecedented sense of relief.
In this situation, forget about the black mass ahead—even if it moved, Fuzhu wouldn’t spare it a glance. He wasn’t interested in the shadow.
He only cared about Jian Yuntai.
These thoughts remained in his mind. Then Fuzhu said, “Shall I carry you over to take a look?”
Jian Yuntai was silent for a moment. “Support me.”
He didn’t want to be carried like a princess—he was stubborn about this.
Fuzhu didn’t argue. Half-supporting him by the shoulders, they slowly walked toward the black mass. Every two steps, Jian Yuntai had to pause for a few seconds.
He was quietly amazed.
If even the light-injury buff felt this terrifying, he shuddered to imagine what would happen if it turned into a severe-injury buff when the demon core was extracted…
Finally, they reached the black mass. Jian Yuntai’s amazement turned into shock.
The black mass was actually a “small mountain” of white bones—over a hundred corpses piled together. Many wore tattered clothing, and the bones were so interlaced that it was impossible to tell which was a leg and which an arm.
They had been dead for so long that the white bones were no longer truly white, covered by a thick layer of gray. The stench of decay was muted, leaving only a faint damp, metallic smell.
Jian Yuntai crouched and lightly touched one of the bones. Instantly, the “small mountain” collapsed. He barely reacted before Fuzhu pulled him back several steps.
Rumble, rumble.
It took a while for the chaotic scene in front of them to settle.
Jian Yuntai stepped forward and looked down. “These bodies… they’re all women.”
Judging by the torn clothing, they weren’t modern women; at least two hundred years old.
What made it even more chilling was that the black mass wasn’t the only one. In the dim light, at the end of the corridor, another, even larger pile of bones was visible.
Only now did Jian Yuntai understand why Fuzhu had said the underground palace was “buried” beneath the temple—it was literally a mass grave, containing countless unidentified female corpses.
“Why is your body so weak?” Fuzhu couldn’t hold back anymore. “Did the Mother Goddess do something to you? I’ll kill her once we leave here!”
Fuzhu genuinely cared for Jian Yuntai, but from the livestream viewers’ godlike perspective, it was a dilemma:
“This is tricky. If he tells Fuzhu the truth, the light-injury buff might turn into a severe-injury buff. But if he doesn’t, Fuzhu would have to destroy all nine statues and kill the Mother Goddess to gain the divine grace, and Jian Dadan’s light-injury buff would keep worsening.”
“Another impossible choice…”
“What will Jian Dadan do?”
While the viewers wondered, Jian Yuntai’s expression remained calm. He flicked the black pot onto the Mother Goddess’s head, pretending to hesitate. “Maybe it was the Mother Goddess playing tricks.”
Before Fuzhu could respond, he quickly added, “But we can’t kill her—Nong Lingling isn’t found yet.”
“……”
Fuzhu’s eyes darkened. He gritted his teeth. “Why do you care so much about finding her? Is she that important to you?” Important enough that you risk your own life?
Jian Yuntai replied oddly, “I don’t even know her.”
Fuzhu’s expression softened slightly. “Then you…?”
“The demon hunter’s leaving the mountain test, the mission assigned to me is to find Nong Lingling. To figure out what really happened in the Mother Goddess Village,” Jian Yuntai lied casually. “If I weren’t eager to leave the the mountain, I wouldn’t bother looking for her.”
Fuzhu’s gaze faltered. “Really?”
Jian Yuntai met his eyes for a moment, then guiltily looked away and said lightly, “Why would I lie to you?”
Fuzhu pressed, “Then why don’t you dare look at me?”
“Let’s go.” Jian Yuntai pushed Fuzhu’s hand aside and struggled two steps forward. “I really didn’t lie.”
He lied easily, with no trace of blush or heartbeat change, making it seem almost righteous. Seeing no signs of deception, Fuzhu didn’t doubt him.
But another question arose.
If he wasn’t lying, why didn’t Jian Yuntai dare to look at him?
Fuzhu stood still, lips pressed tight, raising a hand to touch his own brow and eyes with his pale fingertips.
Could it… be because of that face?
“Even if he don’t take him as a substitute, seeing that identical face could make you mistakenly recognize him,” the whispers of the male players from that day echoed in his mind.
Fuzhu had been confident just a moment ago. Thinking of this, his face went pale, and a wave of suffocating pressure filled his chest.
…….
…….
When Jian Yuntai first entered the underground palace, his mood wasn’t that bad. In his mind, it was like unlocking a new map—one that contained Fatty, Nong Lingling, and the Mother Goddess’s nine statues.
If he found Fatty, he could rescue him.
If he found Nong Lingling, he could complete the main quest.
If he located the Mother Goddess’s statues, he could defeat the boss.
To him, this wasn’t a crisis—it was an opportunity!
But Jian Yuntai soon realized how naive that thought had been.
The underground palace was enormous—bigger than he could have imagined.
Compared to this vast labyrinth, the Mother Goddess Village perched atop the mountain looked like a tiny star next to a full moon. The moon was immense, the star minuscule.
Even worse, they were lost.
Not just a trick of the labyrinth, they were genuinely lost.
All the corridors looked identical, and the murals on both sides were exactly the same. Jian Yuntai had left marks at several points, but when he tried to retrace his steps from memory, he never saw any of those markers again.
Every place he walked felt vaguely familiar, but the details proved he had never actually been there before.
Eventually, even with Fuzhu supporting him, Jian Yuntai’s waist bent under exhaustion, unable to lift his legs.
“Your pulse is getting weaker,” Fuzhu noted. But his own state was the opposite. Perhaps because the nine statues were hidden within the underground palace, he seemed to draw tiny fragments of divine grace constantly, strengthening himself without realizing it.
His eyes remained fixed on Jian Yuntai, and after a few moments of hesitation, he forcibly grabbed Jian Yuntai’s arm amid his startled protest.
“?!” Jian Yuntai exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
Fuzhu’s expression didn’t change. In a softer voice, almost pleading, he asked, “You don’t want to be carried, but can I carry you on my back?”
Jian Yuntai lay on his back, feeling as if he were being supported on clouds. He swayed drowsily, almost dozing off, then after a while said, “Thank you.”
“Thank you” was a strange, formal phrase; people didn’t usually say it to those close to them. Although demons didn’t understand human customs, he had picked up a few things over the past few days.
For example, when Fatty brought him food, Jian Yuntai had never once said thank you.
Fuzhu’s heart felt weighted. Hesitantly, he asked, “Do you… say thank you to him too?”
Jian Yuntai, half-asleep, muttered, “Who?”
Fuzhu was silent for a moment. “Cui Yu.”
“……….…”
The underground palace was empty and utterly silent. Every footstep echoed far.
Those two words had shaken Jian Yuntai awake; his drowsiness vanished instantly. He lifted his eyelids, stunned for a moment, and finally asked, “Why do you ask?”
Fuzhu lowered his gaze. “I wanted to know.”
Jian Yuntai recalled and said, “At first, yes. Later… it seemed not.”
“……” Fuzhu’s steps grew heavier. Thud, thud, thud. The echoes rang violently through the corridors.
Jian Yuntai asked, puzzled, “What’s wrong with you?”
Fuzhu snorted coldly, “No need to thank me!”
Jian Yuntai: “???”
His consciousness grew increasingly heavy. At first, Jian Yuntai could still point out directions. Later, his vision went pitch black, and his arms hung limply at Fuzhu’s sides.
His body kept sliding downward.
And again, Fuzhu lifted him up.
The weakness radiated from him like the aftermath of a major surgery. A metallic-sweet taste filled his throat; he didn’t even realize he was coughing up blood.
Fuzhu felt a warm, damp pressure on his shoulder. Turning his eyes, his voice tight, he asked, “Are you in a lot of pain?”
“……” Jian Yuntai had no strength to answer.
His heartbeat grew weaker and weaker, while Fuzhu’s thudded faster and faster, his entire being soaked in a torrent of tension, gusts of wind whipping around him as he moved.
They had to find an exit.
They had to find it quickly!
Nong Lingling? He didn’t care. Right now, he only wanted to get Jian Yuntai out of this cursed underground palace as fast as possible! Once outside, he could contact the clan and get Jian Yuntai medical attention.
But the palace was like a giant maze. Fuzhu circled multiple times, losing all sense of direction. A crushing helplessness wrapped around him, tangling his entire heart.
If… only his inner core were still intact. Then navigating this palace would have been easy.
Listening to the faint, weakening breaths beside him, Fuzhu’s eyes reddened. In a hoarse voice, he said, “You still owe me a Reed Chicken.”
Jian Yuntai, groggy, opened his eyes. “Huh?”
Fuzhu threatened fiercely, “You still owe me the last Reed Chicken. If you don’t catch it, you can’t die!”
Jian Yuntai curved his lips into a weak smile, hacking dryly. “Alright, for that chicken, I’ll hang on to life.”
It was obviously a joke, meant to lighten the mood. Fuzhu couldn’t smile at all.
“I’m hungry,” Jian Yuntai finally admitted.
Half of it was the light injury buff; mostly, it was hunger. He hadn’t eaten all day—he had stormed out into the empty streets in the morning, spent the afternoon catching Reed Chickens with Fuzhu, and now was trapped in the underground palace at night.
It was utterly miserable.
Even more terrifying, the Black Lotus in the pond was dying. The Red and White Lotus competed for nutrients, but neither could grow properly. If he starved now, he might not even revive—he could die for real.
Thinking of this, Jian Yuntai’s heart sank further.
Fuzhu gently set him down against the wall of the side chamber, his eyes red. “I’ll go find something to eat for you.”
He looked restless, his fox nature taking over, as if preparing to move objects to hide Jian Yuntai.
What was around them?
Only piles of white bones.
Seeing Fuzhu busy himself for a while, Jian Yuntai coughed twice and joked, “If you want to make me furious, just pile me up with the bones.”
“……” Fuzhu pursed his lips but stubbornly hid Jian Yuntai in the deepest part of the chamber. He stared at him for a few seconds, then pulled a pendant from his collar.
The pendant was a small, white jade fox.
He carefully put it on Jian Yuntai and tucked it into his collar as if performing a solemn ritual. Fuzhu’s deep voice said, “As long as you wear this jade, I can sense your location.”
It was the token of the young heir of the Nine-Tailed Celestial Fox clan.
Extremely important. Especially important.
Normally, it would only be given to the Celestial Fox Queen* after marriage. If the elders knew he had given it to a human, they might faint with anger.
Fuzhu curved his lips in a small smile.
“This jade isn’t very valuable, is it?” Jian Yuntai disapproved. “If it is, you should take it back.”
Fuzhu’s smile froze at the corners of his lips. After a moment of silence, he said, “It’s just a normal piece of jade. I picked it up. It’s not as precious as you think—foxes like me have them everywhere.”
Jian Yuntai gave a soft hum in response, unable to resist the pull of sleep.
He fell into a deep slumber.
So hungry… unbearably hungry.
His stomach twisted painfully, and Jian Yuntai curled up, pressing his hands against it, only to feel them icy cold. He seemed to see the lotus pond again, the flowers churning the water as if stirring his mind into pain.
Before long, he lost all sense of where he was. Sometimes he felt he was at the lotus pond; other times, back in the underground palace. At times, he even caught glimpses of his dormitory in the real world.
It was an illusion.
Extreme hunger could make a person hallucinate.
……
……
Fuzhu wandered around for quite some time. The underground palace had clearly been sealed for decades, if not longer; naturally, there was no food to be found. He was tense, afraid to venture too far for fear of getting lost.
What terrified him most was the thought that Jian Yuntai might silently die without him realizing it.
In the end, worry forced him to return.
The chamber was quiet, no different from when he had left. The only difference was that he could no longer hear Jian Yuntai’s breathing. Fuzhu’s eyes instantly reddened.
He strode forward, leaning down.
His pale white hand hovered above Jian Yuntai for several trembling seconds before gently resting near his lips and nose.
He tested for a breath.
Fuzhu’s stiff shoulders relaxed immediately, and he collapsed onto the floor.
Thank goodness, thank goodness.
Although faint, there was still breath.
Perhaps the sudden movement of Fuzhu sitting down startled Jian Yuntai, because he twitched and lifted a hand to press against his stomach.
“Hungry… so hungry…”
He was close to losing consciousness.
Fuzhu frowned deeply. In the livestream, tens of thousands of viewers watched in astonishment as he suddenly stood up. Among the scattered stones, he selected the sharpest one.
Slash—
He cut into his own palm with force, showing no hesitation on his face.
Drip… drip…
Blood trickled steadily from his palm. Fuzhu carefully lifted Jian Yuntai and pressed his palm to his lips. “Drink,” he murmured softly.
The blood of a fox, especially a Nine-Tailed Celestial Fox, was a powerful tonic for humans—if nothing else, it could at least stave off hunger.
This was the rare blood of the young heir, the future king of the fox clan, yet Fuzhu used it to fill a human’s stomach. If the elders knew, they might faint with fury.
But Fuzhu didn’t care.
He watched Jian Yuntai’s face gradually regain color, and finally, after a long night, the light returned to his eyes—it was working!
So he fed him more.
A small cut yielded only a little blood, so Fuzhu retracted his hand, preparing to slice deeper into his wrist. Suddenly, Jian Yuntai shoved him hard on the shoulder.
Caught off guard, Fuzhu leaned back, scrambling to balance himself.
Bang, bang—
The sharp stone fell to the floor, rolling far behind. Fuzhu lifted his eyes in shock and saw Jian Yuntai climbing onto his lap.
“?!!!”
Fuzhu’s pupils widened, frozen in place.
Jian Yuntai didn’t look at him. His eyes followed Fuzhu’s hand intently, filled with a dizzy, chaotic longing. After a long moment, he barely tore his gaze away and focused on Fuzhu’s neck—there was more blood there!
In his confused state, he could no longer distinguish the person in front of him. It was as if the whole world had faded, and all he could see was the blood surging beneath the skin.
“..……”
In the dim light, Jian Yuntai lowered his eyes. Someone leaned forward toward Fuzhu’s neck.
Thin lips pressed gently against it.
The icy lips met the warm neck; the cold and heat intertwined, sending a shiver through the body and leaving every nerve tingling.
“……” Fuzhu froze as if struck by lightning. Jian Yuntai was far too close, far too intimate.
From birth until now, he had never been this close to anyone. In fox culture, this act was considered a mating request!
In disbelief, he looked down. The boy was curled in his arms, revealing the delicate, fragile back of his neck.
Fuzhu unconsciously lifted his hand, sliding it up Jian Yuntai’s spine along the tailbone. His fingertips trembled.
His heart pounded, blood rushing as if reversing through his veins, all of it pooling at Jian Yuntai’s lips. Every inch of pressure, every sensation, was clear to him.
It was thrilling.
It made him shiver.
It was intimate.
Fuzhu had spent half his life naive and inexperienced—he had never encountered such extreme temptation. His pupils darkened into vertical slits, nearly losing control, sinking into the sensation.
But soon, the silence of the chamber was like a bucket of cold water, dousing him.
The burning heat in his chest cooled instantly.
Why was Jian Yuntai… so practiced?
The side of his neck was lightly nipped again and again, like a small animal testing, like lovers sharing an intimate kiss. Fuzhu’s expression stiffened, like a wooden statue.
After a long moment, he finally lifted his hand with a composed face.
His fingertips grasped Jian Yuntai’s chin, forcing it gently into alignment. The jaw reddened slightly under his pressure. Fuzhu stared unblinking into Jian Yuntai’s eyes.
In those eyes, he saw longing and confusion, and… his own face.
A face that didn’t fully belong to him.
“Look into my eyes—no, look at my face! Tell me,” Fuzhu’s emotions churned like a storm, full of hope yet laced with unfounded fear, afraid this hope might be shattered.
Amid all this complex emotion, his voice was dry and hoarse:
“…Who am I?”
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