The Mo Residence Two Years Earlier

The clack of the third-watch watchman's rattle had barely faded when the side gate in the Mo Residence's rear courtyard gave a soft creak.

Zhang Defu, the old servant guarding the gate, yawned and was about to rise to investigate when a sinister gust swept in, making the oil lamp flicker.

"Who's there?" Zhang Defu narrowed his dim old eyes. A figure in a black cloak slipped inside like a phantom.

Just then, moonlight pierced the clouds and fell upon the face the visitor raised-Zhang Defu's legs went weak, and he nearly dropped to his knees.

That face, covered in black markings, belonged to none other than Mo Juren, the master who had been missing for years!

"M-Master?" Zhang Defu's voice trembled so badly it scarcely sounded like speech.

A hand as thin and dry as firewood emerged from beneath the cloak and tossed him a Black Iron Token.

Zhang Defu fumbled to catch it. The cold bit into his bones the moment it touched his hand. It was indeed the Black Iron Token the master never parted with.

"Go tell Jin," Mo Juren said in a voice like scraping sandpaper, every word accompanied by a hair-raising hiss,

"I'll be waiting in the study. If you dare breathe a word..."

Before he finished, a shadow like a black tendril shot out from beneath his cloak and flashed past Zhang Defu's face.

Scared almost out of his soul, the old servant nodded repeatedly and stammered his assent, then scrambled toward the inner courtyard.

Mo Juren followed the familiar corridors with practiced ease, the moonlight stretching his shadow long behind him.

At times, that shadow twisted and warped as though countless tendrils writhed within it; at others, it abruptly swelled and shrank, bearing no resemblance to a human form.

Mo Juren stopped before the study door.

He extended his right hand. Wisps of black vapor seeped from his fingertips as he lightly touched the lock.

The brass lock clicked open on its own, several corroded marks left on its mechanism.

Jin was grooming herself in her private chamber when she heard hurried footsteps outside, followed by Zhang Defu's incoherent report.

The jade hairpin in her hand struck the floor with a crack and broke in two.

"What did you say?" Jin sprang to her feet, the pearls and jewels on her phoenix crown shaking violently,

"The master has returned?"

"Y-Yes..." Zhang Defu knelt on the floor, his forehead pressed against the cold tiles,

"This old servant would never dare lie. The master gave me this..."

Jin took the Black Iron Token, a bone-piercing chill spreading through her fingertips.

She knew this token better than anyone. The former leader had personally bestowed it upon Mo Juren when he took command of the Startling Flood Dragon Society.

She herself had accidentally scratched that mark on the back of the Token with a hairpin.

"You may go." Jin forced herself to remain calm. "Remember, you saw no one tonight."

After dismissing Zhang Defu, Jin carried a lantern to the study alone.

The night wind was bitterly cold, yet she felt no chill, only her heart pounding fiercely in her chest.

Seven years. Had that heartless man finally remembered to come home?

The instant she pushed open the study door, the lantern fell from Jin's hand with a clatter.

In the candlelight, the figure standing with his back to her slowly turned and removed his bamboo hat-

"Ah!" Jin instinctively stepped back. A teacup slid from the tray and shattered on the floor.

That face... could it even be called a face anymore?

His once handsome, resolute features were now covered in deep furrows, as though they had been scorched by fire and crudely pieced back together.

More horrifying still, several black, tendril-like markings writhed beneath his skin, appearing and disappearing with each breath.

"What?" An eerie smile tugged at Mo Juren's mouth. "After seven years apart, does my wife no longer recognize her husband?"

That voice... there was no mistaking it for anyone but Mo Juren. Suppressing her fear, Jin studied his eyes-though the skin around them had twisted out of shape, their sharpness was exactly as she remembered.

"Master... is it really you?" Jin's voice shook, her fingers unconsciously twisting her handkerchief tight,

"Where... have you been all these years? How did you become like this?"

Mo Juren did not answer immediately. He walked to the desk and brushed his skeletal fingers across its dust-covered surface, leaving a clear trail.

"Go fetch them all," he said suddenly. "Yan, Li, Liu, Wang. Not one may be missing."

Jin hesitated. "At this hour..."

"Remember," Mo Juren interrupted, a black tendril slipping from the corner of his mouth before swiftly withdrawing,

"Don't alert anyone, including the three girls."

Half an hour later, all five wives had gathered in the study.

The candlelight had been deliberately dimmed, yet it still illuminated every deathly pale face.

"Master!" Yan, the second wife, cried out the moment she stepped through the door, only to be silenced by a glance from Mo Juren.

Li, the third wife, covered her mouth and wept soundlessly, tears slipping between her fingers onto her embroidered shoes.

Liu, the fourth wife, and Wang, the Fifth Madam, stood frozen in place, their eyes filled with terror, as though they had seen an evil spirit crawl out of hell.

"Sit." Mo Juren pointed to the chairs around him, his voice hoarse,

"I don't have much time."

Amid the flickering candlelight, Mo Juren slowly began recounting the unknown events of his past.

Seven years earlier, he had learned by chance that Black Wind Valley, thirty li outside Jia Yuan City, contained ruins left behind by an ancient immortal.

Seeking a chance at immortality, he had gone there to explore alone.

"That Yu Zitong..." Mo Juren's voice suddenly turned icy. He opened his robe, exposing a hideous scar on his chest.

In the candlelight, the skin around the bowl-sized wound was cracked like a spiderweb. Beneath it, his faintly visible, beating heart was wrapped in a strange black membrane.

Wang, the Fifth Madam, cried out and nearly fainted.

The other wives also turned deathly pale, and Li, the third wife, dug her nails deep into her palms.

"That bastard wounded me with a flying sword, never knowing I had already slipped Seven Absolutes Powder into his tea.

"A savage smile appeared on Mo Juren's face, several black tendrils protruding from the corners of his mouth. "When the poison took effect, even his eyes dissolved into bloody liquid..."

He took a rolled Jade Slip glowing with blue-green light from inside his robe. "This is the Burning Blood Art I obtained from him. Unfortunately..."

Mo Juren suddenly began coughing violently. Several black tendrils burst wildly from his eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth. "I... have no spiritual root..."

Liu, the fourth wife, unconsciously clenched the edges of her clothes. Summoning her courage, she asked, "Master, then these things on your face..."

Mo Juren gave a bitter laugh. In an instant, several black tendrils emerged from his eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth, writhing like little black snakes before swiftly withdrawing.

The wives' lovely faces drained of color, and they nearly screamed.

"This is the work of the evil technique Yu Zitong unleashed before he died," Mo Juren said helplessly,

"Mortal medicines cannot cure it at all. I sought physicians and remedies everywhere, but nothing worked.

Now, perhaps only cultivating this cultivation art can dispel the evil technique and save my life."

In the wavering candlelight, Mo Juren's skeletal fingers slowly stroked the yellowed, thread-bound book.

The three large cinnabar characters spelling "Burning Blood Art" on its cover looked as though blood flowed through their strokes in the firelight.

"Unfortunately, I have no spiritual root and cannot practice this cultivation art.

I returned this time to teach it to you and see whether any of you possesses a spiritual root."

Mo Juren's gaze passed over his five wives in turn. No expression could be discerned on his face beneath its dense black markings.

At his words, an extraordinary light suddenly flared in the five wives' eyes.

Jin, the first wife, was the first to react, her well-maintained fingers unconsciously tightening around her embroidered handkerchief.

Her ever-shrewd eyes were astonishingly bright now, and even her breathing grew rapid.

Yan, the second wife, abruptly rose, the dangling ornaments of her gold hairpin jingling.

Always the most impatient, she could no longer contain herself. "Master, you mean... we could also..."

Li, the third wife, was usually timid, yet she was the first to rush to the desk.

Her trembling hand was about to touch the book when she pulled it back as though scalded, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Is... is this truly an immortal's secret art?"

Even Liu, the fourth wife and the steadiest of them, lost her composure.

She seized the sleeve of Wang, the Fifth Madam, beside her, her voice trembling. "Fifth Sister, pinch me. Am I dreaming?"

Wang, the youngest of the five wives, actually gave her arm a pinch.

They exchanged a glance and laughed together, their smiles filled with irrepressible ecstasy.

Mo Juren took in all their reactions, lowering his eyes to conceal the satisfaction within them.

He curled a finger and tapped the desk. The dull sound brought them back to their senses.

"The news of my return," he said, his voice suddenly turning bone-chillingly cold, "must be kept even from Feng Wu, Yuzhu, and Caihuan."

The candle on the carved candlestick snapped, throwing off a dazzling spark and casting wavering shadows across the wall.

Mo Juren sat in the carved armchair, his candlelit face looking all the more sinister. The black markings upon it resembled writhing centipedes, growing increasingly hideous with his movements.

He slowly raised his stick-thin fingers, as though they weighed a thousand jun, and turned back the title page of the Burning Blood Art.

As the pages turned, a stale, rotten odor wafted toward them, faintly mingled with the smell of blood.

"You may also pass this cultivation art on to those you trust," Mo Juren said, his voice low and hoarse, as though it came from the deepest reaches of hell,

"But remember, if anyone who knows it has a loose tongue and lets even a word slip, we'll all die!"

His voice abruptly hardened on the word "die," and his blade-like gaze swept across the five wives' faces one by one.

Jin, the first wife, recovered first. Trembling slightly, she hurriedly said, "Rest assured, Master. We will keep our mouths sealed tight as bottles. The Mo Residence's survival is at stake; we would never dare be careless."

The second wife nodded as well, a hint of trembling in her voice. "Yes, Master. We will act cautiously and never endanger everyone."

The third wife unconsciously twisted her handkerchief between her hands, hastily agreeing. "Yes, yes. We'll watch one another and never let the news leak."

Liu, the fourth wife, looked solemn as she said earnestly, "I will select trustworthy people and ensure nothing goes wrong."

Though the Fifth Madam said little, she nodded firmly in agreement.

After some discussion, they decided to supervise one another. Before passing the cultivation art to anyone, they would have to report it in advance.

This would both expand the ranks practicing the cultivation art and ensure, as far as possible, that no news leaked.

Listening to their plans, Mo Juren's black markings relaxed slightly, and satisfaction flashed in his eyes. "Very good.

This matter is of the utmost importance. We cannot afford a mistake.

It concerns not only our lives, but the future of the Mo Residence."