The string of blood beads had originally been just long enough to circle an ankle.
But now it could coil two or three times around Luo Li’s neck, draping down to his chest.
Each bead was small, no larger than an ordinary pearl. They were plump, vividly red, and translucent.
This necklace, which had seemed unnaturally sinister on the sheepskin scroll, looked like exquisite jewelry when worn by him.
The strand hung long and low, nestling into the shallow hollows between his pecs.
Luo Li had the slender build of a youth—perhaps underdeveloped, with a small stature and thin limbs everywhere.
When Huo Yin held him, it felt like cradling a soft, lightweight rag doll, with only his thighs and rear having any real softness below the waist.
…And now, perhaps spurred by the Ghost Hand, there was even a faint curve rising at his chest.
He wore the mourning robe loosely, his shoulders bare, fine snow-white hair piling prettily beside his delicate neck.
His collarbones protruded slightly, trembling with tension.
Poor yet generous, he leaned toward Huo Yin and asked if he wanted to eat.
Huo Yin knew this might be the Ghost Mother’s enticement, but when he glimpsed the pink flesh half-hidden beneath the robe’s collar… his ears rang fiercely.
The pistol in his hand grew unsteady, his throat bobbing as he slowly approached.
Luo Li sat beside the coffin, in the same position as when the Ghost Hand had pinned him down moments before. Huo Yin could almost see his own reflection in those bright red eyes—how could such a youth be the Ghost Mother?
His hand shook as he grasped Luo Li’s sleeve, then slid upward to press his shoulder.
Luo Li frowned lightly. “You’re too tall. You’ll have to bend down.”
Huo Yin obeyed, bending at the waist—no, he dropped straight to his knees before Luo Li.
As he tilted his head up, that familiar sweet, clear fragrance flooded his nostrils. Huo Yin’s temple throbbed; he nearly forgot the Ghost Hand’s presence.
Maybe this really was enticement, an illusion… but who cared anymore?
The little beauty’s palm pressed against his forehead. “There. That’s better.”
He had meant to slowly unfasten the robe’s collar, but Huo Yin could wait no longer.
Without thinking, he seized the collar in his teeth and tore it open with force.
His hungry lips parted wide, dignity forgotten; Huo Yin’s eyes burned red.
But Luo Li pressed a finger to his forehead, displeased. “Have you forgotten something?”
Huo Yin froze. Staring at the little beauty’s pursed pink lips and sulky expression, he was utterly baffled.
Luo Li prompted him again. “What are you supposed to call me?”
Huo Yin went rigid for a moment before it clicked.
But the words stuck in his throat, his last shred of reason holding him back.
Luo Li crossed his arms pettily and huffed. “Fine then. Go away. Starve for all I care.”
“Don’t…”
Huo Yin grabbed him quickly, eyes darting, brows furrowed. The strapping young man’s ears flushed crimson; his hands clasped behind his back as he finally mumbled, “Mama.”
Once the word escaped, it was like a dam breaking. Huo Yin’s lingering shame vanished in an instant.
He said it again: “Mama…”
His body burned as he pulled Luo Li into his arms and buried his face urgently.
“Little mama… give it to me…”
As if truly bewitched by some mystical force, Huo Yin cast all caution aside and latched on.
…
Only then did he understand what Zhang Banxian had meant by “you going won’t help.”
If this was the Ghost Mother’s enticement… no one in the world could possibly resist it.
Immense bliss clouded Huo Yin’s mind, dark thoughts multiplying within.
What if he pushed further, got greedier…?
Luo Li would indulge him, wouldn’t he?
Reason frayed as Huo Yin’s canine teeth pressed against that soft, pale flesh. Drool trickled from the corner of his mouth, leaving Luo Li’s skin slick and glistening.
He looked up and saw the youth’s familiar expression: teeth biting his finger, dark brows knitted, damp lashes clumped and fanned out, pupils veiled by misty tears, gaze unfocused.
He looked like he was holding back sobs—utterly embarrassed and ashamed.
No matter how you saw it, he was just an innocent, unripe boy.
Yet here Huo Yin was, treating him like a mama…
It suddenly reminded him of that matter—about Luo Li’s body.
Was it really as he claimed, different from an ordinary boy’s?
Since Luo Li was indulging him this much, sneaking a peek shouldn’t hurt, right…?
Fingers curled the hem of the mourning robe, stealthily rolling it up toward his thighs. Luo Li remained oblivious, his long, lovely legs draped over the coffin’s edge, swaying lightly now and then.
He was still innocently playing the role of little mother, unaware of Huo Yin’s intentions.
He only occasionally lifted his head worriedly, glancing into the distance.
Had Wa Wa found the one He was looking for…?
He couldn’t stall much longer.
Communication with the Ghost Hand was difficult, so Luo Li wasn’t entirely sure why It had brought him out.
He only knew It wanted to kill someone, but Its power wasn’t sufficient yet. If that person found them first, they could be in grave danger.
Thank goodness he’d activated his second-stage form in time… maybe it would help.
As Luo Li twirled his silver-white hair, lost in thought, Huo Yin’s hand suddenly pressed against the inside of his thigh.
“……!”
Luo Li panicked and shoved him away.
“W-What are you groping?!”
Huo Yin dazedly withdrew his hand, still hazy. Luo Li had already wrapped the mourning robe tight again, sitting aside with his knees clamped firmly together.
In his stumble, the pistol hidden in Huo Yin’s sleeve clattered to the ground.
“You… you brought a gun.”
Luo Li’s face paled. “Are you going to shoot me?”
Huo Yin was lost for words. “No! This gun’s for that ghost!”
But Luo Li bristled even more at those words, snapping angrily, “Wa Wa is my child too! How can you kill him? You’re awful. I hate you…”
“What do you mean ‘your child’? It’s deceiving you! That thing’s just a vicious ghost!”
Huo Yin wanted to snap him out of it, but it was clearly too late for words.
The moment his voice trailed off, the pitch-black Ghost Hand morphed into a spike, thrusting straight for his chest!
Huo Yin dodged just in time—barely. The skin below his ribs tore open in a long gash.
He raised the gun without hesitation. But in the instant before he pulled the trigger, another bullet streaked from nowhere, knocking the pistol from his grasp.
As the gunshot rang out, the Ghost Hand’s motion halted.
From the thick fog emerged a tall, lean man in a pure black overcoat, lowering his smoking gun.
He gripped the headless stone statue—the very one from the Ancestral Hall Cave—and advanced step by step.
Everyone could see it had changed. The arms protruding from its back were snapping off, crumbling to pieces in the man’s hand.
Huo Yin clutched his wound and looked up with effort.
“Big… bro…”
It was Huo Cheng.
Huo Cheng’s face showed no emotion. Ignoring the snarling Ghost Hand, he raised his pistol and aimed at the statue.
One more bullet, and it would shatter completely.
“No!”
A snow-white figure flung itself into his arms.
The silver-haired youth sniffled through his pink nose, wrapping his arms around Huo Cheng’s waist and burying his face in the overcoat’s collar. He pleaded sobbingly, “Don’t kill Him… please…”
After a moment, Huo Cheng slowly lowered his gaze, his deep eyes cold and dark, devoid of warmth.
“I can’t just let you run wild on Huo Family turf.”
Luo Li didn’t care about that. His fingers twisted in Huo Cheng’s sleeve, his cheek nuzzling the man’s arm beseechingly—as if to say he meant no harm, that he was good.
Huo Cheng didn’t look at him. He scanned the surroundings, eyes narrowing.
Slowly, he relaxed his trigger finger and instead clasped the small hand Luo Li had draped over his arm.
“Then come with me.”
“You won’t be here, so His power won’t last long.”
Luo Li bit his lip, pondering hard for a moment.
He could only nod. “O-Okay.”
Huo Cheng lowered his gun, pocketed the stone statue, and finally told Huo Yin, “Go outside and fetch Zhang Banxian. Have him watch the Ghost Hand. No one moves a muscle until I return.”
…
Luo Li had no choice but to follow Huo Cheng back to the Huo Mansion.
But this time, it felt entirely different.
The mansion’s servants and butler were nowhere to be seen—dismissed to who-knows-where. The grand, opulent building stood eerily empty, devoid of any human presence.
A desolate, chilling gloom hung over it all.
Luo Li trailed Huo Cheng upstairs to the room where Huo Jieqi had once stayed. Still harboring a grudge, he wasn’t keen to cooperate and sulked alone in the corner.
Meanwhile, Huo Cheng retrieved Huo Jieqi’s portrait from the cabinet and stood there, gazing silently at the face within, lost in thought.
He stood with his back to the light, the dim sunlight tracing the sharp ridge of his brow bone and the deep hollows of his eye sockets. For an instant, he seemed to merge with the man in the portrait, leaving even Luo Li momentarily dazed.
His thoughts churned in chaos, flashing first to the blood beads, then to the cave and the ancestral hall. Finally, the image of that coffin—empty when it had been opened—clung relentlessly to his mind.
Huo Cheng asked him, “Why did you come back to Zhaohua Mansion?”
Luo Li couldn’t fathom his intentions. He braced himself and clung to his flimsy, crumbling lie. “Of—of course it’s for Master Huo…”
Huo Cheng lowered his gaze and shot him a sidelong look. “For Master Huo?”
“But he never met you, did he? He didn’t visit prostitutes, much less keep a concubine. And you couldn’t possibly be carrying his posthumous child.”
Huo Cheng’s voice was calm and low, but Luo Li shivered without knowing why.
“You… how do you know there wasn’t? You’re not Master Huo…”
Huo Cheng let out a low chuckle, set the portrait down, and turned to face him.
The knuckles of his gloved hand—encased in supple leather—pressed against his forehead. In that moment, the handsome young man’s face underwent a subtle shift. His already imposing frame stretched and bulked further, swelling to a stature that transcended anything human.
Luo Li lifted his head in heart-pounding terror. He stared at the face that now matched the portrait exactly, and cold sweat soaked the back of his shirt in an instant.
Huo Cheng—no, it had to be Huo Jieqi—gripped his snow-white, pointed chin and leaned down to speak.
“Am I not?”
