But Qian Ning simply tensed up, his face still beaming with cloudless cheer as he tugged Ode even closer to his side. He was just about to half-escort, half-shove him farther inside when a sharp clacking of footsteps echoed from the staircase.
“Oh! It’s the young master,” the maid exclaimed with exaggerated surprise.
Ode tilted his head slightly and saw a burly figure descending the stairs in a black tailcoat and top hat, leaning on a gentleman’s cane.
At the same moment, a draft whooshed through the dim hallway of Qian Ning Mansion, gusting toward the entrance hall.
Ode caught a wave of perfume—thick enough to sting—masking something rotten, sickly sweet, and damp as it brushed his cheek. His eyes dropped to Big Qianning’s gloved hands despite the summer heat, and an outlandish suspicion began to form in his mind.
“You’re…” Big Qianning paused halfway down the stairs, then quickened his pace to reach Ode. His features, sharper and more chiseled than Little Qianning’s, caught the twilight glow, lending him an eerie beauty like a vampire from an oil painting. “Ode. Ode Douglas!”
Big Qianning’s pupils were a bright yellow that gleamed like a wolf’s in the dim light. An unnatural enthusiasm lit his face as he ignored his brother standing nearby, shifting his cane to one hand to extend his left—still wrapped in black velvet gloves—toward Ode.
“I’ve heard so much about you. I have plenty of alumni from Mida University who’ve sung your praises. Word is you sometimes act as a middleman for… big deals, and everyone on both sides raves about it. So what brings you and my good-for-nothing little brother to my humble home today?”
Little Qianning was on the verge of crushing Ode’s shoulder, but Ode acted as if he hadn’t gotten the memo, extending his hand for a firm shake with Big Qianning. As their hands moved, his fingertip subtly brushed the other’s, and the heart that had been in his throat finally sank.
The humid air. Skin that required heavy makeup to conceal. Overdoses of perfume to smother the stench of decay. Hard, curved nails hidden beneath gloves and manicures… Little Qianning hadn’t brought a classmate home. He’d delivered a lamb straight to the slaughter.
Ode now seriously wondered how many living humans were left in this house besides himself and Little Qianning—and how many ghouls were hiding within.
But no matter the storm raging inside, Ode never let it show on his face. He simply lowered his lashes with calm indifference. As Big Qianning released his grip, Ode casually crooked his pinky, lightly hooking the man’s palm through the black velvet glove before pulling away.
No one noticed the tiny gesture except the man on the receiving end.
…
Big Qianning’s hand froze in midair for several seconds before he withdrew it, resting it back on his cane. His eyes darkened as he glanced at the classmate his brother had brought home.
Of course he’d heard the rumors about Ode. But lately, he’d heard even more about how the Douglas Family had crumbled after Old Douglas’s death. Proxies had looted and transferred every asset, plunging the once-rich family into debt overnight.
They said the formerly dazzling Little Mr. Douglas had been tossed out by the bank, left without even a roof over his head.
So that little hook just now… Had Little Mr. Douglas done it on purpose? Trying to seduce a lifeline in his desperation? Or was it an accident?
He shot an appraising look at the young man by the door, only to find him calmly lowering his lashes.
Just as Big Qianning nearly doubted his own instincts, the vibrant red-haired youth lifted his head. His gaze locked straight on, and his slender, knuckled fingers hooked suggestively at the top button of his crisp dress shirt—the one tight against his throat—slowly, gently undoing it.
Little Qianning’s jaw dropped by his side. “…!”
Dude!! What are you doing?!
Fortunately, Big Qianning wasn’t quite as direct as Little Qianning. He stared hard at Ode, his chest heaving visibly for a few breaths. The next second, he stepped forward, pried the redhead from his immature brother’s arm with brute force, and clamped a scorching palm to Ode’s side, yanking him hard into his embrace. “Tell tonight’s banquet host I’m not coming.”
Big Qianning looked down at the paper-thin youth nestled in his arms and asked pointedly, “It’s a rare chance to meet a star from my alma mater. Little Mr. Douglas wants to discuss a multi-million-dollar ‘deal’ with me too, doesn’t he?”
Little Qianning gawked as his brother’s hand cupped half his classmate’s ass. In a panic, he lurched forward a step—only for Ode’s other hand, dangling at his side, to flash a sharp, no-nonsense “get lost” gesture. His foot jammed to a halt mid-stride.
He swallowed convulsively several times before shaking off the daze. Under the maid’s suspicious head-tilt, he scrambled to salvage the situation, slipping back into his wastrel-brother mask. “Wait, bro! That’s my guest—I invited him!”
“You invited him?” Big Qianning scoffed, one arm slung around Ode like he was hanging off him. He shot a derisive glance down from the stairs. “What can you even do with Little Mr. Douglas? What kind of deal can a kid like you broker for him? You’re too green… You can’t satisfy Little Mr. Douglas’s needs. Head back to your room and crash early. And remember to put that statue by your bed—it’ll help you sleep soundly.”
…
Little Qianning had to summon every ounce of restraint to keep his expression at impotent fury rather than blatant murder in his eyes.
Half-draped over Big Qianning, Ode gave Little Qianning’s pitch-perfect acting a silent second of praise in his mind—right before Big Qianning kicked open the bedroom door and hurled him onto the massive bed.
The bed curtains ripped loose from the impact, tangling around the youth like a fly in a spiderweb. He struggled futilely, clinging to the last shreds of dignity. “Mr. Qianning, I only came because you mentioned discussing a deal—”
Big Qianning locked the door with a flick of his wrist, strode to the bedside, and planted a knee on the mattress. “You’ve teased enough already. Playing coy now? Want some foreplay?”
Ode scrambled up in feigned haste, scooting back until his spine hit the headboard. He used the moment to memorize the bedroom’s layout.
This wasn’t the master suite. The study adjoined the bedroom. Perhaps Old Qianning—who still hadn’t shown his face—claimed the mansion’s true master bedroom. But was Old Qianning man or monster? Ghouls couldn’t spawn a purebred human like Little Qianning, could they?
“I… I didn’t mean to. But I really do have a deal in mind—”
Like, how many guests from those night banquets you attend are on my hit list?
“That’s not the kind of ‘deal’ I want.” Big Qianning chuckled low, raising a hand to bite the edge of his glove and yank it off with his teeth—
“Second Young Master! Second Young Master! The master’s home—he wants you in his study!” The maid’s knock cut him off. After a long, reluctant tsk, Big Qianning rose from the bed.
Ode watched the smoldering heat fade from those bright yellow eyes. Big Qianning glanced over his shoulder at the study door across the room, then turned back, mouth opening.
Damn. The guy’s sharp—better to let meat slip away than leave someone alone in his study.
The thought raced through Ode’s mind. The next instant, he seized the initiative, knee-walking forward to grab Big Qianning’s hand. “Don’t… don’t go.”
The red-haired youth looked desperate to snag this golden opportunity before it vanished—a provider in his hour of need. Shame colored his cheeks and ear tips as he pressed Big Qianning’s hand to his chest, fumbling with trembling fingers at his shirttail. “I…”
Big Qianning couldn’t hold back, not even with his father summoning. He slammed Ode back onto the bed and ravaged the youth’s neck—where faint tremors buzzed under his lips—pulling away only at a whimper, barely restraining himself. “Wait for me.”
Big Qianning rushed out, his haste betraying his urge for a quick resolution.
But behind him, the redhead—who moments ago lay half-undressed and limp—snapped his belt shut the instant the door clicked and leaped off the bed like a sleek panther.
Ode bolted to the spot Big Qianning had eyed so hesitantly. Less than a minute later, he yanked a notebook from a hidden drawer—its cover rotted like fresh grave dirt—and whipped out his phone to scan and upload every page.
It was obviously a diary. Ode couldn’t understand why cults and monsters were so obsessed with diaries when normal folks had left them behind in slower times. Beyond meticulous logs of hundreds of grand and minor night banquets, the final pages held notes on a wood carving.
【5.24
No one could’ve guessed I’d snag a Nyarlathotep statue at a straight-laced auction. Another one of that ill-tempered deity’s harmless little jokes?
5.26
Regretted it the second it was home.
The clan elders say these idols link straight to the god. Lock eyes with one, and you’re on its radar.
Maybe I should pass it to my dear little brother… If Nyarlathotep summons him to the Audience Chamber, never to return, it’d save me the brainpower of scheming to usurp and suppress him.
5.27
Got curious all of a sudden: where’s the latest Audience Chamber? If it’s too far off, that moron might snap out of it halfway or get rescued?
I remember there’s a Witch’s House in the slums on the outskirts of downtown. Last century, a lot of people died there—blood and carnage for quite a while. Too bad that in recent years, Nyarlathotep seems to have shifted his gaze away from London… The place is crawling with homeless vagrants again.
Heh, does the landlord of that dump even know the house is the Witch’s House—Nyarlathotep’s audience chamber?
5.30
Why hasn’t he died yet??
6.2
…I was thinking too simply.
It’s all those wildly exaggerated legends from the clan! Anyone with a brain could figure it out—an existence like Nyarlathotep wouldn’t just connect with someone because they casually bought a wood carving of Him. He certainly wouldn’t descend upon London just to claim a single puny human soul?
6.4
That moron actually plans to sneak into my study! Is he looking for a way to save himself?
No. I need to send a capable subordinate to guard my notes around the clock.
】
“…” Ode’s gaze suddenly froze in place, his pupils shrinking to tiny points.
Send a capable subordinate… to watch over them from morning till night…?
In that instant, a chill shot up the back of Ode’s neck, as if something loomed right behind him, its fetid breath washing over his skin.
“An ill-mannered guest…” A raspy, elderly voice hissed directly into his ear. “What are you pawing through in the master’s study?”
“…” Ode calmly set the diary aside and straightened the cuff of his right sleeve. The matte-black Beretta slipped neatly into his hand. “Beats me.”
“Thump!”
A muffled gunshot exploded against the Old Ghoul’s exposed belly. Ode whipped around, clamping his hand firmly over the creature’s gaping maw to silence its scream. Before it could crumple to the floor, he lashed out with a kick that hurled the butler-attired monstrosity aside.
He glided to the opposite desk and deftly plucked the inlaid special bullet from its edge, flicking away the blood. With a crisp “click,” he slid it back into the magazine.
“Maybe I was rummaging for this bullet.”
