Chapter 201

Chapter 201

The mistress’s residence, nestled in the southeast corner of the red mansion, boasted walls painted with a vibrant crimson, beautifully offset by delicate, glossy green foliage and golden flowers twining around the pilasters, creating a spectacle of exquisite grandeur.

Under the dry, hot weather, Yang Haibo sat beneath the eaves, meticulously polishing his curved blade with a fine cloth. His semi-long black hair, tied into a small bun at the nape, gave him the air of a profound and reserved knight, silently poised for any unforeseen event.

His wristwatch chimed twice. He paused, casting a sidelong glance. While he had anticipated a challenging return, the sheer scale of the upheaval still took Yang Haibo by surprise.

The more he pondered, the more peculiar it seemed. Even strained family relations shouldn't escalate to patricide or fratricide.

Moreover, weren't this family devout believers? What deity would countenance followers so ruthless towards their own kin? It felt less like a son and more like an enemy.

...What kind of cursed mission have I stumbled into?

Fortunately, the mistress’s quarters appeared to be a safe zone.

Yang Haibo sheathed his curved blade and stepped inside. The other servants had already been dismissed by the mistress. Only Han, veiled in vibrant silks and disguised as a woman, whispered with his mother.

Despite Yan Ning’s meticulous efforts—whitening Han’s tanned skin and carefully softening his facial features—a grown man’s physique inevitably differed from a woman’s. The moment Yang Haibo entered, the mistress sensed a familiar presence beneath the awkwardly moving, veiled figure.

“They’ve started fighting over there,” Yang Haibo announced, causing the mother and son’s conversation to cease abruptly. Unperturbed, he continued, “My friends have diverted all attention, but the situation remains grim. If we don’t intervene soon, something dire could happen.”

It was not a curse, but a stark statement of fact. The probability of Han losing all his family save his mother within a day, though small, was not zero—especially with Yan Ning present.

Yang Haibo scratched his nose, wondering if Eve could keep her in check.

Han sprang to his feet, exclaiming in surprise, “Everyone is hunting them down?”

Yang Haibo, of course, withheld the full truth, lest he undermine his plea. A meaningful “Hmm” sufficed to cast a shadow of melancholy and palpable guilt across Han’s youthful face.

Pacing anxiously, Han spoke with a mix of shame and frustration. “I told you... that plan was dangerous. In my household, even the servants are baptized with holy water, making them several times stronger than ordinary people. My eldest brother was born with immense strength. Even with some skill, escaping unscathed will be difficult.”

“What’s done is done,” Yang Haibo interjected. “Dwelling on it is pointless. Let’s discuss solutions. For instance, why are your family members treating you this way?”

At this question, Han, moments ago consumed by anxiety, fell silent, eyeing Yang Haibo with a blend of caution and hesitation. The mistress, however, having overheard their exchange, looked surprised, scrutinizing Yang Haibo. “You have other companions, and they’re outside pretending to be Han?”

“Yes, the three of us are friends Han made outside,” Yang Haibo quickly explained Eve and Yan Ning’s impersonation of Han before continuing, “Escaping from here isn’t difficult for us. But even if we escape today, if this matter isn’t fully resolved, Han will remain in danger.”

The mistress wholeheartedly agreed. Ignoring her second son’s pleading gaze, she asked directly, “You’re right. How can we help you?”

“Mother!” Han cried out urgently.

But the mistress merely patted his head soothingly, her gaze fixed on Yang Haibo. For a fleeting moment, Yang Haibo felt she was even more distressed by the unfolding events than Han.

With a deep breath, she made a resolute decision, her expression firm. “Please state your request directly.”

After a moment’s thought, Yang Haibo, as planned, posed the questions previously discussed with Eve and Yan Ning: “Could you tell us about Han’s past?”

“We wish to understand why your family is so intent on killing your second son. If possible, please also tell us about your other two sons and the God—we are from afar and know far less about Him than the Fuqiu family at the foot of the Sacred Mountain.”

“I thought your willingness to offer aid was a well-considered decision. I didn’t expect you to know nothing. You truly are enthusiastic young people,” the mistress sighed, her expression turning pensive. “There’s so much to say. Let me think where to begin.”

The God is the origin of the world and the creator of all things. Starting with Him seemed only natural.

“Travelers from afar, knowing too much about that great existence is no blessing. He is both high heavens and abyss. The longer one serves by His side, the more easily one becomes distorted. Human dignity is laid bare before the God, and the only way to preserve one’s heart is to keep one’s distance.”

“......”

His wristwatch chimed with a message:

[Eve: Speak plainly.]

Punctuation too. She was clearly serious.

Yang Haibo cleared his throat, rephrasing slightly: “Could you explain it in a more accessible way?”

This was all a bit too esoteric for someone not professionally trained in deciphering riddles.

The mistress was momentarily at a loss. Helplessly, she said, “This is the most understandable interpretation I can offer. The God hears every language in the world, especially here at the foot of the Sacred Mountain. Speaking of the God must adhere to certain norms. To be plainer would be an offense to the God.”

[Yan Ning: So domineering.]

[Eve: So authoritative.]

Were these two treating this like a story?

Yang Haibo decided to ignore their unhelpful comments. “Alright, then please continue in your own way.”

“Forget it, I’ll explain,” Han said, also somewhat exasperated by the vague language. He let out a bitter laugh. “Anyway, I’ve long been forsaken by the God.”

“The God forsakes no one, my child,” the mistress insisted.

Without agreeing or disagreeing with his mother, Han turned to Yang Haibo and stated bluntly, “You’d best stay as far away from the one on the Sacred Mountain as possible. His existence is unfathomable, and no one has ever seen His true form. But without a doubt, He has a terrifying ability to warp human minds.”

Yang Haibo: “Warp?”

Two large question marks appeared on the communication screen.

“Yes, warp. He often makes outrageous demands as a price. Twenty years ago, when I was young, to test my father’s devotion, He demanded the life of his second son—me. If it weren’t for... I would already be a corpse.”

Han explained with a grim expression: “Some say He likes broken things, so He enjoys shattering what is whole and keeping it as a display. But if you ask me, such cold-hearted behavior is something only a demon would possess.”

Demanding the lives of family members from devout believers, making virtuous people commit heinous acts—such twisted tastes seemed purely designed to torment.

[Yan Ning: So he’s being chased by his entire family because of this?]

[Eve: It seems so.]

[Yan Ning: Oh man, suddenly I feel like my valuable effort is being wasted.]

[Eve: It’s just a mission. Hurry up and run.]

Still chatting idly amidst a life-and-death chase—they seemed fine. In that case, sitting a bit longer probably wouldn’t hurt.

“Even so,” Yang Haibo asked gravely, “did He ever say what would happen if His demands weren’t met?”

Han hesitated. “...I don’t know.”

Although he didn’t know if the rules of this world beyond the door were the same as the last, the basic settings were similar, so the rules probably hadn’t changed much.

If he remembered correctly, the God only made demands to torment people when someone made a wish to Him.

“While I don’t believe the one on the Sacred Mountain is entirely selfless or benevolent, the primary responsibility for your situation probably doesn’t lie with Him. The crucial question is, what did your father ask of Him for the Sacred Mountain to make such a cruel demand?”

Yang Haibo said, glancing at Han in his female disguise. Even with careful makeup, his rugged features were evident. He was burly and didn’t look particularly clever.

In short, while victim-blaming wasn’t ideal, Yang Haibo couldn’t discern anything special about Han. Rather than a coveted prize, the God’s demand seemed more like a deliberate torment of this family.

The mistress, unable to bear her son’s pitiful yet stubborn appearance, turned away with a deep sigh. Suddenly, she said, “All records are in the second cabinet directly opposite the entrance of the small chapel.”

“The small chapel?”

“Behind the red house stands a white-steepled building, originally a converted mill. It was also where my husband communicated with the Holy Mountain,” the mistress murmured weakly. “The Holy Mountain is open only five months each year. For the rest of the time, we can only communicate through spirit inquiry or divination.”

[Eve: That’s correct.]

[Yang Haibo: How did you confirm that?]

[Eve: We took a hostage and asked.]

[Yang Haibo: ?]

...Where did this hostage come from?

“Hey, Hostage Young Master,” Yan Ning kicked the tightly bound young man—the same youth from the rooftop who’d shot an arrow at her earlier—with a sinister smile. “There’s a small chapel behind your house?”

“How do you know? Did Han tell you? That traitor!” Though bound, the youth remained arrogant and unrestrained, shouting, “Hand Han over! He fled years ago—I’ll deliver him to the gods myself today!”

This youth, who showed no respect toward Han, was none other than the family’s deeply doted-upon third son, Japheth. Unlike his two older brothers, he was slender, agile, fair-skinned, and handsome. Judging by his age, he must have been born after Han left home.

No one could expect a brat at his most obnoxious age to show much respect for an older brother he’d never met—just as no one expected Japheth to realize that his privileged status carried with it a fair share of the family’s transferred guilt over the second son.

Eve glanced at him, too lazy to waste words on such an arrogant, foolish child. She gestured and prepared to withdraw from the red house first: “Bring him along. Let’s head to the small chapel.”

“I’ll carry him!”

Murphy volunteered enthusiastically. This player from the neighboring faction had fully adapted to his role as auxiliary support and happily took on the arduous task.

No joke—how could this grimy, dust-covered fellow be worthy of touching the noble and beautiful Miss Eve? As for Miss Yan Ning nearby—though mischievous, with that face, Murphy found it hard to say anything too critical.

Fine, fine. He hoisted the struggling Japheth—flailing like a live fish—onto his back, then suddenly remembered something important: “Wait—if Shan and Han both have disciples following them, shouldn’t this kid have followers too?”

“Obviously,” Yan Ning shot him a look that said, *How did you only realize this now?* “And they’re probably quite dissatisfied with this young master.”

Otherwise, even now that he’d been captured, they’d remain silent. Such silence usually meant they were either preparing a major move—or had already given up. Either way, Japheth’s well-being wasn’t high on their priority list.

“You wretched mortal! Heretic consorting with traitors—what are you saying?!” Japheth exploded in rage. “Who dares question me?!”

Eve said, “Too noisy. Gag him.”

“Mmph! Mmph!”

Even gagged, he was still noisy. Murphy had no choice but to strike Japheth sharply at the base of the neck, knocking him unconscious.

The group was hiding in a remote, secluded courtyard Murphy had brought them to. Shan wasn’t sociable, so during his free time, Murphy had thoroughly scouted the entire red house.

Outside, chaos still reigned. Servants wailed mournfully for their second young master. Inside the walls, Murphy used a tree branch to sketch a route map on the ground for Eve and Yan Ning. Listening to their anguished cries, he couldn’t help rubbing his arms: “Cults are deadly.”

Eve neither agreed nor disagreed: “Evil deeds are committed by people.”

After finalizing their plans and updating their absent teammates, the group scaled the high wall and swiftly made their way to the small chapel behind the red house. Meanwhile, Yang Haibo had also extracted details about the chapel from the hostess. Though family, Han was scarcely more composed than Yang Haibo.

His makeup had long since washed off—the hostess had sent away the servants under various pretexts. Now, aware of what was unfolding across the estate, the three dared not call those fanatical servants back.

Fortunately, there was a well in the hostess’s courtyard. Han drew a basin of water himself, washed off the powder, removed the colorful veil covering his face, and finally returned to his true appearance—a handsome young man.

“It’s been so many years since I’ve seen you,” the hostess said, gazing at him with complex emotions, thick with nostalgia. “Last time you left home, I was the one who opened the door for you—and that woman. Coming home is hard—but I never imagined our parting would be so swift.”

“No need to make it sound so tragic, right? Haven’t we kept in touch by letter?” Han paused briefly before adding stiffly, “Besides, after my foster mother passed, I hardly have any family left in this world. I didn’t particularly want to see any of you anyway—so why put on this act? Calling me back after twenty years was just a trap. This ‘home’ has never failed to disappoint me.”

At that, he let out a bleak laugh—and even the hostess’s eyes dimmed.

It was hard to say whether Han truly felt as indifferent toward his family as he appeared. Yang Haibo glanced at him but said nothing.

The words this man had spoken at the inn—his firm resolve to return home—still echoed vividly. The poor prey, knowing full well it was a trap, was still lured by the false warmth of home, returning like a moth to flame into this tiger’s den—it was truly… inexplicable.

In the end, it was the hostess who urged them to leave.

“Go, child. Go far away—and never return,” she rose, her beautiful brown eyes shimmering with an emotion Han couldn’t decipher. “Let everything end today. From now on, there’s no need to believe in fate’s prophecies. As for those beings called gods—observe them from afar. Before your life is once again shrouded in insurmountable shadows, do not return here.”

Han seized her hand, his expression complex: “…You clearly know everything here is wrong. Why won’t you leave with me?”

“I am a child of the gods. In life, I dwell in Fuqiu; in death, my bones will embrace the Holy Mountain. Without sacred permission, I cannot leave this place.”

The hostess gave Han one last gentle look, then extended her hands—a pair of aged hands starkly mismatched with her appearance, deeply wrinkled and speckled with age spots.

“Besides,” she smiled, “if I left—then when you next return to the Holy Mountain, wishing to pay homage to that lofty divine seat—who would guide you along the smooth path up the mountain?”

A dazzling blue light erupted from her palms, coalescing into the nascent form of a hurricane at its center. The violent winds forced the other two to struggle for balance—yet the hostess remained calm and smiling.

Originally assumed to be an unarmed, ordinary NPC, she turned out to be a hidden master. Yang Haibo’s eyelids twitched violently. Just before being fully swept into the vortex, he heard the hostess’s ethereal, crystalline voice.

“Thank you for your help. I regret I cannot personally express my gratitude to your companions. Therefore, this gift is for you alone.”

She sighed softly, her tone suddenly shifting—mysterious, noble, like an oracle from ancient times:

“[Stranger, your fate does not lie upon the Holy Mountain. Therefore, do not choose the door with the dove. Artificially crafted incompleteness will not grant you the true invitation to the divine realm.]”

“What?!”

Yang Haibo’s expression shifted dramatically. He even ignored the ongoing StarNet live broadcast, lunging forward to grab the woman and demand an explanation: “What do you mean by that last sentence?”

—He didn’t get his answer.

The hurricane suddenly expanded, swirling like a gray-blue turbine veiled in sea fog, swallowing the reluctant Yang Haibo whole. Han, standing nearby, couldn’t escape either. At the storm’s eye lay a unique spatial curvature. After violent spinning, Yang Haibo and Han were finally expelled at the endpoint.

Prairie wind whistled against their faces, whipping their hair sideways. Dull-witted sheep drifted lazily like scattered clouds across the green grass. Before them stood a pristine small chapel, its steeple pointing straight toward the sky.

The chapel door stood half-open, and muffled noise spilled from within. One voice was bright and cheeky—recognizably Yan Ning’s. Another, far calmer female voice was unmistakably Eve’s. A third, male voice in the discussion also sounded familiar—so familiar, in fact, that Yang Haibo felt a headache coming on even before he recalled the speaker’s full name.

Additionally, a muffled, indistinct muttering came from a corner. After confirming the doors and windows were sealed from the inside, the two finally felt safe enough to venture deeper into the chapel. At the entrance to the prayer hall, they at last saw the source of the muttering—an NPC youth tied backward to a pillar.

“Who is this?” Yang Haibo asked curiously.

“No idea,” Han glanced at the tightly bound youth on the ground, failing entirely to recognize that this disheveled hostage was his family’s most doted-upon youngest brother. He quickly looked away, unconcerned. “Probably not a good person if he got captured as a hostage.”

Likely, he’d been caught while pursuing Eve and the others. From what Yang Haibo recalled, Eve wasn’t the type to deliberately take hostages while escaping.

Not sure if it was his imagination, but Yang Haibo felt that after Han spoke those words, the youth’s struggles intensified—and his excited, muffled “mmph-ing” sounded distinctly uncomplimentary.