11. Not-So-Peaceful Bath

Amidst the dense forest, where huge trees stood like silent sentinels, a lone figure sat in quiet meditation. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, and a soft breeze whispered through the canopy, causing the boy's raven-black hair to flutter gently.

A stray strand brushed against his face, pale as warm jade, as he remained motionless, his breathing steady and deep. In the distance, the faint rumble of a waterfall mingled with the rustling of leaves, creating a symphony of solitude that enveloped the scene.

Mo Yichen sat cross-legged, his posture unwavering, as a familiar warmth coursed through his veins. The spiritual qi within his dantian swirled in rhythmic cycles, each rotation leaving behind a comforting heat that spread through his meridians.

It had been a week since they had been stranded in this forest—or rather, since Mo Yichen had chosen to stay.

He was still debating whether to leave before fully stabilizing the turbulent energy that churned within him, threatening to spill over like a storm-tossed sea.

Thanks to the memories from his life before transmigration, he had managed to cultivate and meditate, slowly taming the chaotic mana that had been threatening him.

But it was still far from perfect.

The eerie crimson hue that had once wrapped around him had faded, if only slightly. It was progress, however small, and for now, that was enough.

As he focused on his breathing, a familiar scent drifted through the air—warm, rich, and undeniably delicious. His brows twitched involuntarily, and before he could stop it, his stomach let out a low, betraying growl.

Mo Yichen cracked his eyes open, already knowing the source of the aroma.

Turning his head, he spotted Lan Yu crouched by a small fire, his slender fingers expertly turning a skewered fish over the flames.

The fish was plump and golden-skinned, its surface sizzling and popping as it roasted, releasing an intoxicating fragrance that made Mo Yichen's mouth water despite himself.

Lan Yu's expression was one of quiet concentration, his light brown hair catching the firelight as he focused on his task.

The poor man had likely caught the fish from the nearby stream, continuing his self-assigned role as Mo Yichen's ever-dedicated follower.

Despite being told—multiple times—to leave, Lan Yu stubbornly remained. Mo Yichen couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or be touched by his persistence.

Mo Yichen stretched, rolling his shoulders before silently padding over to Lan Yu's side. He crouched down, his sudden presence nearly making Lan Yu jump out of his skin.

"A-Ah! Young Master!" Lan Yu nearly dropped the skewer, his face paling. "You walk like a ghost! I can never sense you!"

A short chuckle escaped Mo Yichen. "What can I say? My feet are one of my only advantages."

'At the moment…'

Lan Yu, still rattled, muttered an absent-minded "eh" under his breath and resumed poking at the fish.

Mo Yichen's gaze zeroed in on the golden, crispy surface. Without hesitation, he reached for it.

"That's not ready yet!" Lan Yu quickly moved the skewer out of reach.

Mo Yichen scoffed. "Impossible. It smells heavenly already. Give it here."

"No. It's still a little raw in the middle. You'll get sick."

"You underestimate me.."

Lan Yu sighed in resignation but finally tore off a piece from the edge—the crispiest part—and handed it over. "Here, at least eat this while the rest finishes cooking."

Mo Yichen accepted the offering, chewing thoughtfully. His expression remained unreadable at first, but then he let out a satisfied hum. "Not bad. Almost as good as my cooking."

Lan Yu gave him a skeptical look. "Young Master… have you ever actually cooked?"

"…that's not important cough"

Lan Yu grinned but didn't press further. The fire crackled between them, casting flickering shadows along the forest floor.

After a moment, Mo Yichen's gaze shifted. "By the way, how's your injury?"

Lan Yu blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden concern. "It's nothing serious. Thanks to the young lord's medicines, this follower will be fine in a day or two."

"Your external injuries may be healed, but internal ones take time." Mo Yichen's brows furrowed slightly as he stared into the fire. "…Also, there's something I've been meaning to ask."

Lan Yu frowned slightly. "What is it, Young Master?"

Mo Yichen's gaze sharpened. "Thank day.. How did you know I was in danger? How did you find my exact location?"

It had been gnawing at him for days. No matter how he pieced together the events, something didn't add up. Lan Yu arriving at the precise moment he was attacked wasn't just luck—it was too much of a coincidence.

Lan Yu hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Ah, that… Well, to tell you the truth, I didn't know anything at all."

Mo Yichen's brows furrowed deeper. That made even less sense.

Lan Yu continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been disguising myself as a beggar for a while now, keeping an ear out for any news. But that night… someone approached me."

Mo Yichen's expression darkened. "Someone? Who?"

Lan Yu's face turned serious. "A young man. He looked rich—he must be someone of high status. But the strange thing was, the moment he saw me, he said something along the lines of…" He paused, recalling the words. "'What you're looking for—you'll find it on the outskirts of the city.'"

Mo Yichen's eyes narrowed. "And you just… followed a random cryptic message?"

Lan Yu let out a dry chuckle. "I took a chance. I had a feeling it might lead me to you. And it did."

"Did you see his face?"

Lan Yu shook his head. "No. Half of it was hidden behind a fan. But I remember his clothes—he wore a white silk robe."

Mo Yichen's breath hitched. White silk robe… a fan…

A cold realization crept over him. His fingers clenched slightly. "Hah. And here I was just wondering who he could be."

Who could it be if not that damn storyteller?

...

Mo Yichen sighed deeply, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he stared up at the ink-black sky. His mind was a tangled mess of questions with no answers in sight.

Who was that storyteller? The guy seemed to know way too much—about Mo Yichen's past, his parents, even Lan Yu.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

His body ached from days of doing absolutely nothing, which, ironically, felt more exhausting than actual work. His robes clung to him like they'd been stolen off a scarecrow, then dunked in a swamp and left to dry under the blazing sun.

He sniffed himself and immediately regretted it.

He needed a bath. Desperately.

With a groan, he trudged toward the nearby stream, the distant roar of the waterfall offering a rare moment of tranquility.

Stripping off his outer robe, he grimaced at the sticky fabric peeling away from his skin like a second layer of filth.

"I definitely need new clothes," he muttered, glancing around as if the forest might magically provide a tailor. 

Under the pale moonlight, his jade-like skin glowed faintly, his usually sharp features softened by the night. He stepped into the cool water, the chill washing over him like a balm.

For the first time in days, he felt something other than exhaustion. He absentmindedly hummed a tune, savoring this fleeting moment of luxury. Submerging his head under water, his eyelids fluttered.

And then something happened.

A flicker of white light beneath the water.

His humming stopped. His heart? Also stopped.

"…What in the name of dogshit was that?!" he whispered coming out of the water instantly, his eyes locked on the now-dark water beneath him.

Nope. Nope. Hell nope.

He'd seen enough horror movies to know this was the part where the dumbass protagonist decided to investigate and ended up as a corpse. Not him.

With the grace of a seasoned survivalist (or a man who'd just seen a ghost), he turned and started walking back to shore, pretending he'd seen absolutely nothing.

Smart decisions save lives, he thought smugly.

Just as his foot touched the shore, a cold, slimy hand wrapped around his ankle.

"F*CK—" Mo Yichen's scream died in his throat as the hand yanked him backward into the water.

Bubbles exploded around him as he flailed wildly, his limbs thrashing like a drunk octopus. What the hell is this?! A vengeful water ghost?! He kicked, punched, and even tried biting, but underwater, his strength was about as effective as a kitten batting at a ball of yarn.

His lungs burned, screaming for air. Darkness closed in, broken only by the pale, slimy hand dragging him deeper.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

Above him, he barely registered a voice calling out—Lan Yu's. His heart leapt with hope.

'Yes! Lan Yu! My lifeline! Save me!'

Through the blurry water, he saw Lan Yu's silhouette appear at the edge of the stream. Mo Yichen flailed harder, desperately reaching out.

Lan Yu, ever the picture of calm, scanned the serene surface of the water. Seeing nothing amiss, he shrugged.

And then… he turned around and walked away.

Mo Yichen's brain short-circuited.

'LAN YU, YOU LITTLE BASTARD, HELP ME!'

'DID HE NOT SEE ME?!'

If he wasn't already drowning, he would've died from pure, unfiltered rage.

'I SWEAR TO THE HEAVENS, LAN YU, IF I SURVIVE THIS, YOU'RE GETTING YOUR ASS BEAT!'

These were his last thoughts before the darkness swallowed him whole.

.....

Mo Yichen gasped, coughing up a lungful of icy air as his body jerked forward. His fingers clawed at the ground beneath him—only for his brain to register something very, very wrong.

A freezing wind sliced through his half-naked body like a thousand tiny knives, making him tremble like a newborn deer tossed into a blizzard. His breath came out in short, uneven puffs of fog.

"…Whhhhat in the absolute f—ffuCCKING—shhhhit is this place?!" he stuttered through violently chattering teeth.

The hell? Just a moment ago, he was drowning. Now he was freezing his ass off in some godforsaken land of ice?!

His feet were submerged in a shallow pool of icy water, which was doing a fantastic job of sending shards of agony straight up his legs. His skin burned from the cold, his muscles locked in protest.

Instinctively, he reached inward, trying to summon his spiritual energy for warmth.

Nothing.

Like a candle snuffed out, his meridians were blocked—completely unresponsive.

"…You've got to be shitting me." Mo Yichen's soul left his body for a solid two seconds.

Who the hell transported him to this frozen abyss? And why did it feel like someone had yanked the spiritual power plug on this whole damn place?!

He exhaled sharply, hugging himself as he trudged forward, his mind running circles around the absurdity of his situation.

After what felt like an eternity of suffering, a structure came into view—an isolated, ice-covered platform with… a box?

His frozen brain took a second to process.

A box.

Alone. Suspiciously placed. Out in the open.

Mo Yichen squinted. "As if this is not a trap"

But did he still step forward?

Of course, he did.

Because if he didn't, he would freeze to death anyway.

The second his foot pressed against the ground—

CLICK.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

SHING! SHING! SHING!

A barrage of arrows exploded from the walls, slicing through the air with lethal precision.

Mo Yichen's mind barely had time to register the betrayal of his luck before his body acted on instinct—he threw himself onto the ground, rolling, dodging, and swearing like his life depended on it. Because it did.

"FUCK—HOLY SHIT—FUCKING—WHY—"

He barely managed to land on the platform, chest heaving, eyes wide.

Silence.

His lungs burned, his fingers dug into the ice, and his mind screamed at him to just breathe.

"…Ha…Ha… Okay. We're good. We're fine," he muttered, attempting to gaslight himself into a false sense of security.

Then—

CLICK.

A vein popped in his forehead.

"WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK IS WITH MY LUCK TODAY?!"

For a moment, there was nothing. Just silence.

Hope.

Maybe, just maybe, it was a false alarm—

CRACK.

The air around him shifted. The temperature plunged into something beyond unbearable.

A bad feeling slithered up his spine.

Slowly, he turned—

And nearly choked on his own terror.

Across the cavern, a wave of ice was spreading across the water—fast. Freezing everything in its path.

"...Oh, hell no."

His body moved before his brain could. RUN.

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

With every frantic step, he unknowingly triggered more fucking traps.

"FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK—"

Another volley of arrows rained down on him. He twisted, ducked, practically breakdanced mid-air to avoid getting impaled, before flinging himself onto the next platform.

For one blissful second, he thought—just maybe—he was safe.

Then—

SWOOSH.

A single arrow whizzed straight toward his face.

His hand shot up instinctively—

And he caught it.

Between two fingers.

A smirk tugged at his lips. Victory.

"Hah! Take that, you little bast—"

SNAP!

Pain.

Blinding. Stabbing. Pain.

The arrow suddenly sprouted hidden spikes like some cursed death trap, slicing straight into his fingers.

Mo Yichen yeeted the demonic arrow across the cave, clutching his bleeding hand.

"YOU UNDERHANDED, CHEAP-SHOT, BACKSTABBING PIECE OF SHIT—!"

He inhaled deeply, suppressing every urge to scream into the void. His hands throbbed, his body ached, and his patience had ceased to exist.

Who is that sadistic bastard to designed this nightmare—