Chapter 87

As the evening's spectacle concluded and the guests dispersed, Ji Chun and Su Ran retired early, weary from the day's events. Beneath the moonlight, they took a secluded path leading back to their courtyard, hands entwined.

"Ouyang Yixun shares an unusual bond with that sect leader," Su Ran mused as they walked.

Ji Chun halted abruptly, tightening his grip on Su Ran's hand. His voice was low in the darkness. "Ouyang Yixun lost control because the sect leader approached you. But why does that man always..." pester you?

Su Ran frowned. "Yesterday, he claimed to know my identity and proposed an alliance with the Demonic Cult. Perhaps that's what he wished to discuss tonight."

"Is that so?" Ji Chun murmured, head bowed as he resumed walking, his thoughts distant.

"Ji Chun." Su Ran stopped suddenly, tugging the taller man back.

Before Ji Chun could react, Su Ran looped his arms around the monk's neck and pulled him down, sealing their lips together. Ji Chun stiffened momentarily—then surrendered, encircling Su Ran's waist and deepening the kiss with quiet fervor.

Their embrace lingered in the hushed darkness until distant voices shattered the moment. They ducked behind a nearby tree, peering through the foliage at three Sha Yin Sect disciples striding purposefully ahead.

"The Sect Leader has ordered the Tianyin Sect man dealt with," one said coldly.

"Let's follow them," Su Ran whispered, curiosity alight. He'd longed to investigate the Sha Yin Sect since their arrival—now was the perfect chance.

Ji Chun nodded. Moving like shadows, they trailed the disciples to an unfamiliar courtyard. Two guards stood at the gate.

"State your business," one guard demanded.

"To eliminate the Tianyin Sect traitor," came the reply.

The gatekeeper stepped aside with a warning: "The Sect Leader has sent searchers abroad. Cause no trouble, lest you face his wrath."

As the disciples entered, Su Ran palmed two silver needles. Ji Chun shot him a questioning look.

"Not lethal," Su Ran mouthed.

A flick of his wrist, and the guards crumpled unconscious. After disguising themselves in the men's white robes—the wide hoods mercifully concealing Ji Chun's shaved head—they dragged the guards into the shadows and slipped inside.

The narrow secret passage swallowed all light, rendering faces indistinct. Fellow sect members passed them without acknowledgment, their interactions eerily transactional.

The passage spilled into a cavernous underground chamber. Torches guttered along blood-streaked walls, their flickering light revealing a grotesque centerpiece: a massive steamer, its pipes funneling crimson liquid into twin pools. The metallic stench of blood was overwhelming, thick enough to choke on.

Disguised among the emotionless sect workers, Ji Chun and Su Ran exchanged a glance. No words could capture their horror.

The cavernous secret room held dozens of people, yet the silence was tomb-like. What should have been bustling activity instead resembled some grotesque infiltration - a living hell that chilled even seasoned warriors like Ji Chun and Su Ran to their core.

Their horror deepened when two white-robed figures dragged a limp body past them. The unconscious man was thrown carelessly to the ground, his face rolling into view - the same man who had flirted with Su Ran at yesterday's banquet. Before they could react, one executioner drew a dagger and plunged it straight into the man's heart. A single, strangled scream pierced the air before death claimed him.

What followed was worse.

The blade sawed downward from chest to abdomen with methodical precision, the white-robed hands growing slick with blood. Though the dagger was sharp, flesh resisted the brutal violation, requiring forceful back-and-forth motions to complete the grisly work...

Ji Chun's breath came in shallow gasps. Raised in temple sanctity, he'd never witnessed such barbarity. His vision blurred at the edges as nausea rose in his throat. These weren't executions - they were butcheries performed by empty-eyed men who might as well have been carving meat.

Just as his knees threatened to buckle, warmth covered his eyes - Su Ran's slender hand shielding him from the nightmare. "Don't look," the demonic cult leader murmured, his usually sharp voice softened into something resembling temple chimes. The contrast between this tenderness and the surrounding depravity was jarring.

Su Ran had seen - had done - worse. But watching Ji Chun's revulsion twisted something in his chest. That protective gesture served dual purposes: sparing the monk further trauma while hiding his own bloody history. Whether as feared sect leader or simply a man in love, he wanted to preserve Ji Chun's inherent kindness intact.

The horror continued unabated. After gutting the corpse like a slaughtered animal, the executioners signaled their fire-tending counterparts. Together they hauled the mutilated remains up the steamer's short ladder, grabbing fistfuls of hair to dump the body into roiling waters.

Time stretched agonizingly as the fire consumed both wood and flesh. The only sounds were the crackling flames and the steady drip of crimson liquid through pipes into the waiting blood pools. That thin trickle represented countless lives - how many screams had been swallowed by these depths?

"Let's go," Su Ran whispered, squeezing Ji Chun's ice-cold hand. The monk managed a numb nod. They slipped away unnoticed, returning the stolen robes to their unconscious owners before fleeing that house of horrors.

Back in their room, candlelight revealed Ji Chun's ashen face. He sat statue-still until suddenly bolting outside. Su Ran found him retching violently in the courtyard shadows, his body convulsing long after there was nothing left to expel.

Wordlessly, Su Ran offered a cup of water. Ji Chun rinsed his mouth with mechanical movements before sipping weakly. As they returned inside, the monk leaned heavily against his companion - the only anchor in a world that had just revealed its darkest depths.