Military Commission Hospital, 4th basement level.
The ward was brightly lit, surrounded by various expensive and advanced medical equipment. Yet, all the data showed that the person on the hospital bed was on the brink of death.
It was an old man with snow-white hair, eyes tightly shut, heavy eye bags, and a face shriveled like the bark of a dead tree—almost frightening to look at. If his hair were dyed black, dressed in formal attire, and groomed properly, many across the country would recognize this face that often appeared on the evening news. But now, lying shriveled on the hospital bed, he was just a pitiful dying man.
Yu Jingzhong stood grimly beside the bed. A doctor, seemingly the attending physician, approached, removed his mask, and shook his head.
“The situation is very grim. During the emergency evacuation from the ICU upstairs, we moved too quickly, which worsened his condition significantly…”
Yu Jingzhong gritted his teeth. “Wasn’t Phoenix Four supposed to have gone to the Hell Realm to find the Demon Lord Fan Luo? How did he suddenly show up in the hospital and head straight for the ICU?!”
The doctor dared not reply. Then a hoarse, unpleasant voice came from the corner of the room:
“That was a smokescreen set by Zhou Hui, Vice Division Leader Yangjin. Since Phoenix Four and our Demon Lord fell out over the Mahavairocana matter, he hasn’t set foot in the ‘Four Evil Realms’… Zhou Hui released the news of Phoenix Four’s departure just to divert your attention.”
Yu Jingzhong turned his head and saw four abnormally tall, thin figures standing in the corner, fully cloaked in thick grey robes, their faces hidden in oversized hoods. Each held a pure gold bell the size of a lantern, and their exposed hands were wrinkled, pale-grey in texture.
The leader seemed to chuckle and said,
“The Demon Lord was also surprised when he heard the news, but after scouring the Nine Heavens, Ten Lands, and Four Evil Realms, we found no trace of the Phoenix… A pity, really. Our Demon Lord has always wanted to formally marry Phoenix Four.”
Yangjin Pingcuo’s lips twitched dryly, a grotesque expression appearing on Yu Jingzhong’s face beneath the human skin mask.
“The Fifth Division couldn’t hold off Phoenix Four. You finally managed to subdue Shenwan Tiansi and turned him into a puppet, but now even that trump card is gone… They say Phoenix Four is still a severely wounded invalid even after hundreds of years, but turns out the skinny camel is still bigger than a horse. So what now?”
The grey-cloaked figure said blandly, “No need to worry—”
Before the words finished, the old man on the bed suddenly erupted in a bout of wheezing, his body arching up violently as he spat blood in large mouthfuls beneath the oxygen mask. The room plunged into chaos, the chief physician rushing up with a team to resuscitate him, all the machines lighting up, emitting ear-piercing alarms.
“Bring the Buddha’s Blood! Bring the Buddha’s Blood!” the chief yelled, grabbing a blood bag from a rushing doctor. He extracted the golden-streaked blood and injected it into the old man’s carotid artery. After a few seconds, the old man panted violently but gradually settled. His vitals recovered slightly, and the alarms ceased.
“This… this is the last of the Buddha’s Blood,” the chief said despairingly, wiping sweat from his brow. “Half of it was used upstairs to deal with Phoenix Four—this little bit is far from enough…”
Yangjin Pingcuo gnashed his teeth: “Didn’t they say that the thing Yu Jingzhong’s little lover brought back from Japan was also a holy relic? Doesn’t it have life-preserving effects?!”
Just as the grey-cloaked figure was about to answer, the door was knocked twice and pushed open. A subordinate strode in and whispered urgently in Yangjin’s ear,
“Vice Division Leader, bad news. Phoenix Four has taken everyone’s first soul and two spirits—the Fifth Division is annihilated…”
Yangjin’s face changed drastically: “What did you say?!”
The room fell silent, the air so tense it was about to snap.
Then, the grey-cloaked figure sneered coldly: “It doesn’t matter. The Phoenix King is ours to deal with.”
The four grey-cloaked figures turned and walked toward the door. Under the lights, they emitted a faint, barely visible mist, leaving damp, pitch-black footprints that quickly dried, leaving behind a thin layer of grey dust.
“——How confident are you?” Yangjin called after them.
“Just a spent arrow in a mortal body, nothing to fear…” the grey-cloaked man said without turning back, his voice fading down the dark hospital basement hallway, “…offering the Phoenix King to the Demon Lord shouldn’t be difficult.”
·
After the grey-cloaked figures left, the room’s heavy air seemed to lighten slightly.
Yangjin Pingcuo took a deep breath, glanced at the worried doctors and the dying old man on the bed. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors irritated him. He habitually reached for a cigarette but stopped halfway.
Then he turned back and ordered,
“Bring Yan Lanyu here.”
A subordinate acknowledged and soon wheeled in an unconscious Yan Lanyu, placing him on a wheelchair. His head drooped, hair falling across his pallid face.
Yangjin Pingcuo stared coldly and said, “Wake him up.”
A subordinate pressed hard on an acupoint on Yan Lanyu’s head, squeezing with brutal force. Normally, even the dead would wake from that pain, but this time it failed. After several more vicious presses, Yan Lanyu finally convulsed and slowly opened his eyes.
“Awake?” Yangjin Pingcuo asked from above.
Yan Lanyu gasped weakly, coughing blood foam from his throat before regaining his breath.
“…Who… who are you?” he asked brokenly.
“I’m Yu Jingzhong,” Yangjin Pingcuo smiled. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re not… who are you? Where is Yu Jingzhong?”
The smile disappeared from Yangjin’s face. He stared at Yan Lanyu’s exhausted face and asked,
“Everyone else didn’t notice. Even Zhou Hui only found me suspicious. Yet you noticed the first time you saw me. How did I give myself away? Or is it really true that when you’ve slept with someone, you just know the real one from the fake?”
Yan Lanyu’s cracked lips curved slightly with a hint of cunning:
“No, we didn’t sleep together. Nothing happened between us… don’t use me to insult Yu Jingzhong.”
Only then did Yangjin Pingcuo realize where he had erred.
He slammed his fist against the wall—that was indeed his only mistake, but it was fatal.
“So that’s it… that bastard Yu Jingzhong…” he muttered, then caught sight of the faintly smug smile on the boy’s face.
This teenager, near death after days of captivity and torture, still retained his spirit, still maintained the upper hand in this confrontation. He was truly unafraid of anything.
——A person like Yan Lanyu, when he becomes fearless of death, really has no weakness.
Yangjin Pingcuo knew things couldn’t go on like this—he had to regain control.
“Let’s make a deal,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“Do you know why everyone acted like Yu Jingzhong and you had some past?”
“……”
“Because Yu Jingzhong acted that way,” Yangjin continued, not waiting for a reply.
“His behavior made people believe there was some history between you two—Years ago when Yu Jingzhong infiltrated Japan’s esoteric sects on a mission and was captured, you secretly freed him and his comrades. If our intel is correct, you grew up in that sect as the sect master’s favored servant, right? For someone like you to risk your life freeing him was completely out of character. If Yu Jingzhong didn’t give a reason, no one would buy it.”
Yan Lanyu closed his eyes, clearly unwilling to hear more, but Yangjin didn’t stop, his voice cold and cruel:
“In fact, Yu Jingzhong could have made up another excuse. I don’t know why he chose this one. By rights, it’s not even something that flatters him, so maybe it was just his subconscious response—perhaps deep down, he wished it were true.”
The boy twitched and turned his head away. Tears slowly seeped from his tightly closed lashes, silently falling down his pale, haggard cheeks.
“Let’s make a deal,” Yangjin said. “I won’t ask for much. You’re still so young, just do one last thing for me—consider it my little compensation to you.”
Yangjin Pingcuo pointed to the hospital bed behind him and said, “That man is our leader. Right now, we have to do everything we can to keep him alive to ensure our faction’s power transitions smoothly. Aida Yoshitaka said you’re one of the most talented new-generation Onmyoji in Japan. Take a look—do you have any way to help? If you can do something, I’ll let you see Yu Jingzhong one last time… Yes, he’s not dead yet.”
Yan Lanyu’s body seemed to tremble slightly. He opened his eyes.
Under the lights, his eyelids looked thin, the tails of his eyes gently upturned into a soft arc. The tears stained him like a smudge of crimson ink in a watercolor painting. Yangjin Pingcuo stared at him for a moment, a fleeting pang of reluctance flashing through his heart, but then he thought—anyone trying to extinguish such a life would hesitate, wouldn’t they?
“…His soul is already scattered,” Yan Lanyu whispered. “There’s nothing I can do… I can’t save him.”
Yangjin Pingcuo frowned, “Truly no other way? That fragment you’re wearing—”
“That can only exorcise evil, not sustain life. Besides, it’s just a fragment. To save him, you’d need the tears of the Phoenix shed while in the position of a True God, or the blood the Buddha bleeds from the Lotus Sea of Compassion… things that are practically impossible.”
He coughed again, even worse than before, his body nearly bending in half from the force, blood speckling from his nose and throat, his palms dotted with crimson foam. Yangjin Pingcuo gripped his shoulder, realizing the boy had truly reached the end of his life.
Yangjin Pingcuo hesitated briefly, then waved to his men and ordered in a low voice,
“…Take him to the holding room. Let him see Yu Jingzhong one last time.”
The subordinate nodded and asked, “And you, sir?”
Yangjin mused for a moment and muttered to himself, “Lotus Sea of Compassion… blood shed willingly.”
“Fetch me the other human skin mask in my cabinet,” he suddenly ordered. “The new one I made recently—shaped like Phoenix Four in human form.”
The subordinate acknowledged and pushed Yan Lanyu’s wheelchair out the door.
·
The hallway outside the ward was dim, many corners unlit to avoid attracting attention. The temperature on the fourth basement level was very low. Yan Lanyu shivered in his haze, and the subordinate, feeling some pity, took off his jacket and draped it over him.
“You’re so good-looking… if you wanted, you could’ve lived a great life. Why hang yourself on this one tree? Gonna lose your life over it.”
The subordinate muttered and shook his head, sighing, stopping before an iron door at the end of the hall: “Here we are.”
It was once a passage to the power distribution room, now sealed with an iron grille. Inside was pitch black, thick with dust. Yan Lanyu pinched his palm, forcing himself to stay conscious, watching every movement of the subordinate entering the password—even the tiniest elbow movements.
The lock clicked open.
The subordinate pushed Yan Lanyu in and said, “Here you go.”
There, leaning against the wall, was a figure half-sitting, half-reclining. Though the darkness obscured his face, Yan Lanyu instantly recognized that familiar silhouette.
Tears spilled from his eyes, but not a sound came out. His throat was blocked by something bitter and hard, he couldn’t even sob.
The subordinate seemed a little moved, wanting to say something but stopped, finally shaking his head and muttering,
“Sorry, Vice Director Yu, we’re just following orders… I’ll leave you two alone.”
With that, he shut the iron door and locked it with a soft click.
Yu Jingzhong stirred, waited until the footsteps faded, then sighed deeply,
“…Little brother, I’m sorry… I’ve wronged you.”
Yan Lanyu had waited so long for that sentence. Ever since two years ago in Japan, when he had secretly freed this foreign agent on a snowy night, he had held onto that ethereal promise, refining his faint, fragile hope through endless cycles of anticipation and disappointment, until every bit of faith was worn away in the darkness of his days. Yet, the one thing he had not abandoned was this sentence.
But hearing it now, he didn’t lose control, nor weep uncontrollably, nor feel the pain and bitterness that had replayed in his heart thousands of times.
Yan Lanyu inhaled deeply, pain flaring in his lungs so intensely that his voice came out hoarse,
“No… it’s okay.”
Yu Jingzhong scooted closer. Yan Lanyu could then see him in the dim light—his whole body covered in blood, most of it dried, with no telling how it had happened. He sensed Yan Lanyu’s gaze but didn’t explain his wounds. Instead, he checked his pulse and temperature behind his ear, then said,
“You need treatment immediately. You can’t go on like this. Why are you here? Did they want to kill you too?”
Yan Lanyu said nothing.
“Listen,” Yu Jingzhong continued, “I have some intel for you. They tortured me for a long time over this. After you hear it, you can relay it piece by piece. Time it carefully, stall until Zhou Hui finds out and comes to rescue you. Zhou Hui is the commander of the first division under our Special Unit. As long as you find him, you’ll survive. Tell him this is my last directive—make sure you live.”
“It’s useless…” Yan Lanyu whispered, “Don’t bother… it’s useless.”
Yu Jingzhong grabbed the wheelchair armrest, about to speak again, but Yan Lanyu’s faint yet firm voice interrupted him,
“I’m an Onmyoji. I know my condition… Don’t waste your strength. Just tell me why—how did it come to this? Why are they impersonating you?”
They stared at each other for a few seconds. Yu Jingzhong sighed deeply and slumped slightly,
“…It’s the opposing faction in the Military Commission. One of their big shots is dying.”
Yan Lanyu listened quietly.
“But their faction isn’t ready to pass on power. If that high-ranking figure dies, their whole structure might collapse. To prolong his life, they needed resources from our Special Unit, and I became their obstacle.”
“A month ago, I learned you were coming to H City, so I wanted to bring you over and secretly sent Zhou Hui. But the other side exploited Zhou Hui’s absence from Beijing, colluded with the Demon Lord of the so-called ‘Four Evil Realms,’ subdued the defiant Fifth Division Leader, Shenwan Tiansi, incited the Vice Division Leader Yangjin Pingcuo to lead a mutiny, and impersonated me, keeping me locked here.”
Yu Jingzhong didn’t bother explaining why a vice leader could turn the whole division while the leader himself had no power to stop it.
“They didn’t kill me because I still hold intel they need. Without it, Yangjin Pingcuo can’t impersonate me flawlessly.” He paused, “But if their plan succeeds and that big shot is revived, our Special Unit will be crushed, all six divisions will collapse, and killing me will be inconsequential since no one will question the impostor.”
Yu Jingzhong sighed, “So my survival depends on stalling… I wanted to endure and hold out. But now that I’ve seen you, it doesn’t matter anymore. Heaven’s not so cruel—at least I get this one last chance before dying.”
Yan Lanyu panted and smiled faintly.
“I feel… Heaven’s not so cruel to me either,” he whispered. “This was worth it.”
He gripped the wheelchair arms, slowly, painfully stood up. He staggered, and Yu Jingzhong rushed to steady him, asking in surprise,
“What are you doing?!”
“…” Yan Lanyu waved him off, rejecting help, and staggered to the iron gate.
He could barely stand, his side profile delicate and pitifully thin. Yet within his frail body burned a fierce, desperate courage that forced his spine straight, keeping him upright.
He stared at the gate, swallowed blood-tinted spit, then dislocated his shoulder, shrinking his body so that half of it slid through the narrow iron bars like a snake!
Yu Jingzhong exclaimed, “—Bone shrinking technique?!”
Yan Lanyu’s chest caught in the bars, gasping in pain—so excruciating he almost passed out. But then he raised his good arm, grabbed his shoulder—“crack!”—and dislocated it too, bones grinding with sickening sounds as he squeezed through!
With a thud, Yan Lanyu fell to the ground. Yu Jingzhong rushed forward, gripping the bars so hard his fingers spasmed.
Yan Lanyu caught his breath, gestured for silence, then staggered up and slammed his shoulder against the wall—snap!—resetting it.
He was clearly used to the dislocation-reset process, flexed his arm a few times until feeling returned to his fingers, then walked to the keypad and carefully entered the code. The lock clicked open.
Yu Jingzhong burst through, catching Yan Lanyu just as he collapsed, kneeling on the floor with him. His eyes burned hot, his breath ragged and painful. The body in his arms was cold, bones pressing hard against his hands, as though a bottomless chill was seeping from the marrow, devouring what little life remained.
“No… it doesn’t hurt,” Yan Lanyu muttered faintly. “Don’t… don’t cry… don’t cry…”
He tried to lift his hand but soon dropped it. Yu Jingzhong caught it, gripping tightly, his whole body trembling, pressing his face against the boy’s neck, his mind blank with despair.
Yan Lanyu’s consciousness was fading. All he could feel was cold, as though wind blew through the hollows of his incomplete body. He wanted to ask Yu Jingzhong to hold him tighter, but even if they merged to the bone now, he wouldn’t feel it.
“Go… quickly…” he murmured, his gaze unfocused and speech halting.
“Go… you… have to go…”
Yu Jingzhong gasped, raised his head to the lonely corridor. After a moment, he gritted his teeth, lifted the boy onto his shoulder, and staggered forward.
