After a torturous night in the woods they made their way to a nearby village of Kewang Chengshi. Xue Laohu, with a frustrated sigh, turned his attention to the system's screen that hovered faintly in his periphery. It flickered to life with a jarring noise—a hacking, rasping cough that sounded like someone was dying.
Then, bold and bright text appeared:
WELCOME, USER, TO BOUND BY DARKNESS, YET DRAWN BY LOVE: THE DEMON'S ETERNAL CURSE AND THE MORTAL'S UNBREAKABLE HEART IN A WORLD THAT SHOULDN'T LET THEM BE TOGETHER BUT SOMEHOW, AGAINST ALL ODDS, THEY COPULATE.
A long, weary sigh slipped from his lips, dragging out like the last exhale of a dying man. He pinched the bridge of his nose "…Ugh," he muttered, slapping the fan against the screen. "Who writes these things?"
The corners of his mouth twitched with exasperation as he stared up at the glowing screen hovering before his face. The early morning mist curled around him like breath from a slumbering beast, soft and silver, but nothing could cushion the absurdity before him.
"I don't know what's more ridiculous…" he mumbled to himself. "The title or the actual story."
He jabbed a thumb upward, pointing accusingly at the system display still pulsing with obnoxious drama.
He snorted. "Who in their right mind would read this kind of—"
He paused. A sudden memory surfaced—his older sister sprawled across her bed, surrounded by snack wrappers and plushies, her face buried in her webnovel app, gasping and kicking her legs as she read some overly dramatic, emotionally tormented nonsense. Her delighted squeals had echoed through their walls more than once.
"Right… she would." He sighed again, this time in surrender. "She is the target demographic."
The screen shimmered brighter, a cold blue light illuminating the sharp planes of his face. A new prompt crackled into existence, letters forming in a slow crawl, almost as if savoring the suspense:
NEW MISSION: VENGEANCE IS BITTER, BUT LIPS ARE SWEETER
OBJECTIVE: SHOU MC MUST DEFEAT A FORMER FOE, HEALING THE WOUND IN HIS HEART.
REWARD: +1000 LIFE POINTS
BONUS: +50 PER SPICE
FAILURE TO COMPLETE WILL RESULT IN: IMMINENT DEATH
Yi Ming blinked. Then blinked again.
"…What?!"
The words hovered there menacingly, glowing blood-red at the bottom of the mission prompt. His jaw dropped open.
"WHAT?!" he repeated, louder this time, stumbling to his feet. "Imminent death? Since when is that the penalty?! What happened to minus points?! You can't just escalate to death! That's cheating!"
He thrust a finger at the screen, face flushed with outrage. "This is absolutely not in the contract. I never agreed to this!"
The system responded with a raspy, phlegmy cough.
He recoiled. "Ugh! Seriously?!"
It coughed again—wet, rattling, like an old woman on the verge of coughing up a lung. Then came a disgusting gargle, followed by a theatrical hocking noise and the unmistakable sound of something being spat out with extreme finality.
He grimaced in horror, taking a step back. "What are you, possessed?! That's disgusting! Have some self-respect—you're a magical system, not a plague victim!"
At last, the hacking ceased. The system's voice, now hoarse and deliberately grave, spoke with as much solemnity as a dramatic actor delivering his final monologue:
…THE NOVEL IS COMING TO AN END.
Yi Ming stared, stunned. "Wait, what? That's it? That's your justification?"
Silence.
He dragged a hand down his face. "So just because your storyline is wrapping up, now it's my neck on the line?"
The screen flickered innocently.
"I didn't sign up for some tragic martyrdom arc! I'm the narrator! I can't die! I should be able to void this whole thing and rewrite the story as I please! Why is my life at risk?!"
The system gave one last pathetic wheeze.
COMPLETE THE MISSION. MAKE IT SPICY. OR DIE.
"…Unbelievable," he muttered, flopping back onto the abyss of his mind.
The screen flickered weakly, its light dimming and flaring like a candle nearing the end of its wick. He stared, unblinking, as the message echoed in his mind: The novel is coming to an end. His arms slowly dropped to his sides. The weight of the words settled over him like a suffocating fog. It's really ending…? He swallowed hard. It's already been over a year?
Over a year since he'd been pulled—no, sucked—into this absurd world of dramatic cultivation dog-blood romance, power levels, tragic backstories, and improbable love triangles. He'd adapted, survived, even found moments of laughter. And now, it was all hurtling toward a conclusion he hadn't agreed to.
Panic prickled beneath his skin. His palms began to sweat, heart thudding like a warning drum. He barely registered the sound of his name being called until it echoed louder in his ears.
"Shizun," he said, stepping closer with eager eyes. "Look at this. Doesn't this… doesn't this look like—"
Li Zhameng had pulled a paper flyer from a nearby wall, he held the paper up as he glanced toward Xue Tuzi. "—A-Tuzi?"
But Xue Tuzi wasn't listening. He was too busy tending to a grumpy Tuanzhu, who was nestled in his arms, puffed up like an angry dumpling. Her cheeks were flushed pink as she squirmed in discomfort, letting out tiny high-pitched whines.
"She needs to burp," Xue Tuzi said distractedly, patting her back with rhythmic taps. Li Zhameng frowned but continued unfolding the paper, revealing the full illustration at last.
The man drawn on the poster was strikingly handsome—almost unfairly so. Big, round eyes framed by long, soft lashes stared out beneath a veil of silky, ink-colored bangs. His lips were full and petal-like, with a faint pout that seemed intentional. And just at the corner of his mouth, a single beauty mark sat like a playful secret.
Xue Laohu blinked. "That… can't be…"
"It is," Li Zhameng said with a gasp. "It's A-Tuzi!"
In bold black ink, the heading screamed:
WANTED
FUGITIVE: AI CHONG
DESCRIPTION: SMOOTH, PALE SKIN. DAZZLING ROUND EYES. FULL LIPS WITH A SPECK AT THE CORNER. LONG JET BLACK HAIR.
REWARD: 5,000 TAELS.
There was a stunned silence.
"Smooth pale skin? Full lips? Speck at the corner? They wrote this like someone thirsting over their own bounty." Xue Laohu sighed looking at the poster then glancing back at Xue Tuzi.
Despite it being a wanted poster, it read more like an advertisement for a courtesan than a criminal—nothing about it screamed 'dangerous fugitive'. They exchanged a look—a silent, wordless moment of shared panic—before both turned their gazes back to Xue Tuzi, who had just coaxed a soft burp from a now drowsy Tuanzhu. She blinked sleepily, then snuggled into his chest with a little sigh like a satisfied dumpling.
Xue Tuzi noticed the stares. His brows furrowed. "Is something wrong?"
"No—nothing! Nothing at all," Xue Laohu blurted, voice higher than he meant. He tried to tuck the crumpled poster behind his back, but it was a pathetic effort. With a flash of movement, Xue Tuzi reached out and snatched it from his hands. He gave the paper a passing glance. Then, without a word, he crushed it into a tight ball and tossed it to the side.
"Shizun doesn't actually believe that man looks like me?" he asked, arching a brow while continuing to gently pat Tuanzhu's back. Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and resumed walking down the busy street.
But they hadn't gone far when they realized the problem was bigger than one flyer. The wanted posters were everywhere— nailed to walls, hanging from trees. Children were running through the streets handing them out like candy, waving the sheets and yelling, "Big reward! Big money for Ai Chong!"
Xue Laohu winced, dragging a hand down his face. He heard a soft huff behind him and turned to see Shudu pausing beside one of the posters. He studied it in silence, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the familiar features rendered in ink. But he said nothing. With a faint grunt, he crossed his arms and kept walking. Eventually, the smell of garlic oil and slow-simmered broth guided them toward a humble noodle stall nestled between two stone buildings. Steam curled lazily into the air, carrying the scent of herbs and stew meat, and both Xue Laohu and Li Zhameng came to a halt, eyes wide with longing.
"Shizun," Li Zhameng whispered, tugging at his sleeve. "I think I can smell pork bone soup…"
"Don't tempt me," Xue Laohu muttered under his breath, stomach growling. He rubbed at his temples. "No money." He lamented, remembering that Xue Tuzi had given his entire coin purse to that hack of a fortune teller.
They loitered near the stall like stray cats, staring at the boiling pot with undisguised hunger. Across the road, Shudu had climbed up into a tree, lying sideways on a thick branch with a straw dangling from his mouth. Below, Xue Tuzi sat cross-legged under the shade, eyes closed in meditation—but the slight twitch of his brow betrayed his discomfort.
The stall owner, a man with kind eyes and a crooked apron, noticed the pitiful scene and sighed.
"Travelers, you look like you haven't eaten in days," he called. "Are you without silver? If you're cultivators, Lord Chanchu's always hiring guards. Good pay. Better food."
At the name Lord Chanchu, Xue Tuzi's expression soured immediately. His nose wrinkled in visible disgust.
Lord Chanchu—rich, yes, but a degenerate in every other way. His breath reeked of fermented plum wine. His fingers were always greasy. His teeth, the one's he had, were the color of old parchment. Just the memory of that man's yellowed grin made Xue Tuzi's stomach churn. But the stall owner, unaware of the growing tension, kept talking. "It's been more than a year now, and he's still searching for his Ai Chong. Swears he'll never give up. Poor man."
With a sigh, the man ladled out two bowls of steaming noodles and slid them across the counter. "Here. You both look half-dead. On the house."
Li Zhameng and Xue Laohu exchanged a glance of disbelief before diving in with grateful murmurs. As they ate, the stall owner's gaze drifted toward Xue Tuzi—more specifically, to his face. He tilted his head slightly. His eyes narrowed. He glanced down at a stray poster that one of the kids had dropped, still fluttering on the ground near the tree. He picked it up, smoothed out the wrinkles, and looked again at the illustration: sharp but soft features, clear round eyes, full lips… and a single mole at the corner of the mouth.
His gaze flicked back to Xue Tuzi. His jaw slowly dropped.
"…Wait a second," the stall owner muttered.
He stepped closer, holding the flyer beside Xue Tuzi's face like he was comparing a portrait to a painting.
"You… you're him, aren't you?" he whispered. "You're the one in the poster."
Blah Blah Blah:
Lord Chanchu is back! I really enjoy writing grotesque characters it's always easy to write these beautiful ethereal characters much harder to write the repulsive.
Translator's Notes:
Lord Chanchu was the man who bought Xue Tuzi back in chapter 4. He is an extremely wealthy man but somewhat despicable.
Ai Chong [爱宠]- Beloved Pet.