With their beautifully terrible plan barely stitched together, the group split up. Song Meiyu went with He Yuying, while Linyue and Shen Zhenyu circled from the other side. It was like watching a stage play written by people who had never once been introduced to logic.
Their mission was simple.
Step one: distract the big man. Bonus points he was confused.
Step two: steal the stabby things.
Step three: try not to die and escape with all original body parts still attached.
Straightforward. Practical. The sort of plan that could only go wrong in exactly a thousand different ways.
Linyue and Shen Zhenyu crouched low behind a sharp turn in the stone tunnel. The air pressed in damp and heavy, carrying the faint metallic tang of blood. Neither of them spoke. Shen Zhenyu's focus was razor sharp. Linyue's eyes were calm, calculating, as if she were simply deciding between two types of tea instead of life or death.
Back in the dumping room, He Yuying crouched between very, very dead bodies, muttering under his breath. "This was not in my job description. None of this. I signed up for sarcastic commentary and occasional stabbing, not corpse hide-and-seek."
Something cold brushed against his boot. He froze, eyes narrowing. Slowly, carefully, he looked down.
A pale stiff hand rested against his foot like it had been waiting just for him.
He Yuying's expression did not change, but inside, his soul left his body.
Song Meiyu, meanwhile, had taken the bravest (or possibly dumbest) job of all: distraction.
She crept toward the doorway of the creepy, gore-soaked room, each step careful and trembling. Her palms were slick with sweat, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs.
"Okay, Meiyu," she whispered to herself. "You've got this. Just… distract. Say something clever. Or terrifying. Or… something."
The big man inside shifted. His massive shoulders blocked the lantern light as he turned.
Panic swallowed every reasonable thought. Song Meiyu's brain, usually excellent at memorizing herbal recipes and rare poisons, decided to take a short and entirely inconvenient vacation. She blurted the first thing that popped into her mind.
"Excuse me, umm… do you like steamed buns?"
The big man paused. Slowly, his head tilted. The dim light slid across his face, catching the sharp jawline, the thick brows, the hard set of his mouth. His pupils shrank, the muscles around his eyes tightening into deep creases. Every feature radiated clear threat.
Song Meiyu's eyes widened. "Oh no," she squeaked.
Then she spun on her heel and bolted, skirts flying, every ounce of strategy abandoned in favor of the oldest survival tactic known to mankind: run first, scream later.
"WHY DID I SAY BUNS?!" she whispered fiercely to herself as her legs pumped faster. Her hair came loose, bouncing wildly as she shot straight down the tunnel. With no grace whatsoever, she dove headfirst into the dumping room where He Yuying was hiding.
She crashed into him with a loud THUD.
"ARGH—Meiyu!" He Yuying hissed, staggering back as her full weight slammed into his chest, nearly knocking them both into a pile of unfortunate corpses. He caught her by the shoulders just in time, his face twisted in horror. "Do you mind? Some of us are trying to blend in with the dead over here!"
"HE'S COMING," she wheezed. "HE DOESN'T LIKE BUNS!"
He Yuying blinked once. Then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful." He released her with a shove and dropped into a crouch, scanning the room for anything that could remotely pass as a weapon. "This plan is going amazing. Truly flawless."
A heavy thud echoed down the tunnel. The big man's footsteps. Growing closer.
Song Meiyu clutched his sleeve. "What do we do?"
He Yuying let out a long, tragic sigh. "Well… step four wasn't in the plan, but I'm guessing it's called 'die creatively.'"
Meanwhile, Linyue and Shen Zhenyu slipped silently into the gore-soaked room.
On the center table lay Prince Lu, sprawled out like a drunk aristocrat after a banquet. His posture was anything but dignified—one arm flung over his face, the other dangling limply toward the floor. Half his clothes were missing, though mercifully, the rest of him was intact. No stab wounds. No missing limbs. And most miraculous of all, both eyeballs remained exactly where eyeballs were meant to be.
Linyue pressed two fingers to his neck. A faint, steady pulse tapped against her skin. "He's breathing," she whispered. "We'll come back."
Shen Zhenyu gave a single nod, his eyes sweeping the room for anything sharp. His hand closed around a crescent-shaped knife on the table. Linyue, less picky, snatched up a long, wicked-looking needle. The needle was so long and stabby it could've doubled as a small spear for a very angry squirrel.
Weapons acquired, they exchanged a brief look. No words needed. They bolted toward the dumping room, because while Prince Lu looked pitiful but safe, their friends were currently being hunted by a man built like a wardrobe with suspicious hobbies and highly questionable tea preferences.
In the charmingly named dumping room, chaos had taken full control.
He Yuying was flailing like an angry squirrel dodging a falling tree, his arms pinwheeling as he narrowly avoided a swipe from the big man's meaty hands. "This is not what I signed up for!" he yelled, ducking behind a suspiciously headless corpse for cover.
Song Meiyu, meanwhile, had apparently decided that rolling was a legitimate combat strategy. She was performing slow, awkward somersaults across the floor, letting out a tiny squeak each time her sleeve snagged on something damp. It was unclear whether she was aiming for stealth, evasion, or just giving up entirely to panic.
The big man didn't appear to be in any rush. No weapon. No flashy cultivation techniques. Just the raw, terrifying strength of someone who looked like he ate fear for breakfast, lunch, and maybe a midnight snack.
Shen Zhenyu burst in, crescent knife in hand, his expression deadly serious. He lunged for the big man, knife flashing.
The big man grabbed Shen Zhenyu's arm like it was a twig, turned, and tossed him aside with casual disdain. Shen Zhenyu crashed into a pile of corpses with a dull thud and a muffled grunt, disappearing beneath a limp arm and an unfortunately positioned foot.
"Without spiritual energy," He Yuying groaned from his strategic position near the floor, "we're just… weak ducklings. Stylish, dramatic ducklings, but still ducklings."
Linyue charged next, sharp eyes and sharper legs. She swung her leg with perfect form and kicked the big man square on the shoulder, because aiming for his head would've required a ladder and maybe a prayer.
The man didn't dodge. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
Her shoe, however, decided it wanted nothing to do with this fight and launched itself off her foot mid-kick. It sailed in a graceful arc through the air and smacked He Yuying right in the face.
He let out a strangled sound, somewhere between outrage and despair. "Why is it always me?!"
Linyue froze mid-hop. "…Ow," she muttered, balancing on one foot. "Mission failed. My foot has officially surrendered."
She hopped back, clutching her toes. "Note to self," she whispered. "Wear steel toes next time. Or just… don't kick mountains."
The big man slowly turned his head toward her, then shifted his gaze to Song Meiyu, who was still stubbornly rolling across the floor. His meaty hand began descending toward Song Meiyu.
At that moment, He Yuying lunged forward and grabbed the big man's leg. He wrapped around it like a determined koala on its last tree.
"NOT TODAY, OVERSIZED VILLAIN!" he yelled. His arms and legs locking around the big man's calf. Determination (and terror) blazing in his eyes.
The big man paused, staring down at the unexpected accessory now glued to his leg. He shook his leg. Once. Twice. Left, right, left, right.
He Yuying flopped wildly but somehow, miraculously, he clung on. Arms locked. Legs wrapped tight. Face pressed firmly against the man's shin in pure, stubborn defiance.
"I'VE MADE WORSE LIFE CHOICES THAN THIS!" he yelled, voice cracking slightly. "PROBABLY!"
Across the room, Shen Zhenyu groaned as he emerged from under a corpse's limp armpit. He took one long look at the scene and blinked slowly, his expression unreadable except for a faint sense of "why are we like this?"
Linyue was still hopping in the background, her one-shoed foot throbbing with every step.
Song Meiyu sat up just in time to witness what could only be described as the strangest wrestling match in history.
Truly, this was going great.