A tall figure was seated inside the carriage, free and careless. His long white hair flowed down his back like spun silver, threaded with pale braids—some tied neatly behind his head, others left to fall freely. Loose curls framed his face, catching the dim light as though alive.
Vibrant red robes cascaded over his tall form, heavy with gold ornaments that chimed softly with each idle movement. A translucent red veil concealed half of his face, yet it did nothing to hide the knowing curve of his lips.
Beautiful.
Yan Ling's breath caught painfully in his throat. He whispered, hesitation trembling through his voice, "W-who are you...and how did you even get inside?"
"Between divine and demonic," the deep voice intoned, a hint of amusement lacing each word. "..where do you think I lie?"
Golden light flickered lazily at the man's fingertips, warm and luminous—yet Yan Ling felt no comfort from it. Every instinct in his body screamed danger.
Yan Ling swallowed, his throat dry.
"I guess I don't have the luxury to guess," he said, forcing steadiness into his voice despite the way his pulse thundered in his ears. "So tell me. Who are you?"
The man chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate, as though they were sharing a private conversation.
"My identity..." he replied lazily, leaning back against the carriage wall, one long leg crossing over the other. The gold ornaments on his robes chimed faintly. "...it's better if you don't know about me."
Yan Ling clenched his fists. "Then why are you here?"
The man's gaze flicked over him—slowly, from head to toe, his serpent-like eyes gleaming.
"Because," he said, suddenly leaning closer to Yan Ling's terrified face, "you're interesting."
Before Yan Ling could react, the mysterious man moved. One moment he was seated casually across from him, the next he was right there—too close. A hand cold and unyielding gripped Yan Ling's jaw, forcing his mouth open.
"What—!"
Something was pushed past his lips. Yan Ling barely had time to register the bitter taste before the man tilted his chin upward and pressed his throat, forcing him to swallow. The pill slid down.
Yan Ling gagged violently, chains rattling as he struggled, eyes blazing with fury and alarm.
"You—!" His voice came out hoarse. "What did you just feed me?!"
The man stepped back unhurriedly, watching him with open amusement as though Yan Ling's reaction was expected—entertaining, even.
"Relax," he said. "If I wanted you dead, you'd not be screaming like this."
Yan Ling's chest heaved. "Answer me."
The man lifted his hand gracefully, golden light dancing lazily between his fingers. "That," he said pleasantly, "was the QianwangPill."
Yan Ling froze.
"…That's a myth," he said slowly. "Mentioned in a fictional book I read once. It doesn't exist."
"Mmm," the man hummed. "Mortals say many comforting things when the truth frightens them but it exists—and you've just taken it."
A chill crawled up Yan Ling's spine.
"The Qianwang Pill," the man continued, tone almost conversational, "burns from the inside out. Slowly. Organ by organ. Painful enough that most beg for death long before it comes."
Yan Ling's blood ran cold. "You insane bastard—do you know what you've done?! In what way have I ever wronged you?!" he half-whispered, half-yelled.
The man tilted his head, veil fluttering faintly. "Wronged me?" he repeated, genuinely amused. "No one has that much courage, certainly not you."
"Then why?!" Yan Ling demanded, anger burning through the fear. "Why did you poison me?!"
The man smiled, placing his ring-covered index finger lightly against his lips.
"Easy there, little human. I won't let you die," he said calmly. "Just complete the task I assign you."
"You—" Yan Ling stared at him in disbelief.
"Ah." The man lifted a finger. "I forgot to mention,"
Yan Ling stiffened.
"There is no antidote," the man said lightly. "At least, not one you can find in this world. The only thing that suppresses the poison is my blood, mixed with dragon flower petals which you'll receive every 60 days."
Yan Ling's nails dug into his palms. "And if I don't?"
The man's smile widened, cruel and beautiful. "Then you'll suffer. Slowly. Until the next 60 days pass. And if you still don't receive the antidote…" He shrugged. "You'll burn to death eventually, leaving nothing but ashes behind."
Rage surged, sharp and suffocating. "You think I'll just accept this?! You think I won't tell anyone?!"
The man laughed softly.
"Go ahead," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "No one will believe you anyway."
Yan Ling grounded his teeth. He knew the man was right—and that knowledge tasted worse than the pill.
"…What do you want?" he asked at last, voice tight but controlled.
The man's eyes gleamed.
"Now, we are talking. Listen carefully, when you reach Han Ling," he said, "sneak into Wei Li Feng's private library and steal a book called (Cāngshān Lóng Shén Lù) Record of the Azure Mountain DragonGod."
Yan Ling's breath caught. "And give it to you?"
"Yes," the man said approvingly. "You're not as slow as you look."
"And if I come back empty-handed?"
The man's smile didn't falter. "Then obviously, you won't get any antidote. Just another sixty days of burning as punishment. Simple."
Yan Ling hesitated, then asked quietly, "If you can appear anywhere… why not take it yourself?"
The man shook his head with a soft chuckle.
"There's a seal around the library. Old. Powerful. Annoying. I can't cross it."
Yan Ling's thoughts spun.
A seal strong enough to stop this mysterious figure? Wei Li Feng… just what on earth are you?
"Where will I find you?" Yan Ling asked carefully. "After 60 days."
The man's eyes curved with satisfaction.
"Just keep the book ready," he said. "I'll find you..." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "..anywhere except that library."
Yan Ling opened his mouth to ask more, to demand answers but the sound of approaching footsteps cut him off.
Oh no! Those female attendants are back, shit!
"You should leav—," Yan Ling hissed urgently, turning his head toward the carriage door but when he looked back, there was no one.
No red robe or golden light. Complete darkness.
The mysterious man was gone —like a nightmare which he could not longer escape.
...
The next morning, the camp stirred before dawn. The long procession resumed its slow march northward. Han Ling—the capital of Wei Bing—was still far away, and the weather had started to turn colder.
The journey took nearly a month. During that time, Wei Li Feng moved with unsettling efficiency. The chaos left behind by war was contained swiftly—borders secured, dissent crushed before it could fester, supply routes reopened. He was declared as the new king of both nations with all needed ceremony, and somehow, without resistance.
New rules were issued for both nations under his control—strict, precise, and undeniably effective. Markets reopened, refugees were settled and the victorious yet worn out army was not neglected. Everywhere was a celebration going on.
Even Yan Ling, watching from afar and listening to what the people around him whispered, had to admit that Wei Li Feng ruled like someone born for the throne.
The prisoners of war were not slaughtered, as Yan Ling had expected. They were kept alive, well fed, and imprisoned in dungeon separately from him.
Yes, Yan Ling was treated differently, exactly opposite of what he had thought.
When they finally arrived in Han Ling, he was not thrown into a dungeon. Instead, he was placed under house arrest in a pavilion within the inner palace itself—Bai Shuang Hua Pavilion.
The name suited it too well as the pavilion stood secluded, wrapped in silence and snow-pale beauty, surrounded by a vast grove of plum blossom trees.
Even out of season, their dark branches arched gracefully, and when the wind passed through them, petals drifted like quiet snowfall. From the outside, it looked like a place meant for poetry, not captivity.
That illusion shattered the moment Yan Ling noticed the guards. The tight security was suffocating—inside the palace and especially around the pavilion. Elite soldiers rotated day and night, their presence sharp and unyielding. No one entered without permission or even dared to linger.
Only Wei Li Feng himself and a handful of maids—each personally selected by him personally—were allowed past the threshold.
Yan Ling understood the message clearly.
Yan Ling still had to find out about his captivity and motive behind his unique treatment by that sly man.
Days passed slowly inside Bai Shuang Hua Pavilion. Too slowly to be precise. At first, the silence had been a relief. Then it became unbearable. Boredom gnawed at him, but fear gnawed deeper.
The sixty-day mark was approaching—only a few days remained. The burning inside his body, once faint and distant, had begun to stir. It wasn't unbearable yet, but it was constant, like embers buried beneath his skin, reminding him that time was running out.
Sleep no longer came easily. Worse still, he had made no progress. Escaping the pavilion felt impossible. Slipping past the guards was suicide. And that mysterious man's condition echoed in his mind like a curse.
One mistake. One delay. Sixty days of burning? This is pure torture, ugh!
Yan Ling exhaled slowly, forcing his expression to remain calm whenever anyone looked his way.
Atleast, I know the location, he tried to cheer himself up.
It was one of the maids—a bubbly girl with naive eyes. As he indulged with her in general conversation, the location slipped from his lips unknowingly. Perhaps fate.
She hadn't said much. Only that the king's private chambers lay beyond the eastern corridor, sealed and heavily guarded. And that the library was hidden there, known only to Wei Li Feng himself but this was more than enough for a clueless man like Yan Ling.
Now, standing by the pavilion window as plum petals drifted past, Yan Ling clenched his fingers slowly.
I'm running out of time.
And to survive, he would have to do something far more risky and dangerous which was to step directly into the king's territory.
.
.
.
To be continued...