Chapter Twenty-Three: The Fall

Qu Hanchen was terrified.

But anyone would be, plummeting down a seemingly endless vertical passage, the roaring wind threatening to suffocate, the searing sensation of his body tearing apart from the speed of the fall making Qu Hanchen certain that, the moment he hit the ground, there would be no trace of him left.

Would he be nothing but a heap of crushed flesh? Or perhaps a few scattered bones? It was said that those whose bodies were shattered beyond recognition could not find rest in the afterlife.

Perhaps it would be better if there were no afterlife at all.

What a pity, though—he would die never having held a girl’s hand. Had he known, he would have mustered the courage to reach for that female prisoner’s soft, pale palm. It had looked so delicate.

Hmm?

As Qu Hanchen was sighing inwardly, he suddenly realized the sensation of being torn apart had vanished, as had the suffocating force of the wind. His body felt suddenly weightless, as if he had pierced through a thick cloud layer, emerging renewed.

“You see, this is his normal state,” said Xi Chunxue’s voice, echoing in his ears—sometimes near, sometimes far, as if at once at the ends of the earth and right beside him.

“Is it?” Su Yuanbai sounded uncertain.

Hearing their conversation, Qu Hanchen was confused. What normal state? He instinctively glanced around, only to find himself standing upon a plain crowded with blood-red blossoms.

Where was this…?

His thoughts grew hazy. Who was he…?

“Hurry, give him the Soul-Remembering Herb! Otherwise, he’ll become a wandering spirit, and when he’s summoned into the hall, the ghostly envoys will discover we sneaked in!” Xi Chunxue shouted anxiously.

In his daze, Qu Hanchen felt his mouth being stuffed with something, yet he felt no sensation of obstruction at all.

“Swallow it!” Xi Chunxue urged, her voice tense.

“Let me do it,” said Duan Lingqi coldly at his side.

Qu Hanchen’s blurry consciousness registered only that his throat was gripped, his jaw forced upwards, his cheeks pinched.

Yet, despite this roughness, he felt no pain.

But when a large, rough hand shoving whatever was in his mouth deep into his throat, Qu Hanchen’s mind began to clear.

He looked up at Duan Lingqi, who stood upright—dragon’s head, serpent’s body, eagle’s talons. The yellowish talons of Duan Lingqi’s left hand were thrust entirely into Qu Hanchen’s mouth.

What…?

What horrified Qu Hanchen most was that, looking down, he could still see the tips of those eagle talons moving inside his throat.

“