Suddenly, the ancestral master rose to his feet.
Liao Ting Yan’s breath caught as she watched him approach, his steps silent yet dreadful, his figure half-vanishing and reappearing beneath the sweep of his black robes. He halted—not before her, but in front of the senior sister sitting beside her.
“Such great audacity.”
The words dropped like a blade.
A spray of warmth struck Liao Ting Yan’s cheek. She froze, then saw it—thick, bright blood spilling across the smooth black floor, staining the white hem of her dress.
Her mind went blank.
“…” Ugh!
I can’t.
I really can’t.
Someone’s dead!
Her stomach lurched violently, but instinct screamed that vomiting now would mean certain death. She forced it down, which only made her nausea worse.
The corpse crumpled beside her, the dead woman’s hand brushing against hers. Liao Ting Yan glanced at the face—only to see it blur, shift, and transform into another entirely.
Face-changing?!
Gasps rippled around them.
“This isn’t Junior Sister Wan Ling!”
“Who is this? How did she get in?”
The ancestor, expression unreadable, stepped over the blood, his robes trailing in crimson. His shadow fell over her.
Liao Ting Yan: “…” Don’t look at me. Please, Ancestral Master, don’t look at me!
“Such audacity.”
The same words. Her heart plummeted. The last time he said them, someone had died right beside her. Now—was it her turn?
Her whole body tightened, bracing like a child waiting for the sting of a needle. Her senses sharpened unbearably; every beat of her heart felt like a countdown to death.
A pale, cold hand reached out.
His fingers gripped her chin, forcing her head upward. The chill of his touch spread across her skin, raising every hair on her body. Cold sweat slid down her back—the same terror she’d felt when the giant black snake had slithered past her earlier.
Stiffly, she lifted her gaze.
And froze.
All her wild guesses about his appearance had been wrong. He wasn’t some terrifying demon, nor a decrepit elder—he was beautiful. Almost unnervingly so.
Skin pale as snow. Hair black as ink. Lips red as blood. He looked less like a man than some twisted reflection of Snow White herself.
Their eyes met. She didn’t know if it lasted a breath or a century. Then suddenly, he released her, his hand falling away. He sat down heavily, his expression shifting from indifference to something strained—pain flickered across his features, his eyes rimmed faintly red.
“Get out. All of you, get out!”
His voice thundered.
The girls scrambled to their feet, faces ashen, fleeing in a panicked wave. Even the enormous black snake shrank back, coiling nervously before clamping its jaws around the corpse and slithering out after them.
Liao Ting Yan stumbled out with the rest, her mind empty. Only when she reached the bottom of the tower did her thoughts snap back together.
…She was alive?
She touched her forehead, wiping away sweat. When she looked at her palm, streaks of red marked her skin. Blood. Not hers, but from the woman who’d died beside her.
Her gaze shifted to the snake. Driven out along with them, it hesitated only a moment before tilting its massive head back and swallowing the corpse whole.
Liao Ting Yan: “…!”
A chilling realization struck her.
The ancestor hadn’t spared her life out of mercy. No—he was probably just keeping her fresh.
For the snake’s next meal.
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