Chapter 18 – Mount Luoji (Part Three)

When Datie was holding the puppy whose ears had just perked up and feeding it chunks of meat, the chief steward bent at the doorway to report, “Chieftain, Eluo Xiaogui has arrived, and he’s brought Naigu with him.”

Datie’s hands loosened, and the puppy jumped out of his palms, circled around with its tail tucked between its legs, whimpering and trembling.

“Eluo Xiaogui?” Datie repeated blankly, waving his hand at the chief steward, signaling him to bring the guest in. Meanwhile, he stood up from beside the fire pit, rummaged through the wall cabinet for a small bronze mirror, and sat in the sunlight to examine himself.

His Tianpusa was retied, his Yingxiongjie carefully fastened. His shirt, Pizhan, and Chaerwa—all the newest ones the Wazi could find—were layered on. He straightened the coral beads on his ears over and over, arranging them properly on his shoulders.

The chief steward led the guest in. It was Datie’s first time seeing Xiaogui. Under the sunlight, he was like an Azalea Flower, the sesame bells jingling softly, his pant legs wide and flowing, revealing glimpses of shapely calves with every step.

The entire village was illuminated by this person’s radiance. Men and women alike, openly or covertly, stared at him—at his loosely tied Yingxiongjie, at his fairy-like, languid eyes and brows, and at his slender back, graceful and strong, carrying a knife.

The welcoming wine was brought out, merely as a formality. No one expected Xiaogui to drink, but he boldly downed three cups in a row, wiped his mouth, and then called for his own people to bring in a vat of fermented wine.

Only a single long reed straw was inserted into the wine vat, which was placed beside Datie’s fire pit. “Brother,” Xiaogui called Datie, pulling Naigu out from behind him, “your Wazi, returned to you.”

He was truly beautiful, like a crescent moon, like a flame. Datie stared unblinkingly, his fingers trembling slightly: “Tell your people to wait far away.”

“Alright,” Xiaogui readily agreed, slinging the knife off his back and tossing it to the ground. Datie turned and led him inside, following proper etiquette—neither carrying a knife nor bringing any attendants. The door slammed shut, and the two sat side by side.

The fire had just been stoked, burning brightly. Xiaogui took a deep sip through the reed straw: “Brother, I won’t pursue the woman my family lost, and you won’t blame me for the young man your family lost. Deal?”

Datie didn’t respond. He pulled the slender reed straw from Xiaogui’s lips, looked into his eyes, and slowly took the damp tip into his mouth. There was something indecent about the gesture. Xiaogui frowned slightly and was about to shift away when Datie grasped his ankle—not just held it, but also stroked the thin skin there, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Good wine,” Datie said, spitting the reed straw back out and placing it at Xiaogui’s lips, guiding him to sip. “They say you look like a fairy when you’re drunk. I want to see.”

Xiaogui stared at the damp straw. Datie had clearly bitten it—there was a tiny tear on it. “Brother,” he pressed his other foot down on Datie’s wandering hand, exerting force, “with just this vat of wine, I won’t get drunk!”

Both moved at the same time, but Xiaogui was faster. He leaped onto Datie, pinning him down, pressing his hands into place. The coral beads on his ears swung wildly, streaking across Datie’s mouth like blood. “Don’t you recognize me?” Datie asked through the red coral, his legs intimately wrapping around Xiaogui’s waist.

Xiaogui didn’t relent. He trusted no one—because acknowledging himself as No. 0416 would mean exposing No. 0933’s identity. That was impossible!

Datie’s arms were twisted behind him like a bird with broken wings. With effort, he pressed his face closer. “You said,” he whispered, so softly it was barely audible, “you’d take me and escape.”

Xiaogui suddenly released him. Now he could feel the heat of Datie’s legs around his waist. He reached down, gripped them hard, and buried his face in Datie’s Chaerwa, pressing against his ribs.

“Even if we can’t escape,” Datie wrapped his arms around Xiaogui’s head, gently tightening his embrace, “having this time with you is enough for me.”

The Panopticon, the prison pods, the electronic handcuffs—it all seemed like a distant dream, drifting at the edges of consciousness. “Or maybe we don’t have to leave,” Xiaogui suddenly said. “We could stay here forever, as Eluo Xiaogui and Dira Datie.”

Datie’s hands stilled.

“Find B, along with A and C, and control them. As long as the characters don’t die, they can’t leave. The game will never end.”

After a moment of silence, Datie said, “Naigu is B.”

Xiaogui jerked his head up. “I knew it…” He pondered briefly, then smiled. “If it’s him, that makes things easier.”

Datie looked at his smug expression and unhappily lowered his eyes. “What did you give him, to make it so easy?”

Xiaogui raised an eyebrow, coquettish and charming. “You’re the one who should explain—what have you heard?” He lifted Datie by the waist, helping him up. “You think I’d let him take advantage of me?”

Datie wasn’t convinced, remembering how overwhelming Naigu had been with him. “Really?”

Xiaogui laughed wildly, full of arrogance. “I didn’t know you were this jealous before,” he said, curling one leg up like a young girl, resting his cheek on his knee as he looked at Datie sideways. “Seems like you like me a whole lot.”

Despite the coy demeanor, there was nothing effeminate about him—just handsome, untamed, enough to make one’s face burn. Datie watched, then pursed his lips and slowly lay back.

Xiaogui stared at him in surprise—at how he nervously fixed his gaze on the ceiling, at his hands undoing his buttons one by one, revealing a sliver of pale skin against the black shirt. Then Datie loosened his Chaerwa, slipped off his Pizhan, and was about to take off his pants when Xiaogui grabbed his wrist.

Datie flushed crimson, not daring to look at him, his lashes fluttering. “A’ge is No. 0777,” he said, trying to mask the shame of his boldness. “The others… I don’t know yet.”

“That…” Xiaogui started, but his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat, unable to lift his head properly. “I… can’t.”

Datie didn’t understand, staring blankly. Xiaogui took Datie’s hand and placed it on his own crotch. “Too much opium. Soft.”

Datie bolted upright as if he’d never heard of such a thing. Frantically, he yanked at Xiaogui’s waistband, reaching inside to grope repeatedly. True enough, there was no reaction. “H-how… how can this be?!”

“B is really something,” Xiaogui said without a hint of shame, grinning instead. He kissed Datie on the cheek. “I went soft for you—don’t you dare look down on me!”

Unexpectedly, Datie just pouted foolishly. “It’s fine if I’m soft. But you…” He abruptly stopped, turning his face away. Xiaogui studied his delicate profile, the red coral on his ears swaying in the quiet light. Whether from the reflection or something else, a flush spread from his earlobes down to his collarbone.

“Then,” Xiaogui leaned in, whispering against his burning ear, “like on the Island of Saints… you do it?”

Datie immediately turned his face away, as if embarrassed by the suggestion. Xiaogui tugged at him shamelessly, clinging to him. “If you don’t take this body, who knows—maybe Naigu will one day.”

Datie looked at him—not with desire, not with jealousy, but with resentment. Huffily, he pushed Xiaogui down, straddled his stomach, and began roughly stripping off his clothes.

“Be gentle,” Xiaogui said in a delicate voice, but his hand smacked against Datie’s buttocks, squeezing lightly, then firmly. “This is my first time.”

“Bastard!” Datie cursed, though not too loudly. Xiaogui heard him anyway, rubbing his erection through the fabric until it strained against the cloth, then pulling it out. “What was that muttering?”

Datie didn’t answer, staring at his own trembling length with little confidence. “If I… lick you,” he asked shyly, “will you… get hard?”

Xiaogui rested his hands behind his head, leisurely enjoying his discomfort. “Naigu licks me every night. Still nothing.”

That enraged Datie. He stood abruptly, yanked off his pants, flipped Xiaogui onto his stomach, and arched his back into a humiliating position. “Lift your hips,” he kicked him—not too hard—”higher!”

Xiaogui giggled and obeyed. By the looks of it, Datie seemed ready to take him roughly. But moments later, what slipped between his cheeks was a soft tongue.

“Mmm…” Xiaogui moaned through his nose—he knew how appealing his voice sounded. “Brother!” he called out affectionately, peeking back between his spread legs. A long black cloth—Datie’s hastily discarded headscarf—lay in a heap on the floor, tangled around a flushed, rigid length.

Xiaogui mischievously hooked it with his foot, grinding against it with his toes and heel, moaning wantonly all the while. Datie had to cover his mouth, thrusting into the softness beneath him in retaliation.

It must have hurt a little, because Xiaogui’s moans changed. He sucked on Datie’s fingers, nibbling lightly like a puppy. Datie couldn’t bear it and stopped, spreading his cheeks to ask, “Should we stop?”

Xiaogui whimpered incoherently. After steadying himself, his upper body melted like water, and he turned his head limply. “This isn’t good. Face to face is better.”

Datie’s face reddened. Nodding obediently, he pulled out and positioned himself properly, arching his back to push back in. Only then did he notice Xiaogui’s areolas—so pale, so large, irresistibly tempting to pinch. Xiaogui didn’t mind, wrapping his legs around Datie’s waist and pressing his chest against Datie’s face, propping himself up on his hands and giggling.

“Troublemaker!” Datie scolded, though the words didn’t match his tone. He pinched both nipples, bringing his mouth to them while only the tip of his length remained inside, rocking his hips slowly deeper.

“Do you like me?” Xiaogui asked, tugging at Datie’s ears. Datie didn’t answer. “Do you?!” Xiaogui pressed, digging into his ear without restraint. “Do you or do—ah!”

Datie was fully sheathed now, his pubic hair brushing Xiaogui’s cleft, pressed tightly against him. “Does it hurt?”

“No, just…” Xiaogui threw his head back, panting. In a daze, he caught sight of Naigu’s face in the opposite window—dark, sinister, and handsome, glaring at them with gritted teeth.

An ordinary person would have panicked at this, but Xiaogui just lazily narrowed his eyes. Maintaining the obscene position of being impaled and trembling by Datie, he raised a finger toward Naigu, signaling him to scram.

Naigu’s expression was indescribable—jealousy, rage, restraint. His hands trembled against the window, gathering and releasing tension, before finally slumping away in defeat.

Datie didn’t see this. He lay sprawled on Xiaogui’s damp chest, dazed, staring down in shock at the sizable thing between his legs—swollen, tilting its head upward. Xiaogui seemed to notice too, pushing Datie’s arm aside to look at the massive erection caused by prostate stimulation.

“Wow, this size is decent,” he said excitedly, swaying his hips and spreading his legs wider, teasing Datie by rubbing his own chest. “Hurry up, brother.”

‘Decent?’ It was downright astonishing. Datie thrust as instructed, but half-heartedly, his gaze fixated on Xiaogui’s lower half. The place where they rubbed together was just starting to grow slick when Datie, blushing, pulled out. “You… let’s stop… you… instead… okay?”

Xiaogui had already guessed his intentions but pretended not to understand. “What?” He sat up and shoved Datie down. “What do you mean, stop?” Pinning him, he gripped his chin. “Are you messing with me?”

Datie had his own way. Slowly, he spread his legs, not saying a word, shyly turning his head aside. Soon, Xiaogui couldn’t resist kissing him—nipping, licking, cradling his neck in endless suction while their lower bodies collided fiercely. Then, with a yank, he loosened Datie’s Tianpusa, sending long hair cascading to the ground in swirling strands.

Slick fingers probed behind. Datie lifted his hips, curling his toes and craning his neck to look down. “Is it ready… can we?” he urged, sweat-drenched, clutching his own thighs. “Don’t touch the front… no, I’ll come…”

Xiaogui began pushing in—a sizable thing, a hole only fingers had touched before. A few drops of blood stained the Chaerwa. Datie didn’t feel it, just gritted his teeth and clung to Xiaogui’s shoulders, his buttocks forced apart, the center burning. He didn’t cry out then—only when Xiaogui was fully sheathed, writhing atop him, pinching and groping, did he let out a shameless moan.

“Don’t scream,” Xiaogui cupped his face, licking his nose bridge. “They’ll hear outside.”

Datie pursed his lips but failed. “Cover my mouth.” He grabbed Xiaogui’s hand and pressed it over his face.

Xiaogui burst out laughing. “Then how am I supposed to touch you?” As he spoke, he rocked his hips slightly, immediately feeling the tight clench below.

Datie bit his lip, leaning against Xiaogui’s arm, drenched in sweat. Spotting the discarded headscarf nearby, he muttered, “Gag me.”

“It’s already stuffed in here.” Xiaogui thrust hard, admiring Datie’s mix of pleasure and pain. Humiliated and furious, Datie punched him randomly. Xiaogui laughed, grabbing the long scarf and wrapping it around his mouth.

The fire pit burned, smoke rising. The tea in the pot was nearly dried out. Beside the humming kettle, Xiaogui rocked gently against Datie—just gently, yet Datie clutched his arms desperately, wanting to embrace him. Xiaogui could tell—he was nostalgic for their time in the Panopticon, for their rare meetings, for the love that had bound them together like survival.

“We’ll be together,” Xiaogui brought Datie’s hand to his lips, unable to resist increasing the force of his thrusts. “No matter which world you’re in, no matter what I look like, we’ll find each other.”

It sounded like sweet nothings in the heat of passion, but what other vows could two prisoners like them make? It was enough to move Datie. He twisted his body into an indecent shape, thrusting back desperately, his buttocks grinding against the Chaerwa until they turned red.

“G-gently!” Xiaogui was struggling—Datie was too tight, clinging like an overeager child. The slightest touch in the right spot made him latch on recklessly.

“Fuck!” Xiaogui had to pin his legs down, folding his hips high and slamming into him from above. Within a few thrusts, Datie’s face was a mess—the headscarf damp with drool he couldn’t swallow.

The cleft between his buttocks was slick, thoroughly soaked by Xiaogui, every movement accompanied by lewd squelches. His stomach and chest were slick too—with his own fluids—his hardness swaying, leaving sticky trails.

He seemed close, toes curling before Xiaogui’s eyes, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling back. Knowing how he looked, he writhed shamelessly, covering his face in embarrassment.

“Not yet,” Xiaogui chuckled. “I’ve got a while.” He actually stopped, pulling out of Datie inch by inch, the heat between them lingering. “Let’s switch positions?”

It was phrased as a question, but his hands didn’t wait for an answer. He hauled Datie up by the armpits. Datie couldn’t stand, his legs refusing to close, so Xiaogui embraced him from behind, testing angles before driving deep.

“Ngh…!” Datie clenched, trying to squirm away in fear. Xiaogui followed, the two stumbling until they crashed against the wall.

“This position suits the story,” Xiaogui arched back, hips pressing Datie firmly against the wall. “The chieftain of the Dira Clan, ravaged like livestock by the chieftain of the Eluo Clan—a opium-addled, effeminate bastard.”

Datie shuddered violently, his hardness crushed against the earthen wall, slickness dripping down his thighs. His hips tried to lift but failed, hands scrambling behind to pull Xiaogui closer.

Xiaogui gripped his waist, yanking him back before slamming in hard. One thrust was all it took—Datie whimpered, going limp, his nipples scraping the rough wall. Xiaogui thrust again, lifting him with the force, grinding him against the surface until, without warning, Datie convulsed, his entire body flushing red. Clenching like wet cloth, he spasmed against the wall, spilling messily.

As he came, Xiaogui fucked him harder, faster, smearing the release back onto his stomach. Dazed, Datie swayed with the motion, arms splayed weakly against the wall. Distant drumbeats made him feel like a frog in a rain-swollen pond, splayed and spawning. Suddenly, shamelessly, he was hard again.

When Eluo Xiaogui left the Dira household, the sun had already set. Refreshed, he stood at Datie’s door, pointing at the figure wrapped in Chaerwa, asleep by the fire pit. “Your chieftain got drunk with me—he’ll be out for three days and nights!”

The chief steward laughed. Brothers drinking fermented wine—even death from overindulgence wasn’t a tragedy. Xiaogui added, “This Wazi,” he pointed at Naigu, “your chieftain said to give him to me. I’ll take him. Ask him when he wakes up.”

The chief steward couldn’t care less about a single Wazi, sending them off without another word. At the mountain eagle boundary marker, they parted ways. Naigu, torch in hand, caught up to Xiaogui. “You won’t take me, but him? You will?”

Under the hazy moonlight, Xiaogui shot him a sidelong glance—perhaps emboldened by alcohol, his gaze was unusually vivid, flickering over Naigu.

“Did he bleed?” When Xiaogui didn’t answer, Naigu pressed, thrusting the torch closer, illuminating his face.

Xiaogui thought of Datie’s swollen thighs and the streaks of red on himself. “A little,” he said. “Like virgin blood.”

Naigu couldn’t hold back, yanking him roughly. “You said a single drop of Black Yi blood is worth nine taels of gold,” he leered at Xiaogui’s crotch. “Did he really break you?”

Xiaogui’s expression darkened instantly. “He’s Black Yi too. What are you?” He looked at Naigu like he was a dog, haughtily adjusting his Chaerwa before shoving him away. “Don’t follow me!”

Naigu obediently fell back, watching that swaying figure under the moonlight, an inexplicable frustration gnawing at him. He hated No. 0933, yet being discarded like trash left him inexplicably heartbroken.

Back at the village, they retired to their rooms. Naigu couldn’t sleep, tossing until the rooster crowed. He rose to work, laboring until midday when, unusually, someone summoned him—the chieftain wanted him.

Brushing off his pants, he headed to the main house, sensing something amiss along the way. The Han Wazi stood watching him, their gazes a mix of envy and mockery, whispering in clusters.

Xiaogui sat neatly by the fire pit, dressed even more formally than yesterday at the Dira household. A’ge sat to his left, rouged and wearing a tall silver headdress. Meidu sat to his right, fresh azalea flowers in her hair, lowering her head shyly as Naigu entered.

“Naigu,” Xiaogui called lazily. “I’ve got good news for you.”

Naigu had a bad feeling. Kneeling at the threshold, he kowtowed. Xiaogui continued, “Come in. Sit.”

Sit? Naigu stared at his toes, obeying as he sat with his back to the door. A bowl sat before him, filled to the brim with wine.

“Drink,” Xiaogui said. “Drink, and you’ll be Meidu’s man.”

Naigu jerked his head up, glaring—not even glancing at Meidu. “Why me?”

“You saved her from the Dira Clan,” A’ge sneered. Marrying a woman with body odor would disgrace him forever on Mount Luoji. “She fancies you!”

“Ah, sister!” Meidu protested softly. But Naigu knew—Xiaogui, after one night with Datie, was done with him. “I don’t want her.”

The room fell silent. Xiaogui stared at the wine. “I just wanted you to call me ‘brother’ once,” he said, shedding his chieftain’s demeanor, leaning back with regret. “Was that so hard?”

At the word “brother,” Naigu’s resolve wavered. This was just a game, after all. He reached for the bowl, but as he did, he caught Meidu’s eye—her face feigned shyness, but under her skirt, her hand frantically signaled him: a clenched fist. Stop.

Was there something in the wine? But why? Pretending to raise the bowl, he scanned Xiaogui and A’ge. They were both watching it intently. Poison? Drugs? Something to do with Datie? Had No. 0777 teamed up with No. 0933?

With these questions swirling, as the wine neared his lips, he overturned the bowl, splashing the buckwheat liquor into the fire pit. With a whoosh, flames surged—and so did Naigu. He lunged from the blaze, tackling Xiaogui and knocking him out with a single punch.

A’ge, adjusting her silver headdress, tried to rise, but Naigu clamped a hand over her mouth, pinning her down. He tore off her silver ornaments, hoisted her upside-down over his shoulder, and bolted from the house like an arrow loosed.

Dumping A’ge at Datie’s feet, Naigu gritted his teeth against the pain, yanking a bamboo arrow from his shoulder. Datie, hair loose and wrapped in a Pizhan, barely managed to sit up on his Chaerwa. “What did you do?” It wasn’t a question. “Take her back!”

Blood seeped from the arrow wound. Naigu pressed a rag to it, glaring coldly. “Take her back so you can poison me again?”

Poison? Datie stared at A’ge in shock. Had she and Xiaogui teamed up? How had they moved so fast? He feigned ignorance. “She’s Xiaogui’s woman. The Eluo Clan will swarm the mountain for revenge!”

“Let them come!” Naigu roared, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “This is my game. If I want you dead, you all die!”

Compared to his frenzy, Datie remained calm. “It couldn’t have been poison,” he said. “If you died, you’d wake up in the Panopticon and end the game immediately. There’s no point.”

Naigu crouched before him, gripping his pale face. “How did you get so drunk?” He sniffed Datie’s lips—there was barely any trace of alcohol. “Were you involved?”

Datie seemed too tired to even look at him, wrenching his face free. “I’m exhausted,” he muttered, glancing at A’ge. “Get her out of here. I don’t care where, just not here.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” Naigu pressed his palm, still warm from Datie’s skin, to his lips, dismayed to find that this man no longer held the same allure for him. “My plan wasn’t supposed to go like this…”

He stood, tore a strip of cloth from A’ge’s shirt, and gagged her. Then, grabbing a coil of thick rope from the corner, he hoisted her up like livestock, tying her to a beam. “If it was a sedative,” he mused, securing the other end of the rope to the window frame, “what were you planning?”

He was asking A’ge, but Datie remained expressionless, watching as Naigu retrieved a whip, a gourd of liquor, and the waist knife hanging on the cabinet. “It doesn’t matter if you talk,” Naigu yanked A’ge’s shirt open, “once I catch Xiaogui,” he doused the whip in alcohol, “I’ll ask him properly.”

The way he said “properly” was unsettling—like he wanted to carve out someone’s heart and lungs. Datie clenched his fists inside his Chaerwa, but before he could react, the whip cracked, splitting A’ge’s skin.

She couldn’t scream. Blood seeped slowly from her stomach, the alcohol making the pain unbearable. Naigu grinned. “Let’s settle The Convert’s debt first!”

The Convert. So he had come to Mount Luoji for revenge. Datie struggled to his feet, his ass aching sharply, but he didn’t dare hunch over—afraid Naigu would notice. “Stop. She’s a woman!”

“No,” Naigu shook his head. “He’s a man. He deserves this.” Another lash, and he watched with satisfaction as A’ge convulsed in agony. “He’s No. 0777—The Convert. This bastard gutted me on the Island of Saints!”

At the words “gutted me,” A’ge froze, staring at him in shock before shaking her head violently, muffled screams behind the gag. Naigu drew his waist knife, testing its weight. “A little late to deny it now, isn’t it?” He stabbed the blade between her ribs like he was spearing rotten wood. “Weren’t you fearless? Call your father! Let him come save you!”

Blood, the knife in her belly, tears—Datie watched in horror. A’ge, unable to endure it, stopped pleading with Naigu and instead looked desperately at him, as if begging him to speak.

She thought Datie was No. 0416—and No. 0416 knew she wasn’t The Convert, but The Archer! But Datie didn’t know these details. He only vaguely sensed that she knew something—something Naigu must not find out.

But Naigu noticed. A’ge’s red-rimmed eyes were fixed on Datie. He turned. “Why is she looking at you?”

Datie didn’t dare answer, shaking his head. Naigu frowned, then asked A’ge, “He’s No. 0416. You have something to say to him?”

A’ge nodded immediately—effectively admitting she already knew Datie was No. 0416. Naigu shot Datie a glare and moved to untie the rope from the window. No! Datie panicked. She can’t speak!

Naigu’s hand reached for the knot, gripping the loop—just as something shot through the window, piercing his hand with a thunk. He howled, clutching his bleeding hand. A flaming arrow. Peering outside, he saw more arrows flying up from the base of the mountain.

“Eluo Clan!” Datie threw on his Pizhan and Chaerwa. “The Eluo Clan is here for revenge!”

The village erupted into chaos. Men donned bark-and-iron armor, grabbing knives and rakes to fight. Women carried children uphill, while the elderly and livestock remained, resigned to their fate.

From a distance, Xiaogui’s figure was unmistakable—silver bracelets, a raised longsword, lips smeared with blood, a camellia flower ¹A hero’s emblem tucked behind his ear. He charged through the crowd like a wild beast, unstoppable.

Naigu snapped the arrow shaft in his hand, gripping the broken tip as he charged out. Datie grabbed a bronze knife and followed. A’ge, still hanging from the beam, whimpered as her blood dripped from the blade onto the ground.

The clamor of battle, the screech of steel, corpses of men and dogs piled together—blood splattered from indiscernible directions. Naigu headed straight for Xiaogui. Without a weapon, he snatched a blade from the ground and swung at that beautiful figure.

“Look out!” Datie shouted. Xiaogui turned, meeting the descending blade with his own in a metallic clang. Their eyes locked—grin meeting grin.

“Well, well!” Xiaogui tilted his chin up arrogantly, his gaze flicking to Naigu’s wounded hand before returning with open mockery. “Did I hurt you, Officer?”

It was a provocation. Naigu should have been furious. When he’d stormed out of the house, all he’d wanted was revenge—to tear Xiaogui apart. But face to face, he was mesmerized. “What were you trying to do with that wine?”

Xiaogui didn’t answer, pressing his blade harder. His hands were strong, his eyes sharp and fierce—like the legendary leopard god, making Naigu want to kneel at his feet.

“I should be asking you,” Xiaogui eased the pressure slightly as the blade neared Naigu’s throat, “what do you want, trapping us on Mount Luoji for your amusement?”

They were evenly matched. Xiaogui held back, and Naigu seized the chance to deflect the blade, jumping back. His height was an advantage—raising the knife overhead, he leaped, using his weight and momentum to overpower Xiaogui.

Xiaogui saw it coming. He feigned resistance but had no intention of clashing head-on. He’d dodge and drive his blade into Naigu’s ribs—capture him alive, rip out his teeth, sever his limbs, cage him. Then he and Datie could have a carefree life…

“Chieftain!” Someone shouted from behind—a Dira clansman. Xiaogui turned to see Datie, a noose around his neck, groaning as an iron fork pierced his right leg.

In that split second, he had two choices: save Datie’s life or face Naigu’s blade. He didn’t hesitate—he sprinted toward Datie. A sudden, searing pain in his shoulder sent him crashing to the ground, the force of the blow embedding the knife deep. Still, he stretched out a hand, shouting to his men, “Let him go!”

The battle’s outcome became clear instantly. A clan without its chieftain was no clan at all. Once Xiaogui was netted by the Dira men, the Eluo fighters scattered. Naigu, standing on a raised mound, raised his knife and sang out, “Down the mountain! Take their women! Kill their men! Wipe out the Eluo Clan!”

Mad with bloodlust, the Dira clansmen surged downhill like a flood. The village boiled over—then fell eerily silent. Naigu flicked his blade clean and jumped down, dragging Xiaogui’s net toward the main house, signaling the chief steward to help Datie inside.

Inside, A’ge had been cut down—rescued by an Eluo youth who was slicing her bonds with a knife. Naigu stabbed the youth without hesitation, kicking the corpse aside before re-hanging A’ge.

Xiaogui, Datie, A’ge—”Everyone’s here!” Naigu laughed, yanking the waist knife from A’ge’s belly. Blood gushed.

“Let me down!” A’ge shrieked, kicking wildly. The gag must have been removed by the youth. “I’m not The Convert! No. 0416 knows—I’m The Archer!”

Datie and Xiaogui exchanged a glance, both cautious, silent.

Naigu clearly didn’t believe her. Everyone lied when cornered. “See this knife?” He wiped the blade on his pants, holding it up. “Perfect for gutting you.”

He was going to return the favor! Datie stared, horrified. He wanted to intervene, but the chief steward pinned him down—not out of concern, but control.

“Fuck, it wasn’t me!” A’ge was bleeding out but didn’t care, thrashing wildly. “You’ve got the wrong person! No. 0416, say something!”

“If it wasn’t you,” Naigu tilted his head, driving the knife back into her wound and twisting, “then who?!”

A’ge screamed—a sound so ghastly it chilled the blood. “I don’t fucking know!” She stared at Naigu’s hand, gripping the knife, ready to strike again. “It—it was No. 0933!” Desperate, she lied. “No. 0933 is The Convert!”

“Oh?” Naigu paused, turning to the figure in the net. A’ge, eyes wet, stared at the knife in her belly, about to sigh in relief—when Naigu yanked the blade sideways, splitting her open. “No. 0777, do you think I’m stupid?” He stabbed her again. “No. 0933 is just an ideological criminal!”

A’ge made a choked, gurgling noise—like saliva blocking her windpipe, or pain beyond words. Datie turned away, gagging.

Xiaogui, still trapped in the net, nudged Datie’s knee with his foot. Datie grabbed it, secretly trying to cut the net with his bronze knife—when Naigu turned and ordered the chief steward, “Take him to the cattle shed.”

He pointed at Xiaogui. Datie didn’t move. The situation was bizarre—the Black Yi had lost all authority, as if they’d returned to the Panopticon, mere property of the officers again.

“I’m going too.” He limped to his feet. Strangely, Naigu stopped him, pointing firmly. “You stay.”

Why? Datie watched as the chief steward dragged Xiaogui out by the feet, leaving a bloody trail. Why couldn’t Xiaogui stay, while he had to?

“Do your gutting. I can’t watch.” He stubbornly tried to leave, but a bloody arm blocked his path. Naigu smiled, adjusting the red coral on Datie’s ear. “I’m keeping you here for your own good.”

Just then, several youths returned from downhill, kneeling at the doorway and presenting a young Amizi like a trophy. “Chieftain, we caught Eluo Xiaogui’s sister!”

Before Datie could speak, the chief steward cut in, “Give her to me.” He yanked Meidu up by her hair. “Go back down. Keep raiding.”

The youths obeyed. Datie stood there, staring at the world—the mountain, the village, the men descending—all unreal. Yes, this is just a game. Naigu was still torturing A’ge. She was nearly gone, convulsing, incontinent, eyes rolling back. But it was just a game. Soon, No. 0777 would wake in the Panopticon, alive, as if from a long dream.

The cattle shed wasn’t far. The chief steward dragged Xiaogui and Meidu inside, shut the door, then drew a dagger from his waist—and slit his own throat.

What the—?! Datie gripped the doorframe, staring at the chief steward’s corpse, then the shed. This wasn’t right. These actions were clearly planned. By whom? B? Then Xiaogui…

“Chieftain,” Naigu called from behind. Datie turned, catching a glimpse of A’ge’s mutilated body in his periphery. “It’s over,” Naigu said. “We won. The Eluo Clan is gone from Mount Luoji.”

Datie looked at him, terrified.

“We can leave anytime,” Naigu stepped closer, bloody fingers closing around Datie’s throat. “Need my help?” They were so close, their souls reflected in each other’s eyes. Naigu suddenly frowned. “…No. 0416?”

Datie shoved him away, stumbling toward the cattle shed. Naigu followed, unhurried, like trailing a stray cat. Datie yanked open the shed door—and froze.

Inside were Xiaogui and Meidu’s corpses, throats slit, blood pooling, the knife dropped in the mess.

A large hand closed around his neck from behind, tightening. Datie instinctively clawed at it, but his hands were too slick with blood. Darkness crept in. He fell helplessly into the abyss, deeper and deeper—until his back hit something. His eyelids fluttered. He was about to wake up.

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  A hero’s emblem