Chapter 33: The Puppet Child

Su Zhuozhi opened his eyes.

Pale bed curtains greeted his vision.

He blinked slowly, his mind still hazy, when a clear voice called out.

“Father!”

Su Zhuozhi jolted, startled. He turned his head sharply.

A cute, jade-like little boy was lying at the bedside, staring at him with wide eyes. He called out again, “Father, you’ve been asleep for so long.”

It really was calling *him*.

Su Zhuozhi was dazed. He remembered reading storybooks where the protagonist would wake up many years later, having become a future version of themselves. Was he… in that kind of situation now?

He couldn’t believe it. He immediately got out of bed and found a bronze mirror in the room. The reflection showed his younger self—not a single change. He was still wearing the disciple robes of the Ten Thousand Swords Sect. He checked his storage pouch. Yes, he was still inside the secret realm.

But why was there a child in the secret realm?

Su Zhuozhi was utterly puzzled.

Meanwhile, the little boy had already toddled over and clung to his leg, looking up with a spoiled expression. “Father, I’m hungry.”

His pitiful demeanor was exactly like a poor little thing being ignored by his own father.

Su Zhuozhi looked around the room. It was a very ordinary house, simply but warmly decorated. However, upon closer inspection, there were no signs of habitation—no trace of life.

This child… was it alive, or was it some kind of disguise?

Su Zhuozhi looked down at him. “Where is this? How did you bring me here? How do I get back to the cave I was in?”

The child blinked, a cunning glint in his eyes. “Make me food, and I’ll tell you.”

Su Zhuozhi: “You know I’m not your father.”

The child put on an innocent face. “You are. You’re the father I carefully chose.”

“I’m not married. I can’t possibly have a son your age. And a father isn’t something you choose—it’s about blood ties.”

Su Zhuozhi himself was a young master who needed to be waited on hand and foot. There was no way he’d indulge a brat like this, especially when this brat was the one who brought him here. Annoyed, he pried the child off his leg.

To his surprise, the child plopped onto the ground, rolling around and wailing.

“I want my father! I want you to cook for me!”

He was determined not to stop until he got what he wanted.

Su Zhuozhi completely ignored him. These were tactics he himself had discarded as childish. He turned to explore his surroundings, trying to find a way out.

But when he pushed open the door and stepped outside, he only saw a small courtyard with flowering trees that seemed out of season. The sky was gray and overcast, as if this place was a world unto itself, sealed off from the outside.

There was no way out.

Su Zhuozhi frowned, displeased.

The child cried for a long time, sneaking glances at him several times. Getting no response, he eventually tired himself out. He stopped crying, sniffling with a perfunctory act.

Su Zhuozhi returned to the room and sat at the table. After thinking for a moment, he opened his storage pouch and took out a lamb stuffed bun. It was still hot, exuding a rich, enticing aroma.

The child smelled it and immediately stopped crying. He scrambled up from the floor, ran over to Su Zhuozhi, and struggled to climb onto a stool. His small hands gripped the edge of the table as he stared unblinkingly at the bun in Su Zhuozhi’s hand. His voice was soft and sticky. “Father, what are you eating? Is it good?”

Su Zhuozhi took a bite, his mouth full of meaty fragrance. He said decisively, “No, it’s not good.”

The child’s eyes were fixed on the bun, bright and greedy. “Really? Can I have a taste?”

“It’s really terrible. Hard and bitter. It’s disgusting. I’m not lying to you.”

Su Zhuozhi said confidently, then took another big bite. Soon, half the bun was gone.

The child’s drool was dripping onto the table. He sniffled and licked his lips, growing anxious. He waved his chubby little arms and shouted, “Father, you’ve eaten half! You should give the rest to me!”

“No.”

Su Zhuozhi refused flatly, cold and heartless, showing not an ounce of pity for the child.

The child pouted, opening his mouth to wail again.

“If you cry, you definitely won’t get any.”

The child froze, forcing back his tears. He whimpered, “What do I have to do to get it?”

The child shook his head vigorously. “No! You’re my father! You have to stay here with me! You can’t leave!”

Su Zhuozhi: “Oh, then you won’t get any to eat. I’ll finish it.”

With that, he took another huge bite, leaving only a small corner of the bun.

The child was frantic, screaming without being able to cry. He was about to burst.

On one side, the adult and child were at a standoff.

Elsewhere, inside the cave.

The massive spider corpse still lay on the ground, emitting a strong, bloody stench.

Xie Jue stared at the spider expressionlessly. He stepped forward, holding a sharp sword, and slowly dismantled the corpse. He cut each piece of flesh apart, digging inside to see if anyone was hidden.

Blood splattered across Xie Jue’s face and robes, but he ignored it, continuing his task as if it didn’t matter whether the person inside was dead or alive.

When Chu Ge opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Xie Jue standing before a pile of flesh and blood, covered in gore—a horrifying scene.

Xie Jue crushed the spider’s corpse fragments, threw a fire talisman, and burned it all to ash. Nothing remained.

He looked so calm, his eyes utterly devoid of emotion. It didn’t seem like the calm surface of the sea at night—beneath which lurked turbulent undercurrents, ready to erupt into madness at any moment.

Chu Ge watched him, unconsciously holding his breath, trembling with fear that Xie Jue would notice him.

But Xie Jue still turned his head to look at him. “Where is he?”

Chu Ge’s heart tightened, his mind buzzing. It took him a moment to process the words. He looked around frantically. “He’s disappeared?!”

Xie Jue seemed to know that Chu Ge wouldn’t have the answer. He indifferently looked away and walked to the stone wall, carefully examining it.

The weight of Xie Jue’s gaze lifted, and Chu Ge breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He went over and shook Nie Kai awake. Nie Kai woke from a pleasant dream, dazed. “What… what’s going on?”

Chu Ge explained quickly in a low voice. “It must be the spirit spider’s poison. It stirs up the deepest desires in one’s heart, making one dream of what they want, trapping them. The spirit spider devours its helpless prey this way.

“But forget that for now. We need to find Su Zhuozhi. He seems to have vanished while we were unconscious. That guard’s state… it’s really off.”

‘Off’ was an understatement. It was terrifying.

Chu Ge thought to himself. He had vaguely noticed before that Xie Jue was like two different people—one in front of Su Zhuozhi, and another in front of everyone else. The former was obedient and occasionally smiled, with a trace of humanity; the latter was devoid of any emotion, so indifferent it was frightening, as if everyone else were dead.

Now that Su Zhuozhi was missing, this had become even more severe.

The rope holding Xie Jue’s sanity together had snapped. No one could stop him.

He was teetering on the edge of madness. If they didn’t find Su Zhuozhi soon, Chu Ge felt that something irreversible would happen.

Chu Ge took a deep breath and began examining the cave for any mechanisms or clues. He hoped Su Zhuozhi was safe.

Suddenly, the entire cave turned cold, exuding a bone-chilling aura.

Chu Ge’s spine went cold. He whipped his head around, looking everywhere, but saw nothing unusual.

In truth, he simply couldn’t see it.

At that moment, the entire cave was filled with black mist, seeping into every corner, searching thoroughly for the path to Su Zhuozhi.

Xie Jue’s heart churned with a strong desire for destruction. He wanted to blast the entire cave apart, leaving the hidden vermin with no place to hide, then tear it to pieces and force it to release Su Zhuozhi.

But he had to worry that a single misstep might harm Su Zhuozhi. The young master was so afraid of pain; a small bump could make him cry. If the cave really collapsed, he would surely be terrified.

So Xie Jue refrained from acting rashly. Instead, he used what little sanity he had left to restrain himself and search in a safer manner. In his mind, he repeatedly imagined ways to torture and kill the vermin, venting the violence within him.

Finally, a wisp of black mist found a clue. It pressed on a spot on the stone wall that was slightly different from its surroundings.

The wall split open, forming a doorway that turned inward.

Xie Jue quickly stepped forward and walked straight through.

The black mist had already caught Su Zhuozhi’s scent. He was inside. Just like when Xie Jue first woke up—he could faintly smell Su Zhuozhi but couldn’t see him. He was certain Su Zhuozhi was still within the cave’s range, just hidden away. That was why he could barely maintain his calm.

Xie Jue crossed the courtyard and pushed open the door.

He saw the youth sitting on a stool, and the tension in his heart slowly eased.

Su Zhuozhi heard the sound and turned around. The moment their eyes met, he smiled brilliantly, his eyes brimming with trust.

“I knew you’d find me.”

Xie Jue’s throat felt dry. He opened his mouth, and then forced out a hoarse voice.

“…Mm.”

Chu Ge followed closely behind. Seeing that Su Zhuozhi was fine, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. You suddenly vanished; you scared us to death. Luckily you’re okay. Your guard… he was going crazy with worry.”

The last sentence was no exaggeration.

Su Zhuozhi was a bit surprised. Xie Jue always had a cold, expressionless face, without emotional fluctuations, as if nothing could affect him. Crazy? He couldn’t imagine that.

He glanced at Xie Jue’s demeanor. “No, he seems pretty calm. I’ve only been here about an hour. You found me really quickly.”

He thought that calmness was one of Xie Jue’s virtues—always handling things without panic, making few mistakes. But his devotion to his master wasn’t that deep; Qingping and Wanying were definitely better.

Chu Ge wanted to say something but hesitated. That was only because Xie Jue had used a cleansing spell. If you’d seen him covered in blood, you wouldn’t think that.

Xie Jue walked step by step to Su Zhuozhi and looked him over from head to toe. He asked in a low voice, “Young master, are you injured?”

“No.” Su Zhuozhi burped. He had eaten quite a bit here and was a little full. The child had thrown a tantrum, so Su Zhuozhi turned the tables and made the child cook for him in exchange for a bun. It wasn’t that he wanted to eat the child’s cooking; he just wanted to make things difficult for him. After all, the child was the one who brought him here.

As Su Zhuozhi was about to leave with Xie Jue, the child latched onto his leg again, wailing, “Father can’t leave! You have to stay here with me!”

Xie Jue looked down. Before anyone could react, in the blink of an eye, he had grasped the child’s neck and lifted him into the air. The child’s fair face quickly turned red, his expression pained from lack of air, but Xie Jue was unmoved. He demanded coldly, “You’re the one behind this?”

Su Zhuozhi was startled. Now he somewhat believed Chu Ge’s words about going crazy. Xie Jue’s reaction was indeed abnormal. He genuinely wanted to kill this child, just because the child had silently taken him away.

Su Zhuozhi quickly stopped him, telling him to put the child down.

But Xie Jue stared fixedly at the child, as if he couldn’t hear Su Zhuozhi’s words, still gripping tightly.

Only when Su Zhuozhi grabbed his hand, pulled his fingers apart, wedged his own between them, and slowly pulled them down, while shouting his name over and over again, “Xie Jue! Xie Jue!”—only then did he finally come back to his senses. He loosened his grip, then tightly clasped Su Zhuozhi’s hand.

Su Zhuozhi winced in pain and instinctively pulled away, a little angry. “Xie Jue, you’re hurting me!”

Xie Jue looked at him for a moment, then slowly let go.

But almost simultaneously, the black mist surged, wrapping tightly around Su Zhuozhi, forming a solid cage that trapped him inside, watching him every moment, never letting him leave his sight.

Su Zhuozhi looked down at his reddened fingers, rubbing them. Suddenly he felt a chill. He turned his head hesitantly, looking around, but found nothing unusual. He remembered the invisible ghosts he occasionally encountered at the Ten Thousand Swords Sect, which would touch his shoulders, back, and waist. But this time was different—it wasn’t the cold touch of fingertips, but the coolness of being enveloped in a water mass.

Could it be… a problem with this courtyard?

Su Zhuozhi asked Xie Jue, “Don’t you think it’s a bit cold?”

Xie Jue looked at him and nodded calmly. “It is a bit cold.”

Su Zhuozhi relaxed. Since others felt it too, it probably wasn’t ghosts.

But in reality, in Xie Jue’s eyes, Su Zhuozhi was tightly surrounded by the black mist, as if being held in the mouth, kneaded into the bones, touching every inch of skin. Only then did Xie Jue feel a trace of satisfaction.

Chu Ge took care of the loudly crying child. The child wanted to cling to Su Zhuozhi but was afraid of Xie Jue, so he cried even more sorrowfully.

Chu Ge gently patted his back and suddenly touched a hard, protruding lump. He lowered his head and looked through the collar, his expression changing slightly. He abruptly raised his head, looked at Su Zhuozhi, and exchanged a glance. He nodded, confirming his guess.

This child was not a living person, but a puppet. He himself didn’t seem to know it.

The sky had grown completely dark.

The secret realm also had day and night. At night, it was disadvantageous to face fierce spirit beasts, and they needed rest. They settled down in the cave.

Su Zhuozhi was surprised to find that the spider corpse was gone.

Chu Ge glanced at Xie Jue nervously. “Er, it was an accident… it burned up.”

Su Zhuozhi didn’t like the giant spider, so he asked casually and didn’t pay much attention. He was already very sleepy, so he took out his bedding and lay down, saying lazily, “It’s my turn for night watch. Remember to wake me up. I’ll sleep first…”

Fighting spirit beasts consumed a lot of physical strength and spiritual power. Almost as soon as he finished speaking, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. His last words became indistinct, fading between his lips.

The cave became extremely quiet, except for the occasional chirping of insects outside.

Moonlight flowed like water, spilling over the ground.

Xie Jue sat by the fire, his gaze falling on Su Zhuozhi beside him. The warm orange firelight softened his features, making him look gentle and warm, as if covered in a thin veil.

He turned his head, staring at the flickering warm light, gradually losing focus.

After inhaling the spider’s toxic mist, he had fallen into a hazy dream.

The sun was bright, amidst a sea of blooming flowers.

A beautiful youth was lying lazily in the flower sea, barefoot. He pressed down a delicate flower, hooked his fingers, and played with the petals. Flower juice and nectar dripped through his fingers, staining his fair skin, sticky and wet.

The youth’s eyes were half-closed, drowsy, yet he frowned at the discomfort in his hand, muttering discontentedly.

He didn’t know how long had passed, or how long he had been watching.

The youth seemed to sense his gaze. He slowly lifted his eyelids, turned back, and curved his lips into a smile, his eyes containing scattered starlight.

The youth reached out a hand, speaking in a coquettish tone, softly calling out, “Xie Jue.”

Xie Jue couldn’t help but step forward, pulling the youth into his arms, holding him tightly.

His chest was filled to the brim, itching and unbearable.

The dream that stirs the deepest desires—he had dreamed of Su Zhuozhi.

Xie Jue’s face was calm. The tightly shut door in his heart was pried open, releasing a raging flood. It carried a clear thought, constantly washing over him. He finally realized—or perhaps there had long been vague traces, but he had refused to think deeply.

Sitting alone before the fire, he unconsciously murmured, “Su… Zhuozhi.”

This was the first time he had spoken his name.

His voice was extremely hoarse, hiding a fervent, intense longing.

‘I want… to have him.’

“Did you call me?”

A voice suddenly exploded in his ear.

Xie Jue froze and turned his head abruptly. Su Zhuozhi had woken up at some point, hugging the blanket, drowsily rubbing his eyes. He tilted his head, looking at him with a bewildered expression.

Xie Jue’s heart skipped a beat, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.

It was midnight. The others were asleep. It was a perfect opportunity for them to talk alone.

So Su Zhuozhi leaned forward, closing the distance between them. His lips parted slightly. “Xie Jue…”

He was about to ask what was wrong.

But Xie Jue seemed startled by him. His whole body tensed, his expression cold and panicked.

As if a dream had become reality.

Unbelievable.

His mind went blank.

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