Mystique Soul: A Cultivator's Flame
Chapter 124: Trust or Folly?

Chapter 124: Trust or Folly?

The city was already starting to have life again based from what Feng Jiao Xue can observe. People starting to walk around, shops starting to open, and not a singe corpse in the street anymore.

She moved like a shadow among shadows, every step taut with rage, every breath held hostage by fury. The manor loomed in the distance, a structure of regal elegance nestled on the elevated cliffs at the city’s north end, guarded by towering walls and iron gates that gleamed in the moonlight. Her pulse thundered, louder than her footsteps, louder than her thoughts.

She should’ve waited. She knew that. She should’ve planned, scouted, gathered strength. But the image of Mo Tianze’s ears flat against his head, his tail curled, the light fading from his eyes as he was dragged away, that burned hotter than any caution.

For some reason, the Mo Tianze she first met flashed in her mind and her blood boiled.

He had been taken and that was reason enough for her to lose all her control.

She scaled the outer walls with ease, her whip coiling like a serpent and anchoring to the stone. With one agile leap, she landed atop the outer ledge. No guards in sight. It was too quiet.

Her eyes narrowed.

The wind tugged at her cloak as she perched on the wall, eyes gleaming like twin shards of obsidian in the moonlight. The world stretched out below her, still, watchful. Too still.

She dropped down soundlessly onto the gravel path that led toward the manor’s inner courtyard. Her boots made no sound. The only movement was the ripple of silk and the coiling of her whip in her hand.

The gate creaked open with a nudge, unlocked. Unwatched.

This made her frown as this place is supposed to be tightly guarded according to that demented scholar she chose not to bring in the end.

It was wrong. Somethings not right...

Her instincts flared, whispering warnings she had learned to obey. Warning bells she always listened to. But she was too far gone for retreat. Rage had carried her here, and vengeance guided her steps.

She entered the outer gardens.

No patrols. No dogs. No birds in the trees. Even the insects had gone silent. It was as if the entire place... has not even a single sign of life aside from the plants.

The hedges were trimmed with the precision of noble luxury, and the pebbled path glittered faintly, polished, refined. Lanterns lined the walkway, unlit. Not a single flicker of light guided the way, and yet, Feng Jiao Xue needed none. Her Qi sharpened her senses, the darkness was her cloak. But even she could not deny the strangeness, the kind of stillness that followed death.

She passed beneath an archway carved with the city lord’s insignia, an eagle wrapped in ivy and stepped into the inner court.

Still nothing.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword.

The doors to the manor stood slightly ajar.

Wide enough to enter. Narrow enough to trap. She did not hesitate. With fluid grace, she slipped through. Ready for a fight only to pause....

Just what happened here? Feng Jiao Xue frowned but didn’t let her guard down.

The main hall opened before her like the gaping maw of a beast. Marble floors stretched out in cruel luxury, speckled with faint stains, blood? No, wine. Or so it seemed.

The chandeliers above were dead, their crystals catching only moonlight through high windows. Tall mirrors lined the walls, reflecting her shadowed figure as she passed, reflections watching her with hollow silence.

A whisper of wind stirred the drapes. And then, footsteps.

No. Not footsteps. The memory of them.

Feng Jiao Xue turned sharply, her sword flashing out, whip drawn tight, ready.

Nothing.

She moved deeper.

Room after room, hallway after hallway, empty.

Banquet tables untouched, chairs still pulled out, as if their occupants had only just risen.

Plates cold. Goblets half-full.

She stepped into the drawing room, walls covered in tapestries, a fireplace gone cold. The scent of burnt incense still lingered, sweet and cloying, masking something far more metallic beneath.

A drop of blood stained the corner of a rug.

She crouched, touched it with gloved fingers.

Still wet.

Her lips thinned.

Someone had been here. Recently.

Her eyes scanned the space, finding signs of panic buried beneath careful staging, a table shifted, a cracked goblet in the shadows, a smear of something dark behind the curtains.

She did not speak.

Words were too loud in this place.

Down the eastern corridor, she walked, silent as a blade unsheathed.

Every door she passed was closed. Locked. Some splintered. One ajar, revealing a bedchamber with claw marks on the walls.

No bodies.

Only aftermath.

There had been resistance. There had been blood.

But now...

Now, there was only her.

She descended the spiral staircase at the end of the corridor, drawn by instinct, by Qi, by the burning tether that pulled her deeper into this deadened place.

The lower halls were older, stone instead of marble, cold instead of warm. The scent of rot lingered here. Something beneath the incense. Beneath the perfumes.

Decay.

She passed a cell door, open.

Shackles hung on the wall. The floor beneath them stained.

Torture room.

Another turn, another hallway.

Whispers now.

Faint. Behind the walls? No. Within her mind.

Her killing intent flared in response, swallowing fear, sharpening focus.

Ahead, double doors. Carved with dragons devouring roses.

Her eyes narrowed.

She placed a hand on the door.

Paused.

Listened.

Nothing.

No breath. No movements.

No Mo Tianze.

Just where are the people? Feng Jiao Xue wondered

Her rage trembled beneath her skin. Not from fear, but from certainty. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong

She pushed the doors open.

The chamber beyond stretched wide, empty save for a single throne at the far end.

And silence.

No guards.

No servants.

No city lord.

Just shadows.

And the scent of blood.

She stepped forward.

Her eyes swept across the chamber.

And there, beneath the seat. A streak of crimson, leading toward a hidden passage she remembered reading about. A hidden exit for the city lord in case of assassination attempts.

She followed it.

The door creaked open at her touch, revealing a downward stair, slick with blood.

Still fresh.

Her heart pounded, not from exhaustion.

From fury... and fear, not for herself, but from the silly fool she has grown accustomed to having by her side, having grown to care about.

She walked further down, every step like a countdown.

She didn’t know what she would find at the bottom.

But she knew who she would become if Mo Tianze wasn’t there.

If he had been taken from her, permanently, this city would burn.

The air was thicker here.

The scent of blood was no longer subtle, it clung to the walls, soaked into the stone. The hallway led her deeper into the earth, toward something older, something hidden. Torches lined the passage, unlit. She lit none of them. The darkness embraced her, just as it always had.

But then, at the end of the corridor, a faint glow spilled from the edge of a door.

Not torchlight. Not firelight.

Golden light.

And the metallic scent of blood, stronger than before.

Feng Jiao Xue approached silently, but her heart thundered, fists clenched at her sides. She reached for the door, and it swung open with the softest creak.

What lay beyond stopped her in her tracks.

It was a room, half decorated, half abandoned. Gilded curtains hung limply from only one side of the wall. Paintings had been taken down in a hurry, leaving behind crooked hooks and faint outlines. Boxes of ornaments remained unopened in the corners, as if the room was still being prepared for something... or someone.

But none of that held her gaze.

It was the bodies.

Dozens of them.

Littered across the floor like discarded dolls. Some slumped against the wall. Others frozen mid-crawl. Their faces frozen in horror. Blood soaked the floor, painting it red and black. Some were armored. Some were servants. All of them were dead.

And in the center of it all, drenched in blood not his own, stood Mo Tianze.

His figure was hunched slightly, as if he’d only just come down from frenzy. His claws were still out, blood dripping from fingertips like crimson ink. His white hair stuck to his cheeks, matted. His robes were torn, stained with both blood and something darker, something unnatural.

But it was his eyes that chilled her more than any corpse.

Those golden eyes, once bright and warm like the midmorning sun, were now wild, feral. The pupils were slitted like a predator’s, dilated and pulsing with power. His gaze darted toward her the moment she entered, and for a heartbeat, he did not recognize her.

He didn’t see Feng Jiao Xue.

He saw movement.

And prey.

The air grew tense, thick with killing intent.

She did not move.

She met his gaze, unwavering.

"Mo Tianze," she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

And something in him stilled.

The golden light in his eyes shimmered, flickered. The slits narrowed back to soft circles. His fangs receded. The feral edge melted into something tired, confused... and familiar.

"Jiao... Xue?"

His voice cracked like something breaking inside.

She rushed to him just as his legs gave out.

She caught him in her arms, cradling him tightly as he collapsed against her, trembling.

His head fell to her shoulder, and he whispered once more, his breath warm and broken.

"I didn’t... I didn’t want to..."

Then he went still.

Fainted.

But alive.

And in her arms.

Feng Jiao Xue held him close, shielding his form with her cloak as her jaw tightened.

Behind her, the blood-soaked silence returned.

But within her, something darker awakened.

They had done this to him. They would not have been left alive anyway.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.