Ji Yanqing showed no trace of surprise, only murmuring, “Dream Butterfly Gu, ranked fourth on the Strange Poison List.”
“Young lord knows of this poison?” Mo Pang asked.
Most martial artists only knew the names of poisons on the Strange Poison List, nothing more. Only someone like Mo Pang, with a slight dabbling in toxicology, knew deeper secrets.
The Dream Butterfly Gu came from the Fire Worship Demon Cult of the Western Regions. A century ago, the cult’s headquarters in the Taihang Mountains was overrun by the Seven Orthodox Sects, and its influence in the Central Plains waned.
Twenty years ago, when the Yanxia Dynasty was newly established, Emperor Gaozu, wary of martial artists defying imperial authority, tasked Duke Qi with suppressing the martial sects. The already weakened Fire Worship Cult was all but eradicated in the Central Plains.
For a young lord raised within high walls to identify the Dream Butterfly Gu was astonishing to Mo Pang.
Gazing at the eerily dead woman, Ji Yanqing nodded. “When I studied with my Taoist master, he told me stories about the Fire Worship Cult. As a child, I found them fascinating and remembered.”
“Taught by Master Gu? That explains it. It’s good for the young lord to know more about the martial world,” Mo Pang said, relieved, fearing Ji Yanqing had been swayed by cult demons.
In truth, the Dragon-Tiger Taoist focused on companionship, spending days preaching, meditating, or swindling disciples for wine money.
He taught Ji Yanqing only basic breathing techniques and Five Thunder arts, and only after Ji Yanqing’s persistence.
Ji Yanqing’s knowledge came from his past-life memories. In Canglan Goddess Chronicles, the highly popular Demon Cult Saintess excelled in gu poison, with Dream Butterfly Gu as her signature.
It killed silently in a blissful dream, leaving victims with sweet smiles, the gu worm emerging as a butterfly upon death, leaving no trace.
But after a moment’s thought, he dismissed the idea. It was autumn of Hongde Year Three, over two months from the game’s start and nearly three from the Saintess’s arrival in the Central Plains. The timeline didn’t fit.
Despite his efforts to align with his original persona, the butterfly effect of his transmigration remained an unknown.
“Have her contacts, outings, bank transactions, and letters been thoroughly checked?” Ji Yanqing asked.
“Your Highness, here’s everything you requested,” Mo Pang replied, presenting a sealed letter with both hands.
“Well done. Reward the mansion’s spies with extra silver. As for the Xiao clan maids, send them all to the manor and monitor them closely—daily reports,” Ji Yanqing said, scanning the letter, his eyes thoughtful.
With the Wei King stationed in the capital, Ji Yanqing, as heir, was the mansion’s de facto master. Usually busy posing as a merchant to make money or enjoying courtesans’ “winter warmth and summer coolness,” he left management to others.
“Understood, I’ll handle it,” Mo Pang said respectfully. “Should we send more men to watch the Weiyuan Escort Agency?”
“No need. Too many would alert them,” Ji Yanqing said, holding the letter to a candle. The flame consumed the yellowed paper, burning it to ash.
In the flickering fire, Ji Yanqing saw flashes of his past life—family, friends, his ordinary self—all fading into embers.
The Weiyuan Escort Agency, the starting point of Canglan Goddess Chronicles. Things had truly changed.
He was no longer the boy whose family was slaughtered but the lavishly clad heir of the Wei King’s Mansion.
…
At the third watch the next day, the dungeon was silent as a desolate tomb, where even a needle’s fall could be heard.
After cursing “Ji the Third” thousands of times, Ji Qingyan realized it wouldn’t kill him. She closed her eyes to rest, waiting to recover her spiritual energy for her next move.
With a creak, the cell’s iron door opened. Ji Qingyan snapped alert, focusing her mind.
Looking up, she saw an elegant young noble enter, smiling at her. His narrow peach-blossom eyes held three parts femininity, seven parts allure—strikingly beautiful.
Ji Yanqing wore a cloud-patterned, four-clawed white python robe, a jade belt at his waist, and a jade hairpin in his crown, exuding extraordinary refinement.
“Miss Qingyan, did you sleep well last night?”
Realizing the significance of the four-clawed python robe, Ji Qingyan, born to an official family, understood instantly.
“Ji Yanqing! I should’ve killed you at Heart-Devouring Temple, you shameless cur!” she spat, her eyes blazing with unmasked loathing, itching to slay him.
Ji Yanqing chuckled, amused. “Miss Qingyan, you keep vowing to kill the Ji clan’s villain, yet you didn’t even know what I look like. If I were you, I’d hide in shame.”
“You!” Ji Qingyan was speechless, inwardly cursing herself for not gathering intel on the Wei King’s Mansion, missing her chance for revenge.
“Hmph, do what you will—kill or torture me, your choice,” she said, glaring defiantly, her stunning face radiating a heroine’s unyielding pride.
[Heroine, cell, bondage, plus a lustful noble—familiar scenes flood your mind. Follow the script, and the pen would run dry…]
“For a beauty like Miss Qingyan to perish would be a shame. This heir would be remiss not to cherish such a flower,” Ji Yanqing said, caressing her exquisite cheek with a lover’s tenderness.
“Scoundrel, don’t touch me!” Ji Qingyan thrashed, but bound by chains and with her acupoints sealed, she couldn’t muster a spark of spiritual energy.
“Little Qingyan, if you please this heir today, I’ll grant your every wish,” he whispered devilishly, his fingers trailing down her porcelain neck, past her delicate collarbone…
Realizing struggling only excited him, Ji Qingyan considered biting her tongue to end it but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Closing her eyes, a tear slid down her cheek.
“Get it over with. I’ll treat it like a dog bite,” she said despairingly, vowing to make Ji Yanqing suffer even as a ghost.
Ignoring her, Ji Yanqing focused on stoking her desire.
“Mmm… ah, stop it!” she gasped, her breathing quickening, her misty eyes dazed. Her ample curves swayed, her face blooming with spring-like allure, breathtakingly radiant.
“Please… take your hand out, I can’t take it…”