The Male Lead Always Thinks My Script is Wrong - Chapter 19

Ji Shinian adapted to the darkness quickly.

In the pitch-black dungeon, Zhou Hongluan was curled up in a corner. A dark stain spread across the floor, and through the heavy scent of incense and candles, one could faintly smell the stench of decay and blood. Her arms were severed at the elbows. Matted clumps of hair plastered her face, and her body seemed bloated, as if filled with gas, with irregular, bulging blisters.

Even so, Zhou Hongluan propped herself up with her stumps and tilted her head back, struggling to look at Ji Shinian.

The skin on her face was nearly transparent, bulging with large and small swellings. Inside, white eggs were packed tightly together, so dense that even her eyeballs had become a sort of nursery.

It was obvious that although her clothes covered the rest of her, the situation there wouldn’t be any better than on her face.

Only a few days had passed, yet Ji Shinian found it difficult to reconcile this nameless, horrific thing with the woman from the illusion.

What is this? Ji Shinian was momentarily at a loss for words.

In the Mid-Cloud Realm, apostates manipulated “ghostly things,” but they would also be backlashed and even consumed by them once they lost their power. This was the inevitable end for all Ghost Masters, without exception. However, unlike those merely afflicted by the Ghost Path, the process of a master being consumed by their own creation was quite slow, taking at least nine days.

Furthermore, as was not commonly known, the thirteenth floor of the Hidden Sword Pavilion possessed the power to suppress ghostly entities.

In her current state, Zhou Hongluan was only half a step away from turning from a Ghost Master into a ghostly entity itself. She didn’t look suppressed at all.

This left only one possibility.

Ji Shinian crouched down and looked quietly at that terrifying face. “When I heard you wanted to see me, I didn’t realize you’d resort to self-mutilation to get your way.”

“Cough, cough… how, how did you, know?” As soon as their eyes met, Zhou Hongluan stared at his face with a gaze that could only be described as fanatical. She ignored her coughing, and the white eggs in her eyes began to glow with a sickly pink light. “Sure enough, cough cough, it really is you!”

Ji Shinian felt his skin crawl under her gaze. “What do you mean ‘it’s you’? Stop acting so mysterious. Why don’t you tell me exactly who you think I am?”

Ji Shinian didn’t actually believe she recognized his true self, or that she knew him as a wanted man. After all, if Zhou Hongluan really knew that version of him, there would be no need for her to be locked up here.

If a Ghost Master got too close to him, there was usually only one path left: death.

As for how he knew she was self-mutilating, the answer was simple.

The Hidden Sword Pavilion was the pride and joy of the Sword Alliance. It was guarded by heavy troops on the outside and blocked by strange formations on the inside. Had he not used a living puppet to align the time, place, and people, even a Demon Venerable could only have reached the tenth floor. The thirteenth floor was reserved strictly for the high-ranking elite. And since the Sword Alliance wanted to know the origins of the Blood Plague Insects, why would they personally push Zhou Hongluan to the brink of exploding with larvae?

Naturally, Ji Shinian wouldn’t tell her any of this. He brushed back a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Seeing her still staring at him without a word, a wave of impatience rose in his heart. “Hey, why aren’t you talking? You went to all this trouble to call me here, what do you actually want?”

“Let me be clear, I’m not going to help you.”

“…Cough, cough, so that’s how it is.” Zhou Hongluan suddenly burst into a manic laugh. She kept her eyes on Ji Shinian, but a trace of pleasure surfaced in them. “Miss Ji, cough, why would you think, I wanted you to help me?”

Ji Shinian suddenly felt his neck stiffen. Looking at the Blood Plague eggs wriggling in her eyes, he actually felt a chill.

Zhou Hongluan didn’t wait for his answer. She stopped laughing and used her elbows to painfully drag herself up against the wall. The protrusions on her body wobbled with the movement, but she seemed completely oblivious. “To be honest, cough, if it weren’t for Chili, I wouldn’t have remembered you at all, and you wouldn’t have remembered us.”

“Twenty years ago, at Mount Wangshen in the Northern Border, cough, we met with a great disaster.” Zhou Hongluan seemed to suddenly regain the gentleness of a high-born lady. She ignored Ji Shinian’s expression as her raspy voice formed fluent sentences. “I originally thought Chili created those scenarios because she still hated me, and thus her lingering attachment made them repeat in a cycle.”

Ji Shinian was still inwardly alarmed, but he hadn’t expected that not only would she not expose him, but she would actually provide a specific time and place.

He hadn’t forgotten what Li Moyan had said about these two women’s pasts, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to have anything to do with him.

And it sounded like the connection wasn’t shallow either.

However, as far as Ji Shinian was concerned, he could only remember three old friends from twenty years ago. He had no recollection whatsoever of two girls!

Ji Shinian began to suspect he was suffering from early-onset dementia.

Zhou Hongluan continued, “But when she rode that horse I had long ago erased and met the three of you, I, cough cough, I was still hopelessly stupid. Because Chili repays all kindness in this life, just as I do, and as Song Yulin does. Twenty years ago, you and two others passed through Mount Wangshen and saved the two of us. It is the same now.”

“The phantom I have stubbornly sought for so long.” She seemed to want to cover her face and weep, but her hands were gone and her eyes occupied, so she could only lean against the wall, her whole body trembling. “It was actually, actually just to repay a debt of gratitude that no one remembers.”

Ji Shinian still couldn’t remember.

His memory was actually in quite poor shape, like an old machine that had been running at high speeds for twenty years, only to become sluggish and slow before finally breaking down.

But as Zhou Hongluan said, he finally understood why the Chili Illusion had that series of reactions. Perhaps those still living could be blinded by disguises, but how sincere a soul is; it can hold no secrets.

“I’m sorry.” Ji Shinian rubbed a trace of color on his finger for a moment before turning back to Zhou Hongluan. “Ghostly arts are crooked, and practitioners invariably find it hard to control their nature. If it’s just for this, you wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to bring me here. So, what do you want? And where did you get the opportunity to cultivate the Blood Plague Insects?”

“As expected.” Zhou Hongluan slumped in the corner, her voice soft. “I originally just wanted you to kill Song Yangrong, but now…”

Her tone grew faintly agitated again, as if she were suppressing something. “I want you to resurrect Chili!”

“I refuse.”

“I have a reason you cannot refuse!” Zhou Hongluan shrieked. Her face contorted uncontrollably as she fell to the ground, twisting and crawling toward Ji Shinian, blood leaking from the corners of her mouth. “The Blood Plague Seed is ready. Coming back from the dead is not a difficult task at all. Miss Ji, help me!”

“No.” Ji Shinian felt a chill in his heart as he stood up. “A refusal is a refusal, regardless of the reason.”

Blood Plague Insects, white eggs, corpses, and refining a seed with one’s own body. He finally connected all these dots in his mind, only to find the result she sought was utterly ridiculous.

But this won’t succeed. Ji Shinian’s mind was in a mess. He wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“The thirteenth floor of the Hidden Sword Pavilion uses ground bone and flesh to make candles, suppressing ghostly things and dispelling all evil.”

That was why there was an inescapable smell of incense in the dungeon. To a human, it was a thick scent of worship, but to the Ghost Path and the wicked, it was like bone-shaving, sliding down the throat like a blade.

Zhou Hongluan seemed unaffected by the smell, but in reality, it was a sign that her senses were fading and her end was near.

And Ji Shinian wasn’t the type to tell a dying woman that her half-lifetime of effort was entirely in vain.

He’d rather play the villain.

“The Blood Plague Insect was given to me by someone,” Zhou Hongluan said suddenly. “He placed a ban on me, so I can’t say who. But I can tell you, Chili did not die of natural causes!”

“She was killed by the Song family! She was killed by them! She was killed by them! She should be alive, save Chili!” As she spoke, she lunged forward with all her strength, her two stumps pinning down the hem of Ji Shinian’s skirt. Her eyes bulged to a terrifying degree. “Song Yangrong is clearly dead, so why is he still growing on the divine statue?!”

Ji Shinian was bombarded by her words, but he caught the key point: a Shilou, a corpse-ghoul, is no longer considered a living being.

“I strangled him with my own hands, turning him bit by bit into a Shilou. His temperature is cold, and he can’t even move his own eyes.” Zhou Hongluan probably sensed her end was near. She spoke gloomily, her speed increasing. “But the Dharma Lord statue doesn’t change. Whether inside the illusion or out, I have to break it personally every time, yet in the next cycle, it grows back.”

“Even that bastard Song Yangrong stood guard at the outer layer of the illusion, trying everything to break in and take Chili away. He actually thought he was being good to her? What a joke! If it weren’t for him, Chili wouldn’t have died at all.”

“Why?” Ji Shinian finally extracted the critical information. “Why did Chili die because of Song Yangrong?”

Unfortunately, Zhou Hongluan was completely immersed in her own world. Her whole body shook, as if she wanted to laugh or perhaps out of fear. In the dark, stifling dungeon, her mutterings crawled up Ji Shinian’s back like a cold draft.

“Because the Song family wanted to create a god—they actually wanted to create a god!” Zhou Hongluan let out a sneer, but suddenly, her voice softened, becoming as gentle as a plea. “Miss Ji, do you know? My life has been a tragedy from beginning to end, and Chili took that tragedy upon herself. But even now, I am not happy at all.”

“So,” Zhou Hongluan’s hands let go of Ji Shinian’s skirt. Her eyes gradually cleared, and the movement of the white eggs slowed down.

Zhou Hongluan said, “I always thought Chili would come to pick me up before I died, but now, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Miss Ji, you once saved her. This time, I beg you to save her again. She is the only demon who knows the truth. If you save her, she will repay your kindness and tell you everything.”

“Just for the sake of the truth, resurrect her, will you?”

Her words were like sleep-talking, making no waves as they fell. They were like a soft, beautiful song. Even if a cultivator came here now, it would be hard for them to say no.

But Ji Shinian didn’t let the silence last long.

He crouched down, reached out toward Zhou Hongluan, and shook his head. “I refuse.”

Zhou Hongluan’s eyes widened, clearly wanting to say something more, but the white eggs rioted, desperate to tear through her skin and hatch—

And then, a second later.

Ji Shinian’s hand passed over Zhou Hongluan. Those eager protrusions slowly flattened under his hand. A faint shimmer rose from the woman, like some kind of crystal, emitting a snowy, clean light.

His hand finally closed her eyes. Ji Shinian’s expression was calm as glowing frost crystals swirled around him, forming into six-petaled snowflakes.

“Goodbye.”

A moment later, in the dungeon at the very bottom of the Hidden Sword Pavilion, a young girl sat with skin like jade and clothes like fire, leaning in the corner as if she were merely taking a nap.

A bit of white frost clung to the hem of her skirt. Perhaps it would melt tomorrow.

Perhaps she would wake up tomorrow.