Murong Qiufeng and Shangguan Ye rushed toward the Dali Temple, but before they could even step into the front hall, a panicked guard waiting at the entrance ushered them directly to the underground prison.
The Dali Temple had always been a solemn place shrouded in a weighty stillness, but now, a sinister aura of death pervaded the air. The closer they drew to the dungeon, the more intense the stench of blood became.
Their hearts sank with every step. Even before they saw the carnage, they had a terrible feeling they already knew what had happened. They only hoped… it wasn’t as bad as they feared.
But it was worse.
Far worse.
At the entrance of the dungeon, corpses littered the floor, their blood so thick it had begun to darken the very walls. The stone floor was slick, nearly crimson. Judging by the state of the bodies, they hadn’t been dead long—and none of them had been moved, clearly per Hou Qianxing’s orders.
What truly turned their stomachs, however, was how the victims had died: few remained intact.
The corpses had been mutilated, torn apart with such savage cruelty that the dungeon resembled a level of hell. Limbs were missing, torsos slashed open, expressions frozen in pain. It was a scene straight from a nightmare.
Murong Qiufeng’s expression twisted in horror, and his eyes burned with restrained fury. Killing was one thing—but this kind of butchery… it was inhuman.
“They were alive when they were torn apart,” he murmured, his voice low and tight. “Some probably died from bleeding out… others from the pain alone…”
Shangguan Ye, who had seen more battlefield slaughter than Qiufeng, was grim-faced but composed. His sharp gaze swept across the corpses, cold and focused. Then he asked one of the guards:
“No one’s touched the scene?”
“No, Your Highness,” the guard answered immediately. “Lord Hou gave strict orders—everything must remain as is.”
Qiufeng finally understood why Shangguan Ye had asked. He, too, suddenly noticed: all of the bodies belonged to guards—there wasn’t a single criminal among them.
“You mean… Hou Daren arrived after the massacre?”
“Yes. He was in the palace at the time. He rushed here after receiving word, but the slaughter had already taken place by the time he arrived.”
Shangguan Ye’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Hou Qianxing now?”
“He’s still inside, inspecting the scene.”
Without another word, the two men entered the dungeon proper.
Inside, the air was heavier. Their footsteps splashed in pools of blood. The floor was slippery like rain-soaked mud, but it wasn’t water—it was blood. Thick, black-red, almost gelatinous in places. The entire floor looked like it had been dyed.
Qiufeng’s face paled. Though not unfamiliar with death, this level of senseless, depraved violence was beyond anything he’d seen.
These weren’t executions—they were massacres, no—ritualistic mutilations.
He couldn’t fathom what kind of person would do something like this. This wasn’t an assassination. This was a statement. This was a message.
And suddenly, he hoped—desperately—that Zhao Xiru had been taken, not killed.
“Your Highness. Brother Qiufeng.”
Hou Qianxing approached, saluting Shangguan Ye before nodding to Qiufeng. Since their recent cooperation, their relationship had grown much closer. And truthfully, Qiufeng’s calm, sincere nature made it easy to befriend him.
Shangguan Ye, however, immediately narrowed his eyes at the “Brother Qiufeng.” His brow twitched in obvious displeasure.
Hou Qianxing paused at the odd look he received, blinking. What’s with His Highness’s stare? Why does it feel like… jealousy?
Despite his intelligence, Hou Qianxing couldn’t quite believe that Shangguan Ye—the infamously sharp, cold-hearted commander—would be the jealous type. He vaguely suspected there might be something going on between the two men, but given Shangguan Ye’s personality, he figured it must be Qiufeng chasing him.
…Of course, anyone who actually knew them both would know that neither man was the type to pursue anyone easily, let alone confess. To this day, the truth behind who had taken the first step in their relationship remained a complete mystery to all but a rare few.
Unaware of the storm brewing in Shangguan Ye’s mind, Qiufeng quickly asked, “Hou-ge, have you found anything? And what of Princess Zhao and the others?”
At the mention of the case, Hou Qianxing’s demeanor shifted immediately, face dark and furious.
“All of the guards—every last one—are dead. Even the imperial guards sent by the Emperor. As for the prisoners… aside from two, none survived. Everyone else—criminals or unrelated—was slaughtered. Brutally. The killer didn’t just want to kill—they wanted to torture.”
Hou Qianxing clenched his fists, visibly holding back his emotions.
Though known for his cold and stoic appearance, Hou was a man of deep feeling. He had no family, having served in the Dali Temple since he was young. These people were his family. And now, they were all gone—massacred in the place they called home.
He had no time to mourn.
But the grief in his heart ran deep.
Qiufeng felt it, too. And though he said nothing, he silently vowed: he would help Hou Qianxing get justice. For all of them.
“You said two were missing?” he asked quietly, already guessing who.
“Princess Zhao and Song Yicheng.”
Just as he thought.
And that… made it all the more suspicious.
The most likely conclusion was that this was a rescue mission, executed by people from Zhao.
Shangguan Ye, meanwhile, stood silently with his arms crossed, watching them bicker like old friends. The more he listened to Hou calling Qiufeng “Brother Qiufeng,” the darker his expression grew. He’d only been down with injuries for a few days. How the hell had these two gotten so close so fast?
He wasn’t particularly proud of it, but Shangguan Ye was extremely possessive when it came to Murong Qiufeng. And very, very jealous.
Hou Qianxing finally noticed the laser-focused glare. Unable to take it anymore, he turned to Shangguan Ye and asked:
“Your Highness, I summoned you both here because I need your expertise. I was hoping you could examine the bodies. Some were clearly killed, but others appear to have been poisoned. The attacker was likely a highly-skilled martial artist, and I suspect they’re from the jianghu.”
Shangguan Ye raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh?”
He shot Hou Qianxing a meaningful look before stepping forward to inspect the scene.
Qiufeng hesitated briefly, then followed. Before joining Mufeng Pavilion, Yun Feiyang had trained him in more than just martial arts. Weaponology, wound analysis—these were core skills for anyone in the intelligence world. Understanding the way people died was often the fastest route to discovering who had killed them.
It was why Mufeng Pavilion stood as the number one intelligence organization in the empire. Not because they could gather information quickly—but because they could extract secrets from the unspoken, the unseen.
And right now, those skills are going to be very, very necessary.
