Chapter 10 Entwined by a Tongue

The room was still lit by those long-obsolete bulbs, relics of a bygone age. The dim yellow light barely outshone a candle, flickering with a constant hiss as if the voltage was never quite enough, casting the room into intermittent light and shadow, suffused with an inexplicable sense of gloom. The space followed the layout of a typical single-room inn: a bedroom with an adjoining bathroom, a bed but no kitchen. The air inside was thick and stale, heavy with the scent of mold, pressing down on the senses with a suffocating weight.

He noticed that all the windows were draped with black curtains. Instinctively, he reached out, wanting to draw them aside and let in some fresh air. But as soon as he pulled back the curtain, he was stunned; there was no window at all, only the vague silhouette of one, bricked up and sealed tight with cement.

Dust and cobwebs coated every surface. The mottled walls oozed a thick, revolting dark green fluid, and thumb-sized cockroaches scurried up and down the walls. Gou Liang’s eyes darted around in terror, afraid that at any moment, something monstrous might leap out from some shadowy corner and attack him.

This eerie, haunted place evoked a creeping dread that only grew stronger, threatening to overwhelm him. The suffocating oppression swelled inside him, until, driven by pure instinct, he longed to escape.

Looking up, his gaze fell upon a black-and-white portrait of a man. His eyes widened in disbelief—the man in the photograph was Hao Dagen!

Wang Xinyao’s seductive, honeyed words echoed in his ears: “My husband isn’t coming home tonight.”

That meant her husband was still alive. But why was his portrait displayed here, in this room? Where exactly was he?

Gou Liang pushed open the door and stepped out. The narrow corridor was fitted with motion-sensor lights to save electricity; he stomped his foot, and the lights flickered on. Rats, scarred and filthy from crawling through the sewers, darted about his feet, unfazed by his presence, occasionally lifting their noses to sniff the air, searching for food. The floor tiles were in disrepair—cracked and uneven, forcing him to watch his step, dodging puddles, rat droppings, and filth.

The flickering lights made him constantly worry that danger might be lurking ahead.

Exiting the corridor, he found himself surrounded by darkness. He looked back at the building he’d emerged from—a decrepit ten-story block. Above the entrance hung a sign: “Obsession Inn.” From the first to the seventh floor, a lantern hung on each level, each one reflecting a different color: red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and violet.

The seven colors matched exactly the hues of his seven-tiered runes.

A prompt surfaced in his mind: these seven colors also represented seven distinct obsessions.

At the moment, Gou Liang was only a Red Rune Healer—he could resolve the obsession of just the first floor. The top three floors had no lanterns at all. He couldn’t fathom what those upper levels signified.

As he racked his brain, a beautiful woman in a red qipao stepped gracefully through the front doors, her smile dazzling as she greeted him.

“Hello, I’m the head of the first floor. Call me Sister Ye.”

Sister Ye was voluptuous and alluring by nature, her face delicately heart-shaped, features enchanting, eyes brimming with an irresistible charm. Her long, waterfall-like hair cascaded down to her rounded hips. With an aura both mysterious and cold, and a body of striking curves, her tight red qipao hugged every contour—a picture of elegance and seduction, a living embodiment of a siren’s tale, ethereal yet full of desire. Gou Liang finally understood the true meaning of bewitchment.

He was momentarily spellbound, his pupils dilating as Sister Ye seemed to fill his entire vision. In the end, only her bewitching face remained before him, crimson lips parting, a drop of saliva glistening.

Suddenly, a massive tongue shot out and wrapped around him, pulling him entirely into her mouth.

Darkness fell. He felt himself enveloped in a warm, slippery embrace, his body growing languid and drowsy, as if his soul were drifting far from the earth. Gradually, he lost all sense of himself.

He had no idea how much time had passed. Somewhere, a strand of a woman’s hair drifted before his face, fluttering in the breeze. The fine ends carried a subtle fragrance, brushing lightly against his cheeks, tickling and tingling. His nasal membranes, highly stimulated, contracted sharply and intensely, his nose twitching with a few rapid jerks, as though reaching the summit of some great peak.

Suddenly, his nostrils flared wide with a force like a tidal wave.

Achoo!

With immense relief, Gou Liang unleashed a sneeze that felt like a torrent, blasting out a year’s worth of mustiness and leaving his whole body shivering with satisfaction. He snapped awake.

Sister Ye stood before him, laughing melodiously, her body trembling with mirth.

“Well, Healer, how was Sister Ye’s welcome gift?”

Gou Liang, still dazed, nodded in rapture.

“Thank you, Sister Ye, for the greeting. You’re very skilled—your tongue technique is truly remarkable. Every time I come, I hope you’ll give me another welcome, even tighter if possible. I can handle it.”

Sister Ye pursed her crimson lips, casting him a coquettish glance.

“Such a silver tongue—you’re just like Old Ye.”

“You’ve met Old Ye?” Gou Liang raised an inquisitive brow.

“Old Ye is on the tenth floor. Why, do you want to meet him?” She arched her brows, her smile tinged with mischief.

“Could you take me up to see him?” Gou Liang asked.

Her smile faded as she grew serious. “There are rules in the land of the living, and order in the realm of the dead. I’m only the head of the first floor, and you’re only a Red Rune Healer. We can’t even reach the second floor, let alone the tenth.”

So Old Ye wasn’t someone you could just meet at will—he seemed wrapped in bureaucratic red tape. Best to focus on the task at hand.

Gou Liang pulled out his phone and brought up a photo of Zhang Zhihan, holding it before Sister Ye.

“Zhang Zhihan is here, isn’t she?”

Sister Ye glanced at the photo and nodded lightly. “She is, but she’s on the seventh floor. You have no way of seeing her unless you become a Seventh-Tier Violet Rune Master.”

Gou Liang frowned.

“You mean, I can only reach the seventh floor and see her if I become a Violet Rune Master, and resolve her obsession? Is that right?”

Sister Ye nodded. “In theory, yes. The higher you go, the stronger the obsessions, and the heavier the resentment. The red rune you possess can’t even withstand the orange grievances, let alone the violet ones.”

It sounded as daunting as mining on the moon. Gou Liang felt the weight of a long and arduous journey ahead.

Seeing the gloom in his eyes, Sister Ye smiled again.

“But you don’t necessarily need to meet her here to resolve her obsession. Matters of the living are best settled among the living. The reason spirits can’t go directly to the underworld is because their obsessions are too strong—they can only stay here at the Obsession Inn, waiting for their burdens to be lifted.”

“And if they can’t be?” Gou Liang asked curiously.

“If a spirit’s obsession isn’t resolved within a year, they’re sent to the Eighteenth Level of Hell.”

Good heavens, if the living knew about this, they’d be terrified of holding onto any obsessions!

Suddenly, Sister Ye seemed to recall something. “Oh, right—Zhang Zhihan has a close friend here on the first floor. You can ask her about Zhang Zhihan’s obsession. Her friend’s name is Shi Linlin, and she’s in Room 107.”

“Thank you, Sister Ye,” Gou Liang said, and hurried inside. As he reached the foyer, he suddenly thought of Wang Xinyao’s husband, Hao Dagen, and stopped, turning back to ask Sister Ye—