Eldritch Horror Theatre

'Red eyes look better.'

Based on his current understanding, that single sentence from Blood Clan Progenitor Annalise was likely the catalyst that birthed this entire race.

As a truly classic concept, the Blood Clan's immense lifespans and obsession with bloodlines undoubtedly gave them the value of living fossils.

The succession of bloodlines and the inheritance of the Transcendent Tier could serve as research samples for all sorts of underlying laws.

In contrast, the Chen Clan—who had likely had their home stolen out from under them—presented far too many interfering variables.

The most important factor, of course, was the connection between the Blood Clan and the moon.

He had previously tried using the Chronicles of the Moon to define the entire history of the Transcendent Tier, unaware that this history was also a record of a single race's millennium of solitude.

Fu Qian didn't rush through the door. Instead, he observed his surroundings, drawing on cultural history to cultivate his immersion.

The courtyard beyond was a familiar sight, albeit even quieter than he remembered. There was no sign of that restless young man trying to scale the wall again, leaving behind a deathly stillness comparable to a tomb.

True, Brother Taylor's recent string of antics had severely tested the blood pressure of the family's higher-ups.

It had gotten to the point where he was first grounded, and later outright forbidden from sleeping.

But Shangjing had enjoyed a few days of peace, and his relatively strict elder Serana was out working herself to the bone. Was it really necessary to leave the young man looking so bleak, miserable, and desolate?

Or was he simply not here at all? Had he already been dragged off for Grantham to discipline personally?

Clicking his tongue, Fu Qian felt he had brewed enough emotion. His facial features shifted rapidly, turning flamboyant and abstract in the blink of an eye.

The stark black-and-white contrast of his face was positively eye-popping.

That's right—he was now Dayun Mingwang.

He lightly brushed a hand over his face. Even though this was only his second time walking through Shangjing under this identity, Fu Qian remained highly satisfied with this persona.

To complete the look, he even manifested a set of flowing, wide-sleeved robes.

Surely this was the perfect time to drop a classic line like, "Old friend, you're not asleep either?"

Brimming with anticipation for their long-awaited reunion, Dayun Mingwang's figure drifted into the darkness like a fallen leaf on the wind.

...

What was this?

Because he had previously been stuck outside waiting by the stump for a hare, this was his first time paying Brother Taylor a formal visit.

The place wasn't particularly large. For a young member of the Blood Clan, Taylor seemed to live a relatively low-key lifestyle.

Yet, even with his Rank deliberately suppressed, a single glance was all it took for Fu Qian to spot the anomaly in the courtyard.

First, there were absolutely no guards keeping watch. Second, while night had already fallen, the building occupying the center of the yard was entirely devoid of light. It was so pitch-black that every crack and crevice seemed to be oozing thick oil.

This was clearly unnatural. Why such a bizarre phenomenon?

Had his previous stunt of sneaking out gotten him grounded with this exact method? Was this thing designed to ensure Taylor couldn't escape again?

If so, this was honestly worse than solitary confinement—especially with the added caveat of not being allowed to sleep.

Despite his deep empathy, Fu Qian's actions remained entirely brazen. The very next second, he strolled straight into the oozing oil.

It definitely seemed to be some sort of barrier.

He reached a conclusion instantly.

While it couldn't actually be used as fuel, it possessed a bizarre, viscous texture, and visibility inside was drastically reduced.

Furthermore, he could even smell faint traces of blood within it—a perfect match for the identity of his target.

Strangely enough, that was all it did. Fu Qian quickly confirmed that these negative sensations couldn't actually trap anyone inside.

Even if it wasn't him, any random Mid Tier combatant would likely be able to overcome it.

So would this kind of thing really work on Brother Taylor? Or was it specifically effective against the Blood Clan? ...It didn't seem like it.

His doubts were answered a moment later. Despite the barrier's peculiar nature, Fu Qian didn't rein in his bold swagger in the slightest, striding straight into the building's interior.

Instantly, the viscous sensation vanished.

The space inside the dark barrier was, surprisingly, just a normal building. There was even a highly atmospheric candle burning away.

Aided by the candle's dim glow, Fu Qian quickly searched the space.

His conclusion: the prisoner who was supposedly trapped in here was nowhere to be found.

...

Had he gone rebellious again?

Brother Taylor's sheer energy was truly enviable.

Rushing over under the starry night only to miss the chance for a chat couldn't help but make one sigh at the unpredictability of meetings and partings.

Not that Fu Qian felt particularly upset about it. He casually strolled over and sat down beside the candle.

In truth, there were several members of the Gulade Clan stationed around here, and Taylor was arguably the weakest of the bunch.

Theoretically, if he wanted to study the Blood Clan as a specimen, he had plenty of other options.

Yet he still chose to bestow this grand honor upon Brother Taylor. Part of the reason was, naturally, one very distinct prerequisite: he was a pureblood Blood Clan member.

This had been personally verified by Excellency Serana, even if she had been utterly dismissive of it at the time, deeming it practically useless.

But considering that the topic was the inheritance of the Transcendent Tier, Brother Taylor's unique trait became far more intriguing.

Aside from that, his sheer tenacity in fighting on no matter how many times he failed was another major factor.

The memory of him throwing on an Invisibility Cloak to scale the wall, swearing to prove his innocence, was still incredibly fresh.

So had he snuck out again, swearing to prove that his previous conspiracy theory regarding the King of the Abandoned Prison was correct?

It was an easy conclusion to reach. Nevertheless, Fu Qian wasn't in any rush to leave. Instead, he simply picked up the Candlestick and surveyed the room.

A moment later, he strolled right over to the corner of the room and blew a breath over the seemingly empty floor.

Striking with the force of a dimensional gale, the space itself warped and distorted. A patch of it was blasted away, exposing a pitch-black lump hidden underneath.

...

Sure enough, one always had to keep their mental biases in check.

What had he just said about throwing on the Invisibility Cloak to scale a wall?

Since such a miraculous item existed, and it could be worn to scale walls... why couldn't it also be worn to lie in bed?

Had Taylor actually fled? Not necessarily.

He hadn't unleashed the power of a Deity, of course. He had simply blown an unusually forceful breath of air.

Fu Qian wasn't surprised by the resulting change. He simply stared at what had been revealed underneath.

Theoretically, it was supposed to be Taylor, but they hadn't seen each other for a few days, and the change was simply far too drastic.

His entire body looked as though it had been scorched by roaring flames. He was barely recognizable as a human silhouette now, curled up in a horrifically contorted posture without the slightest trace of life.

He hadn't been imprisoned, but murdered? Who could have done something so vicious?

It was a truly hair-raising sight. In that moment, Fu Qian felt like he could once again sense the winds rise and clouds surge through the Shangjing jianghu.

Before they even had the chance to truly pit their skills against each other, Southern Jiang En and Northern Taylor had actually already lost a man?

Such an outstanding talent, dead before his time. A mere sigh of pity couldn't possibly do it justice.

Staring down at that perpetually motionless figure, Fu Qian reached out and picked up the cloak that had fallen to the side.

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