Sacrificial Lamb (8)
No matter how shocked Chen Li felt inside, he couldn’t move freely. All he could do was stare helplessly as the old woman across from him gave him the exact same stiff smile as the one from outside—the one with the twisted neck.
The old woman’s lips stretched wide, the deep wrinkles on her face squeezing together. Her eyes were so cloudy it made him wonder if she could even see. But when she opened her mouth, everything changed—she spoke in a voice more delicate and sweet than a teenage girl’s: “It doesn’t matter who we are. What matters is you—you’re the bride personally chosen by the master.”
“I’m not!”
For a moment, Chen Li almost thought he was the one who spoke. It took him two seconds to realize it was his body reacting on its own, just like his thoughts.
Everything in front of him was absurd to the extreme—even the “people” felt entirely off—yet the sense of deja vu in his mind only grew stronger. It felt like he was walking a road he’d traveled before. The fog in his mind was slowly lifting, but the clearer it became, the more lost he felt.
The old woman didn’t seem angry at his outburst. She just smiled at him kindly: “Hurry and change your clothes. Don’t miss the auspicious hour.”
The auspicious hour—again with the auspicious hour.
Chen Li couldn’t help but frown. The paper figures that came to fetch the bride earlier this morning said the same thing.
Could this place be something Fu Moyang set up?
He quickly rejected that idea.
No matter how twisted Fu Moyang was, he wouldn’t go this far just to scare him. Besides, System 001 had vanished too.
So where was this place?
A memory?
But he had no memory of anything like this.
After saying her piece, the old woman took out a red wedding robe and tossed it to him. Just before closing the door, she left him with one last warning: “Hurry up. If the master gets angry, none of us will have a good ending.”
Her final words were muffled by the closed door, but the threat behind them lingered heavily in the air.
Chen Li felt his body tremble—clearly frightened by her words. He cautiously picked up the red robe and clumsily began to put it on.
He had no idea what he was doing, slipping the robe on haphazardly. Amidst the chaos, he managed to get the bright red, gold-threaded garment somewhat on. The decorative pendants—strings of pearls, beads, and jade—rubbed against his skin, leaving faint red marks. The craftsmanship was excellent: luxurious yet tasteful. If it hadn’t appeared in such a bizarre situation, this robe would have been a top-tier masterpiece.
Even though it was worn carelessly—with clasps misbuttoned and ties hanging loose—it didn’t diminish how stunning it looked on him.
It highlighted the fullness of his lips and the whiteness of his teeth, making him look even more like an innocent and carefree noble boy, untouched by the world.
The moment he finished putting the robe on, Chen Li felt control over his body return. He raised his hand blankly and stared at it.
It was a familiar hand—smooth and slender, with perfectly rounded fingers.
He didn’t need a second to recognize it. This was his own hand.
He looked around the room and quickly spotted a mirror on the vanity. Rushing over, he stared into the reflection. Even though he’d been prepared, the moment his eyes met the anxious young face in the mirror, a wave of shock and disbelief crashed over him.
No one knew this face better than he did—it was his sixteen-year-old self.
In truth, the difference between this face and his current twenty-year-old one wasn’t very big. He’d always had a baby face, and time seemed to favor him—people often mistook him for a high schooler, even though he was already about to graduate college.
At sixteen, his features were only a little more youthful—subtle differences in the shape of his eyes and brows.
He pinched his own cheek and, to his dismay, confirmed that this really was his current body. Even his height had shrunk by a few centimeters.
From 175 cm, he was now barely 170.
Thinking of the “master” the old woman had mentioned, Chen Li grabbed his robe and made up his mind to escape.
He didn’t know when he might lose control of his body again. Whoever was forcing him into this marriage, he wasn’t going to sit back and let it happen.
Otherwise, someone might just die of jealousy.
With that thought, Chen Li’s previously hesitant heart suddenly became resolute. He stepped onto a rosewood chair and climbed through the unlocked window.
The ghosts here must not be very smart—they hadn’t even considered he might try to run. So once he made it outside, no one stopped him.
The hem of the robe got in his way, so he bundled it up in his arms and ran, picking a direction and sprinting straight ahead. He’d assumed he was in some ancient setting, but after running a short distance, he saw a few small buildings with green tiles and red bricks. After passing them, he suddenly found himself on a bustling commercial street filled with modern atmosphere.
The style of this place was wildly inconsistent, its most striking feature being the complete lack of cohesion in its design.
The buildings looked like they had been pieced together from different eras and places—even the “people” seemed the same way. It was clear someone had tried to replicate real-world architecture by copying and pasting large sections, but instead of creating familiarity, it only emphasized how fragmented everything was. No one would ever mistake this place for reality.
Whoever created this place clearly wasn’t very smart.
That was what Chen Li thought, though he didn’t dare let his guard down as he ran.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side this time. He heard footsteps behind him—someone was chasing him.
It was like a cat toying with a mouse, deliberately letting him hear the sound. The pursuer kept just enough distance to be heard but never caught up, always lingering just behind.
At first, Chen Li thought it might be the old woman from earlier. But the oppressive aura pressing in from behind made his whole body feel wrong. A chill rose from the soles of his feet and seeped into his bones. This was no mere old woman—this was something far more dangerous.
Chen Li’s heart skipped a beat. With the last of his strength, he rammed into a nearby door. Though it looked locked, it burst open the moment he hit it, sending him tumbling inside.
He crashed to the floor—and when he looked up, he was met with hundreds, maybe thousands, of human heads.
Just before he could scream, he realized they weren’t real.
They were bronze—cast human heads bearing expressions of serene compassion, packed tightly together, all staring downward at anyone who entered. Staring at him—a small sacrificial offering that had delivered itself.
This was an altar. A shrine dedicated to some unknown and long-forgotten god.
In the real world, this might have been an ordinary temple, but here, in this twisted place, it radiated a dark, malevolent energy. The altar had come alive.
Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed like the countless heads above him shifted slightly, their gazes following him as he stood up.
Outside, the terrifying footsteps were drawing closer. If he had stayed calm and analyzed it, he might have noticed that the sounds were still outside—but they were being amplified, as if someone were piping them straight into his ears.
But a frightened little prey doesn’t have the mind for such details. All that remained in his head was a single thought: Run!
His face pale, he stumbled further inside, not realizing he was stepping right into the jaws of the beast.
The delicate ornaments on his robe—strings of emerald beads and pendants—clinked together with clear, ringing sounds. The golden embroidery of phoenix tail feathers swept across his ankles. And the moment he stepped into the center of the altar, the stone eyes of several carved lion statues began to glow red.
These were guardian beasts meant to restrain offerings—bathed in blood for a hundred days and nights until even their insides were soaked with violence. Anything that once held a glimmer of life or a chance to escape had no hope of slipping past their claws.
A roar erupted from the stone lions—they were moving. As if truly alive, the statues sprang into motion, their stone bodies unnaturally agile as they lunged toward the boy at the center of the altar.
Chen Li hadn’t expected his luck to be this bad. The moment the lions pinned down his wrists and ankles, forcing him to the ground, he gave up any futile attempt to struggle.
These creatures didn’t even need to exert real effort. Their sheer weight alone was enough to crush him—to splatter his blood across the entire altar.
And as if things weren’t bad enough, the owner of those approaching footsteps finally appeared at the door. Sunlight spilled in behind him, casting a golden rim around his silhouette.
He didn’t need to speak—just standing there, he exuded a sharp, silent menace. The air thickened with danger.
Chen Li shut his eyes in despair.
The man approached with a hint of amusement, casually holding a piece of red cloth in one hand. It was as if he couldn’t see the predicament Chen Li was in. Kneeling on one knee, he leaned down and looked at him with a faint smile: “You forgot this.”
Even if the tone was wrong, the moment that voice reached his ears, Chen Li’s eyes flew open. His round, almond-shaped eyes widened, shimmering like pale-colored cat’s-eye gems. His breath caught: “Fu Moyang!”
But the man standing above him gave no response to his name—not even a flicker of recognition. Like a child who didn’t understand what was wrong, he tilted his head slightly, still insisting: “You forgot this.”
He extended his hand again, showing him the object.
Chen Li’s gaze moved warily from those beast-like vertical pupils to the red cloth in his hand.
It wasn’t just a piece of fabric. It matched the ornate clothing Chen Li wore—it was a traditional bridal veil, the kind meant to cover the bride’s face.
The sight of it nearly made Chen Li think he was having that strange dream again. Why else would this veil be here? And when he looked down, the clothes on his body were identical to what he had worn in that dream. It was only because his mind had been in chaos that he hadn’t realized it sooner.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sharp pain at the corner of his eye.
Fu Moyang had reached out and harshly pinched the skin just beneath his eye. His gaze was twisted with obsessive intensity: “Why won’t you look at me?”
Only when that small patch of skin turned red and those beautiful eyes finally looked at him again did he seem satisfied.
With the flush of color around his eyes, Chen Li looked like he had just been bullied into tears. After calling the man’s name once, he fell silent.
He realized something was very wrong.
The person in front of him was no longer Fu Moyang—at least, not the one he knew. What stood before him was a wild beast, driven purely by instinct and impulse. There was no reason, no emotion—just raw, animalistic desire.
He was Fu Moyang, and yet, not.
The man didn’t give him time to think. Just as Chen Li feared, he moved like a dominant predator. Leaning down, he brought his face close to Chen Li’s neck and began sniffing him—slow and deliberate.
From top to bottom, he pressed his face against his skin, as if inspecting a precious little treat he had caught. Savoring his scent like a lion circling its prey.
And then, obsession and madness gave way to something deeper, more dangerous. The silver-grey pupils contracted to sharp slits, a storm of unspoken hunger raging within.
Somehow, the stone lions had slunk back to their original spots, returning to lifeless statues once more.
Everywhere the man’s high-bridged nose brushed over flushed pink. Chen Li gasped softly, his fingers curling involuntarily. The intensity of the sensation pressed against his chest, leaving him almost breathless.
“W–wait…!”
Fu Moyang’s hand moved to Chen Li’s belt. Tied hastily in panic, it would only take a gentle tug to unravel—to reveal everything beneath.
Even though the man’s desire surged like a tidal wave, threatening to spill over, he abruptly stopped.
His beast-like eyes showed a flash of confusion and—strangely—grievance, like a dog scolded by its master just before dinner. He tilted his head in puzzlement: “Little… lamb?”