Chapter 56

Chapter 56: Trapped by Love (Part 2)

“Am I not good?”

Song Wei Chen’s mind went blank.

She stiffened even more. This wasn’t a hug anymore—it was a cage.

She didn’t know that with every question he asked, something inside him cracked a little deeper, and with every answer she gave, he edged closer to the cliff. Feeling her body rigid in his arms, he closed his eyes and asked, almost gently, “Are you afraid of me?”

“Boss, listen to yourself,” she blurted, nerves making her bold. “Of course I’m afraid of you. Employees being afraid of their boss is only natural!”

The answer came too easily.

Pain flickered through him, sharp and quiet.

Why wouldn’t she be afraid? He was the one who had thrown her into Blackwater—again and again. The one who had forced her into danger. The one who had left her wounded, bleeding, near death.

In her eyes, he was a thousand-year ice block. A work machine with no feelings. A devious, harsh dust warden official.

He wanted to explain, but didn’t know where to start. He wanted to care, but couldn’t find the shape of the words. He wanted to be closer, but felt he had no right.

Hadn’t he placed an Emotion-Severing Ward on himself? He should have expected nothing. He should have kept his distance.

Bitter self-mockery rose like a bruise.

The skiff slowed and docked at the Dust Warden Office. Song Wei Chen visibly loosened, then nudged his arm. “Boss… we’re here.”

He released her.

She scrambled away like a bird freed from a snare—and immediately collapsed, her legs giving out beneath her.

Before her body even finished processing the fall, Mo Ting Feng was already catching her, hauling her back against him. All his reason, all his restraint, all the consequences he’d sworn to fear—none of it existed in that moment.

“You’re too weak,” he said, voice tight. “I’ll take you back.”

He carried her through the Dust Warden Office as if no one else existed.

Song Wei Chen’s face burned. “Boss… put me down. There are so many people.”

“What,” he said coldly, “are you afraid Gu Cang Yue will get jealous?”

She coughed, trying to sound casual. “I’m thinking of you, Boss. If your little ‘Mian Mians’ see this, they’ll be upset. They might even start questioning your orientation.”

Mo Ting Feng stopped mid-step, eyes shifting. “So you’re jealous of me and Ruan Xing Xuan?”

Song Wei Chen’s mind short-circuited so hard she couldn’t even answer.

Her silence, however, landed like an admission.

A faint, involuntary smile tugged at him. No wonder she had used her White Robe identity to toy with Ruan Mian Mian. It all made sense now.

He set her gently on the bed, fed her water, gave her medicine, stayed until her breathing steadied. He left careful instructions with Gu Yu about meals and recovery—so detailed it bordered on obsession—before finally forcing himself to leave Venerable Manor.

The moment he was gone, Gu Yu leaned in, eyes bright with gossip. “If you weren’t a man, I’d think the dust warden official has fallen for you.”

Song Wei Chen stared at her like she’d told a ghost story. “Mo Ting Feng? Fallen for me? Impossible.”

In her mind, he was the man who called her a liar and a suspect. The man who embarrassed her in public. The man who decided everything for her and forced her to obey. Mo Ting Feng falling for a donkey made more sense than Mo Ting Feng falling for her.

“Pah, pah, pah!” she said, swatting the air as if she could knock the thought away. “Why are you telling ghost stories at night?”

“I’m serious,” Gu Yu insisted, dreamy-eyed. “It’s like those storybooks—an overlord falling for a sickly beauty.”

“You really ship every pairing,” Song Wei Chen muttered. “Eating everything like that will only hurt you.”

Gu Yu was still trying to talk when Song Wei Chen cut her off. Mo Ting Feng had told her tomorrow’s interrogation of Nian Niang would be at the Chen hour. Before then, she needed people sent to Bao Er’s home.

She forced herself to give the instructions, stubbornly holding herself upright until the last detail was settled.

Then the weakness caught up with her. Sleep dragged her under.

Elsewhere, at Wind-Listening Manor, someone else lay sleepless.

Mo Ting Feng couldn’t shake the image of Song Wei Chen and Gu Cang Yue—how they looked at each other, how they touched. It sat in him like thorns.

Before dawn, he made his decision and went to a place most wouldn’t dare step into.

Deep Dreamlands.

Mist clung to it year-round. Even under daylight, there was no warmth; at night, the cold sank into bone.

Mo Ting Feng, cloaked in black, walked into a dark teal, Chinese-style estate that carried a faint Gothic edge. Orange-red paper lanterns hung beneath the eaves, candlelight flickering in a way that was both gorgeous and wrong.

“What wind blew the dust warden official here?” a woman drawled.

She sat in a pavilion surrounded by red spider lilies, drinking beneath the moon. Her eyes were dangerously beautiful, her lips fire-bright, black curls spilling to her waist. Her skin was so pale it seemed to glow.

She wore only a gauzy dress that swayed like a manjusaka flower, matched with embroidered shoes. Bare shoulders, bare legs—and not a trace of shiver.

Mo Ting Feng sat across from her. A phantom miss appeared at once, poured him a cup, set a jug by his hand, then dissolved like smoke.

He lifted the cup in a small salute. “Same rules as always. Tonight I drink with you until you’re satisfied. We don’t stop until we’re drunk.”

He drained it in one swallow.

“Brother Feng,” the beauty said, pipe in hand, crimson nails curling around the silver, “you’re carrying something.”

She took a slow drag and exhaled. Another phantom miss appeared to pour wine for them both, then vanished.

“The person I asked you to find has appeared,” Mo Ting Feng said.

The beauty froze. “The Miss Sang Pu you searched for for a thousand years… she’s appeared?”

He didn’t answer—only poured and drank, cup after cup.

“How could that be?” she pressed. “We couldn’t find her at all. Are you sure it’s her?”

“I think it is,” he said at last, voice rough, “but I’m not certain. That’s why I came to you. Tracing past-life roots through a living person’s blood… only you can do that.”

He took out the silk handkerchief that had been wrapped around Song Wei Chen’s wounded wrist, stained dark with old blood. With a spell, he refined the blood into a single drop and sealed it within a small golden barrier. It floated to the beauty like a firefly.

“Hua Shan,” he said quietly. “Help me confirm whether it’s her. And if it is… whether she has a past-life imprint, when it formed, and who it’s tied to.”

The woman was Bei Hua Shan—the Nether Warden who ruled Deep Dreamlands, and the only woman among the seal-holders of the Three Bureaus.

She nodded and hooked a finger. The blood vanished.

“If it really is her,” Bei Hua Shan warned, “be careful. To appear this suddenly… something may be brewing in the dark.”

Mo Ting Feng’s cup was empty. With a flick of his hand, the jug by her side slid into his grasp. He wanted to drown the conflict inside him, to numb it until it stopped tearing at his ribs.

“You and Yu Heng both say that,” he muttered. “Of course I’ll be careful.”

Then a bitter smile tugged at his mouth. “But if it’s truly her… even if Avici Hell is right in front of me, I’ll jump without hesitation.”

Bei Hua Shan studied him as if seeing him for the first time.

“You’ve changed.”