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Mu Ye'an's words were casual, almost indifferent, as if Ruan Qing's life meant nothing to him.
Hearing this, Ruan Qing froze, his expression locking in terror. Without thinking, he spun around to flee.
Whoosh.
But the moment he turned, a knife whistled past his ear—embedding itself deep into the tree ahead with a solid thunk, severing a few strands of his hair in its wake.
Had the blade veered even slightly, it wouldn’t have been just his hair that was cut.
Ruan Qing’s eyes widened, his pupils contracting sharply. His delicate face drained of all color, and his legs gave out beneath him, sending him collapsing to the ground.
It was still afternoon, sunlight bathing Miao Village in a deceptive warmth, glinting off the severed strands of hair floating in the air.
Like butterflies with broken wings, the strands drifted aimlessly for a moment before finally settling on the ground—cruel and merciless, as if foreshadowing something far worse.
"Did I say you could move?"
Mu Ye'an's voice came from behind Ruan Qing, flat and emotionless, yet chilling enough to seep into the bones.
The threat of death had already paralyzed Ruan Qing. His slender frame trembled faintly as he sat frozen on the ground, too terrified to move another inch.
Too weak to even try.
The air hung heavy with silence, the tension so thick that no one dared to breathe too loudly. Even the players stood stunned, struggling to process what had just happened.
The short-haired girl was the first to regain her senses. Her eyes flickered with pity as she glanced at the pitiful figure on the ground. She opened her mouth, hesitating before whispering, "If we kill him, that man will definitely—"
Her words died abruptly under Mu Ye'an's idle gaze, the rest of her sentence lodged in her throat, never to be spoken.
Because his eyes made one thing clear: One more word, and you'll join him.
The other players weren’t in favor of killing the boy either. That dangerous man was likely the boss of this dungeon—if they murdered someone under his protection, they’d make an enemy of him for good, painting a target on their backs.
It’d be digging their own graves.
But none of them dared to oppose Mu Ye'an. In fact, aside from the short-haired girl, none of them even had the courage to speak up.
Angering that man might mean death later. But angering Mu Ye'an meant death now.
These past two days had been enough for them to learn exactly what kind of person this top player was. When he gave an order, anyone who dared contradict him would be silenced—permanently.
He was nothing but a tyrannical dictator, refusing to tolerate even the slightest opposition.
The air grew deathly still again—so silent you could hear a pin drop.
After a moment of hesitation, one of the players turned and walked away without a word. The others exchanged uneasy glances before finally following suit, their faces etched with reluctance.
If they couldn’t fight back, couldn’t they at least flee?
They had only followed Mu Ye’an and Fang Qingyuan in the first place to improve their chances of survival. But now, it was clear this path led only to death—better to strike out on their own.
Back on the field ridge, the short-haired girl had once saved the bespectacled male player by pulling him to safety. Now, seeing her still frozen in place, he tugged at her sleeve as he left. "Let’s go."
Biting her lip, the girl glanced back at the young man one last time before reluctantly following the others.
Mu Ye’an didn’t stop them. Then again, it had never been him following the group—it was always them clinging to him.
In this endless nightmare of a game, the weak instinctively sought out the strong, hoping for protection and clues. Too bad he wasn’t the type to shield anyone.
With the players gone, only Mu Ye’an and Ruan Qing remained. A breeze drifted past, lifting strands of Ruan Qing’s hair in a graceful arc—but nothing could soften the terror in his eyes.
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, damp locks clinging to his pale face. His beautiful eyes shimmered with unshed tears, as though they might spill over at any second.
Yet he seemed too afraid to even cry, terrified that the slightest provocation would get him killed.
Mu Ye’an glanced at the trembling figure on the ground before walking toward the tree and yanking his knife free from the bark.
Ruan Qing watched the man twirl the blade, his own eyes wide with dread. Instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to cooperate. Even if they had, there was no escaping this demon.
As the man drew closer, the razor-sharp knife glinting in his hand, Ruan Qing could no longer hold back his fear. His face drained of color, his voice quivering with barely suppressed sobs.
"P-please… don’t kill me…"
"Hm?" Mu Ye’an paused, looking down at the pitiful figure crumpled before him.
"Give me one good reason not to."
His towering frame blocked out the light, casting a suffocating shadow over Ruan Qing—ominous, unyielding, and utterly lethal.
Ruan Qing fought back the tears welling in his eyes, his voice trembling as he spoke, "I—I can be useful. I know Miao Village well... I can guide you."
"I'm already familiar with it." Mu Ye'an remained unmoved. The excuse clearly wasn’t enough to sway him.
Tears brimmed even heavier in Ruan Qing’s eyes, his delicate face etched with fear and desperation as he scrambled for another reason.
"Y-You could use me to threaten others..."
"Unnecessary." Mu Ye'an replied coolly. "I already have all the information I need."
Yet, strangely, Mu Ye'an didn’t seem in any hurry to kill him outright—instead, he appeared to relish Ruan Qing’s helpless, pitiful state.
Many sadists didn’t kill their prey immediately. They preferred to watch them struggle, to savor the thrill of tormenting them.
But anyone who knew Mu Ye’an would have been shocked. He was notorious for his ruthlessness—when he decided to kill, he never hesitated, never wasted time waiting for excuses.
And he certainly never bothered to patiently refute every desperate plea.
It was almost as if... Ruan Qing simply hadn’t given him a reason he found interesting enough.
But Ruan Qing didn’t know that. With each rejection, his fear deepened, his mind racing for another way out.
Yet under the crushing weight of death’s threat, his thoughts turned sluggish, his reasoning fraying at the edges.
No more excuses came to him. Death seemed inevitable.
The early summer air wasn’t cold, but even as sunlight spilled over him, Ruan Qing felt no warmth—only a bone-deep chill that left his mind numb and blank.
Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he begged, "I... I can be useful. Please don’t kill me."
Gone was his usual arrogance. Now, his slender frame trembled faintly, his eyes red-rimmed, his fair face drained of color—utterly fragile, utterly helpless.
But this pitiful display didn’t inspire sympathy.
If anything, it provoked something darker—a twisted urge to torment him further.
Because even in fear, even in tears, he was devastatingly alluring.
Mu Ye’an’s gaze darkened. He tilted Ruan Qing’s chin up with the tip of his knife, his voice low and deliberate.
"What?"
"Planning to seduce me the way you did with them?"
