Lei Jin and Mingya spent half the day searching the area. The ruins of collapsed buildings were everywhere, overgrown with weeds, but the towering city wall that seemed so close remained frustratingly out of reach. No matter how far they walked, they couldn’t seem to get any closer—as if they were going in circles.

“This place is seriously weird,” Lei Jin muttered, chewing on a blade of grass as he leaned against Mingya, one leg propped up and swinging idly. He couldn’t figure out what was going on.

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“Lei Jin, what should we do now?” Mingya rolled onto his back, pulling Lei Jin onto his stomach. The two had been lying on this overgrown path for a while now, and the ground was freezing.

“Quiet, let me think.” Lei Jin adjusted his position, resting comfortably on Mingya. This makes no sense. Is there some kind of barrier or illusion at work here? If so, they were in trouble—he knew nothing about this kind of thing.

Remembering Roger’s map, Lei Jin carefully pulled it out along with the black jade stones. But to his disappointment, Roger’s map mainly marked underground passages, with only a few surface structures—all inside that damn city wall.

“Huh?” Lei Jin frowned, noticing something strange.

“What is it?” Mingya perked up, scanning their surroundings warily.

“There are two strange symbols here. What do they mean?” Roger had probably explained them, but Lei Jin had only paid attention to the parts inside the city wall, assuming the rest wasn’t important. Now, ironically, they were stuck outside. There were annotations, but he couldn’t read Roger’s writing.

“Mingya doesn’t understand either.” The symbols were too strange—he’d never seen anything like them.

“Didn’t expect you to.” Lei Jin had been talking to himself anyway.

“But Mingya knows this word!” Mingya’s large paw covered the entire map, blocking Lei Jin’s view of whatever he was pointing at.

“Stop messing around. Let me see.” Lei Jin pushed his paw aside.

“That word means ‘tree.’ Mingya knows it—papa taught us.” Mingya insisted, anxious that Lei Jin didn’t believe him.

“Tree?” Lei Jin’s eyes lit up. He scrambled off Mingya and climbed onto a nearby rock, surveying their surroundings. Everywhere else was overgrown, but to the southwest, trees loomed thickly. Could the entrance to the forbidden area be hidden there? Guessing wouldn’t help—they had to check.

“Mingya, let’s go that way.” The more Lei Jin thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.

Mingya obediently crouched, gesturing for Lei Jin to climb onto his back.

“This place…” Lei Jin’s brows furrowed. Why was it here?

Mingya landed in a small clearing.

“Huh? Isn’t this where Mingya first met you?” Mingya looked around at the familiar scenery. Back then, something had urged him to come here. He’d just perched on a tree when a beautiful, scantily dressed female climbed up. His heart had raced—he’d instantly known this was the feeling papa described when you liked someone.

With Mingya’s confirmation, Lei Jin was certain. Despite seasonal differences in the landscape, this was definitely the spot. So after all this circling, the way back is where I came from. That day, he’d felt something unsettling deep in the forest. Now he realized—he’d been looking toward the so-called forbidden area.

As dusk fell, the forbidden area loomed in the mist, exuding an ominous aura.

Gurgle… Gurgle…

“What was that?” Lei Jin turned to Mingya.

Mingya hugged his stomach and grinned sheepishly. “Mingya’s hungry.”

“The mood is practically ruined by you.” Lei Jin patted his head. They hadn’t eaten since morning—with his size, no wonder Mingya was starving.

“Let’s find something to eat.”

“Are we still going there?” Mingya hoped not. The place smelled weird, and he didn’t like it.

“Tomorrow.” Now that they’d found the entrance, one more night wouldn’t hurt. Besides, sunlight might make the place less eerie.

“Oh.” Mingya’s last hope was dashed. He really didn’t like that place, but if Lei Jin was going, he’d follow.

Whether due to the cold or the forbidden area’s influence, it took them a long time to find any animal tracks in the snow. But their patience paid off—they caught a dragon pig.

“Life is complete.” Lei Jin had a complicated relationship with dragon pigs. One had attacked him on his first day here, and now, on his last, he got revenge. It might not be the same one, but close enough.

Rock shelters weren’t rare in the forest—with time and patience, you could always find one. Right now, Mingya was outside gutting the boar while Lei Jin gathered firewood. The damp branches were hard to light, and once they finally caught, the smoke was thick.

Lei Jin skewered the meat, scored it with his knife, rubbed it with salt, and roasted it over the fire. The heavy smoke gave it a smoky flavor. After scraping off the charred bits, the meat inside was tender. Dragon pig was finer than wild boar but more flavorful than farmed pork. They ate some and packed the rest for tomorrow.

Lei Jin woke in the middle of the night to find himself in Mingya’s arms again. Hot tears dripped onto his neck, searing his skin.

“Mingya…” Lei Jin sighed inwardly. This pure-hearted boy had stayed by his side from beginning to end, through all the twists and turns, from the beginning to the end.

Mingya turned his head, avoiding Lei Jin’s hand. His voice trembled. “Lei Jin, are you really leaving tomorrow?”

Lei Jin hummed lightly in affirmation.

“Will you remember Mingya?”

“I don’t know.” Lei Jin stared at the snow outside. He wanted to forget this world and start fresh—but could he? He wasn’t sure.

“Mingya will remember you forever. Elder Brother and Second Brother will too. Even if you leave, remember the way home. We’ll wait for you. Mingya will plant lots of grapevines in the yard so you’ll have grapes when you come back…” He remembered how much Lei Jin loved wild grapes in summer.

“I won’t come back.” Lei Jin hardened his heart and interrupted him.

“Mingya will wait and wait. Until you return.” Mingya clutched Lei Jin’s sleeve, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Don’t cry, Mingya.” Lei Jin tilted his head up in the dim firelight. Mingya’s blue eyes were glazed with tears, droplets rolling down his cheeks.

“How can I leave peacefully if you’re like this?” Lei Jin pulled him into a tight embrace. When he’d first arrived, this kid had loved curling up in his arms. Now Mingya was big enough to hold him in return—but he was leaving.

“Then Mingya won’t cry. Mingya won’t be sad.” Mingya bit his lip, sniffling hard.

Lei Jin’s heart ached, but he forced a smile, tilting Mingya’s chin up. “Let me see—are your eyes red like a rabbit’s now?”

“Mingya really isn’t crying.” Mingya buried his face in Lei Jin’s shoulder and refused to move, his voice thick with tears.

Then what’s soaking my shoulder? Lei Jin thought wryly. Mingya, I’m not worth it. You understand? Someone worthy wouldn’t watch you all suffer and still walk away. You, Xiya, Moya… you all deserve better.

Mingya cried himself to exhaustion. Lei Jin, however, couldn’t sleep. As dawn approached, the cold deepened. He tried to get up to add firewood, but Mingya stirred instantly.

“Lei Jin, where are you going? It’s still dark.” Mingya’s voice was uneasy.

“Just adding wood.” Lei Jin pointed at the dying fire.

“Oh.” Mingya scrambled up, sticking close.

Lei Jin smiled bitterly. Afraid I’ll run off in the middle of the night? He poked the embers, added branches, and blew on them until flames leaped up.

“Lei Jin, look—shooting stars!” Mingya dragged him to the cave entrance, pointing at the sky.

At first, there were just a few. Then, countless stars streaked across the sky toward the southwest—a meteor shower.

Under the same sky, Xiya and Moya were also racing against time.

“Lei Jin, do you have stars where you’re from?”

“Yes.” Though he’d never really looked at them.

“Does it snow there?”

“Yes.” Not like this, though—he hadn’t seen snow this heavy in years.

“…”

“…”

Since neither could sleep, they sat by the cave entrance, watching the stars and chatting idly until dawn. The time for parting had come.

According to Roger’s map, an underground passage between two trees outside the city wall led to the Door of Reincarnation. But after searching, Lei Jin and Mingya only found a collapsed entrance. Abandoning that plan, they followed a crumbling road hidden in the woods.

Up close, the city wall was made of massive stone bricks, weathered but still standing. The gates were two towering black monoliths—each weighing tons. How had the people who used to live here move them?

The gates, unused for years, creaked ominously as Lei Jin and Mingya pushed them open just enough to squeeze through.

Mingya wrinkled his nose in discomfort—the foul stench was getting stronger.

The sight beyond the gates sent chills down Lei Jin’s spine. He suddenly got the urge to turn around and flee, but his will was always strong and he butchered.

Mingya gestured for Lei Jin to climb onto his back.

A broad road stretched ahead, flanked by rows of intact buildings—evidence of past prosperity. But now, the place was eerily silent, shrouded in mist despite the sunlight outside. Shadows lurked everywhere, and Lei Jin felt like he was descending into an abyss.

Then, lights flickered in the windows—approaching.

“Run, Mingya!” Lei Jin shouted.

Mingya, sensing danger, took off instantly, flapping his wings. Behind them, strange creatures emerged—humanoid but covered in gray fur and unable to walk upright, with hooked claws and bat-like wings. Their glowing yellow eyes had been the “lights” Lei Jin saw.

Though Mingya was fast, the creatures were relentless. Plus with a larger number, they soon caught up.

“We need to hide!” Lei Jin said. Fighting blindly was too risky. It was likely that the werebeast disappearances around here were due to these creatures.

“There are only houses, where can we hide, Lei Jin?”

“Definitely not the houses!” Those things had come from inside—entering would be suicide. Even if not, cramped spaces would limit their movement.

As the lead creature swiped at Mingya’s leg, Lei Jin smashed it with a torch. It recoiled but kept coming.

Mingya hid Lei Jin in a thick tree.

“Stay here, Lei Jin.” Mingya nuzzled Lei Jin’s cheek reassuringly before turning to fight.

“Please be careful.” Lei Jin reminded, at this time he couldn’t be indecisive. He would only be a burden to Mingya.

Mingya nodded and turned to battle. Lei Jin couldn’t see the fighting situation clearly in the thick fog. He could only tell from the growls and blows that the battle was quite intense.

Lei Jin was anxious, knowing that no matter how brave and fierce Mingya was, it was impossible for him to handle so many opponents at the same time. But what should he do? What should he do?

Just as Lei Jin was wailing in his heart, a window under the tree was pushed open from the inside. A pair of turbid eyes stared at Lei Jin with a cunning light, and a whistle sounded from his mouth. Then, more creatures began gathering from all directions.

Lei Jin’s blood ran cold. Fine. Let’s see how you like fire. He lit all his oil-soaked torches and hurled them onto the rooftops. To his surprise, the roofs—whatever they were made of—caught instantly. The wind spread the flames rapidly. Seeing this, Lei Jin became a little worried, the forest wouldn’t catch on fire as well, would it? But there wasn’t time to worry about that.

A sound similar to that of a baby crying came from the houses, which made Lei Jin pause. However, when he saw that the fire had dispersed the thick fog and Mingya’s fur was stained red with blood, the last bit of softness in his heart disappeared and he threw torches in one after another.

There seemed to be something very important to them in the houses. Those strange creatures howled and rushed in one after another, but they never came out. The few remaining ones surrounded Mingya and attacked him madly and desperately.

“Mingya, come here.” Lei Jin shouted, came down from the tree, set all the clothes in the basket on fire and threw them at the remaining few creatures.

Though it likely wouldn’t kill them, the distraction bought them time to flee toward the temple at the road’s end. But the temple doors were locked. Lei Jin kicked and shoved, but they wouldn’t budge. The creatures were closing in.

Calm down, calm down. Lei Jin studied the door. There were some patterns on the door, but they were nothing like those in the tribe. The nine numbers from one to nine were represented by nine groups of holes, and there was a fist-sized hole under each group. Lei Jin put the other end of the torch in and tried twice, but it was blocked. The noise behind was getting louder and louder. Suddenly, Lei Jin remembered the time he went to the temple with Xiya. Many things in the temple could be combined in threes, sixs, and fives. Whatever, why not give it a try? He reached in and tinkered with them one by one. With a click, the door opened automatically. Lei Jin pulled Mingya in and slammed the door shut, two claws that had swiped after them got caught by the door and broke off.

Inside, the temple was pitch-black. Lei Jin didn’t care about the deity but he still cupped his fists in respect. He then headed straight for the third room behind the altar, where Roger’s map indicated a hidden passage.

After entering, Lei Jin was taken aback. The tunnel walls were translucent, emitting a faint glow—crystal veins? Lei Jin thought of Chunji, who’d mentioned his homeland’s crystal mines which was why he had a lot of crystal vials at home. But this time in order to keep his leaving a secret, he never even said goodbye to him.

“Mingya, let me check your wounds.” Lei Jin collapsed, exhausted but feeling like they were out of danger for the moment.

“Mingya’s fine.” For some reason, Mingya avoided Lei Jin’s approach.

“You’re covered in blood. How is that fine?” Lei Jin insisted.

“It’s their blood.” There’s no time, Lei Jin, there’s no time. As the houses caught on fire and collapsed, Mingya felt as if the crystal tunnel was also starting to tremble.

“Are you really okay?” Lei Jin lowered his eyes and looked at him, somewhat unconvinced.

“En.” Mingya stood up and shook his fur. The beads of blood yet to dry were shaken off by him, and the silver fur became much cleaner immediately.

Lei Jin was relieved then, turned around and led the way with a torch in hand.

But the winding tunnel eventually led back to the collapsed entrance outside the city wall.

“Mingya, go home from here. The rest is my journey alone.” Lei Jin wasn’t disappointed, only relieved—this way, Mingya wouldn’t face those creatures again.

“Mingya wants to watch you leave.” Mingya crouched in the shadows, refusing to step into the sunlight.

“Fine. But remember—go home after.” If Mingya followed secretly, it’d be worse.

The whole time, Lei Jin didn’t see Mingya’s injured hind leg dragging blood behind him.

At the tunnel’s end stood a translucent door engraved with star patterns like those in the tribe’s temple. Lei Jin fitted the three black jade stones into the third groove and turned them. The door began to rise—and Roger’s pocket watch, silent until now, started ticking. Lei Jin’s heart picked up in excitement. This should be it.

But the door stopped after rising just an inch—barely enough for a mosquito to pass.

“What’s wrong?” Lei Jin anxiously checked for more mechanisms but found none.

Although he knew it was unlikely, Mingya was still afraid that Lei Jin would accidentally see his wound, so he quietly moved to the corner. Inadvertently, he seemed to touch a protruding object. He accidentally pressed it and the door actually began to rise again.

“Lei Jin, the door is opening.” Mingya said in surprise, staring.

“Strange. Did it just jam earlier?” Lei Jin muttered.

Beyond the door was a white void, nothing visible as far as the eye could see.

“I’m leaving, Mingya.” Lei Jin tried to sound casual, but the weight in his chest belied his words. It turned out that when the time to leave really came, he wasn’t as relieved and happy as he thought.

Mingya was already crying silently, unable to speak. He only crouched on the ground, unmoving.

“Don’t cry so much in the future.” Lei Jin turned away, not allowing himself to hesitate any further.

“Lei Jin, remember Mingya! Remember to come back!” Mingya finally broke, crying out loud.

Lei Jin clenched his fists, then unable to resist, he glanced back—and froze.

Because as this door rose, another stone slab was descending behind Mingya, trapping him.

“Mingya, run!” Lei Jin’s vision darkened as he lost consciousness.

“Mingya…”

“Who are you calling, Brother Jin?” Liu Si mumbled, turning on the bedside lamp.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Liu Si?” Lei Jin avoided her outstretched hand, rubbing his throbbing temples. “Where am I?”

“Brother Jin, are you sleep-talking? This is your home. I was hoping for a nice evening, but you fell asleep in the bathtub. I barely managed to drag you to bed, and now you’re calling out ‘Mingya’? Male? Female?” Liu Si smoothed her long hair, poking Lei Jin with a manicured nail.

“Was it all just a dream?” But it had felt so real.

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For someone with little wilderness survival experience like Lei Jin, navigating this vast, untamed jungle without getting lost was no easy feat. Clear days with the sun or nights with the North Star were manageable, but overcast skies or snowstorms left him fumbling blindly.

It was the sixth day of his solo journey. By noon, the north wind had whipped up a blizzard, turning the forest into a silent, silver-white world in no time. The only sound was the crunch of snow beneath his feet, his footprints quickly swallowed by fresh powder. His legs ached, and the gray sky made it impossible to gauge the time. Exhausted, he stopped beneath a tree that offered minimal shelter, brushing snow from his hat and scarf before crouching to rest. He scooped a handful of snow into his mouth, the meltwater chilling him to the core. Though he had no appetite, he forced down a few bites of spicy dried meat, the cold and spice churning his stomach uncomfortably. Resigned, he carefully counted out two rock fruits from his dwindling supply, cracking them open with a stone. Back home, he’d only appreciated their sweetness—now, he valued their energy-boosting properties.

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Faint sounds of struggle echoed intermittently around him. Not daring to rest long, Lei Jin pushed himself up once he regained some strength. Scraping snow from the tree trunk, he checked for moss—one of the few survival tricks he knew: moss grew thickest on the north side of trees in dense forests. Confirming his direction, he trudged westward.

As darkness fell, he still hadn’t found shelter. Would he have to spend another night curled against a random tree? But tonight, the snow was relentless. This journey had truly hammered home how difficult wilderness survival was. With Xiya and Moya, they’d always found caves and never worried about food. When he first arrived in this world, Mingya had been by his side, with Xiya and Moya secretly watching over him. Now, he was truly alone.

Ahead loomed a mountain—impossible to cross tonight. Knowing higher elevations meant colder temperatures, Lei Jin resolved to find a windbreak at the base. But after scouring the cliffs, not even a crevice large enough to squeeze into presented itself, let alone a cave.

Barely suppressing the urge to scream into the void, Lei Jin knew he needed proper rest and a fire tonight. His body heat was draining fast—if he didn’t freeze to death by morning, he’d collapse soon after. Frustration mounting, he kicked a nearby tree in frustration—only to stumble forward as his foot met no resistance. Snow and debris gave way, revealing a deep hollow within the trunk. Lei Jin leapt back, wary of hibernating predators, but no movement came from the darkness. With night fully fallen, he couldn’t see inside. Cautiously, he lit an oil-soaked torch from his basket and tossed it in. The flame illuminated most of the hollow—apparently empty. But as he leaned in, four tiny red eyes glinted from above, followed by the rush of dark wings.

“The hell—?” Lei Jin dodged, but not fast enough. Razor-sharp claws tore through his shoulder.

Already drained by cold and hunger, the attack ignited a surge of adrenaline. When the creatures dove again, he lunged inside, snatching the torch to swing at them. They shied from the flames but refused to leave, harassing him until they finally vanished into the night, conceding the hollow to its stubborn new occupant.

The tree’s interior was dry, though sticky black residue coated the floor. Lei Jin cleared it with branches, piled snow to half-block the entrance, and lit a fire. He knew the risks of flames in a forest at night, but freezing took priority over hypothetical dangers.

The dried meat was rock-hard. After warming snowwater in a bamboo tube, Lei Jin curled up in the hollow and slept.

By morning, only two hand-widths of the entrance remained uncovered.

Emerging, Lei Jin found the snow lighter but still falling. Not far in, the ground felt odd underfoot. Kicking aside snow revealed dozens of dead bats—rodent-faced, razor-clawed, each larger than a goose.

“Ugly.” Likely last night’s assailants. But why so many corpses here? Shrugging, he pressed on.

Seven days alone, plus seventeen on the grassland and sea—twenty-four days total. Twenty-one remained until year’s end.

Beyond the mountain lay a flat snowfield. Only after crossing most of it did Lei Jin realize his mistake: this wasn’t land, but a frozen river. The crackling of thin ice confirmed it. Despite caution, the fragile surface fractured relentlessly. Lan Qi’s pearl made him waterproof, not coldproof. Flailing in the icy water, his limbs grew numb, his movements sluggish.

Why was his face wet? Did the dead feel? These were Lei Jin’s first thoughts upon waking.

“Lei Jin! Mingya was wrong! Mingya shouldn’t have stayed so far away! Lei Jin, wake up!” A rough tongue licked his face incessantly.

“Awake.” Groggy, Lei Jin opened his eyes to Mingya’s tear-filled ones. The boy’s lips trembled before he burst into sobs.

“You wouldn’t wake up! You don’t want Mingya anymore!” Mingya accused.

“I’m fine now.” Lei Jin patted his cheek, noting how the once-glossy silver fur had dulled, crisscrossed with fresh scars. “Where’s Lan Qi?”

“Gone back to the sea. But you’re okay now!” Mingya wiped his face, nuzzling Lei Jin’s neck, his blue eyes bright with relief.

That bastard Lan Qi! Tasked with returning Mingya, he’d abandoned him in the jungle instead. Mingya had never traveled alone—who knew what he’d endured?

“Did you eat these past days?”

“Yes! The rabbits you left! Mingya carried them!”

“Idiot.” Those few rabbits wouldn’t have lasted Mingya a single meal. How had he survived a week?

Mingya licked Lei Jin’s collarbone apologetically. Lan Qi had warned that discovery meant being sent away, so he’d trailed from a distance, too worried to hunt lest danger strike in his absence.

“Mingya ate it sparingly!” He beamed, snuggling closer.

“Where’d these injuries come from?” Lei Jin fought down rising anger.

“Mingya was clumsy.” His ears twitched—a telltale lie. The whole family knew this.

Truthfully, Lei Jin had suspected something. Winter meant hibernation, but encountering zero predators in a week was suspicious. Yet finding no trace of Mingya, he’d chalked it up to luck.

Turns out, the fool had followed stealthily all along.

“Do you even understand what I’m doing? I’m leaving—for good. Don’t think this’ll change my mind.” His resolve to return home was unshakable.

“Mingya knows. But Mingya promised to protect you.”

“Why are you such an idiot?” Lei Jin groaned.

“Mingya isn’t stupid!” His papa said Mingya was very smart.

“You are.” Covering Mingya’s mouth, Lei Jin ended the debate.

Mingya pouted mutinously but didn’t dare move.

“Where are my clothes?” The odd sensation of fur against bare skin made Lei Jin realize their position: he was naked, pinned beneath a giant white leopard.

“You were so cold! Mingya couldn’t warm you, so Mingya took them off.” He gestured to the discarded pile nearby—underwear on top.

As Lei Jin shifted, the heat pressing against his hip grew unmistakable. His face darkened.

They were in a small, windless cave, warmed by a fire. A natural stone platform served as their bed, lined with Mingya’s fur coat.

“Don’t be mad. Mingya is sorry. But Mingya was worried.” Mistaking Lei Jin’s tension for anger at being followed.

“Get my clothes.” Lei Jin forced calm. This position was dangerously familiar. It awakened a not so pleasant memory.

“Still cold?” Mingya’s paws roamed freely.

Lei Jin ignored the wandering limbs with a noncommittal hum, urging haste.

“Clothes are cold too.” Mingya scratched his tangled fur, then brightened. “Mingya knows! If Lei Jin sweats, he’ll warm up!”

Dread prickled Lei Jin’s scalp. Mingya’s “solution” would be disastrous.

“Don’t you dare—” He tried to rise, but Mingya held him fast.

“Don’t move! Mingya feels… weird.” His hind legs tightened around Lei Jin’s thighs.

“Then let go!” Lei Jin smacked the paws pinning him.

“It hurts!” Mingya’s eyes welled up.

Lei Jin glared, torn between exasperation at Mingya’s grief and his own softness. Relenting, he stilled.

Seizing the opening, Mingya pinned Lei Jin’s wrists and began licking his chest.

Lei Jin squirmed, but the raspy tongue trailed relentless, teasing his skin into hypersensitivity.

“Stop, Mingya.” His breath hitched, body betraying him with rising heat.

“You’ll be warm soon.” Mingya panted, nibbling a a red nub.

“Lower…” Resigned, Lei Jin shut his eyes. If he was leaving anyway, one last indulgence wouldn’t matter.

Obediently, Mingya lapped at his navel before taking him into his mouth. Untrained but eager, the rough tongue stroked and sucked until Lei Jin became hard.

Lei Jin felt dizzy and his body became hotter and hotter until he turned into a ball of jelly and he no longer had the strength to resist.

Mingya let go of Lei Jin’s hand, grabbed his legs, spread them apart and put them on his shoulders. He then lowered his head and concentrated on tending to that place. Lei Jin panted and moaned, his body, which was lightly sweaty, was stained with a deep, alluring flush, so seductive it was hard to take one’s eye away.

The wet, rough tongue quickly slid across the tip.

“Ngh…” Lei Jin’s body twitched, and he arched his neck, making a pleased sound. He looked up at the cave with a dazed look and immediately came.

He knew in his heart that they couldn’t go on, but his body was too weak to say the words to stop it.

The opening and closing of the warm and soft entrance between the two buttocks attracted Mingya’s attention, reminding him of that time back in the temple, and his body began to heat up.

Unable to control himself, he turned Lei Jin over and licked him from his neck to the pink area between his buttocks. Having orgasmed once, Lei Jin felt very sore and weak, so he decided to let him have his way until he had enough.

Mingya pulled up a piece of clothing and threw it down, making Lei Jin kneel on the ground with his upper half bent over the bed and his buttocks naturally tilted back. He felt Mingya’s rough tongue sliding in, circling and nibbling, and Lei Jin twisted his waist to cooperate with his penetration, an unstoppable delightful numbness surging up from his lower half.

When the slicked hole relaxed, Mingya withdrew his tongue, lining himself up.

As the blunt tip pressed in, Lei Jin’s fogged mind jolted clear. He twisted away. “No. We can’t.” He couldn’t risk another accident.

“But Mingya hurts.” Shifting humanoid, Mingya pouted.

“What now?” Lei Jin rubbed his temples. In this form, Mingya’s injuries stood out starkly—fresh scratches on his face, worst of all a livid, half-healed gash across his lower abdomen, as if torn by claws.

While Lei Jin was glaring, Mingya could no longer resist pouncing. He parted Lei Jin’s thighs and then moved to thrust in.

But Lei Jin was firm this time that there must not be another accident. Mingya could only settle for the second best and rut between Lei Jin’s buttocks, allowing a large amount of pre-cum to to soak their lower halves.

The light in the cave gradually dimmed. Through the firelight, one could vaguely see two entangled and undulating figures moving in sync, moans and musk thick in the air.

Afterward, sweat-drenched and sated, they washed with warmed water. And indeed, they could no longer feel the cold. If it was Xiya or Moya, Lei Jin would have wondered if they did it on purpose, actually thinking to warm up like this. But an airhead like Mingya?

Lei Jin dressed Mingya’s wounds, listening to his account of the past week’s battles—the distant clashes Lei Jin had heard weren’t illusions, but Mingya protecting him from the shadows.

“Don’t leave Mingya again,” the boy pleaded at bedtime, still worried.

“En.” Lei Jin agreed.

Yet come dawn, he found Mingya drowsing but stubbornly awake—too afraid to sleep.

Defeated, Lei Jin stepped outside to discover they’d taken refuge behind a frozen waterfall near where he’d fallen through the ice. Since driving Mingya away was impossible, he might as well keep him close—safer than letting him stalk unseen.

With Mingya’s help, they flew over snowbound forests, reaching the forbidden area in eight days. Roger had described it: ruins of grand structures, the largest resembling their tribe’s temple, with the Door of Reincarnation at its heart.

But thick fog obscured everything. Forced to land, they searched for an entrance through waist-high weeds.

Just as Lei Jin considered forging his own path, a hoarse cackle sounded behind them: “Forty years since a female last came here.”

“Human or ghost?” Lei Jin recoiled. Who’d live in such a place?

Mingya pulled him close protectively.

A gaunt, black-cloaked figure emerged, face shrouded but for piercing blue eyes. “You’re from that world too, aren’t you? The last one had black hair and eyes like yours.”

Lei Jin started. “Someone came forty years ago? Did he leave?”

The old man eyed Mingya and chuckled. “Left, left.” Shaking his head, he turned away.

“How?” Lei Jin grabbed his arm—the skin felt cold and stiff as wood—then recoiled.

Unfazed, the figure pointed at Mingya. “Step over his corpse.”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Bullshit.” Lei Jin scowled. “Why are you cursing him for no reason?”

“His death, or your departure. Enter, and you must choose.” With that prophecy-like statement, the figure vanished into the weeds.

“Ghosts and nonsense.” Shaking off unease, Lei Jin led Mingya forward into the mist.

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Life at sea was truly unbearable.

Huddled ungracefully on the back of a beluga whale, Lei Jin couldn’t help but think this—especially in the dead of winter. The ocean waves were rough, and though the blizzard had stopped, the temperature showed no sign of rising. The sun overhead was nothing more than a decoration, going through the motions without the slightest intention of providing warmth.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Lei Jin exhaled into his cupped hands, rubbing them together. No matter how many layers he wore, the cold still seeped into his bones, sharp as needles. His breath fogged white in the air, and he half-expected it to freeze into ice shards and clatter to the ground.

Mingya circled overhead, never straying far. Seeing Lei Jin’s discomfort, he folded his wings and landed, pressing his warm body against Lei Jin’s back before lifting a wing invitingly. At this point, Lei Jin had no energy left for pride. He twisted around and burrowed into Mingya’s embrace, clinging shamelessly to the living furnace. Who could refuse such warmth, especially when reduced to a shivering icicle? Mingya wrapped his wings tightly around him.

Finally, Lei Jin felt somewhat alive again. He rubbed his itchy nose and let out an enormous sneeze.

“Lei Jin, hugging me will keep you warmer.” Mingya nuzzled the top of Lei Jin’s head with his large muzzle, heart aching at the sight of him burrowing deeper into his fur. Thank goodness I came along. What would he have done without me?

“Yeah, hugging you now.” As a grown man, it was a bit embarrassing to cling to someone else for warmth. But this was Mingya—they were close enough that it shouldn’t matter, right? After a brief internal struggle, Lei Jin quickly made peace with it. Familiarity really does make things easier.

Mingya’s plump front paws patted Lei Jin’s back gently.

Though reluctant to leave the warmth, once the numbness in his limbs began to fade, Lei Jin pushed at Mingya. “Alright, I’m not cold anymore. You should get up.”

He was lucky—Lan Qi had given him a glowing blue pearl to swallow that protected him from the seawater. But Mingya wasn’t so fortunate. The whale cut through the waves, icy spray drenching Mingya’s fur within minutes. Lei Jin had tried asking Lan Qi for another pearl, but the merman had not only refused but rolled his eyes dramatically, muttering something about the pearl not being “something you pick up off the ocean floor” and how Lei Jin was lucky to even have one.

“But your face is still cold.” Mingya licked Lei Jin’s chin, pleading softly. “Mingya isn’t cold at all. Let me stay a little longer?”

Lei Jin reached up to touch the back of Mingya’s neck—damp and freezing. After a pause, he patted his head and threatened, “Get up, Mingya, or I won’t let you follow me anymore.”

Grudgingly, Mingya rose, nuzzling Lei Jin’s neck one last time before taking off with obvious reluctance.

Lei Jin nearly lost his temper, fists clenching and unclenching as he resisted the urge to smack Mingya’s forehead. The kid seemed simple-minded—the type who’d help count the money after being sold—but when it came to taking advantage of Lei Jin’s soft spots, he was anything but stupid. Especially on this journey, where his acting spoiled had escalated to new heights.

“Can you even handle three?” Lan Qi, who had surfaced unnoticed, propped his chin on his hand, watching with amusement.

Lei Jin found the question oddly familiar. After a moment, he realized Berg had asked the same thing. These two really are a match made in… somewhere.

“You could always try it yourself,” Lei Jin quipped, raising an eyebrow with a roguish grin.

“No thanks. Berg alone is enough to drive me mad. Add one more, and I’d lose my mind. Besides, if I ended up with someone like you, I’d die without even knowing where to dig my grave.” Lan Qi gave Lei Jin a once-over, his gaze dripping with disdain. His first impression had been spot-on—this person was nothing but trouble. Just look at what he’d done to his poor werebeasts.

Lei Jin blinked, then feigned offense, touching his ear dramatically. “Me? What’s wrong with me? A high-quality hunk like me—meeting one in your lifetime is a blessing. And you dare complain?”

Lan Qi turned away silently, his lips twitching uncontrollably. After meeting Lei Jin, he realized he’d been a humble and prudent guy all along.

The whale dove beneath the waves, seawater rushing over them. At first, Lei Jin had been fascinated, but after swallowing the pearl, it felt no different from being on the surface. The underwater world was dimly lit, schools of fish darting past. Twice, they encountered sharks, but before Lei Jin could even muster fear, the predators fled in a panic.

A sudden thought struck Lei Jin. He nudged Lan Qi with his elbow, expression grave.

Lan Qi tensed, assuming something was wrong. “What happened?”

“I just wanted to ask—if this pearl makes me waterproof, how am I supposed to bathe?” Lei Jin frowned. Being permanently waterproof sounded like a nightmare. It’d rob him of one of life’s few pleasures.

Lan Qi stared at him blankly, too exhausted to even twitch. You’re a female, and I’m a male merfolk. Have you no sense of propriety? None at all?

“Maybe I can spit it out when we reach shore and return it to you.” Lei Jin mused aloud. “But how do I spit it out? Got any ideas, Lan Qi?”

This time, Lan Qi didn’t bother responding. He plunged back into the sea, swimming far away before stopping to bang his head against a nearby reef. What kind of deity sent this person to torment me? That pearl was his life-core—even if Lei Jin could vomit it up, Lan Qi couldn’t take it back. Instead of worrying about such nonsense, why not focus on the dangers ahead in the forbidden area?

Once Lan Qi was gone, Lei Jin glanced up at Mingya’s shadow on the water’s surface, his gaze turning somber. As a school of fish brushed past, he discreetly sprinkled the last of his sleeping powder onto a roasted rabbit leg.

He’d never been to the forbidden area, but he knew it was no paradise. Surprisingly, Lan Qi was familiar with it too—calling it the “Forest of Reincarnation.” According to merfolk legends, the Forest of Reincarnation on land and the Abyssal Sea near the golden merfolk tribe were the two most mysterious places on the continent. Those who entered never returned, so no one knew what lurked in their depths.

After much deliberation, Lei Jin refused to let Mingya risk it. Leaving had been his choice, so if anything happened, he alone would bear the consequences. Persuasion? Useless. The only option was to knock Mingya out and have Lan Qi return him to the tribe.

Thanks to Lan Qi, their sea journey was relatively smooth. Most of their time was spent traveling, stopping at islands at night to rest and replenish water. Twelve days later, half-frozen but alive, they skirted the Abyssal Sea and reached shore. Lan Qi explained that the Abyssal Sea and the Forest of Reincarnation lay on the same latitude—as long as they didn’t lose their way, heading straight inland would lead them to the forest.

A minor incident occurred when they encountered a group of golden merfolk returning from a hunt. They surrounded Lan Qi, expressions a mix of fear and anger. The tension dissolved only when Lei Jin produced a knotted rope Berg had given him. The merfolk’s faces lit up at the sight, though Lei Jin had no idea what the knots signified.

Lan Qi’s expression, however, didn’t look too pleasant.

Delayed by the encounter, they reached shore after dark. Lei Jin found the cave where he, Xiya, and Moya had once stayed. Though others had clearly been here since, the cave remained largely unchanged. A thick layer of hay still lined the eastern side, though dampness had rotted much of it.

This must have been where it happened. Where the child had been conceived—without him even realizing.

Lei Jin pressed his lips together, stubbornly turning away. It’s over. It’ll all be over soon.

“Lei Jin, Mingya will go find food and fetch water.” Mingya approached, taking Lei Jin’s hand. His youthful face was bright with innocence, his smile radiant.

“No need. It’s too dark and cold outside. We still have food in the basket, and the merfolk gave us seafood. There’s water in the bamboo tubes too—we’ll go tomorrow.” Most of their rations had gone untouched, thanks to Lan Qi’s fishing.

Lei Jin rummaged for broken pottery in the cave, building a makeshift rack with branches. He boiled seafood and dried meat in one pot, reheating the rabbits over the fire.

The seafood carried just a hint of spice, tolerable for both Lan Qi and Mingya. The rabbits went entirely to Mingya, who soon fell asleep against the cave wall.

As Lei Jin repacked the basket, he set aside the remaining rabbits for Mingya.

“Lan Qi,” he said calmly, though his gaze carried undeniable weight, “no matter what happened in the past, take Mingya safely back to the Leopard Tribe, and we’ll call it even.”

“But he doesn’t seem willing.” Lan Qi poked the fire with a stick, flames flaring to illuminate the cave.

Lei Jin turned to see the sleeping boy, two glistening tears trailing down his cheeks.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Do this for me.” Lei Jin looked away, as if afraid he’d change his mind, and strode out of the cave without pause.

“Even if I owe you, why should I listen?” Lan Qi dusted his hands, watching Lei Jin’s retreating figure vanish into the darkness. Lei Jin, I’m starting to wonder—which version of you is real? This is getting more interesting by the minute.

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