Chapter Two: She Is His Only Hope for Escape

"Xiao Nan, you... you're awake." The girl's body trembled, her sobs abruptly halting as she looked over in disbelief, almost as if she'd seen a ghost. "Weren't you scared to death... Who would've thought you'd get kidnapped just going to Four Seasons Sword Hall to learn swordsmanship?"

She started crying again, her eyes swollen like ripe peaches, lips pouting with both grievance and anger.

Kidnapping? This was clearly a blood sacrifice.

Xiao Nan didn't want to explain; if he told her the truth, she might be even more frightened, which would only make things worse. His chances of escape might very well depend on her.

Though this body was frail, Xiao Nan, having survived a decade of blood and storms, had never known resignation. Whatever the odds, he had to fight for it.

"You just took a bath, didn't you?"

The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning incense, laced with a faint trace of soap. The girl’s long black hair was still damp, her skin pale and delicate...

All this told him she hadn't just bathed—she'd been scrubbed thoroughly. And only recently.

"Yes, that wretched fat woman used a huge, rough brush on me and scrubbed my skin raw..." The girl extended her arm, showing the red marks, her anger unmistakable.

So that's why his own skin felt as if it had been gnawed by ants—a sharp, stinging sensation explained at last.

As the girl spoke, flashes of memory flickered through Xiao Nan's mind.

He had been walking down the street when someone struck him from behind, knocking him out. When he came to, two burly men were scrubbing him like a pig bound for slaughter. Then they forced some kind of pill into him and shoved him into this room.

Were these the body's memories? Fragments flashed ceaselessly in his mind...

Yuanjiang Number One High School—he was a student there, sitting in a bright and orderly classroom. The most vivid memories were of a cozy little courtyard, warm and inviting.

One side of the yard was planted with flowers and herbs, and a familiar, busy figure bustled about...

A gentle, kind face—his mother.

And, of course, a mischievous little face that couldn’t be left out. A little girl, wielding a wooden sword with endless energy—his younger sister.

These images were disjointed, without any logical sequence. But the most recent memories, those he could piece together.

He had changed out of his kendo uniform, just leaving Four Seasons Sword Hall, mind still turning over the technique he’d just learned from his instructor—the Spring Rain Slant Stroke—his arm unconsciously mimicking the movement.

He couldn't afford to forget a move he'd just learned—he'd have to demonstrate it for the little terror at home. If he didn't teach her, she’d pester him to the brink of despair.

These were the original owner's memories, unsystematic but seamlessly fusing into his own.

Xiao Nan didn't know how it worked, nor could he resist it. All kinds of emotions—attachment, worry, fear—tumbled together, surging into his heart.

He clenched his fists and found his body a bit more responsive, no longer so heavy and uncoordinated.

Though still weak and soft-muscled, his senses felt much sharper.

Yes, the body was awakening, the memories returning.

Drawing on imagination and experience, Xiao Nan roughly understood his situation.

The original soul had probably been timid, and when brought here for a blood sacrifice, had fainted dead away at the sight of those horrific things—what people called losing one's soul from fright. This often happened to children; even if they awoke, they would be dazed and dull.

But for some reason, at that moment, he had taken control of the body.

Normally, he shouldn’t remember anything of the original’s experience. But the body’s instincts retained some deep-rooted memories, hidden in the most secret corners.

Like amnesia—if someone brings up certain keywords, memories can eventually be retrieved.

The fleeting fragments in his mind were the original’s memories. Over time, more would surface.

He now remembered who the girl was. Zhang Xiaorou from Class Three, Grade Ten—a gentle, soft-hearted underclassman who cried at the drop of a hat.

She had joined Four Seasons Sword Hall just after him; they were part of the same group of students…

There were many strange things in those memories, but Xiao Nan had no time to ponder them. Some people cultivated spiritual powers; others awakened physical potential, achieving strength and resilience beyond his wildest dreams…

But now was not the time for questions. The urgent thing was to escape, not to wait here for death.

He fixed his gaze on the girl's face and said solemnly, "You have to trust me. Whether we escape or not depends on how well you cooperate."

"Okay!" Zhang Xiaorou nodded firmly, her teeth chattering slightly.

The ominous chill wafting from the wooden idol grew ever stronger, making her shrink her neck in terror, her eyes darting with panic.

Even the dullest person would know things were dire now.

Like a drowning man, she would clutch at even a straw if it meant survival.

Who wants to die if there’s a chance to live?

Suddenly, the bloody patterns on the floor glowed, the red light from the idol intensifying.

The wooden grain swelled, writhing like exposed muscle beneath torn skin.

That monstrous figure—half man, half beast—seemed on the verge of coming alive.

"Danger!"

Xiao Nan’s heart raced with urgency.

There was no time left; desperate times called for desperate measures.

He leaned close to Zhang Xiaorou's ear and whispered, "You've seen movies, right? I'll pretend to... you know, assault you. You scream and shout to draw the people outside in."

Without waiting for her reaction, he put his plan into action, grabbing her as if to force himself upon her.

Of course, it was only an act.

Incense burning, bathing, and worship—whether in proper Taoist rites or in a blood sacrifice to some evil god, sincerity and ritual were everything.

He remembered how he and Zhang Xiaorou had been forcibly washed clean, the burning incense, the elaborate blood symbols on the floor...

It was all too ceremonial to be anything but serious.

They were clearly intended as offerings—like the triple sacrifices made to mountain gods and river spirits in ancient texts.

Or perhaps as a pair of pure youths, a boy and a girl.

Xiao Nan didn't know why he and Zhang Xiaorou had been chosen, but as offerings, it made sense they’d be cleaned so thoroughly.

If he could do something "impure" now, defile the offerings, would it disrupt the ritual?

An idea struck him—worth a try.

Unarmed, locked in a sealed chamber, with the beast-headed idol about to awaken—a crisis looming—he had no choice but to gamble.

He didn't know if the evil god's ritual would actually be ruined, but he was certain the cultists wouldn’t dare take the risk. Any disaster or backlash from a failed ceremony would be unthinkable.

He pressed close, holding her in his arms, positioning himself as if about to commit the very act.

Crack!

Xiao Nan gasped, his breath hissing between his teeth as an intense pain shot up from his groin, making his back arch and cold sweat bead on his forehead.

He gritted his teeth and snapped, "What are you doing?"

"You—you told me to act, didn’t you? That's how they do it in movies..." Zhang Xiaorou’s lips trembled, on the verge of tears again. It was just a reflex—she’d kneed him without thinking.

What kind of movies had she been watching? Action films?

Xiao Nan finally caught his breath and forced himself to be patient. "Just scream and struggle a little—scream, do you understand? Don't really fight me."

He pressed her down again, warning, "And don't actually attack me. A couple more hits and I'd be done for."

"Okay!" Zhang Xiaorou nodded in confusion.

Even in this terrifying situation, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment—the act was just too mortifying.