After Transmigrating into a Book, I Accidentally Won the Heart of the Miaojiang Youth Chapter 167

Chu'he was now certain that Ninth was definitely not himself.

That night, he had pulled her into his embrace, tornting her for hours. Several tis, he lifted her limp legs and draped them over his waist, pressing close as he murmured incomprehensible words against her ear in a voice so sticky and teasing it made her bones lt.

It felt like being tightly coiled by a cold, venomous serpent—Chu'he had no resistance left. Just the sound of his honeyed whispers was enough to render her utterly pliant.

When it ca to matters between husband and wife, the young man had gone from clueless in the beginning to now effortlessly mastering her every reaction. He was utterly addicted, convinced there was no greater pleasure in the world.

By midnight, finally sated, he released her and let her drift into exhausted sleep.

A mournful night wind rattled the window, startling her awake.

Chu'he opened her eyes and reached out—only to find the bed beside her empty.

She sat up and called softly, "Little Qing."

The small green snake slithered out from so dark corner, climbing onto the bed and curling onto her lap.

"Where did Ninth go?" Chu'he whispered.

Little Qing shook its head.

"I know you can sense where he is."

The snake hesitated, then shook its head again.

Chu'he cupped Little Qing in her hands, her voice earnest. "Ever since that night we rescued Ninth together, sothing’s been off about him. I think his body is changing. You must feel it too, don’t you?"

The snake seed conflicted.

Chu'he pleaded, "Little Qing, I can’t let anything happen to him again. Please, help ."

Little Qing twisted slightly, its cold scales brushing against her fingertips, sending an odd shiver through her.

With a soft hiss—a sound laced with hesitation and a trace of concealed worry—it finally tapped its tail against the back of her hand.

Eyes brightening, Chu'he threw on her outer robe and followed the snake into the night.

In the water dungeon, the steady drip-drip of water echoed endlessly.

This was the sa dungeon where malevolent spirits had once imprisoned the painter. After being flooded and left in ruins, a few cells remained usable with minimal repairs.

But compared to before, the conditions were far worse—more wretched, more torturous.

Murky water rose to a man’s waist, the stench of rot so pervasive it had seeped into his very being.

Song Chunming’s wrists and ankles were bound by chains, his body covered in countless wounds. The water had turned them pallid, preventing any chance of healing.

His consciousness flickered weakly, hovering on the brink of death.

Yet every ti he teetered on the edge, the venomous snakes swimming in the water would strike, injecting toxins that wrenched him back to agonizing awareness.

Amidst this hellish scene, the crisp sound of soone cracking lon seeds cut through the silence—bizarrely out of place.

Song Chunming lifted hollow eyes and saw the youth once more, exuding an aura of decadent allure.

The boy lounged in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, idly swinging his foot. He tossed lon seed shells into the water, watching the trapped man with a tilted head, his long white hair cascading down. His crimson eyes curved with amusent, a faint smile playing on his lips.

A sliver of moonlight pierced through the broken ceiling, casting his already pale skin in a ghostly glow. His red eyes burned like embers, the ruby studs in his ears glinting. The marks trailing down his neck and disappearing beneath his collar were unmistakable—sensual, provocative.

Song Chunming suddenly rembered that night.

When the jade pendant crumbled to dust in Ninth’s hand, he had truly believed death was imminent.

But re death wasn’t enough to satisfy Ninth’s rage. Each ti he reduced Song Chunming to a breath away from the end, he would revive him, dragging out the tornt day after day—an endless cycle of despair.

And Ninth, seated in the only spot graced by moonlight, adorned with trinkets bought by his beloved, pristine and beautiful, wore the smug expression of a victor who couldn’t resist flaunting his triumph.

Song Chunming coughed. "I still don’t recall what I’ve done to earn this hatred. What exactly do you want?"

Ninth finished his lon seeds, dusted his hands, then pulled out a paper-wrapped pastry from his sleeve. He popped a bite of mung bean cake into his mouth, his cheek bulging.

"You knew Chu'he long before I did."

His voice was light, his words slightly muffled—childlike in its innocence, yet capable of unspeakable cruelty.

"You were engaged to her once. But it doesn’t matter. She only loves now."

"I’m not jealous that you saw what she looked like as a child."

"After all, she’s mine now."

"I don’t care that you shared an engagent al with her."

"Now, she only eats with ."

"And I couldn’t care less that you once called yourself her fiancé."

"Because now, I’m her husband."

Every word dripped with denial, yet his jealousy was palpable.

Song Chunming chuckled weakly. "I don’t rember any of those things you ntioned."

"Oh?" Ninth swallowed another bite, grinning. "You claim to have no mory, yet you just happened to drop that jade pendant where I’d find it. Was the heavens telling I should kill you?"

Song Chunming’s gaze flickered. Then he smirked. "Tell —do you not trust Chu'he, or are you just terrified of losing to ?"

Ninth’s ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‍hand stilled mid-bite.

"Keeping here is just your way of hiding your own cowardice."

Suddenly, a black insect burrowed into Song Chunming’s ear. He scread, veins bulging as sweat poured down his face.

At the sa ti, dark tendrils spread beneath his skin, writhing as if thousands of insects were feasting inside him, waiting for their master’s command to devour him alive.

[Warning: Male protagonist’s life in critical danger. Death imminent in one minute.]

The chanical voice in her mind made Chu'he freeze. "System!?"

[Connection reestablished. Host must save the male protagonist imdiately.]

Little Qing, sensing her pause, slithered back and tapped her cheek with its tail.

Standing in the damp, shadowed dungeon, Chu'he snapped back to reality—just as Song Chunming’s agonized cries reached her ears.