Though these insects leapt about everywhere in the grass and could be seen at a glance, some of them had already lived for a thousand years.
When the late Emperor first opened this strange garden domain, powerful Gu masters had already begun cultivating their arts within it. In the beginning, the Gu creatures were no more than tiny translucent membranes, their forms indistinct. Only after generations of refinement by successive Gu masters did their shapes gradually emerge.
Now, after so many years, these insects were on the verge of becoming spirits.
If refined into true Gu spirits, they could be carried upon the body and commanded at will. Gu spirits never betrayed their masters—and compared to ordinary people, they were far more cunning and intelligent.
Consort Mu had once believed she was haunted by ghosts. In truth, she had fallen victim to the Harming Spirit Gu. Those afflicted would see demonic apparitions and hear ghostly whispers, living every day as if surrounded by enemies, their minds slowly driven to ruin.
And when these Gu insects were finally suffocated, dried in the sun, then mixed with venomous fungi, datura blossoms, and even strands of the practitioner’s own hair—they could be ground into Gu powder.
The powder was colorless and odorless. Once ingested, even the most skilled physician would fail to diagnose the illness.
Su Ying had unknowingly inhaled Gu powder placed by the Third Prince.
At first the symptoms were mild—fevered brow and flushed cheeks. But with time came bloody diarrhea, a wasting body, agonizing abdominal pain like knives twisting within. In the end, death was inevitable.
Originally, the Third Prince had feared the Gu insects might harm Mu Xueshi. Thus he had secretly mixed an antidote powder into Mu Xueshi’s meals. Ordinary Gu creatures would not attack him, and those nearing spiritual transformation would never randomly mark a person as prey.
Though devouring human flesh could strengthen a Gu creature, normally their masters purchased victims to feed them.
But if someone deliberately harmed or killed a Gu insect—
Then they themselves would become the offered feast.
Looking at the bamboo boards before him—each beloved creature pinned neatly in place by thin needles—the Third Prince did not know whether to mourn the thousand-year Gu insects… or worry for Mu Xueshi’s fate.
Meanwhile, Mu Xueshi remained utterly oblivious. He studied the fierce-looking insects with fascination, grinning.
“The bugs here are hilarious! Look at their faces—they’re almost like human expressions. So lifelike!”
He handed the bamboo boards to the Third Prince, somewhat reluctant.
“They’re for you. I can’t take them with me anyway—consider it a keepsake. If you ever think of me later, just look at these.”
Then he rolled up his sleeve proudly.
“I got bitten three times just collecting these specimens. If you don’t believe me, look—”
But as his sleeve lifted, Mu Xueshi froze.
His entire arm had turned dark purple.
Panicking, he hurriedly pulled up the other sleeve. Though less severe, it too was covered in angry red blotches.
Mu Xueshi went pale.
The bamboo boards fell from his hands with a clatter.
“H-Xi… Xi, save me… Xi…”
Even as he spoke, the playful brightness vanished from his handsome face. Pain twisted his features beyond recognition.
He collapsed to the floor, clawing at his clothes, writhing as if suffering torments worse than death.
A sharp ache struck the Third Prince’s chest.
Each faint cry of “Xi…” stirred memories buried more than a decade deep—Lin Yue’s gentle smiles flashing through his mind.
He stared at the man writhing on the ground, thoughts spiraling chaotically.
Had he not once delighted in this man’s suffering?
Had he not lived this entire life to torment every person bearing the surname Mu?
Had he not long since forgotten what emotion meant?
Then why—
Why, upon seeing his enemy endure such hellish agony before him—
Did his heart ache with unbearable reluctance?
Futile Devices Scans 
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