Desolate outskirts, a mass burial ground—
The slender, pale corpse of a young girl lay discarded atop a pile of graves.
Her tattered white dress fluttered faintly in the cold wind, her ink-black hair cascading down to her waist. Delicate features, now smeared with dirt, were twisted into an unnatural Z-shape from her broken neck—a grotesque yet hauntingly beautiful sight.
Then, suddenly, her eyes snapped open.
Her lips curled slightly as she raised a stiff, trembling hand toward the crescent moon hanging in the night sky, her movements oddly tender despite their unnatural rigidity.
*"Hehe… I made it out…"*
Those foolish scientists at the lab.
They really thought they had taken her down with them.
Little did they know—all she needed was a fresh corpse to latch onto.
*"Oww… this human died in such a painful way."*
Shi Ling winced as every bone in her body screamed in agony.
She had no choice but to slowly adjust to this new vessel.
Then—
A soft breath echoed nearby.
The sound was faint and low, deliberately controlled, yet it couldn't escape her keen senses.
Perfect... She needed to replenish her strength right now.
Shi Ling attempted to move her limbs.
*Click, click, click...*
The girl's joints emitted eerie pops as she swiftly crawled toward the source of the breathing, her movements twisted and unnatural.
Moonlight stretched across the ground.
Beneath a towering tree, her fingers brushed against a man's arm.
"Don't move."
His voice was hoarse, deep and commanding, laced with an intoxicating intensity—like his breath, heavy with raw, primal energy.
Clearly accustomed to giving orders, his tone was icy, brooking no defiance.
An ordinary girl might have frozen in fear.
But Shi Ling was no ordinary girl.
She wasn’t even human.
Her cold, delicate fingers trailed up his arm, circling his neck, while her other palm pressed against the hard planes of his abdomen. Her fingertips hovered near his bleeding wound, tracing slow, teasing circles.
"If I don't take care of you, you might just die." Shi Ling chuckled softly.
Her voice was velvety and sweet, but when she drew out her words, it carried an icy edge that sent chills down one's spine.
Mu Hanjue felt a few fragrant strands of hair brush against his jaw.
Damn it.
This girl—she'd just crawled out of a garbage-strewn mass grave, so why didn't she reek of decay? Instead, she carried an intoxicating, almost seductive scent.
Like a midnight garden of thorned roses—dangerous and alluring.
"Get lost," Mu Hanjue growled hoarsely.
He was barely holding himself together.
The assassins hadn't gone far.
If some random girl provoked him now, drawing their attention back to finish him off, his death would be beyond humiliating.
But the girl seemed deaf to his threat, still sprawled over him.
She leaned in closer, her nose hovering just above his wound, sniffing lightly—like a curious little animal.
He could feel the faint warmth of her breath.
"Your genes are excellent."
Her glass-like pupils reflected an eerie glint as she watched her own blood drip from her fingers, slowly mingling with the blood from his wound.
Rare indeed, and the compatibility is remarkably high.
A gentle smile curved her lips as she said softly, "I can heal your wounds, but you must promise me one thing."
Mu Hanjue narrowed his eyes.
The ambush had left him with severe blood loss, and the weapon's toxins had already seeped into his wounds. Even if he survived, the aftermath would undoubtedly plague him.
Yet this mysterious girl before him claimed she could cure him.
In the past, he would have dismissed such words as foolish.
But today…
For some inexplicable reason, Mu Hanjue found himself believing her.
"Name your terms," he finally rasped, his voice rough.
