Cultivating gu, in a certain sense, was an act that violated the natural order — and one who cultivated gu was bound to be punished, bound to pay some kind of price.

Backlash was the greatest price of all.

Whether cultivating an ordinary insect gu or the kind of poison gu Yanzi intended to raise, once the gu was fully formed, it had to be fed. If the one raising it lacked the means to sustain it, the gu — or in this case, the poisoned human — would eventually turn on its master as food, and devour them.

With an ordinary insect gu, once formed, the creature would typically hunt for its own food, and the master need only feed it periodically — usually with various kinds of insects, easy enough to find.

Raising a poison gu worked on the same principle, except what the poisoned human needed to consume wasn’t ordinary insects, but poison itself — and each dose had to be more toxic than the last. The moment the supply couldn’t keep up, the one cultivating the gu would be the first to suffer.

Moreover, raising a poisoned human required more than just a steady supply of poison — the cultivator’s spiritual strength had to surpass that of the poisoned person, strong enough to keep them subdued.

Otherwise, no matter how abundant the poison, if the cultivator’s presence and spiritual strength were too weak, the poisoned human would eventually turn on them regardless.

Once the master was consumed, no one else would ever be able to control the poisoned human again.

Precisely because it was so reckless, experienced gu-cultivators always prepared thoroughly — the more dangerous the gu, the more caution was required, and every contingency had to be arranged before the cultivation even began.

For Yanzi to attempt cultivating a human gu, she must certainly have arranged a fallback plan for herself as well.

Jun Beiyue had never cultivated gu himself, but he knew a great deal about it nonetheless.

Hearing Jun Beiyue’s question, Yanzi — already terrified — didn’t dare hide anything further. “There would be someone who is her natural nemesis.”

At these words, Ziqing, still sunk in her own sense of loss, snapped her head up sharply.

The very reason she was the ideal candidate for cultivating the poison gu was her immunity to all toxins — which meant her natural nemesis would necessarily also be someone immune to all poisons.

Yin and yang counteracting one another — an eternal, unchanging law.

“Another person immune to all poisons. A man. He also has a thin film over his face, and a totem-shaped scar as well.” Jun Beiyue asked coldly.

“Yes. I searched all of Longyuan and couldn’t find him.” Yanzi murmured. If she’d found that man even a little sooner, perhaps today she wouldn’t have failed so utterly.

Indeed, anyone cultivating a gu was bound to prepare a fallback for themselves, bound to have every contingency arranged before beginning. But from the moment Yanzi had discovered Han Ziqing’s existence, she had been searching constantly — searching for the other lost-island survivor. And yet, no matter what, she could never find him.

She couldn’t wait any longer. She’d run out of time.

She’d chosen to make her move against Han Ziqing first, planning it all out carefully — during the year of cultivating the human gu, she would simultaneously search for various poisonous beasts while continuing to search for the other person immune to all poisons.

Xuanyuan Lige had uncovered no small number of clues about the lost island, and Jun Beiyue held plenty of clues in his own hands too — they weren’t far from finding the lost island at all!

She had calculated that the other person immune to all poisons must be on the lost island itself.

There were no lost-island survivors on the Longyuan continent — Han Ziqing had been left behind by Madam Ci, and Madam Ci had been rescued at Qinse Sea Valley all those years ago, presumably having escaped from the lost island itself.

“So the reason you were searching for the lost island was to find that other person immune to all poisons — to secure your own fallback?” Jun Beiyue asked coldly, word by word, the killing intent in his eyes growing thicker still.

Yanzi nodded timidly. Facing this man before her — she had once dreamed, night after night, of being closer to him, even just a little closer. Even a fraction would have been enough!

Just being near him, staying a little longer, doing nothing at all, simply watching him — that alone would have felt like enough, would have brought her joy.

But now, she wished with all her heart that he would move away from her. She curled herself into a ball, desperately wanting to retreat, yet not daring to move, watching him timidly, terrified he might suddenly explode with rage.

This man, when truly angered, was utterly terrifying.

“What exactly is going on with that secret passage at the foot of Mingsha Mountain?” Jun Beiyue continued. Though he had rescued Ziqing, there was still one more extremely important matter he needed to attend to — more important even than revenge, more important even than restoring Ziqing’s face. But he had set it aside for now.

He was far more interested in whoever had cut off Yanzi’s ear.

Yanzi froze for a moment, then suddenly remembered the ghostly, demon-white figure in the secret passage, and shook her head violently in shock, covering her eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t know anything, I didn’t even know there was a secret passage there!”

“You don’t know?” Did Jun Beiyue really believe that?

“I really don’t know! Yelu Chenyi and I searched for years, growing up together — there’s only the Mingsha Cave, full of nothing but sand. We even dug there in secret, and found nothing at all!” Yanzi hastily explained, invoking Yelu Chenyi’s name to lend her words more credibility.

A complicated look flashed through Ziqing’s eyes. When she’d dug there, she’d dug deep, and found nothing either — if it hadn’t been for the force of the explosive powder, if the shadow guards hadn’t confirmed Jun Beiyue was down there, they might never have found him at all, even now.

And Yelu Chenyi’s reaction hadn’t seemed feigned either — when the secret passage had first been revealed, he had looked more shocked than anyone else present.

Seeing Jun Beiyue stay silent, Yanzi hurried to add, “Beiyue, I’m not lying to you, I swear — if I’m lying, may I be struck by lightning and die a horrible death, you…”

Don’t be angry — this, Yanzi said only in her heart. The massive mirror had shattered right beside her; never in her life had she been this thoroughly terrified.

“The only secret of the Mingsha Mountain ruins is the human gu — there’s no other secret, and nothing about the ‘Lament of Parting’ either. My family, the Yan clan, has lived here for generations, passing the secret of the human gu down by word of mouth. There’s nothing else. I don’t know anything else. We’ve always just lived in Mingsha Cave — we never even knew there was anything hidden underground!”

Regarding the human gu, the secret of Han Ziqing’s face, the two poison-immune individuals whose fates counteracted one another, how to cultivate the gu, how to prevent backlash — all of this she knew, in truth, quite a lot about. But of the lost island’s whereabouts, she knew absolutely nothing.

Jun Beiyue didn’t trust Yanzi — he trusted only his own judgment. Earlier, when interrogating Xuanyuan Zhaoxi, she too had said that Yanzi had gone to Liuxian Island for the secret of the lost island, the secret of the totem.

So it seemed the guardians of Mingsha Mountain didn’t know very much after all.

Still — any ruin of the lost island was something that could never be destroyed, so its traces couldn’t be erased; only guardians could be posted to watch over it, just as with Qinse Sea Valley, just as with the Fusang Sacred Tree, just as with Nanzhao’s Sacred Music Cavern.

So what about here? Mingsha Mountain was Western Jing’s sacred royal mountain, with Akbachu City sitting right at its foot — if Mingsha Mountain were destroyed, Akbachu would be destroyed along with it!

This mountain, too, could never be destroyed — and yet the Yan clan, its guardians, could indeed be killed.

Given how thoroughly the Nanzhao royal house had hunted down every trace of the lost island, how could they possibly allow a knowing witness to survive — one who, generation after generation, passed the secret down by word of mouth, no less?

This made no sense at all!

Without question, the true ruins weren’t on Mingsha Mountain itself — they were underground.

“Who else was in that passage? Who cut off your ear?” Jun Beiyue finally asked his last question.