The moment Meng Duo’er said this, Situ Jing’er immediately let go of her arm and hid behind Situ Haonan.

“Sister Duo’er, let’s not.”

Ziqing and Jun Beiyue turned back, both surprised—this woman really did have quite some nerve!

In truth, Meng Duo’er had always been remarkably bold. It was only in matters of love that she’d unwittingly fallen ill with a peculiar affliction—the sickness of “not being herself.”

After so many years, she had finally recovered.

“Let’s see what bloodline clan members actually look like—are they all as stunningly beautiful as Consort Li?” Meng Duo’er teased.

“Let’s not. You never saw what Consort Li truly looked like,” Jun Buli said coldly. Any mention of Consort Li inevitably touched a nerve.

Meng Duo’er shrugged and continued forward with the group.

The deeper they went, the fewer standing coffins there were.

They found themselves now in a great circular hall, where the standing coffins were arranged in a ring, clearly different from the ones they’d seen before—these bore blood-red bat markings, like some kind of totem.

“These coffins must belong to people of status,” Ziqing said seriously.

Everyone glanced around, taking it all in. Situ Jing’er scanned the room and, glancing up without thinking, suddenly let out a piercing scream, throwing her arms around the person nearest to her, screaming over and over, unable to stop.

Everyone startled, looking up—and in that instant, everyone gasped sharply, even Meng Duo’er couldn’t hold back a cry.

It was… utterly horrifying!

There, directly above their heads, no more than three feet away, hung row after row of pale-faced, fanged corpses, dangling upside down, packed so densely that anyone with a fear of crowded small things would have gone instantly mad at the sight.

These corpses hung suspended, heads all tilted slightly up so their faces were level with the ground, pale skin, blood-red lips, terrifying fangs, eyes wide open, utterly motionless.

Looking at them too long, one might start to believe they were staring right back.

Everyone decided at once to leave the circular hall, heading toward another passage—and at this point, Situ Jing’er was still clinging tightly to someone. That someone, as it happened, was none other than Jun Buli.

“You can let go now,” Jun Buli said coldly.

Situ Jing’er buried her face against his neck, clinging even tighter, trembling all over, completely oblivious to what he’d said.

“Situ Jing’er, you can let go now,” Jun Buli said, his voice even colder. Under any circumstance short of absolute necessity, he strongly resisted being touched by the opposite sex.

But Situ Jing’er simply wouldn’t let go.

Seeing this, Situ Haonan hurried over to comfort her, trying to pry her away—but the moment he touched her, she cried out, “Ah… ah… don’t touch me, get away! Get away!”

“She’s terrified,” Ziqing said helplessly.

“She’s actually… not that brave,” Situ Haonan admitted awkwardly, seeing the displeasure on Jun Buli’s face and finding himself at a loss.

“Buli, just look after her for now. Let’s move on,” Jun Beiyue said.

Jun Buli, ever obedient, nodded. “Understood.” He let Situ Jing’er cling to him, hanging off his body, and walked forward without moving his hands.

He’d assumed Situ Jing’er was faking it—but after walking a good while, feeling a damp, cool sensation against his neck, his heart gave a small, startled jolt.

He never would have guessed this woman could actually cry?

Where had that fierce, fearless attitude of her childhood gone?

Soon, the person in his arms began trembling, and a flicker of displeasure crossed Jun Buli’s eyes—yet in the end, he still raised a hand and gently patted her back, saying flatly, “It’s all right. Everyone’s here.”

At first, Situ Jing’er kept trembling, but gradually, as Jun Buli’s movements grew gentler, she began to calm down. Finally, by the time everyone reached the far end of the bloodline clan’s burial chamber, she slowly lifted her head from the crook of his shoulder.

Jun Buli immediately noticed her movement. He pressed his lips together, seemingly about to say something, but in the end simply pretended not to have noticed anything at all, staying silent.

But Situ Jing’er didn’t linger—she immediately let go and jumped down, hurriedly wiping away her tears.

Jun Buli raised an eyebrow, studying her. “Better now?”

Situ Jing’er didn’t dare meet his eyes, keeping her head down. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Jun Buli said, walking off toward where Ziqing and the others were examining four large coffins.

“Right, no next time!” Situ Jing’er muttered, wiping her face clean of any remaining tears, blinking hard to make sure she didn’t look like she’d been crying.

Only then did she walk over to join the others. In truth, everyone had seen exactly what had just happened between the two of them—they simply pretended not to have noticed.

Of course, it wasn’t that they didn’t want to tease the pair about it—it was just that the four massive coffins ahead had captured their attention far more intensely.

They finally reached what was clearly the grandest chamber of all, an extravagant palace hall, its surrounding walls entirely inlaid with gemstones—one could only imagine how magnificent it would look once the lamps were lit. But unlike the previous halls, this one held only four coffins, and rather than standing upright, they lay flat. The bat emblems on these coffins weren’t painted on either, but inlaid entirely with jewels.

Clearly, these four individuals held no small standing within the bloodline clan—quite possibly, they were the Four Great Guardians themselves.

But if these belonged to the Four Great Guardians, then where were the Blood Lord and the two Envoys?

Everyone turned to look at Meng Duo’er—she was the only one among them who knew anything about the bloodline clan.

“Typically, the Blood Lord’s coffin would be guarded by the Left and Right Envoys. We probably haven’t reached the very end yet,” Meng Duo’er said seriously.

Jun Beiyue and Jun Buli tapped along the walls nearby, searching for hidden mechanisms, but after a long search, still found nothing at all.

“What do you think Li Qinqin wanted us to come here for?” Situ Haonan asked, curious.

Jun Buli turned back to look—and suddenly caught sight of something directly above them, at the entrance to the great hall behind them: an enormous domed ceiling!

There, suspended motionless in midair, hung a single coffin, blood-red in color, colossal in size, extravagant beyond description!

“Look!” he exclaimed.

Everyone turned to look at once. Meng Duo’er blurted out in shock, “That’s the Blood Lord’s coffin!”

Everyone stood there, transfixed. Though it was, technically, still a coffin, the sense of extravagant majesty it radiated far outweighed any hint of eeriness or dread. It hung there like some colossal treasure chest, suspended in midair, utterly still, as if it had remained unmoved for a thousand years.

“If that’s the Blood Lord’s coffin, then where are the two Envoys?” Jun Buli asked, suspicious.

“Never mind that for now—let’s go take a closer look!” Ziqing said, inexplicably excited. A coffin like that was simply too tempting to resist. Without a word passing between them, everyone leapt up into the air together, and only upon drawing close did they truly grasp the coffin’s enormous size—even Jun Beiyue’s tall, imposing frame seemed dwarfed beside it.

Ziqing and Jun Beiyue exchanged a glance, and together, each placed a hand upon the coffin’s surface. But at that very moment, down below, one of the four coffins suddenly began to shake and rattle with a clanging sound.