Watching as Moko disappeared over the courtyard wall, Bai Jingxuan stretched lazily before rising from the shade. She patted the dust off her jeans, picked up the book in her hands, and turned to leave the yard.
Come to think of it, it was strange—she hadn’t seen a single person at the orphanage since noon.
Sure, the courtyard where she met Moko was a quieter spot, but with so many people living in the orphanage, someone should have passed by. Usually, when she talked to Moko, she had to keep her voice low, constantly watching the hallway to make sure no one overheard. The last thing she wanted was for people to think she was talking to thin air.
Moko had told her—normal people couldn’t see fairies. If someone saw her chatting with what appeared to be nothing, they’d think she was crazy.
Bai Jingxuan didn’t want to be misunderstood. She didn’t hate life at the orphanage, but she still held onto the hope of being adopted. If people started thinking she was mentally unstable, that little hope would disappear completely.
She had been watching the hallway, yet not once did she see someone pass by.
It was unusual—but not exactly alarming.
She clutched her book against her chest and continued walking down the corridor.
The distance from her room to the courtyard wasn’t short—she had to pass through the entire rehabilitation wing. The one upside was that, due to her condition, her room was on the first floor. No stairs needed.
As she walked through the unnervingly quiet hallways, her gaze drifted toward the atrium’s glass windows—toward the administrative building on the other side.
Faint black figures flickering past the windows.
That floor… I remember it’s…
She stared at the building, unease creeping up her spine.
Then, she quickened her pace.
Liu Wenqin had been the director of Fangting City’s First Orphanage for ten years.
She wouldn’t claim to know everything about the place, but when it came to the facility’s equipment, staff assignments, and layout, she had them memorized.
With over 400 employees, she couldn’t recall every name. But she knew every department head personally.
When she wanted the entire orphanage to freeze, for everyone to comply without resistance—
All it took was a few phone calls.
"Yes, Sister Lan, that’s right. No resistance. Just make sure your boys stay calm. They won’t get violent for now."
Hanging up the last call, she let out a slow breath, placing the phone back on her desk.
Then, she looked up at the man standing by the filing cabinet.
Suppressing the terror clawing at her chest, she forced her voice to remain steady.
"I’ve done as you asked. Now, when are you leaving?"
The man finally turned to face her.
Tall and gaunt, his complexion was deathly pale. A scar ran across his brow, and despite appearing in his twenties, his sharp features and thin mustache gave him a cruel, calculating look.
His long black hair was tied in a short braid behind his head, and—oddly—traces of purple-red shimmered through the strands.
But what truly made her uneasy was his robe.
A long, jet-black garment, inscribed with strange golden glyphs—symbols she couldn’t decipher. They formed an eerie pictographic design, the mere sight of which stirred deep discomfort.
"A wise decision, Director Liu."
His voice was strange—offbeat, almost theatrical.
He clapped his hands together in mock applause.
"Your calls have saved thousands of lives. A true orphanage director. I respect you."
"Then prove it. Call off your men. Stop tormenting helpless children and the elderly."
Her hands trembled, but she didn’t back down.
"No one here can resist you. If you want something, take it. There’s no need for killing!"
She spoke because she had already seen—
Outside her office door, a man slumped against the frame. A security guard.
Blood seeped down his uniform, pooling beneath the baton he had dropped.
A gaping hole remained where his heart should have been.
He had been the orphanage’s head of security. Upon sensing danger, he had rushed to her office, unhesitating in his duty.
He had been strong, fearless—the kind of man no troublemaker could stand against. Even knowing something was off, he hadn’t flinched. He had charged straight at this thing in front of her.
And he had died for it.
Slaughtered in an instant by some unseen force.
Now, more black-robed figures had scattered across the orphanage, brutally executing anyone who resisted.
And yet, they had allowed her to live—so she could send out their message.
"For efficiency, Director."
The man’s tone remained polite.
But his words held no kindness.
"We eliminate threats quickly. Like your current call to the Countermeasure Bureau—if you don’t hang up this very second, there will be no one left alive in this orphanage."
"Believe me—our hands move faster than theirs."
Liu Wenqin’s fingers froze over her phone screen.
Slowly, she lowered the phone, staring at the call interface—before clenching her teeth and hanging up.
Rage flickered past the fear in her voice. Thɪs chapter is updated by 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹✦𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖✦𝓷𝓮𝓽
"You know what kind of people live here. If you have any trace of a conscience, how could you do this to them?"
"What kind of people?" The man chuckled, spreading his hands.
"Orphans. The elderly. The disabled. The helpless."
"Tragic souls. Abandoned, alone. Sad, isn’t it?"
Then, his tone shifted.
"But tell me, Director… Who isn’t a tragic soul?"
"No one is born into glory. The useless live meaningless lives, and in death, they become nourishment for the divine. Even in death, they should thank me. In this moment, they are basking in the Lord’s grace."
His expression was one of utter devotion.
To him, these weren’t just words.
To him—this madness was truth.
"You want them to thank you?"
Liu Wenqin stared at him as though she were looking at something inhuman.
"What do you want from this place?"
Lowering his hands, he studied her for a moment—his interest waning.
Then, with that odd voice of his, he murmured,
"To be honest, wiping out everyone here wouldn’t take much effort."
"But since you were smart enough to cooperate, I don’t mind showing a little kindness—small as it may be in the eyes of lesser minds."
"Our people have already begun their search through this orphanage."
"You can keep quiet if you want. It makes no difference. The moment we find what we’re looking for, your knowledge becomes worthless."
He took a slow step forward.
Liu Wenqin instinctively backed away.
Ignoring her retreat, he leaned in—
And slowly lifted his left hand, tugging at the skin around his left eye—peeling it open wider than it should have.
"This is the last time I’ll ask."
"Tell me, Director Liu—"
"Is there a girl in this orphanage who has lost her left eye?"