52: Chapter 52 The tea's gone cold, the accounts should be burned.

The wind and snow beat silently against the tightly shut doors of the Frost Moon Teahouse, only to be swallowed by the deathly silence within.

Chen Fan carried Su Shuang on his back, each step feeling exceptionally heavy, as if he were bearing not just the weight of one person, but that of a crumbling world.

The icy snowflakes landed on his shoulders, showing no sign of melting, stubbornly clinging on like solidified tears.

Inside the Teahouse, a single lamp burned dimly, its faint yellow light barely pushing back the darkness in the corners, yet making everything appear even more desolate.

There were no customers, no aroma of tea, only the string of bronze bells hanging under the eaves, tinkling a mournful tune as the wind blew.

He carefully placed Su Shuang onto the long couch in the inner hall and covered her with a thin quilt.

The girl's breathing was faint yet even; her exquisitely beautiful face was drained of all color, her long eyelashes covering her eyes like two delicate, motionless butterfly wings.

Chen Fan's gaze finally settled on the ebony secret cabinet tucked away in the corner, almost merging with the shadows.

This cabinet had stood there since he first arrived at the Teahouse—ancient, somber, like a mute sworn to secrecy.

Su Shuang had warned him more than once: anything in the Teahouse could be touched, except for that cabinet, which was strictly forbidden territory.

Just then, the copper coin he had snatched from Withered Money in his embrace began to tremble slightly, emitting faint waves of warmth.

Driven by an impulse he couldn't explain, he pulled out the copper coin. Under the dim light, he was horrified to discover that the complex, ancient patterns on the coin's surface fit perfectly into an inconspicuous dark latch on the cabinet door, as if it were the key itself.

"Don't touch it!" a childish yet intensely serious voice came from behind him.

Chen Fan turned around to see the doll-like little girl, Xiao Jin, standing at the doorway, her small face filled with terror and vigilance.

"Sister said that whoever touches that cabinet will never be able to leave this door again."

Her words sounded like an incantation.

As soon as she finished speaking, a black thread, thicker than ink, silently seeped out from the crack of the ebony cabinet door. Like a venomous snake, it didn't drip but strangely crawled along the floor before vanishing into a gap in the floorboards.

The entire process was lightning fast; if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would have dismissed it as an illusion of light and shadow.

Chen Fan's heart constricted sharply. This was definitely no ordinary mechanism!

The night grew deeper.

The wind and snow outside seemed to carry a hint of ghostly wails.

Su Shuang remained unconscious, her body weakening at a speed visible to the naked eye, as if her life force was being siphoned away by an invisible power.

Chen Fan knew he couldn't wait any longer.

The only clue lay within that cabinet.

He took a deep breath, suppressing all fear and hesitation in his heart, and walked to the ebony secret cabinet.

Xiao Jin's warning still echoed in his ears, but Su Shuang's safety was the overriding reason.

He slowly inserted the warm copper coin into the dark latch at the center of the cabinet door.

"Click."

A crisp, clear sound echoed through the deathly silent Teahouse like a thunderclap.

The cabinet door, which had been sealed for who knows how many years, swung open.

A scent mixed with stale paper and a faint smell of blood washed over him.

Inside the cabinet, there was no gold or silver, nor any divine weapons, only dozens of account books of varying thickness with yellowed pages, neatly stacked together.

What was strange was that the cover of every single ledger was completely blank.

Chen Fan reached out and picked up the topmost book. The moment his fingertip touched the cover, a needle-prick-like sting shot through him.

A drop of blood seeped from his fingertip and was greedily absorbed by the ancient paper.

The next second, on the previously blank cover, lines of scarlet blood-script twisted into view.

"Seventh District Execution List."

Chen Fan's pupils contracted violently, his heart hammering. Trembling, he flipped open the next book, also using blood as the guide.

"Silver Pass Forgery Records."

"Starlight Tower Sacrifice Frequency and Loss Analysis."

Every ledger recorded dark secrets potent enough to overturn the entire world!

This was not the account room of some Teahouse; this was the evidence repository of the Qingqiu Fox Clan, and perhaps even a much larger power!

Just as he was about to turn to the third book, a sudden change occurred!

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

Three hurried, harsh metallic clanging sounds came from overhead!

Chen Fan suddenly looked up, only to see the bronze abacus that had been hanging on the beam as decoration now falling on its own, rapidly rattling in mid-air, striking three soul-snatching notes!

Simultaneously, a cold system prompt exploded in his mind:

[Warning! High-risk information detected! Memory contamination risk increased by 37%! Please cease contact immediately!]

Before the warning faded, the ink line that had previously retreated into the floor suddenly erupted from the shadow beneath Chen Fan's feet!

Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of ink lines, like living tentacles, instantly wrapped around his wrists and ankles, binding him tightly in place!

The scene before his eyes began to twist wildly; the Teahouse, the bookshelves, the lamplight—everything spun, stretched, and disintegrated.

An irresistible force violently dragged his consciousness into an endless, dark vortex!

When his vision returned, he found himself standing in a hell of fire.

This was Qingqiu! It was the night Qingqiu was destroyed!

The towering demonic flames had scorched the sky blood-red, and the countless wails and screams of the Fox Clan intertwined into a symphony of despair.

Twelve massive rune pillars stood around the altar, upon which twelve near-dead Fox Clan Elders were pinned by chains as black as lacquer—they were the twelve pillars of Qingqiu.

And in the center of the altar, an infant girl in swaddling clothes was crying out loud, her cry filled with fear and confusion toward this world.

It was Su Shuang!

Su Shuang as an infant!

A familiar figure knelt by the altar—it was Withered Money!

He did not look at the towering flames, nor did he look at his clansmen nailed to death; his eyes held only madness and terror.

In his hand, he clutched a yellowed piece of paper, torn from one of the account books. Then, under Chen Fan's horrified gaze, he abruptly shoved the paper into his mouth, chewing frantically and swallowing it!

The Withered Money in the illusion seemed to sense Chen Fan's gaze and slowly turned his head.

His eyes were hollow, without whites or pupils, only two streams of thick ink constantly pouring out of his eye sockets, streaming down his cheeks.

He grinned, letting out a hoarse and distorted sound: "Do you know why I'm still alive? Because... I forgot their names."

"Bastard!" Chen Fan's eyes were split with rage, roaring as he tried to rush over, but he slammed into an invisible wall and was violently thrown back.

The ink lines tightened even further; his consciousness felt like it was being dragged into the deep sea, rapidly sinking, suffocating him with a sense of despair that overwhelmed everything.

Was he going to die just like this?

Trapped in this desperate memory, contaminated into a lunatic?

At the critical moment, his scattered consciousness touched something cold.

It was the half-cup of long-cooled tea in his embrace—the last cup of "Demon Fox Tea" Su Shuang had brewed for him before falling unconscious, with a few curled tea leaves still remaining at the bottom.

This was the last hope!

Chen Fan used the last ounce of strength in his entire body, laboriously lifting his hand and pouring the half-cup of cold tea into his mouth!

The bitter, icy liquid slid down his throat, and a strange power instantly exploded within him!

[Ding! Non-system energy source (Fox Power remnant) detected!]

[critical hit system passive activated... Initiating 'Attribute Devour'!]

A blinding red light erupted in Chen Fan's sea of consciousness!

[Critical Effect x3 triggered!]

[Devour successful! Temporary buff acquired: Charm effect cleared! Perception attribute doubled! Illusion resistance temporarily raised to maximum value!]

Instantly, all negative statuses clinging to him vanished!

The heavy feeling of suffocation disappeared, and the illusion before his eyes began to become unstable, like a poorly connected signal.

"Break... for me!"

Chen Fan roared, his perception, now enhanced to its peak, instantly locked onto the core of the illusion—the Withered Money that was continuously spewing ink!

He gathered all his strength and threw a punch!

Before the fist even arrived, the will to shatter all falsehoods had already torn through space!

The Withered Money in the illusion let out a non-human shriek, and his body shattered piece by piece!

The ink lines binding Chen Fan snapped, and the entire memory corridor collapsed like a shattered mirror!

Chen Fan snapped his eyes open, panting heavily.

He found himself still kneeling before the ebony secret cabinet, covered in cold sweat.

But the surrounding environment was even more terrifying than the illusion.

The Withered Money who should have been in the illusion was now standing quietly behind him, expressionless.

And those broken ink lines were now like living things, covering the entire Teahouse beams and pillars, turning the place into a giant spiderweb cage.

In Withered Money's hand was a burning account book, the flames greedily licking the pages, turning them to ash.

"Ignorance is the safest talisman," Withered Money's voice was hoarse and cold, like the chill wind in a graveyard. "The more you read, the faster you die."

Chen Fan slowly stood up from the ground, the rage in his chest intertwining with the lingering fear of surviving a disaster.

However, a strange sensation rose from his nostrils—it was the temporary ability he had just gained, 'Scent of Truth'.

To Chen Fan's nose, with this ability activated, Withered Money no longer exuded the scent of a human, but a stench mixed with decay, fear, and long-aged lies.

The smell was so strong it was nauseating.

He let out a cold laugh, a mockery in his smile that suggested he saw through everything.

"You're not afraid of dying..." Chen Fan stared at the account book in his hand that was about to burn up, speaking word by word, "You're afraid of remembering."

Withered Money's movement suddenly froze.

And at that moment, Chen Fan's peripheral vision caught sight of the cover of the last untouched account book deep inside the secret cabinet, where a line of new blood-script was slowly emerging.

The handwriting seemed to be written with endless despair.

"They are in the tea."