absurd deduction game.

After the confrontation, Yu Xing followed Masha, walking slowly down the thickly carpeted corridor.

Perhaps it was psychological, but with the downpour outside the window, the manor's corridors seemed even more secluded than before, with winding passageways and dim lighting, like the intestines of a giant beast.

The rain was kept out of the thick walls, but the dull smell of damp plants and old wood seeped in everywhere.

They finally stopped in front of the tightly closed door of the small living room. Normally, ordinary people wouldn't be able to hear what was happening inside, but Yu Xing only listened for a moment before raising an eyebrow and asking, "Carlos and Mrs. Fernell are...?"

Martha turned to Yu Xing and smiled, her voice very low, as if she didn't want to disturb the good thing happening inside: "Yes, Mr. Yu Xing, as you can see, your colleague is here. Madam likes him very much, so she decided to have an in-depth conversation with him. I believe they will have a very pleasant evening."

Yu Xing remained outwardly calm, but inwardly scoffed.

Now is not the time for you to rush over and accuse Anthony of cheating.

Seeing that Yu Xing didn't intend to enter and disturb Funel and Carlos, Martha was clearly very satisfied. She took the initiative to say, "I wonder how long Madam plans to play? You may start..."

"Bang!!!"

A deafening roar abruptly interrupted Martha's unfinished words.

The heavy oak door was violently slammed from the inside by a burst of force. The hinges groaned under the strain, sprang open, and crashed heavily against the wall, sending dust flying from the door frame.

Yu Xing and Masha turned their gazes to the suddenly opened doorway almost simultaneously.

The light inside the door was dim, but enough to see the scene at the entrance.

Mrs. Furnell was standing a few steps inside the door, her back to the deeper shadows of the living room.

She was wrapped in a dark red velvet cloak that looked incredibly luxurious, which she had somehow acquired. The edges of the cloak were embroidered with twisted patterns in gold thread, resembling insect antennae.

She was casually pulling her cloak over herself, trying to cover herself up.

However, in that instant, Yu Xing clearly saw that large patches of skin on Funer's neck and collarbone, which were not fully covered by her cloak, had an eerie, uneven color, as if dark green paint had been spilled and seeped into the skin's texture, forming patches of mottled marks that had not yet completely faded.

On the side of her cheek, several fine, dark green veins, like those of a leaf or an insect's wing, were visibly emerging from under her skin, only to fade and disappear just as quickly, like damp marks left after the tide had receded.

What's most striking is the arm she's reaching out to pull at her cloak—on her forearm, several wet, translucent, sharp-edged dark green butterfly wings are clinging to her skin, trembling slightly with her movements, and rapidly becoming transparent and thinner, eventually merging into her skin like a phantom.

It all happened very quickly.

From the moment the door was flung open to the moment Yu Xing could see clearly, only two or three seconds had passed. In that brief glimpse, the inhuman, terrifying marks on Funer's body had vanished as quickly as the tide receded.

The cloak was pulled tight, covering her body. When she raised her head to face the door, what was revealed was a flawless, beautiful face, slightly distorted by extreme anger.

Those eyes, which always carried an elegant smile, were now burning with icy fury, and deep within their pupils seemed to linger a trace of cold, inhuman iridescence that had not yet been fully calmed.

Fernail's breathing was slightly rapid, her chest heaving, but this physiological excitement only highlighted the suppressed, almost explosive violence on her face.

Her gaze first swept over Martha, who was bowing slightly and whose expression instantly became solemn and obedient, and then, like a sharp blade, it was fixed firmly on Yu Xing's face.

When she saw Yu Xing's face first show a slight surprise, and then a playful expression as if she didn't want things to get out of hand, the anger in Funer's eyes suddenly burned even brighter.

It was a profound sense of humiliation—being fooled, belittled, and having a meticulously prepared feast slip away before the main course even began—mixed with the frustration of plans being disrupted.

“Carlos ran away.” Fernail’s voice had lost its usual languidness and composure; she spoke quickly, her face expressionless, “How dare he fool me…that damned man.”

She didn't need to describe what had just happened inside the door; her current posture and words said it all—a trap carefully laid by the butterfly, but the prey escaped unscathed.

“Martha,” she said coldly, her voice regaining some of the authority of a mistress, but it was much colder than usual.

“Yes, Master,” Martha replied immediately, bowing her head even lower.

"Go after him. I've set up a protective barrier around the manor, and if it hasn't been triggered, it means he hasn't left the manor yet. He can't have gone far. Get everyone moving—the garden, the stables, the cellars—leave no place unchecked." Fernail's order was concise and ruthless. "Find him and bring him before me."

"Yes!" Martha didn't hesitate, turned around and left at almost a jog speed, her figure quickly disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

Almost at the same moment she left, the once quiet manor, which seemed deserted, was suddenly filled with a rapid and dense sound of footsteps.

Those gardeners, coachmen, handymen, and even more maids who were usually silent and obedient... at this moment, they moved quickly and orderly as if they were ghosts emerging from the ground, their footsteps coming from all directions like a tightening net.

Clearly, all the servants in this manor were loyal and efficient henchmen of the cult.

After giving the order, Fernail took a deep breath, seemingly forcibly suppressing her surging anger.

She raised her hand and smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles at the edge of her cloak. This subtle movement allowed her to regain some of the elegant demeanor that belonged to "Lady Funnel," although the coldness in her eyes and the lingering flush of anger on her cheeks were still clearly visible.

Her gaze returned to Yu Xing.

This time, she carefully and slowly observed him, from his calm expression to his hands in his trench coat pockets, and then to his deep eyes that seemed to reflect everything yet revealed no emotion.

Suddenly, her red lips curled up, exuding a knowing, condescending, and undeniable pressure.

"Judging from your expression..." she said softly, enunciating each word clearly, "you guessed it all, didn't you?"

There was no need for specifics; both of them were perfectly aware of each other's thoughts—Fennell believed that Yu Xing had guessed her identity, her intentions towards Carlos, and the true purpose of tonight's "invitation." Yu Xing tacitly agreed.

“Then,” she took a small step forward, closer to Yu Xing, the lingering sweet, fishy scent and the dusty smell of fluttering butterfly wings seemingly still present beneath her cloak, “you won’t disappoint me, will you, Mr. Yu Xing?”

Her tone was soft, even carrying a hint of intimacy, as if she were seeking her companion's opinion, but her beautiful eyes held no smile, only cold command and scrutiny.

“Go.” Fernail raised her chin slightly and tapped the door with her fingertip. “Prove your stance to me. Go and bring your ‘colleague’ to me.”

This attitude and command seemed to make Yu Xing feel oppressed and uncomfortable.

A nearly impolite smile played on his lips as his gaze swept over Funel's still-uncomfortable face. His voice carried a perfectly timed, unpleasant sneer: "I thought that with your status and abilities, Madam... or rather, with the High Priest's status and methods, it would be very easy for you to personally act as bait and deal with Carlos."

These words struck precisely at Fernel's anger.

Her beautiful eyes swept coldly over Yu Xing, and a short, gloomy snort escaped from her nose. She raised her hand and examined her nails, which were painted with a dark, emerald green nail polish, as if checking whether they were perfectly trimmed.

“Indeed, I underestimated him,” Fernail’s voice regained its composure, but with a hint of unease. “You investigators from the East always manage to pull off some surprising tricks.”

She raised her eyes, her gaze refocusing on Yu Xing. The previous pretense was gone, replaced by pure scrutiny and an unquestionable command: "So, for this very reason, isn't it most appropriate for you, a 'colleague' also from the East, to deal with him?"

She tilted her head slightly, the outline of her collarbone, faintly visible beneath her cloak, rising and falling with her breath, but her tone remained completely calm: "Aren't you going yet, Mr. Yu Xing?"

Yu Xing did not act immediately.

His fingers, hanging at his sides, twitched almost imperceptibly; this hesitation and struggle did not escape Fernail's eyes.

Fernal was not surprised by this; on the contrary, she thought it was normal.

Yu Xing also used the micro-expressions and movements she performed to think about the current situation.

He knew that this was a test from High Priest Fernal. Although Defit and Evan had already tested him, given the High Priest's personality, he would definitely need to confirm it himself.

Moreover, she seemed to enjoy pushing people to the edge of a cliff and watching them struggle or give in, which gave her pleasure.

That brief moment of hesitation, as if weighing the pros and cons, gave Fernal the opportunity to pressure him.

The last trace of warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by an inorganic coldness, as if the anger just moments before was merely an ember of a simulated human emotion, and what was revealed now was the absolute inhumanity of the "nest's" core.

"Can't bring yourself to do it?" she said softly, her voice low but sharp as needles. "I know you're not only colleagues at Ideal State, but also 'friends' who live together and spend every day together?"

Before she finished speaking, she suddenly raised her right hand, and her sharp, dark green nails pierced into the flesh of her left forearm without hesitation!
The movement was so fast that it left only a blur in the air. There was no blood splattering, not even the pain that an ordinary person would show. There was only the tooth-grinding, slight tearing sound of leather being ripped open by a sharp object.

She stared intently into Yu Xing's eyes, deftly hooking her fingertip inside, and then slowly pulled it out—a bone about the length of a forearm, pale in color, gleaming with the cold light unique to bone under the dim light of the corridor, was now in her palm.

She even leisurely brushed away non-existent dust from the bone with her fingertips, her movements as elegant as if she were playing with an expensive quill pen, and then held it between the two of them so that Yu Xing could clearly see every detail.

“But…” A clear, sweetly malicious threat finally crept into Fennell’s tone. She tilted her head slightly, her red lips curving upwards. “Do you… recognize this bone?”

Yu Xing raised an eyebrow.

He could certainly recognize it; it was his own bone, which he had offered as a token of sincerity during a tantric gathering.

At the time, many people showed signs of vying for it, and he thought it would be Evan's, but it turned out to be Fernail.

"...So it ended up in your hands." Yu Xing said, his voice lower than before, revealing little emotion, as if he were simply stating a given fact.

“You should have thought of that.” Fernail raised an eyebrow, her fingertips lightly tracing the surface of the bone, as if to say that everything was under control, including your “sincerity” and “handle”.

Her gaze sharpened again, becoming increasingly menacing. She repeated the command, each word dripping with icy intensity: "Aren't you going?"

The air seemed to freeze, with only the increasingly violent rain outside the window and the faint, chaotic sounds of the cultists running and searching throughout the manor, like the gradually tightening drumbeats in the background.

Yu Xing and Funer looked at each other.

A few seconds later, he clicked his tongue softly, a sound that carried a hint of helplessness, yet also a self-deprecating tone born of compromise.

He lowered his head slightly, his nonchalant smile fading, and his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly for a moment, adopting an almost submissive posture.

“Of course,” he looked up to meet Fernell’s cold, scrutinizing gaze, his tone returning to calm, even carrying a hint of deliberate subservience, “At your service, Lady Fernell… no, High Priestess.”

He didn't look at the arm bone that Funel was playing with again, nor did he say another word. He simply turned around decisively and strode into the deeper corridor.

The hem of his trench coat drew a clean arc with his movement, and soon his figure blended into the bizarre and gloomy darkness woven from flickering candlelight and lightning outside the window.

Fennell stood there, looking in the direction where Yu Xing had disappeared. Her fingertips unconsciously stroked the cold arm bone. Her beautiful face was expressionless, except for the inhuman iridescence deep in her eyes, which seemed to be assessing the prey's final choice, or perhaps anticipating the next game.

After a while, she chuckled and stuffed the bone back into the wound she had just cut open.

Her body is the perfect vessel; her skin can isolate these spiritual materials from the entanglement of fate, and no one can take them back by bypassing her.

Therefore, as long as the bone is here, regardless of whether Yu Xing's submission is genuine or feigned, he ultimately cannot defy her. (End of Chapter)