The Handsome Man

Chapter 53: The Handsome Man

Han Li’s heart clenched at the words. But what followed shook his mind to its core, forcing him to realize just how much in this world he had yet to understand.

As Doctor Mo’s shout rang out, the seven bizarre blades embedded in his body all began to tremble. From the ghost heads came a low, rumbling hum that grew louder and sharper, as if they were about to come alive and tear themselves free of his flesh.

Doctor Mo saw that the strange blades were not obeying him properly. Somewhat exasperated, he muttered something under his breath—too fast and too low for Han Li to catch, though he doubted it was anything pleasant.

Doctor Mo stood up and paced around the room once. Finally, he stamped his foot, apparently out of options. With clear reluctance, he extended an index finger and shoved it into the open mouth of one of the ghost heads.

What happened next was impossible.

The dead thing—a mere carving—closed its jaws of its own accord. Thick, savage fangs bit down hard on the offering that had presented itself, and began to suck gently.

Doctor Mo’s body shuddered slightly, as if enduring immense pain. The black mist still obscured his face, so Han Li could not see his expression, but he imagined it must have been terrible.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the ghost head finally had its fill. It released its bite with satisfaction, and the humming ceased.

Doctor Mo repeated the same process for each of the remaining ghost heads, feeding them one by one, before withdrawing his finger with evident displeasure.

When that was done, he once again formed the hand seal he had used before, and began to mutter an incantation.

This time, the seven strange blades did not tremble, nor did they emit any strange sound. Instead, their eyes snapped open—blood-red pupils—and their mouths gaped wider. They puffed out their cheeks and began to inhale greedily at the air.

The ghostly mist on Doctor Mo’s face seemed to sense its doom. It churned violently, its tendrils thrashing more wildly than before, but to no avail.

Seven thin black threads were drawn up from the mist, tracing elegant arcs through the air before falling with perfect precision into the seven waiting ghost mouths. The ghost heads devoured them bit by bit.

Han Li was stunned.

Because Doctor Mo sat directly across from him, everything that happened before his body was clearly visible—down to every tooth in the ghost heads’ mouths.

This was Han Li’s first real contact with another world, and he was utterly shaken by the supernatural power on display. The bizarre silver blades, the sinister ghost heads, the evil mist clinging to Doctor Mo’s face—none of it could be explained by reason. It completely overturned everything he thought he knew. Before this, he had always been half-skeptical of ghosts and spirits. He never believed anything he hadn’t seen with his own eyes.

But now, scenes that belonged only in legends were unfolding before him, alive and real. How could he not be terrified?

For a moment, Han Li’s mind was a mess. Faced with such inhuman power, trapped as a prisoner, he had no idea how to respond.

Gradually, the ghostly mist on Doctor Mo’s face thinned. It went from thick to sparse, from dense to wispy, until the ghost heads had eaten most of it away. Only a faint, translucent layer remained, barely veiling his features.

Now Doctor Mo’s face was vaguely visible. But when Han Li saw the true countenance being revealed, his jaw dropped and he couldn’t close it for a long time.

There had been too many shocks today, but none of them were as utterly incomprehensible as this.

The face emerging from the black mist was that of a vigorous man in his early thirties. And judging by the all-too-familiar lines of the brows and eyes, it was unmistakably Doctor Mo himself—only younger by at least several decades.

A firm, striking jaw. Eyes that commanded respect without any show of anger. The faint, cold curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It was, by any standard, a face of devastating handsomeness, the kind that could pierce the heart of any woman—whether a budding maiden or a lonely wife locked away in her manor. One slight gesture and they would throw themselves at him, sinking deeper without hope of escape.

When Han Li saw this face, he actually felt an urge to smash it with his fist. It seemed this “handsome man” image stirred jealousy even in other men.

As the last traces of black mist were sucked into the ghost mouths, Han Li remembered what Doctor Mo had once told him: that he was only a little over thirty years old, but had been drained of his essence by evil spirits for years, making him appear ancient and decrepit.

So at least on that point, the man hadn’t lied. This—this youthful appearance—was what Doctor Mo really looked like. But the method he had used to restore himself… it was beyond imagining.

Han Li also realized that the restoration was not just skin-deep. Doctor Mo’s hair, his posture, his entire body had changed. The jet-black strands, the upright frame—everything proclaimed that the man was at the prime of his life, at the peak of physical strength and vitality.

“But if Doctor Mo can restore himself this way, why did he go through all the trouble of targeting me?”

Han Li’s mind, emerging from its stupor, began to race again. He was still in danger, and he knew it. He forced himself to analyze everything he had just seen, searching for some angle, some thread that could lead to escape.

He watched as the younger Doctor Mo stood rooted in place, his mind seeming to wander. For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he raised one hand and gazed at the smooth skin on the back of it with the look of a man who had just found something he thought was lost forever. He closed his eyes and pressed the palm to his cheek, rubbing it gently, as if savoring the feel of youthful vitality.

This narcissistic display was almost too much for Han Li to witness. He could not comprehend the mixture of emotions that Doctor Mo must feel at having something so fundamental returned to him.

“Doctor Mo,” Han Li said, unable to hold his tongue any longer, “you look like you’ve recovered now. You probably don’t need your disciple anymore, do you? Could you perhaps let me go? I’d be happy to serve you from now on, to run errands and do your bidding.”

He knew perfectly well that the man would never release him like this. But he feigned foolishness, probing, hoping to learn his fate sooner rather than later, so he could adjust his plans accordingly.