After Chongyang's death, the Youluo flower quickly withered, its leaves turning yellow and falling, its roots drained of all vitality. The once-twisting, deeply entrenched veins rapidly shriveled and grayed, like old vines scorched by the blazing sun.
In the twilight, it was a scene of lifelessness.
Yet deep within the earth's crevices, there was no light to be found.
The woman who had fallen into the abyss lay with twisted limbs, her head tilted to one side, one eye dull and lifeless. Covered in blood, already grievously wounded, and now having plummeted from a great height, she clung to her last breath. Soon, death would claim her.
Ding-ling—
A clear, bell-like sound echoed through the damp, shadowy air, accompanied by the slow, approaching footsteps.
Blue spirit insects fluttered about, one landing atop Lan Yingying's head, feeding on her blood. More and more of them gathered, as if weaving a luminous blue passage. Within the faint glow, a figure gradually became clearer.
A black venomous insect crawled into Lan Yingying's mouth. Soon after, the sickening sound of joints cracking and resetting echoed through her body.
Her form twisted unnaturally, like a monster writhing in pain. The agony grew sharper, jolting her back from the brink of death. She screamed, suddenly finding strength in her torment.
"That hideous appearance of yours is truly unbearable to look at," he remarked, covering his lips with one hand and turning his face slightly away, as if genuinely repulsed.
"I recall teaching you the importance of maintaining one's image."
Lan Yingying trembled violently, biting her lip until it bled to stifle her cries. She forced herself to stop shaking, refusing to contort into the "ugly" state he despised.
A handkerchief was tossed her way. Slowly, she reached for it, wiping the blood from her face to reveal deathly pale skin.
He gazed down at her with a smile, though his eyes held nothing but cold detachment—like a sovereign observing a lowly insect.
He could grant her life, just as easily as he could take it.
Fifteen years ago, with a mere flick of his fingers, he had slaughtered her entire family, sparing only her amidst the sea of corpses.
Under the influence of the venomous insect, Lan Yingying endured unbearable suffering until her wounds finally healed.
She scrambled to her knees before him.
The man leaned down, tilting her chin with his fingers, examining her face with a light twist. "Good. At least this face is still intact."
Yet the empty socket where her eye had been remained an unsightly blemish.
He clicked his tongue, producing a black-and-white gem carved into the shape of an eyeball. Without concern for her pain, he forced it into the hollow socket.
Lan Yingying clenched her teeth, refusing to make a sound.
"You foolish child. I ordered you to kill Song Chunming, yet you insisted on playing house with him. Have I not told you before? You belong to me."
"Hiding away with him in Wutong Village was clever, I’ll admit. But why provoke the woman that boy loved?"
"He wasn’t an easy opponent, was he?"
His tone was gentle, like a mentor lecturing a wayward student, though his youthful appearance suggested they were of similar age.
The kinder his smile, the crueler his methods.
Once the eye was in place, Lan Yingying collapsed, drenched in sweat, barely holding herself up with trembling hands.
He withdrew, pulling out another handkerchief to meticulously clean each finger that had touched her, chuckling softly.
"Once we return, you’ll spend a month in the Venom Pool."
Lan Yingying turned ashen, finally breaking her silence. "No—"
"Have you forgotten what I taught you?"
She was never allowed to refuse.
"Just a month in the Venom Pool, and you’re already terrified?" He smiled, twirling a lock of her black hair between his fingers. "Truly, a worthless imitation."
Lan Yingying felt as though she had been plunged into an icy abyss, robbed of all strength to speak.
By the time everything settled, the village had fallen into complete silence. Empty houses stood dark and unlit, exuding an eerie desolation.
Chu'he erected a cenotaph for Chongyang outside their "home."
Though their meeting had been built on lies, the brief time they spent together had been real.
She brushed her fingers over the tombstone. "Chongyang, we’ll come back to visit you."
A breeze swept past—perhaps his spirit responding from beyond.
Ninth sat on the doorstep, chin resting in his hands, staring at Chu'he’s back in uncharacteristic silence.
Fang Songhe approached, carrying the still-unconscious Song Chunming over his shoulder and a packed bundle in hand. "I’ve prepared everything. Let’s leave tonight."
Their journey had been fraught with inexplicable events, all seemingly connected. To avoid further trouble, they decided to depart Wutong Village immediately.
Erwei brought the carriage around. Fang Songhe and Song Chunming settled inside, while Chu'he and Ninth sat up front, letting the cold night air wash over them as if everything had been a dream.
Chu'he leaned against Ninth, glancing up at the sky. "Still foggy tonight. Not a single star in sight."
"Do you want to see stars, A’he?"
"They say the dead become stars. I wanted to find which one was Chongyang."
Ninth squinted at the murky night, muttering, "I don’t want to be a star when I die."
Chu'he turned to look at him.
"Stars are too far away. I’d rather be a ghost, haunting you every day."
"You know I’m afraid of ghosts!"
"Exactly. If you ever think of remarrying, I’ll scare off every suitor and make you cry until you give up."
The idea of blessing a lover’s new happiness from beyond the grave? That wasn’t Ninth’s style.
Chu'he deadpanned, "Enough. Instead of scheming how to torment me after death, focus on living a long life. And don’t mention dying again!"
Ninth eyed her clenched fist and slowly muttered, "Fine."
A gust of wind sent a red silk cloth fluttering into Chu'he’s grasp—likely from a forgotten clothesline.
She gazed at the darkened houses on either side, remembering the lively village it once was. Now, the abandoned grains and laundry would never be tended to again.
As the carriage passed through the mist, the scenery ahead sharpened—only for Chu'he to stiffen in disbelief.
She rubbed her eyes, but the view remained unchanged.
Ninth frowned. "What’s wrong?"
Chu'he whispered, "We’ve gone in a circle."
"Have we?"
"Doesn’t this place look familiar?"
Ninth tilted her head, "Does this feel familiar?"
The same houses, the same drying racks, the same fields—nothing had changed.
The entire Wutong Village was an illusion crafted by Chongyang. With Chongyang gone, the illusion should have shattered, freeing them from the mist's grasp and allowing them to leave. Yet here they remained.
Chu'he turned and pushed open the carriage door. "Fang Songhe, something's not right!"
Fang Songhe had already closed his eyes, as if deep in slumber, oblivious to the shifting world around him. A man of his martial prowess should have been the first to sense any disturbance, yet no matter how Chu'he called to him, he gave no response.
She shook him gently. "Fang Songhe?"
He slumped over in the carriage, unconscious—just like Song Chunming.
Ninth squeezed closer, her tone light. "Don't worry, Ah'he. This stubborn ox must have just dozed off."
Why, even with Chongyang gone, couldn’t they escape this illusion?
Why had Fang Songhe, wielder of the legendary blade Suixin, fallen into the same unconscious state as Song Chunming?
Why had Ninth, skilled in the most arcane arts of Miaojiang, also succumbed to Chongyang’s trickery, forgetting her true identity and playing her part in this absurd charade?
Then it struck her. Chu'he’s head snapped up, her gaze locking onto the boy who had been by her side all this time.
His expression was one of innocent bewilderment, pure and guileless.
Then his lips curved into a smile. Cradling her face, his crimson eyes gleaming with affection, he murmured, "Ah'he, are you tired? If you are, let’s not push forward. Let’s go back and rest for a while."
His smile outshone the spring itself—radiant, alive.
Yet Chu'he’s heart tightened with dread.
If she closed her eyes now… would she even remember wanting to escape when she woke?
