What lay beyond the iron door?
Xia Miao’s mind seemed to split into two voices—one warning her of the danger inside, urging her not to enter, while the other insisted she must go in. Perhaps there, hidden in the shadows, was the truth she had always longed to remember but could never grasp.
"Come, Xia Miao."
Dean Zhao stood by the doorway, his voice gentle as he beckoned her.
"Go on, take a look."
The Female Teacher smiled warmly, encouraging Xia Miao to take that first step.
A strange sensation washed over Xia Miao—as if she were being lured, yet also as though she were simply following her instincts. Her gaze fixed on the space beyond the door, and she moved forward.
The moment she stepped inside, the heavy iron door slammed shut behind her. Dean Zhao and the Female Teacher vanished without a trace.
Then, she heard voices.
"Shen Chi, wouldn’t it have been better to pretend you knew nothing?"
"We never chose you. You brought this upon yourself!"
"If you hadn’t meddled, you wouldn’t be in this state now."
The lights in the room flickered out, then reignited—as if time and space had shifted. Figures and scenes from the past materialized before her eyes.
A boy lay in a pool of blood, battered and motionless, his condition indeterminable.
Standing over him were none other than Dean Zhao and his assistant, the Female Teacher.
"I don’t understand. Why didn’t you run?" Dean Zhao’s eyes held a trace of pity. After all, he’d heard of Shen Chi—a brilliant student, one who might have been the "smartest" if not for Xia Miao.
The Female Teacher suddenly spoke up. "He’s holding a letter."
She moved to take it, but the boy, on the brink of death, summoned a surge of strength and clutched the letter tightly to his chest.
"Stop," Dean Zhao commanded.
The Female Teacher halted.
Dean Zhao, having once been young himself, recognized the letter’s significance at a glance. "You love her."
Shen Chi’s hands were barely intact, the numbness of his body shielding him from pain—yet those mangled fingers still clung desperately to the letter.
Dean Zhao continued, "Is this worth it? She’ll never know you died here. She’ll never know why. And this letter? She’ll never see it."
No matter what he said, Shen Chi, slipping further from life, gave no response.
Slowly, Dean Zhao’s patience frayed. "Do you realize what you’ve done by disrupting the ritual? Only the top student in this school can bring us the greatest value. You’re not even worthy of being our sacrifice!"
The school had long harbored a dark, unwritten tradition known only to a select few: at intervals, offering the brightest student to the Mist World in exchange for greater benefits.
Dean Zhao had investigated Xia Miao’s background. He knew well how wealthy her family was—using her as the offering carried immense risk. But he had no choice. Xia Miao was, undeniably, the smartest.
And now, Shen Chi had ruined everything.
Somehow, Shen Chi had uncovered Dean Zhao’s plans—perhaps when he’d come to collect his recommendation letter. He’d noticed Dean Zhao’s unusual interest in Xia Miao and pieced together their scheme.
Dean Zhao suddenly realized he had to act faster.
But just as his men were poised to take Xia Miao, Shen Chi intervened.
If not for a quarreling couple mentioning Shen Chi’s inquiries about Xia Miao’s whereabouts, Dean Zhao might never have guessed Shen Chi intended to warn her.
So, at the last moment, they diverted their target, seizing Shen Chi instead—the one who could expose them.
Dean Zhao had half-hoped Shen Chi would report his suspicions to the police. No one would believe him, and they could dismiss him as a madman. Or he could have fled—the farther he ran, the safer he’d be.
But Shen Chi did the opposite.
Dean Zhao couldn’t fathom it. Shen Chi had secured his recommendation letter, a ticket to a brighter future abroad. Yet for the sake of an unrequited love, he’d chosen death.
"If you refuse to live, then stay here forever," Dean Zhao said.
The iron door groaned shut once more, and Dean Zhao and the Female Teacher disappeared again.
Xia Miao forced herself forward, step by agonizing step, until she stood over the fallen boy.
"Shen Chi."
She called his name, but he didn’t stir.
They weren’t in the same time or space. What she saw was merely a fragment of memory, a scene already passed.
He slumped against the wall, head bowed, the only sound the steady drip of blood. Slowly, the letter he’d shielded was soaked through, its words lost beneath the crimson stain.
"Shen Chi!"
Xia Miao could bear it no longer. She reached out—but the lights cut out, her fingers grasping empty air. The room plunged into suffocating darkness, devoid of life, of sound, even of her own heartbeat.
Minutes in that abyss felt like an eternity. Her mind raced, dredging up forgotten truths—another life, one where she hadn’t known Shen Chi, hadn’t known his face, his nature, his desires.
She hadn’t known he loved her, hadn’t known what his letter contained. She hadn’t even known how he’d died.
Guilt erupted into anguish, a pain so sharp it threatened to tear her apart. In the dark, emotions magnified, unbearable.
Xia Miao wasn’t one to cry. She’d learned early that tears solved nothing. But knowing someone had thrown away his chance at freedom, his future, for her—she couldn’t hold back.
"Xia Miao!"
The iron door burst open. A boy stood there, his features now twisted with inhuman traits. Yet at the sight of the girl curled on the floor, his withered heart clenched with an ache long thought dead.
Xia Miao lifted her face. Her eyes, once bright as starlight when they met his, were now clouded—yet somehow, he still saw himself reflected in them.
A broken, ruined self.
