The clasped hands, cold against cold, trembling against steady. Time seemed to freeze in that moment, leaving only the interwoven breaths of the two and the eternal drip of water droplets in the dungeon.
Deep within You Li’s blood-red eyes, that faint crack slowly widened. She looked at Su Yu, at those eyes brimming with tears and filled with undisguised fear, at that pale, shattered face—this was not an act, not a scheme, but the most naked, most primal fear, like a small animal cornered on a cliff by a predator, trembling, without even the strength to flee.
The words “Qing Li… I’m scared…” were like a rusty key, suddenly thrust into a lock in her heart that had been sealed for a hundred years. When the lock turned, it did not produce a crisp sound but a grating noise mixed with rust flakes, scraping her insides until they ached.
Over a hundred years ago, on a stormy night at Qing Yin Pavilion. A young Qing Li, clutching a pillow, ran barefoot across the corridor, pushed open her door, burrowed into her bed, and with icy little hands tightly grasped her collar, saying tearfully, “Senior Sister… I’m scared…”
Back then, Su Yu would gently pat her back, hum a tuneless lullaby, and whisper comfortingly, “Don’t be scared, Senior Sister is here.”
Now, the same address, the same fear, but with their roles completely reversed. The one pleading was now Su Yu, and the one who could offer the promise of “don’t be scared”… was herself.
You Li held Su Yu’s hand, feeling its icy coldness and violent trembling, the nails almost digging into her skin. This was not the force of resistance but the instinct of a drowning person clutching at driftwood, the last, humble plea for help in despair.
She remained silent for a long time.
So long that Su Yu’s tears had dried up, leaving only hollow, intermittent sobs. So long that the glow of the Blood Mark Pact on the Warm Jade Silk had dimmed, reverting to its latent dark red patterns. So long that the chill from the depths of the dungeon seeped into their bones, robbing their clasped hands of their last trace of warmth.
Then, You Li did something unexpected—perhaps even to herself.
She released Su Yu’s hand.
But she did not push it away; instead, she gently laid it down. Then, she bent over and lifted the limp, broken-doll-like body into her arms, cradling it.
Su Yu was frighteningly light, like a feather that might shatter at any moment, trembling faintly in her embrace, without even the intent to struggle, only instinctively curling up and burying her face in the crook of You Li’s shoulder.
You Li carried her and gently laid her down. Then, she pulled over the brocade quilt, carefully covering Su Yu with it, tucking in the corners.
After doing all this, she did not leave. Instead, she sat down by the bed, her back to Su Yu, gazing into the swaying shadows in the depths of the dungeon.
“We won’t choose today. We’ll wait until you… feel better.”
Su Yu huddled under the quilt, only her eyes visible, staring blankly at You Li’s back. She did not understand what had happened, why You Li had suddenly withdrawn all her thorns and punishments, or what the word “Qing Li” had stirred. She only instinctively clutched the edge of the quilt, her body still trembling uncontrollably, the spot on her chest where the Blood Mark Pact resided aching faintly, reminding her that this was not a dream.
You Li sat quietly, her silhouette appearing somewhat frail under the dim light. The dark purple gown draped over the stone bed resembled a flower blooming on a cliff’s edge, on the verge of withering.
“You know…” You Li suddenly spoke again, her voice soft as if murmuring to herself or perhaps addressing Su Yu, “In Wan Mo Cave, there is no day or night, only eternal darkness and the howls of demonic creatures. Demonic energy seeps from the earth’s crevices like icy snakes, slithering into your senses, gnawing at your meridians… It’s cold, colder than the deepest frozen pool.”
Her fingers unconsciously traced the fabric of her skirt.
“Back then, I was afraid too,” she continued, her voice devoid of emotion, yet each word seemed steeped in a century’s worth of frost. “Afraid of death, afraid of pain, afraid of becoming a monster I wouldn’t recognize… But what I feared most was remembering you.”
Su Yu’s breath hitched for a moment.
“Remembering you in Qing Yin Pavilion, wearing clean sacred robes, practicing swordplay under the sun, playing the zither under the moonlight… Remembering how you were always so pure, so radiant, like an unreachable moon. And me, rolling in filth and blood, even my own shadow felt tainted.” You Li paused, her voice growing even softer. “At that time, I thought, if I ever got out, I would drag you down too.”
She turned her head to look at Su Yu. Her crimson eyes held no hatred, only an unfathomable desolation.
“Drag you down to a place as dirty and dark as mine. That way, you couldn’t look down on me from above anymore. That way… we would be the same.”
Su Yu gazed at her, tears silently welling up once more. This time, they were not tears of fear, but something deeper—a mixture of pain, understanding, and… pity.
Suddenly, she understood what lay behind all of You Li’s madness, all her torment, all her twisted “love.”
It was loneliness.
A bone-deep loneliness of being abandoned, of struggling in darkness for a century.
You Li did not want a puppet, a plaything, or even an enemy. What she wanted was a companion—someone who could understand her darkness, who wouldn’t leave her because of it, who might even be willing to sink into the abyss with her… a kindred spirit.
Because only kindred spirits would not despise the filth on each other.
“I’m sorry…” Su Yu reached out from under the blanket, her trembling fingers gently brushing the back of You Li’s hand resting by the bed. “Qing Li… I’m sorry…”
You Li’s hand trembled violently. She looked down at Su Yu’s touch, at those slender, pale fingers marked with unhealed wounds and dried blood, cautiously resting against her skin.
Then, she clasped that hand in return.
This time, she held it tightly—so tightly that Su Yu’s fingers ached. But Su Yu did not pull away, allowing her to hold on.
“It’s too late,” You Li whispered, her voice carrying something broken. “Su Yu, it’s too late. I can’t… go back anymore. And neither can you.”
She lifted her head, meeting Su Yu’s eyes. In her crimson gaze, there finally appeared a clear, distinctly human emotion—pain, struggle, and a longing bordering on despair.
“Then choose the second path.” Her voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable plea. “Sink down with me… At least this way, we won’t be alone.”
Su Yu looked at her, at that familiar yet unfamiliar face, at those eyes filled with a century of loneliness. She could feel the strength with which You Li held her hand, could sense the faint pulse of the Blood Mark Pact beneath the Warm Jade Silk, could feel the nearly extinguished glimmer deep within her own dantian.
Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she nodded.
It was a trembling nod, laden with endless tears.
You Li’s pupils dilated slightly. She watched Su Yu nod, watched the last glimmer of light in those eyes fade completely, watched the once aloof and proud Sheng Nu finally surrender all resistance and dignity before her.
There was no thrill of victory, no satisfaction of control.
Only a heavy, muffled sound, like a massive stone plunging into a deep pool, echoed within her chest, stirring cold ripples named “loss.”
She released Su Yu’s hand, stood up, and walked to the cell door.
“Rest well,” she said without turning back. “Tomorrow… we’ll begin tomorrow.”
She left, her footsteps lighter than when she arrived, yet heavier.
Only Su Yu remained in the dungeon, wrapped in a brocade quilt, curled up on the stone bed. She did not cry, did not tremble, but simply lay with her eyes open, gazing into the darkness of the dungeon ceiling.
The Blood Mark Pact on the Warm Jade Silk had fallen completely silent, no longer glowing, no longer aching. It was like a scar that would never fade, etched into her skin and her soul.
Su Yu raised her hand, looking at her palm. There, where You Li had held it moments before, lingered a cold touch and a barely perceptible tremor that belonged to Qing Li.
She knew that from this moment on, the Sheng Nu named “Su Yu” was truly dead.
What remained was a prisoner named “Su Yu,” a shadow about to offer her soul to the abyss.
Yet strangely, at the very bottom of utter despair, she felt a trace of… peace.
Like the peace of a drowning person who has given up struggling and slowly sinks into the deep sea. Surrounded by eternal darkness and cold, but at least there was no need to struggle to the surface anymore, to gasp for air that could never be reached.
She closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow.
The pillow carried the cold fragrance left by You Li, mingling with her own tears, forming a bitter and eternal scent.
Deep in the dungeon, water droplets dripped.
And this time, in the intervals between the drips, even the faint sound of a seed stirring seemed to have vanished completely.