The travelogue was nearly finished. Su Yu’s finger rested on the last page, where a long-dried yet still pale purple petal was tucked between the pages. Beside it was a delicate annotation: “‘Purple Lily of the Valley by the River of Forgetfulness’ blooms once every thousand years. When it flowers, its sound resembles silver bells, and those who hear it temporarily forget their past. After the flower withers, memories return, leaving only melancholy.”
She stared at those words for a long time, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the dry, fragile petal. Temporarily forgetting the past… how tempting, yet how illusory.
Memories might be obscured by some miraculous flower, but could things branded into the soul truly be forgotten? Like the dark red Blood Mark Pact hidden beneath this Warm Jade Silk, like the faint glow entangled with Gu poison deep within her dantian, like… You Li’s gaze, sometimes icy, sometimes obscure.
The dungeon door opened, carrying a faint, unusual scent of grass and trees.
You Li walked in. Today, she was not dressed in her usual dark colors but wore a misty-green long skirt embroidered with sparse silver bamboo leaf patterns. Her long hair was tied up with a simple wooden hairpin, softening the eerie, oppressive aura of the demonic path’s Sheng Nu.
She carried no tray but held a small, exquisitely woven wicker basket. Inside, cushioned by soft, dark velvet, were a few items: a still-warm bowl of soup, two small white jade cups, and a slender-necked porcelain bottle, plain white without any decoration.
Su Yu’s gaze fell on the wicker basket and the porcelain bottle, her heart stirring slightly. This did not resemble You Li’s usual uncompromising “gifts.” It felt more like… an invitation? Or perhaps another form of goodwill?
You Li placed the basket on the small table and sat down beside the stone bed, closer than usual. She opened the soup bowl, releasing the familiar nourishing aroma, though today the broth was a clear golden color, with translucent amber-like gelatinous pieces and plump, crimson goji berries floating within.
“Today’s soup is made with ‘Blood Jade Lingzhi’ and ‘Crimson Essence Dates,’” You Li said calmly as she ladled the soup, her tone as if explaining some trivial knowledge. “The former grows in the blood-soaked grounds of ancient battlefields, taking a thousand years to form. The latter grows on the edges of lava veins, nourished by fire essence. One yin, one yang—when harmonized, they best fortify the foundation and cultivate vitality.”
She pushed a small cup of soup toward Su Yu, then picked up the plain white porcelain bottle and uncorked it. A clear, faintly sweet floral fragrance, reminiscent of honeyed nectar, wafted out—not strong, yet instantly filling the small cell.
“This is ‘Forget-Worry Dew,’” You Li said, filling both white jade cups with the amber liquid, which shimmered softly under the lamplight. “It’s not wine but brewed from a glowing nectar found in the depths of the Demon Realm. It’s mild, harmless to the body, and calming to the spirit.”
She pushed one cup toward Su Yu, then picked up the other herself but did not drink. Instead, she gently swirled it, watching the amber liquid ripple in small waves.
Su Yu looked at the bowl of soup and the cup of dew before her. The soup was You Li’s meticulously prepared “nourishment,” the dew her never-before-mentioned “calming agent.” Together, paired with You Li’s attire and tone today, they formed an exceedingly complex and inscrutable signal.
She remained silent, first picking up the soup bowl and taking small sips. The soup was rich and slightly sweet, carrying the faint bitterness unique to lingzhi and the fresh sweetness of dates. As it warmed her stomach, the heat spread, indeed feeling more nourishing than the soups of the previous days. She drank slowly, sip by sip, feeling that warm current gradually seep into her battered and scarred meridians.
You Li did not rush her, merely watching quietly as she drank the soup, her own bowl of Forgetful Dew untouched in her hand. Her gaze fell on Su Yu’s thin wrist bone, where the wide smoke-blue sleeve had slipped down, revealing a stretch of pale skin and the faint outline of a black chain. Her eyes deepened, and her fingertips unconsciously brushed lightly against the rim of the white jade bowl.
After finishing the soup, Su Yu set down the bowl, her fingers touching the nearby bowl of Forgetful Dew. The slightly warm bowl, the cool liquid. She lifted her eyes to look at You Li.
You Li was also looking at her. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the only sounds in the dungeon were their breathing and the lingering, faint sweet fragrance.
“Afraid I poisoned it?”
Su Yu shook her head, her voice soft. “I’m just not used to it.”
“Not used to what?” You Li pressed, something flickering in her blood-red eyes.
Su Yu lowered her gaze, looking at the amber liquid in the bowl. “Not used to… you like this.”
You Li fell silent. She drained her bowl of Forgetful Dew in one go, then gently placed the empty bowl on the small table, producing a faint, crisp sound.
“I’m not used to it either,” she said, her voice dropping, carrying a rare hint of weariness. “Not used to feeding you soup, not used to bringing you books, not used to sitting here… watching you.”
She paused, lifting her eyes to the dim, rough stone ceiling of the dungeon, as if speaking to the stone itself. “Not used to you… no longer hating so purely, fearing so completely.”
Su Yu’s heart trembled violently.
You Li turned her head, looking at her again, her gaze sharp as if to slice open her flesh and peer into her soul. “Su Yu, tell me, what are you thinking when you look at me now? Is it hatred? Fear? Scheming about how to escape? Or…”
She stopped, not finishing. But that unspoken “or” was like a stone dropped into a deep pond, sending silent ripples between them.
Su Yu opened her mouth but found she could make no sound. Hatred? Of course, she hated her—for imprisoning and tormenting her, for destroying Xuan Yu Zong. Fear? Yes, she feared her—feared the Gu poison, feared the Blood Mark Pact, feared the endless darkness. Scheming? Perhaps there was some—that faint glimmer remained, some vague notion still lying dormant in the deepest part of her heart.
But these did not seem to be the clearest feelings at this moment.
Now, looking at this You Li before her, dressed in a smoke-blue dress adorned with cool bamboo leaf patterns, her eyes complex and inscrutable, the clearest feeling Su Yu had was an indescribable… sorrow. For Qing Li, for Su Yu, for the past they could never return to, and for this twisted, bizarre present.
“I…” Su Yu’s voice was hoarse. “I don’t know.”
It was the truth. Her emotions were like a tangled, soaked mess of threads, knotted together, with no clear beginning or end.
You Li watched her for a long time, so long that Su Yu thought she would break the awkward silence with coldness or cruelty as before. But she only sighed softly, a sigh as light as a feather yet heavy on Su Yu’s heart.
“Drink it,” You Li gestured to the Forgetful Dew in her hand. “It will help you sleep better.”
Su Yu hesitated for a moment, but ultimately picked up the small cup and drank the amber liquid in one gulp. It tasted sweet with a slight spiciness upon entering her mouth, carrying the fragrance of flower honey and a strange, soothing warmth that slid down her throat. Soon, a gentle and relaxing sensation spread from her stomach, and her tense nerves seemed to ease slightly.
“This dew…” she began instinctively.
“It has a lingering effect, but it’s harmless,” You Li took the empty cup from her hand and placed it, along with her own, into the wicker basket. “You’ll want to sleep for a while.”
Sure enough, within moments, Su Yu felt her eyelids grow heavy, and drowsiness washed over her like a tide. This sleepiness was different from exhaustion—it was a relaxed, gently enveloping haze. She leaned against the stone wall, her body sliding down slightly.
A pair of cool arms caught her, gently laying her down on the stone bed and covering her with a brocade quilt.
On the verge of falling asleep, Su Yu vaguely sensed that You Li did not leave immediately. She stood by the bed, watching her for a long time. Then, something cold and soft brushed lightly across her forehead.
Was it a finger? Or… something else?
She had no time to discern it before her consciousness sank into darkness. This time, there were no nightmares, no premonitions of Gu poison—only a deep, tranquil void.
When Su Yu awoke, she had no idea how much time had passed. The dungeon remained dim, but the glass lamp seemed to have been turned brighter, casting a softer light than before.
She was still covered by the brocade quilt, and the smoky blue outer robe was neatly folded beside her pillow. The wicker basket on the small table was gone, leaving only the empty soup pot and two clean white jade cups placed side by side.
Her body felt peculiar. She had slept deeply, without nightmares or being startled awake by Gu poison or fear. Though still weak, the bone-deep exhaustion had lessened considerably, replaced by a long-lost sense of relaxation. The faint glow in her dantian also seemed more stable, no longer flickering uncertainly as if it might extinguish at any moment.
Sitting up, she noticed something else beside the folded robe on her pillow.
It was a hairpin. A simple wooden hairpin, polished smooth and warm to the touch, entirely black, with only a tiny peach blossom carved at its tip.
Su Yu picked up the wooden hairpin, her fingertips brushing over the rough yet carefully carved peach blossom. Peach wood wards off evil, and peach blossoms… reminded her of the peach grove behind Qing Yin Pavilion, where they often played in their youth.
Her heart felt as if something had gently clenched it—not painful, but achingly sour.
What did You Li mean by this? An upgraded version of the game of slapping someone and then offering a sweet date? Using more refined torment to achieve complete submission? Decorating this meticulously crafted cage with fragments of memories?
But why… did this cage now have the soothing “Forgetfulness Dew,” the legend of the “Purple Bellflower,” and the tiny carvings on the peach wood hairpin?
Why… did You Li’s eyes now hold a trace of confusion and weariness that even she might not have noticed?
Why… when she drank that cup of dew and let her guard down to sleep deeply in front of her, did she feel not fear, but a sense of peace?
Clutching the peach wood hairpin, Su Yu sat motionless in the dim dungeon for a long time.
The Blood Mark Pact beneath the Warm Jade Silk lay dormant, no longer causing stinging pain or pulling sensations. The faint glow in her dantian flickered steadily—weak yet tenacious. The lingering warmth from the “Forgetfulness Dew” within her body had not yet fully dissipated, merging with the nourishing effects of the “Blood Jade Lingzhi Soup,” bringing a slight warmth to her icy limbs.
She lowered her head, gazing at the small peach blossom on the hairpin.
Then, she did something even she hadn’t expected—she raised her hand and used this peachwood hairpin to loosely tie her disheveled long hair into a simple bun at the back of her head.
The motion was clumsy, and the bun was not particularly neat, with a few stray strands falling beside her neck. But when she lowered her hand, in the blurred reflection on the dungeon wall, the pale, emaciated woman with the simple bun seemed to have a faint trace… of the outline of “Su Yu.”
No longer a completely shattered doll, no longer a prisoner who had utterly given up.
But someone who, amidst the ruins, had begun trying to gather her own fragments again. Even if those fragments were stained with blood, covered in cracks, and some had even taken on the colors belonging to You Li.
You Li’s methods were indeed masterful. First, extreme torment to destroy, then meticulous “nourishment” to reshape. Offering a glimmer of hope, then demonstrating absolute control. Using memories as bait, gentleness as a cage.
She was being assimilated, bit by bit, from body to emotion.
But this process of assimilation seemed… to be bidirectional.
As she grew accustomed to You Li’s “care,” You Li also seemed to be growing accustomed to “caring” for her. When she clung to that eerie sense of peace in her despair, was You Li also grasping something… akin to “meaning” in that blood-red desolation?
Su Yu did not know the answer.
She only knew that when You Li next pushed open the door and saw her using this peachwood hairpin to tie up her hair, those blood-red eyes would undoubtedly flicker with an indescribably complex emotion.