Before dawn, in the deepest darkness of the dungeon, Su Yu awoke from a shattered dream.
In the dream, she had returned to the Ancestral Hall of Xuan Yu Zong, kneeling on the cold floor, surrounded by portraits of past masters whose gazes pierced like lightning, fixed upon her.
She looked down and saw herself wearing that black gauze garment, nearly transparent, with mandala patterns blooming eerily upon her skin. Shame overwhelmed her, and she desperately sought something to cover herself, only to find vines adorned with tiny crimson flowers entwined around her wrists and ankles—soft, beautiful, yet pinning her firmly in place.
“Su Yu.” The portraits of the masters spoke in unison, their voices overlapping like thunder. “Do you know your sin?”
She wanted to say she knew her sin, to say she was sorry, but when she opened her mouth, it was You Li’s voice that emerged: “Do I look beautiful in this?”
Then, blood began to flow from the eyes of all the portraits, the hall crumbled, and she fell into an abyss. During the fall, she saw Qing Li below, reaching out to her with a smile as pure as ever: “Senior Sister, grab my hand!”
She reached out, but the moment they touched, Qing Li’s face transformed into You Li’s, crimson eyes gleaming with amusement: “Got you.”
Su Yu’s eyes snapped open, drenched in cold sweat that soaked through the gauze garment. The cool silk clung tightly to her skin, bringing a suffocating sense of restraint. She gasped for breath, her chest heaving violently, the hollow diamond patterns beneath the black gauze opening and closing with each breath like an eye peering into her soul.
In the dungeon, only the faint glow of the crystal lamp and the eternal drip of water remained.
She lay on the stone bed, unmoving. Her body still carried the lingering aftermath of last night’s intensity—an unspeakable soreness and the eerie emptiness that followed the temporary subsidence of the Gu poison. But clearer than any physical sensation was the numbness that came after being utterly destroyed.
Yes, numbness.
After experiencing extreme shame, desperate pleas, and that final descent akin to a sacrifice, Su Yu found that her emotions seemed to have burned away. Like after a great fire, only pale ashes remained; when the wind blew, not even smoke rose.
Slowly, she sat up, the silk ribbons of the black gauze garment rustling softly against her skin as she moved. She looked down at the nearly humiliating garment she wore, at the meticulously designed cutouts and exposures, at the mandala patterns blooming seductively upon her pale skin.
Strangely, she no longer felt shame.
Or rather, the shame was still there, but it was separated by a transparent membrane, like viewing her own reflection through water—she knew it was herself, but the feeling was no longer real.
Su Yu raised her hand and looked at her palm.
In her palm was a nearly invisible scar.
It was from many years ago, when she had just entered Xuan Yu Zong and accidentally cut herself while practicing swordplay. Blood had gushed out, and she was terrified. It was her master who took her hand, applying medicine while saying, “Su Yu, remember this pain. The pain will pass, the scar will remain, but they will both become part of you. Do not resist becoming yourself.”
Becoming yourself.
These words struck like a faint bolt of lightning, piercing the heavy darkness within her heart.
Su Yu stared at that scar for a long, long time. Then, she slowly clenched her fingers, holding the scar tightly in her palm.
At that moment, she sensed something else.
It was not the stirring of the Gu poison, nor the craving of the body, but some deeper change—deep within her dantian, the Dao Foundation that had been suppressed by the Gu poison to the point of being almost imperceptible actually trembled slightly.
It was extremely faint, like the last flicker of a candle about to go out. But it existed.
Su Yu froze. Ever since she had been implanted with “Love’s Entanglement,” her cultivation had been completely sealed, and her Dao Foundation had fallen into a death-like silence. She had tried countless times to mobilize her spiritual power, but it was like throwing a stone into the sea, never to return. She thought she was already ruined.
But now…
She closed her eyes and attempted Inner Vision—a basic ability for cultivators, achievable even without spiritual power. Her consciousness sank into her body, passing through meridians stained dark red by the Gu poison, arriving at the dantian’s sea of qi.
That place should have been a dead, silent darkness. But at this moment, in the deepest part of the darkness, she saw a faint glimmer of light.
The light was minuscule, like the tip of a needle, like a speck of dust, almost invisible. But it was indeed there, flickering weakly yet steadfastly, emitting a pure white radiance—that was the innate true essence cultivated through the Xuan Yu Zong’s heart method, the “Xuan Yu Jue,” the crystallization of over a hundred years of arduous cultivation.
The dark red tide of the Gu poison tried to drown it, but it resisted stubbornly. Though faint, it did not extinguish.
Su Yu’s consciousness approached that point of light. The moment it made contact, a fragment of memory suddenly surged in—
It was the scene of her master on his deathbed. The old man lay on his sickbed, holding her and Qing Li’s hands, his breath weak but his gaze clear: “Su Yu, Qing Li, remember… the Dao heart is not about remaining untainted by dust, but about knowing who you are even amidst the dust. No matter what happens… never forget your true heart…”
True heart.
Su Yu’s consciousness withdrew from that faint glimmer of light and slowly opened her eyes.
The dungeon was still the same dungeon—dark, damp, permeated with the stale smell of blood. She was still chained to the stone bed, wearing that humiliating gauze robe, with the Gu poison lurking within her, waiting for the next outbreak. You Li could come at any moment to continue her taming game.
Nothing had changed.
But something, deep within Su Yu’s heart, had quietly changed.
She was no longer just the destroyed Sheng Nu, the prisoner who had collapsed in shame. She was still the Su Yu who had practiced swordplay in countless dawns, who had comprehended the Dao in countless late nights, who had sworn before her master’s bed to “guard her true heart.”
That faint glimmer of light was proof.
It was so small, so weak, and could go out at any moment. But it existed.
Su Yu slowly lay back on the stone bed, her movements no longer stiff. The black gauze robe spread out with her movement, the mandala patterns unfurling in the dim light. She looked at the shadows on the dungeon ceiling, her eyes no longer empty.
She was thinking.
What did You Li want? Not just to destroy her, not just to possess her. You Li wanted a companion, someone who understood, someone who could sink into darkness with her without judging her. You Li was trying to “save” Su Yu in her own way—to “save” her from what she saw as the hypocrisy of the righteous path, to fall into darkness together, so they would be “equal,” so they would be “together forever.”
But true salvation is not pulling someone else off the cliff with you, but grabbing their hand as you fall, searching together for a way to climb back up.
Su Yu certainly hated You Li. She hated her imprisonment, her torment, the destruction of Xuan Yu Zong, the clothes she was forced to wear, and everything You Li had done to her.
Yet she could not help but see You Li’s pain—the girl eroded by demonic energy in Wan Mo Cave, the disciple abandoned by the righteous path, the lonely soul wrapped in hatred.
Could hatred and understanding coexist?
Su Yu did not know. But she knew that if she only resisted, broke down, and pleaded, she would eventually become an empty shell, just as You Li wished. But if she accepted the present—accepted these clothes, the Gu poison, You Li’s touch, even that twisted “care”…
What then?
Then she might find an opportunity. Not a chance to escape—deep within the demon palace, bound by Gu poison, escape was nearly impossible. But another kind of opportunity.
Like uncovering You Li’s true weakness.
Like finding an antidote or relief for “Love’s Entanglement.”
Like reaching the part of her heart that was still “Qing Li” when You Li was least guarded.
Like… saving her.
The thought shocked even Su Yu herself. Save her? Save this demoness who imprisoned, tortured, and destroyed everything she held dear?
But her master had once said, “The true meaning of the righteous path is not to slay demons and monsters, but to enlighten all beings. Even in the deepest darkness, there may be an unextinguished spark.”
Was Qing Li that spark?
Footsteps approached from the distance—light, graceful, with a familiar rhythm.
You Li was coming.
Su Yu’s heart quickened, not from fear or the foreboding of the Gu poison, but from a decision—a mad decision.
She no longer tried to curl up or hide. She lay on the stone bed just as she was, letting the black gauze drape around her, allowing the cutouts and exposure to be displayed under the approaching gaze. But she did not close her eyes. Instead, she kept them open, calmly watching the direction of the cell door.
The door opened, and You Li entered. Today, she wore a dark green gown, a white jade hairpin tucked into her hair, looking less sinister and more aloof. Her gaze fell upon Su Yu, and a flicker of surprise passed through her crimson eyes.
Su Yu did not avoid her gaze as she usually did, nor did she break down in tears. She simply looked quietly at You Li, her eyes holding a calmness You Li had never seen before—not a numb calm, but something deeper, tinged with insight.
“You’re awake,” You Li said as she approached the stone bed, her tone as usual. “Did you sleep well last night?”
“I had a dream,” Su Yu replied.
“Oh? What did you dream of?”
“My master,” Su Yu said, looking into You Li’s eyes. “He asked me if I knew what my true heart was.”
You Li’s pupils contracted slightly. The reaction was subtle, but Su Yu caught it.
“How did you answer?” You Li asked, a trace of tension barely detectable in her voice.
“I haven’t answered yet,” Su Yu slowly sat up, the black gauze slipping with her movement, revealing more skin. She made no move to pull it back, simply letting it be. “Because I’m still thinking.”
You Li fell silent for a moment, then reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing Su Yu’s cheek. “Wearing these clothes, why still think of such things?”
“Precisely because I am wearing these clothes, I must think even more.” Su Yu did not avoid her touch, even tilting her head slightly to let You Li’s hand press closer against her cheek. “Master said that the Dao heart is not about remaining untouched by dust, but about knowing who you are even amidst the dust.”
Her gaze met You Li’s directly. “You Li, do you still remember who you are?”
The dungeon fell into a deathly silence.
You Li’s expression remained unchanged, but Su Yu could sense the faint trembling in her fingertips. Deep within those crimson eyes, something churned, like undercurrents swirling beneath a frozen lake.
After a long while, You Li withdrew her hand and turned her back to Su Yu, her voice turning cold. “Of course I remember. I am You Li, the Sheng Nu of the demonic path, the one responsible for the fall of Xuan Yu Zong, the demon who imprisoned you—isn’t that how you see me?”
“The way I see you…” Su Yu repeated softly, then said, “The way I see you, you are still Qing Li, who would crawl into my bed during thunderstorms and say, ‘Senior Sister, I’m scared.'”
You Li’s shoulders trembled violently.
“I hate you too,” Su Yu continued, her voice soft yet each word clear. “I hate everything you’ve done to me. But hatred won’t make me forget who you once were, who I once was, and what we once were.”
She paused. “Just like these clothes—you made me wear them to make me forget that I am Su Yu, to turn me into your possession. But in the end, they are just clothes. Take them off, and I am still me. Just as beneath the outer shell of the demonic path’s Sheng Nu, you are still Qing Li.”
You Li slowly turned around, emotions surging in her crimson eyes, almost overflowing. Her lips moved as if to say something, but no sound emerged.
Just then, the Gu poison flared up.
But this time, Su Yu was prepared. Unlike her usual collapse and pleas, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sank her consciousness into her body, arriving before the faint glimmer deep within her dantian.
The glimmer remained weak, but when she focused all her attention on it, it seemed to brighten slightly.
The scorching heat of the Gu poison surged like a tide, but Su Yu neither resisted it nor yielded to it. She merely observed it, feeling its path as it flowed through her body, sensing how it tried to overwhelm that faint glimmer. Then, she did something insane—
She guided a thread of the Gu poison’s heat, carefully, toward that faint glimmer.
Not to oppose it, but to make contact.
The glimmer flickered violently as the heat approached, almost extinguishing. Su Yu’s heart leaped into her throat, but she did not retreat. She recalled the principle of “yin and yang complementing each other” that her master had taught her—extreme yin gives rise to yang, extreme yang gives rise to yin; opposing forces need not be unable to coexist.
The moment the scorching heat of the Gu poison made contact with the coolness of the Profound Jade True Essence, Su Yu felt an intense pain, as if her body were tearing apart from within. She clenched her teeth, sweat beading on her forehead, but her consciousness remained locked on that single point.
Then, a miracle occurred.
The faint glimmer did not extinguish. Instead, surrounded by the scorching heat, it began to slowly absorb a thread of the Gu poison’s heat. Not corrupted, but transformed—it converted that furious heat into a gentle warmth, though only a thread, it was undeniably real.
The warm current flowed out from her dantian, traveled a short distance along her meridians, and then dissipated. But where it passed, the scorching heat of the Gu poison actually subsided slightly.
Su Yu opened her eyes, gasping for breath, her entire body soaked in cold sweat. The process had only lasted a few moments, yet it had drained her spirit completely. But her eyes were bright—because of hope.
Though small, though fragile, hope existed.
You Li stood by the bed, watching Su Yu struggle through the onset of Gu poison, watching her not beg as she usually did, but resist in a way You Li could not understand—or perhaps not resist, but… adapt?
“You…” You Li spoke, her voice sounding strange.
Su Yu lifted her sweat-drenched face and looked at her, actually offering an extremely faint smile. “I’m fine.”
That smile made You Li’s heart tighten abruptly. It was not a smile of surrender, not of collapse, nor of mockery. It was a smile of… calmness, even carrying a trace of pity.
“What were you doing just now?”
“Searching for my true heart,” Su Yu said, her body still trembling slightly, but her gaze firm. “And searching for yours as well.”
You Li fell silent. She stared at Su Yu for a long time, then suddenly turned and strode quickly out of the cell, not even saying “I’ll return tonight” as she usually did.
The cell door closed, and the dungeon returned to silence.
Su Yu collapsed onto the stone bed, utterly exhausted, but the faint trace of a smile at the corner of her mouth did not fade.
She knew that in that moment, she had touched a wound deep within You Li’s heart—a wound that had never healed. The name of that wound was “Qing Li.”
And that faint glimmer deep within her dantian, though still weak, flickered stubbornly amidst the surrounding Gu poison.
Hope was not dawn, not salvation, not a miracle that could change everything instantly.
Hope was a faint glimmer in the darkness, a sliver of possibility in a desperate situation, a vine grasped while falling off a cliff—it might be thin, it might break at any moment, but as long as you held onto it, you were still fighting, you had not yet lost.
Su Yu closed her eyes, her body beneath the black gauze slowly relaxing.
She had not yet won. She might never win.
But as long as that faint glimmer still flickered, as long as she remembered who she was, as long as she could still see the shadow of Qing Li in You Li’s eyes—
This war was not yet over.
But in the intervals between the dripping sounds, there seemed to be another sound—very soft, very faint, like a seed beneath frozen soil, beginning to quietly sprout.