Su Xianjin wasn’t much of a novel reader. Her hobbies were few, and most of her free time was spent in the library. Two of her senior-year roommates had already gone out for internships, but she hadn’t decided yet—her parents wanted her to stay on for graduate school at the same university, and she planned to follow their advice.
So, when her roommate Chen Qing swore up and down for the eleventh time that she had to read a novel called Endless Moon, Su Xianjin finally agreed to give it a try.
The male lead was named Qin Shi—a name that always reminded her of the line, “In Qin times, the bright moon; in Han times, the frontier passes.”
He was born into a noble family, brilliant and gifted, destined to shine in the imperial court. Yet because of the dynasty’s corruption—an incompetent emperor and treacherous ministers—his family was destroyed, his household confiscated, and he was exiled while still young.
A dazzling star had barely begun to shine before it fell into the dust. What a pity.
The novel began with Qin Shi, battered and broken, vowing to avenge his kin, cut down traitors, and restore justice. It was not an unexpected beginning. Even someone like Su Xianjin, who rarely reads novels, could guess the general direction of the plot. But after reading through the night, she realized it wasn’t quite what she had imagined.
The greatest villain behind Qin Shi’s tragedy was a very young Prime Minister, Cheng Yun. His life was the complete opposite of Qin Shi’s.
Before entering officialdom, Cheng Yun’s existence was steeped in darkness. It was as if all the world’s suffering had been heaped upon him alone. Fate broke his bones, crushed his flesh, forcing him to crawl out of the mud again and again, barely surviving in a colorless world. And when such a man, who had never known warmth, finally grasped power—what could be more terrifying?
Step by step, he climbed to the highest position, repaying the pain he had endured a hundredfold upon the era itself. He bewitched the emperor, silenced dissent, slaughtered loyal ministers, and turned the realm into a shattered ruin.
But villains are destined to be villains. In the end, the hero must destroy them—that is the eternal truth of good triumphing over evil.
Su Xianjin’s gaze lingered on the night before Cheng Yun’s death. That evening, he and Qin Shi sat across from each other, separated by the iron bars of the imperial prison, talking until the rooster crowed at dawn.
It was in that chapter that the author revealed his hidden purpose.
Cheng Yun was not a traitor at all. On the contrary, he was destroying a hopeless dynasty in his own way, hoping to return a clear and prosperous age to the people. The path he chose looked desolate and thorn-filled, yet it led to the same destination as the hero’s. Only he died on the eve of dawn.
The author devoted just one chapter—barely a few thousand words—to explaining Cheng Yun’s motives. It felt like a small mercy, a sliver of compassion for the character, but without much exploration of his inner thoughts. He faced death calmly, as if prepared long ago. Even as the world cursed him, he remained unmoved.
A demon from hell suddenly revealed himself as a savior Buddha—it was the kind of drama that made one think of the saying, “Lay down the butcher’s knife, and become a Buddha on the spot.”
Su Xianjin paused, wondering: how does such a martyr hold a candle in the dark? From one endless night to another, having never seen light, could he truly not fear the darkness?
By the time she finished reading, dawn was breaking. Lying in her dormitory at the university, she closed her aching eyes, and it seemed she could hear the crowing of roosters outside. When she opened her eyes again, it was night once more. She was holding a lantern, standing in a windowless room. The candlelight flickered. She saw a stone door. Beyond it, a long staircase descended into deeper darkness.
If she had known from the very beginning that this was a journey through time and not merely a dream, she would never have made such a choice.
At that moment, she only lowered her gaze to the lantern in her hand and, without hesitation, stepped through the stone door.
Northern Dynasty, Year Thirteen.
Winter had just begun, and already two heavy snowfalls had blanketed the land. The drifts reached up to a person’s ankles. The snow beneath had not yet melted before fresh layers froze over it, making the ground so slick that walking was nearly impossible.
Two fine horses, hooves shod with iron, pulled a carriage swiftly from the direction of the imperial prison. They halted steadily before a sprawling mansion, their breath steaming in the frigid air.
“Master.” A guard stood respectfully beneath an umbrella at the carriage steps. The glazed lantern hanging from the carriage swayed, and a man in a black crane cloak descended.
A faint trace of blood in the air made the man glance toward the western wing of the estate. The guard immediately murmured, “It’s been taken care of—two spies.”
“Mm.” His voice was calm.
Inside the inner residence, Cheng Yun placed his cold hands into a prepared copper basin. Warm water covered the backs of his hands, and his pale knuckles slowly flushed red. He stared at a scratch across his hand for a long moment. Even as the water cooled, he did not move, like a shadow stranded in the light.
Outside, the guard Jinglin knocked softly.
“Master, shall we continue tomorrow?”
Cheng Yun returned to himself, his expression composed, as though nothing had happened. He dried his hands casually. “Continue.”
Jinglin answered, and the snowy night fell silent once more.
The residence Cheng Yun lived in was the most heavily guarded part of the estate. Aside from Jinglin and a few trusted guards, no one was permitted entry. The study was even more strictly forbidden.
Cheng Yun entered the study and reached for a hidden switch. With a faint sound, the wall behind the screen shifted into a stone door that opened inward. He stepped through, and the door sealed shut seamlessly behind him.
Beyond lay a secret chamber, windowless, lit only by a single candleholder. The bean-sized flame flickered with the draft of his entrance.
A long, slender hand caught the candlelight. It turned the holder slightly, and another stone door opened within the darkness—darkness unfolding into deeper darkness.
Beyond the stone door stretched a staircase descending step by step. The faint candlelight could not reach that far; at first glance, it seemed as though nothing lay ahead—after two or three steps, it looked like a bottomless abyss.
Cheng Yun did not hesitate. He walked steadily into the darkness, as if he had already traveled this path countless times. For a brief instant, the candlelight illuminated his tall figure. Then the weak flame flickered, burned to its end, and the tide of darkness swallowed everything.
Su Xianjin thought this must be a secret chamber—or perhaps a prison. She had already searched the place thoroughly. It was only a small stone room, with a cold stone bed. Not even straw was laid upon it; she couldn’t imagine what use such a bed had. It seemed no different from sleeping directly on the floor. If someone were imprisoned here, it would be miserable indeed.
On the bed lay a sharp dagger, its blade stained with dried blood, blackened with time. Raising her lantern, she saw faint dark specks scattered across the floor—likely blood as well. Aside from that, a few jars sat in the corner. She checked them: strong liquor.
The atmosphere was suffocating. Su Xianjin couldn’t understand how she had ended up in such a vivid nightmare—so real that even pinching herself hurt. As she sat on the stone bed, lost in thought, she suddenly heard footsteps. Could there be someone else in her dream?
She quickly lifted the lantern and stood. The butterfly-wing glow swept across the room, revealing a tall figure standing silently at the doorway. Half of him was hidden in shadow, but she could see his eyes—and the sight made her instinctively flinch. He wore a dark crane cloak. His black hair was half tied, half loose, framing a pale, jade-like face. His brows were sharp as if painted in ink, but his gaze was like a dry well in the snow.
After only a moment’s hesitation, the man moved. In a flash, he pressed her against the wall, his hand closing around her throat, his cold eyes like blades.
Su Xianjin’s back slammed into the stone wall. Her head spun, pain making it hard to hold onto the lantern. How could a dream feel so painfully real—was this even possible?
His icy fingers clamped down on her slender neck, sending a shiver through her body. She grew slightly clearer-headed, forcing herself to look at his face in the dim light.
“How did you get in?” Cheng Yun pressed one hand on her shoulder and the other around her throat, as though with the slightest pressure he could snap her neck.
Su Xianjin dropped the lantern, clutching at his wrist in a desperate attempt to break free. “…Let go!” She had no time to hear what he was saying, much less answer.
Her mind was caught on one bewildering thought: How could a dream feel this painfully real?
Cheng Yun’s gaze narrowed. His eyes grew long and sharp, the corners lifting slightly, but in the next instant, his expression returned to cold indifference, as if no emotion had ever existed there.
Forget it. He had no need to know.
His fingers tightened, the force of his joints just a breath away from crushing her fragile spine—when suddenly they closed on empty air.
Cheng Yun froze, staring at the wall before him.
The person had vanished right in front of his eyes. He withdrew his hand, fingertips still carrying a trace of warmth. His gaze followed the faint candlelight to the floor, where the fallen lantern lay alone.
This was no dream.
Then what was it? Ghosts? Sorcery?…
Su Xianjin jolted awake, sitting up in bed, her face still pale with lingering fear. She touched her neck—it was intact. Relief washed over her—just a nightmare, nothing more. It was nearly noon. She decided to get up and wash when Chen Qing entered with lunch. “Awake? I brought food from the cafeteria.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s wrong?” Chen Qing studied her. “Still half-asleep? Did you stay up all night reading?”
“Mm.”
“You didn’t finish it, did you!”
“I did.” Su Xianjin cleared her throat. “There wasn’t much left, so I just read it all in one go.”
Her roommate’s face lit up with a grin. She leaned closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Isn’t it amazing?”
Su Xianjin rubbed the back of her head, which still ached faintly. That nightmare had felt far too real.
“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have read it.”
“What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” Chen Qing’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Don’t tell me you dreamed about the male lead?”
“What male lead…” Su Xianjin recalled the pitch-black chamber, the man’s cold, sharp features lingering vividly in her mind.
“A secret room? Black robes? Isn’t that Cheng Yun’s character setting?” Chen Qing raised her brows, smiling. “Didn’t expect you to be into villains.”
“Cheng Yun doesn’t really count as a villain.” Su Xianjin slipped on her clothes, casually gathering her hair as she walked into the bathroom to wash up.
Chen Qing leaned against the doorway. “If he’s not a villain after all the terrible things he did, then what is he? The author just gave him a redemption arc at the end.”
Su Xianjin finished washing, tied her hair back with a ribbon, and came out to eat.
“Just admit it’s good. The novel I recommended wasn’t bad, right?”
“It was… pretty good,” Su Xianjin admitted after a moment’s thought.
At the very least, the plot wasn’t as simple as she had imagined, and the characters were layered—especially Cheng Yun, who had surprised her the most.
As Chen Qing applied her makeup, she asked, “Do you have class this afternoon?”
“No, I’m going to the library.”
Chen Qing leaned closer to the mirror, dotting a small beauty mark beneath her eye with eyeliner. “Then I’m heading out on a date. A package is coming this afternoon—can you grab it for me?”
“Sure.” Su Xianjin looked up just as her roommate’s radiant smile appeared before her. “Well? How’s my makeup today?”
“Looks amazing—like a sexy little wildcat,” she teased.
Chen Qing tilted her head proudly. “Perfect. Let’s see if my boyfriend notices the difference today.”
The dorm room door closed, leaving Su Xianjin alone. She quickly finished her meal, turned off her phone, packed her bag, and headed to the library. By the time she came out, it was already evening.
The sun was half-set, painting the western sky in a wash of crimson clouds. She smoothed back the strands of hair blown loose by the wind and opened her phone to check the pickup code Chen Qing had sent.
Recipient: The World’s Number One Beauty.
Su Xianjin accepted the package awkwardly under the deliveryman’s complicated gaze. Every time she picked up Chen Qing’s parcels, it felt like a social death.
She messaged: [I picked up your package and left it in the dorm.]
Chen Qing replied instantly: [Hehe, open it—it’s your birthday present, early delivery.]
Birthday present? Su Xianjin suddenly remembered—next Tuesday was her birthday. She had been so buried in practice problems that she nearly forgot. Opening the box, she found an artbook. On its cover were four bold characters: Endless Moon.
Her brows twitched as her gaze fell on the cover illustration. The contrast was stark—Qin Shi in white robes on the left, Cheng Yun in black on the right.
The two faced each other in a stance of opposition. Qin Shi’s background was clear skies and moonlit bamboo, highlighting his cool, refined temperament. Cheng Yun’s background, by contrast, was a prison littered with bones, his palette one of blood and shadow.
Su Xianjin stared at it for a long time. The cold brows and calm expression in the painting seemed to have stepped straight out of her dream, filling her with a surreal sense of disbelief.
She sent a message: [Is this really for me?]
Chen Qing replied in seconds: [Of course! I was confident I’d win you over, so I pre-ordered the artbook for you.]
She added a dog-head emoji.
Su Xianjin couldn’t tell if Chen Qing was joking or not. She put the artbook away, ordered takeout, and reviewed her coursework for a while. Though summer hadn’t yet ended, the sky seemed to darken quickly.
Chen Qing messaged to say she wouldn’t be back in the dorm that night. Only then did Su Xianjin notice it was nearly ten o’clock.
Stretching, she shut off her phone and laptop, took a shower, and lay down in bed.
Half-asleep, Su Xianjin seemed to recall Cheng Yun’s face again.
Here? Again? She stared at the stone door before her and the staircase behind it that led into the abyss. This time, she held no lantern—only a single candle burned inside the chamber.
Strange as it was, it was still just a dream.
She picked up the fire striker beside the candle, blew on it, and as she expected, sparks blossomed into flame. Holding the faint light, she stepped carefully down the stone stairs. The weak glow illuminated only one step at a time. She moved cautiously until her feet touched solid ground, finally letting out a breath of relief.
Surely she wouldn’t be strangled again this time?
Su Xianjin peeked into the chamber beyond. Darkness swallowed everything; with the flame in her hand, she was the most conspicuous thing there.
A faint metallic tang of blood lingered in the stagnant air. She frowned. Weren’t dreams supposed to be scentless? So that was a lie.
Since it was only a dream, she gathered her courage and entered—only to find someone lying silently on the stone bed, unmoving, uncertain if alive or dead.
She coughed lightly, but the figure gave no response. Holding the flame closer, she approached step by step.
Cheng Yun?…
Su Xianjin froze. Why was she dreaming of him again? Was it because she had stared at that illustration earlier, and now her mind conjured him in sleep? But then what about the dream she’d had before receiving the artbook?
Cheng Yun’s eyelids trembled faintly. In his haze of consciousness, he saw a beam of light floating in the chamber’s darkness. Someone stood within it, but their face was indistinct. He struggled to lift his hand, reaching for the light, but touched nothing—only cool air brushed his fingertips. His eyelids grew heavy. His body seemed to plunge into an endless abyss, falling and falling. Just as he was about to sink into hell, someone caught hold of him.
“Cheng Yun?” A girl’s gentle voice sounded in his ear, tinged with curiosity. “Are you really Cheng Yun?”
Su Xianjin brought the flame closer and once again saw the man from her previous dream.
Last time, he had been ruthless and cold, gripping her throat, intent on killing her. This time, he lay weak and unconscious before her, barely clinging to life in the darkness.
Wasn’t this a complete reversal? She had become the master of the dream. Could this be what people call the dream compensation effect?
“You really do look exactly like the painting.” Su Xianjin leaned closer, curiosity shining in her eyes. Her gaze lingered boldly on his features. In the candlelight, his grape-dark eyes seemed to glimmer like polished jade.