Yang Wangjing, after long keeping his head bowed, forced himself to lift it, gazing at the towering Taihe Hall in the distance.
From afar, the eunuch Gao He judged the time and hurried over, his tone tinged with pity: “Your Highness, the time has come. You may rise now.”
Yang Wangjing looked at him, a wave of grievance and sorrow rising in his heart. Even a eunuch could show human compassion—yet the emperor, his own father, seated high above, remained so cold. He tried to stand, but his body was stiff with cold, his legs numb and unfeeling. Twice he pressed against the icy granite floor, but failed to lift himself.
Gao He reached out a hand. “Your Highness…”
“Don’t touch me!” Yang Wangjing growled, stubbornly pushing the eunuch’s hand away. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself upright. His numb legs trembled violently. He looked toward the hall looming beneath the clouds, and his vision blurred. The next moment, darkness swallowed him, and he collapsed unconscious.
*
For the first time, Cheng Yun hesitated at the steps of the secret chamber before slowly descending. His footsteps echoed in the darkness, revealing a vast emptiness deeper than sight, as though the blackness had no end. At the entrance, he paused, confirming he was alone, then stepped inside.
A faint flame floated in the dark, and soon the wall-mounted candles flickered to life. The weak light could not illuminate the whole chamber.
From the corner, Cheng Yun lifted a jar of wine and sat by the stone bed. He shed his black crane cloak, tossed it aside, and poured strong liquor over the wound on his arm. The sharp scent filled the chamber. He gave a low grunt, then silence returned, only shadows frozen in place.
After a long while, he rose, heating a bloodstained dagger over the candle flame until it glowed, then pressed it hard against the wound already scoured by alcohol. A sizzling sound broke the silence, sweat dripping onto the floor in a small pool.
When it was done, Cheng Yun extinguished the candles, donned his cloak, and left. Darkness reclaimed the chamber, as if nothing had happened.
*
Su Xianjin left the cafeteria full and satisfied—her speed at grabbing meals always pleased her; never once had she gone hungry. Today’s food suited her taste perfectly.
Checking the time, she realized the library would be crowded by now. Besides, her mind was unsettled by dreams; she couldn’t study anyway.
Back in her dorm, her eyes were immediately drawn to the art album on her desk.
The figure of Cheng Yun in the illustrations looked so much like the man in her dreams. The vividness of those dreams even frightened her a little.
The plot had been dramatic—she had bandaged Cheng Yun’s wounds in that dark chamber. She laughed at the thought, searching for her hair tie to wash her face. But her hand froze. The hair tie wasn’t in its usual place.
Her heart skipped. She searched the dorm thoroughly, but found nothing.
“This shouldn’t be…” she muttered.
Inevitably, she thought of last night’s dream. But reason told her it was impossible.
To lose her hair tie *inside a dream*—that was absurd.
All afternoon, she forced herself not to dwell on it, tucked the album away, and distracted herself with a comedy film on her tablet.
She leaned back watching, but at some point drifted into sleep. When she opened her eyes, darkness surrounded her again. Unlike before, this time it felt eerie. A dream? That dream again?
She held her breath, hearing only her own racing heartbeat. Once certain no one else was nearby, she groped forward. Her hand touched cold stone—walls.
So it was Cheng Yun’s secret chamber again. Why did she keep dreaming of this place? She shouldn’t have read that novel. Sighing, she recalled her last visit and found the candleholder, lit it with a tinder stick.
The faint glow gave her comfort. She examined the chamber carefully. This time, things were different. The wine jar had been moved. The air still carried a trace of alcohol. She lowered the flame—there was a damp patch on the floor, not yet dry.
Was this dream a continuation? Then she must be the heroine. The thought amused her, easing her tension.
After all, this couldn’t be real. Even if mysteries of parallel worlds existed, they were always about traveling to ancient times—not to a world that didn’t exist.
So it was still a dream.
And if it was her dream, there was nothing to fear.
Relaxing, she looked around. Twice before, she had met Cheng Yun here. That made sense—it was his place in the novel. But today, he hadn’t appeared.
She stepped out, gazing at the long staircase upward. The urge to climb out returned. But before she could act, footsteps echoed. Her heart leapt, but she didn’t hide. Holding the candle, her bright eyes shone like stars in the dark, fixed curiously on the steps.
Cheng Yun hadn’t planned to return, but lingering memories convinced him it wasn’t mere illusion. Halfway through his duties, he found himself opening the chamber door again. At the threshold, he knew instantly—someone was inside.
The staircase stretched into darkness as always. Yet this time, it seemed to have an end.
At that end, a woman stood waiting with a candle. No one could enter here unnoticed. Who was she? A wandering ghost?
The footsteps drew closer. Su Xianjin’s eyes widened with curiosity. She even stepped forward. “Cheng Yun?” she whispered, with a hint of expectation. “Is it you?”
As her voice fell, his tall figure emerged into view.
Su Xianjin’s face lit with joy. “You really appeared!”
Cheng Yun studied her calmly, eyes shadowed with suspicion. But recalling past encounters, he held back judgment.
Su Xianjin approached, her smile glowing in the candlelight. Her movements were careless, full of openings—no assassin would act so.
“Goodness, you really stepped out of the painting!” she exclaimed, staring at his features, recalling the cover of *Endless Moon*.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” He looked at her, unreadable.
“Me?” she said. “This is my dream. Of course I’m here.”
Dream? Again that word. His brows furrowed, searching her eyes for truth. But her manner betrayed no guilt.
“Come in and sit. Holding the candle is tiring.” She turned naturally, replaced the lamp on the wall, and sat by the bed.
Gesturing to the space beside her, she said: “Come, let’s talk.”
He gave a faint laugh, stepped inside, but remained standing a few paces away, towering over her. His shadow swallowed the weak light, leaving his face hidden.
“You shouldn’t stand there—it blocks the light,” she said.
He paused, then silently complied, sitting beside her.
Face to face in such a vivid dream, Su Xianjin felt a strange wonder. She couldn’t stop staring until he asked: “Who are you? How did you get here? Will you tell me the truth now?”
His voice was low, cold, but not hostile. She sensed it was simply his habit.
“I’m Su Xianjin. I already told you—this is my dream. You’re in my dream.”
Seeing his dissatisfaction, she added: “You really are someone I dreamed of. I don’t know how to explain.”
Because it all felt too real, her words carried the unease of speaking truth in reality.
He watched her, his gaze pressing until she looked away. Then he reached out. “This is yours, isn’t it?”
She looked down—and froze. In his hand was the missing hair tie!
Impossible!
She leapt up, eyes wide, fixed on it.
From her reaction, he understood. He placed the hair tie in her hand, nodding. “It seems this isn’t our first meeting.”
Su Xianjin was stunned. She stared at the hair tie, then pointed toward the stairs. “Can you take me up there?”
*
She opened her eyes to the familiar canopy of her bed. The dorm was dim—it was already evening. She didn’t know when she had fallen asleep, but she remembered watching a film. Fragments of dream lingered in her mind like movie scenes.
As her awareness returned to reality, she felt something in her hand.
Startled, she flung it away. It was the hair tie she had searched for in vain while awake.
Impossible. Truly like seeing a ghost.