Within the Enchantment Maze.
Moonlight, gauzy as silk, draped itself over the silent forest of the night.
Shen Xiyin sat with her knees drawn up, leaning against a boulder by the stream, her gaze fixed upon the full moon above. This was already her third night inside the maze. She had lost her family long ago; Xu Yanxing was the only person in this world to whom she was truly close. For many years, she had only watched him from afar. Unlike her own poverty and hardship, as the young master of the Xu clan, he was always radiant—handsome, enviable, and untouchably bright. In the midst of loneliness and suffering, even a glimpse of something so splendid could lend her days a fragile spark of vitality. She had never thought to disturb him, nor dared to. Yet one day, fate suddenly drew them together. She could not describe what she felt then—astonishment, fear, and a secret joy she dared not voice. Later, he even said he wished to marry her. She was stunned, more frightened than anything else. She could not fathom why he chose her; the sudden proposal left her dizzy and adrift. When calm returned, confusion lingered—confusion that lasted a long time. No one knew better than she did the gulf between them, nor the storm of gossip she would face if she accepted. She was never bold enough to attempt great things, but that night she summoned all the courage of her life to say to him— “Alright.”
In that moment, Shen Xiyin thought: from now on, she too would be someone cared for. Three years into marriage, she still did not know if what they shared could be called mutual respect. At times, Xu Yanxing treated her with courtesy; at other times, with cold indifference. He always seemed busy—so busy she could hardly find him at all. As the days stretched on, she grew accustomed to his absence. Life felt little different from the solitude she had known before. She had once longed for his concern, but now she no longer dared. Nor did she dare dwell too deeply on why she had ended up inside the maze. She was no fool.
Her arms trembled as she hugged her knees, tears spilling uncontrollably. From quiet sobs to unrestrained weeping, she let out all the tears she had never dared shed before. In the silence of the forest, her cries drifted with the wind toward the edge of the labyrinth.
Pei Su pressed his fingers to his brow once more, troubled by his keen hearing. At first her sobs were soft and mournful, but gradually they grew louder—until, for reasons unknown, they shifted in tone. Her illness always tormented her at the worst times. The more she cried, the hotter she grew, until her body weakened. The unbearable heat made her sobs sticky, like water stretched into threads. Ashamed of such sounds, she bit her lip and forced herself into silence, leaving only ragged breaths echoing by the stream. She did not remember how she finally fell asleep. By the next morning, she washed her tear-stained face in the stream, drew a deep breath, and gathered her strength anew. She still had to live.
These past days she had survived on wild fruits, but she knew this could not last. She had lived through famine before—at first, everyone thought wild fruits could sustain them, but over time they learned that eating only fruit led to dizziness, weakness, and bodies wasted to skin and bone.
Now, Shen Xiyin had no certainty in her heart. She did not know how much longer she would remain trapped in this forest.
Fortunately, this forest offered more than wild fruits. There were stream fish, tiny shrimp, and river snails—meats of a sort. Just yesterday, Shen Xiyin had even dug up a few cassava roots. Yet none of these could be eaten raw unless in dire desperation. She had once seen someone die from indulging in raw fish. Cassava was dangerous too—its raw flesh poisonous unless peeled, soaked, and thoroughly boiled to remove the toxins. After weighing her options, she knew she had to obtain fire first.
With this in mind, Shen Xiyin ventured deeper into the woods, gathering a bundle of dry sticks that looked suitable for fire-drilling. She tied them together with cloth, intending to test each one later. As she carried the wood through the forest, she suddenly crossed paths with a figure in dark robes. Their eyes met for an instant, and she quickly lowered her gaze.
The morning wind rustled the treetops, shadows swayed, and sunlight filtered through the branches, casting a gentle glow upon her slender frame. Sweat beaded on her brow, slid down her pale cheek, traced the line of her neck, and disappeared into her collar, leaving a faint mark across her chest.
Pei Su, catching sight of this, turned his head away. The memory of her broken sobs from the night before furrowed his brow.
Moments later, Shen Xiyin heard his hurried footsteps retreating, as though fleeing calamity—his disdain palpable. She paid it no mind. Pressing her parched lips together, she carried the wood back to the stream and began trying each piece in turn, drilling for fire. But heaven rarely bends to human will. Though she followed the old methods taught by her elders, no matter how hard she tried, not a single spark came.
At noon, rain began to fall.
Shen Xiyin stared at the soaked wood, her eyes clouded with helplessness. There was no shelter by the stream, so she walked into the nearby forest and found a large tree with thick branches to shield her from the downpour. In the distance, she caught sight of Pei Su, also taking refuge from the rain.
The labyrinth’s enchantments always seemed to contrive ways to draw them toward the same path.
Through the curtain of rain, Pei Su saw her figure. Raindrops clung to her dark hair and lashes; in the damp, stifling air, her breath came unevenly, her chest rising and falling beneath her robe. She always looked as though her breathing were sticky, heavy, and suffocating.
Pei Su turned his gaze aside. Yet amid the patter of rain, he heard footsteps pressing against fallen leaves. She had taken two hesitant steps toward him, then stopped for a long moment—before retreating again.
Pei Su frowned, uncertain of her intent.
“Respected elder.” Her voice, fine and delicate, carried through the rain.
Pei Su cast her a questioning glance.
“Will you be making a fire to dry your clothes later?” she asked cautiously, lips trembling.
“Yes. And what of it?” he replied.
Her rain-damp lashes quivered, and her clear, faintly reddened eyes lifted toward him. With shy hesitation, she murmured, “I’d like to borrow some fire… would that be alright?”
“I… I won’t come near. I’ll wait until you’re finished, then fetch it.”
“And I won’t take it for free.”
Afraid he might refuse, she quickly added those words.
It was a trivial matter, hardly of consequence to him. Pei Su answered indifferently, “As you wish.”
The rain pattered on for a long while. When it finally eased, the sky remained heavy with dark clouds, and the forest stayed damp, the smell of wet earth and grass fermenting in the humid air.
Shen Xiyin returned to the stream. From the pile of wood, she sorted out what still seemed usable. Then, with practiced ease, she stepped into the water to gather snails and shrimp, peeled cassava with a sharp stone, and set the roots to soak in a pit she had dug. When all was done, she went to fetch fire.
Pei Su saw her approach along the labyrinth’s path but said nothing. The embers lay just a few steps away, ready to be taken. True to her word, Shen Xiyin stood quietly behind a cluster of trees, never intruding upon him. Only when he had gone did she step forward and take fire from the nearly spent pile.
When Pei Su returned to the spot, he saw only the fleeting figure of her retreating in haste. The fire he had kindled with magic was not so easily extinguished as ordinary flames. With the spark she had taken from him, Shen Xiyin quickly raised a bonfire by the stream. The crackling of burning wood brought her an unexpected sense of peace. She cooked a little food over the fire.
As night fell, Pei Su saw that slender figure once more making her way through the maze. She noticed him seated in meditation and did not disturb him. Instead, she stopped a few paces away, gently setting down a parcel of grilled river fish and boiled shrimp wrapped in clean broad leaves. Before she could steady herself, she stumbled and hurried off again.
Pei Su sensed how unusually urgent her departure was.
Shen Xiyin felt unbearably unwell. Most of the time she could suppress that restless surge within her, but each day there were moments when she lost control. She could feel it worsening, little by little. That nameless wildfire in her chest spread through her limbs with the force of a raging blaze. Her sweat-soaked inner garments clung to her skin, rubbing against her as her body trembled. She staggered back to the stream and sank beside a great stone. Her thoughts tore at her, torn between plunging into the icy water to shock herself awake, or yearning for something warm and soft to cover her failing body—like a gentle palm, or the warmth of a pair of fingers. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she buried her head deep in her arms. What terrified her most was that the hand she imagined was not her own, but another’s—its joints sharper, its touch more distinct.
How could she think such thoughts, how could she even imagine doing something so absurd? Though she was not well-versed in books, she knew propriety, modesty, and honor. Shadows of the trees, shifting between light and dark, flickered across her face. She struggled to awaken from the haze.
In the rain-soaked forest, droplets lingered on the leaves, gathered, and fell one by one, striking the damp earth.
Shen Xiyin steadied her breath as best she could, gazing silently at the rushing stream, her eyes slightly unfocused. After a long while, she exhaled in relief. She had endured it—she had not let herself lose control.
Night deepened, the bonfire burned low. Shen Xiyin rose, tidied the things she had laid out by the stream, then leaned against the great stone and closed her eyes. The forest night was as quiet and profound as ever. Weariness swept over her, drowsiness blurring her senses. Half-asleep, half-awake, she faintly heard a strange rustling in her ears—like wild wind tearing through branches, or sandstorms raging in chaos. At first she thought it was only her exhaustion, an illusion of sound. But gradually, memory stirred, and a chill rose from the depths of her heart. She jolted awake. She realized it was the cue of the Enchantment Maze. After days of silence, what was bound to come had finally arrived. Her heart pounded with unease, her mind echoing Pei Su’s words— “The trials ahead will only grow more transgressive.”
At the end of the maze, someone stood with a sword in hand. The long-awaited cue rang in his ears, like shackles impossible to break free from: “Touch. Feel each other’s warmth.”
This was the second trial of the Enchantment Maze.
Shen Xiyin’s breath faltered the instant she heard it.