As the prompt tone faded, a dripping sound began to echo by her ear.
Shen Xiyin understood—this was the time limit imposed by the Enchantment Maze. Once the limit ended, the trial would be enforced without mercy.
Unlike the first time, the dripping now was faint and slow. That seemed to mean the formation had granted them a longer reprieve. But what was reprieve if not deeper torment? If the inevitable must come, then the longer the wait, the sharper the agony. From merely drawing close to recognize each other’s scent, to now being forced to touch and feel each other’s warmth—only a single trial apart, yet already pressing them into skin-to-skin intimacy. What trials lay ahead?
She recalled the two words Pei Su had once spoken, and her lower belly tightened. Her gaze dropped to her skirts, then she squeezed her eyes shut. *No. She must not. She could not.*
How could she allow something that did not belong to her husband to trespass within? Ashamed of her own thoughts, she told herself nothing had yet happened. Perhaps they would soon escape the formation.
Tonight was destined to be sleepless. The forest winds were sparse, the clouds thin, and beneath the calm lurked unseen currents.
At the edge of the maze, the last transmission talisman in Pei Su’s hand burned to ash after its final use. For days he had tried to reach the outside world, but to no avail. He had also attempted to probe the barrier set here, searching for a way out. His spiritual power was restricted, preventing him from locating the barrier as swiftly as before. Yet from subtle clues he could still deduce its general position. But the Enchantment Maze was treacherous beyond measure, cloaking every trace with sinister arts. To find the barrier now was no different from seeking a needle in the sea.
Beside them, the dripping continued—slow, steady, relentless—like rain lingering on the eaves, falling drop by drop.
The night ebbed away with the steady drip of sound, until dawn light filtered through the crowns of trees, scattering pale golden radiance across the forest.
Days without rest, another sleepless night—and still Pei Su did not pause his steps. Almost predictably, he encountered Madam Xu again in the morning woods.
Objectively speaking, Madam Xu was remarkably diligent. Each day before the hour of the Rabbit, she rose to tidy herself. Then she went into the mountains to forage—more disciplined than many disciples cultivating in the Imperial City Mountain. Now she stood beneath that tall, sturdy peach tree, once more reaching for its fruit. She was not tall, nor was she strong. Standing there, she could not reach the peaches; the day before she had barely managed to pluck one by tiptoeing and jumping. But today, she held a makeshift rake fashioned from wood and bark, with which she easily pulled down several fresh peaches. Undeniably, she always found a way to make life better within her means.
Shen Xiyin bent to pick up the fallen peaches, and when she straightened, she glimpsed a figure in dark robes standing beyond the interlaced trees. He seemed to be watching her—or perhaps not. The dripping sound still lingered faintly in her ears. Feeling a touch uneasy, she turned aside, and when she looked again, his figure was gone.
Pei Su spared no idle thought for such matters, nor did he dwell on the morning’s encounter. It was not until near midday, by the ancient tree where he often rested, that he found several peaches wrapped neatly in broad leaves. They were large and well-shaped, washed clean in stream water, still glistening faintly, their light fragrance diffusing in the air. It was a subtle, persistent scent—very much like the one that clung to Madam Xu.
Such a scent did not draw attention, yet seeped quietly into the depths, stirring an inexplicable irritation in the heart.
Pei Su gazed at the peaches she had sent. Meaningless gifts and offerings could never inspire gratitude.
The second trial of emotion—the dripping time limit was unusually long.
They lived within the same dense forest, each surviving on their own, silently avoiding one another, yet drawn together like branches that cross and intertwine in the canopy above.
With his tacit consent, she would come to borrow fire, and in return she brought him cooked food. Sometimes it was stream fish with wild peaches, sometimes cassava with boiled shrimp, sometimes even a simple mushroom soup, served in small bowls carved from wood—plain yet abundant. In the wilderness, there was no seasoning, but she prepared everything with care, clean and free of any fishy smell.
She always waited until he had stepped away before taking fire, and when she delivered food, her steps were light, her words few. She would set it down and leave, guarding that invisible boundary between them, never crossing it. Until one night, she brought roasted fish and shrimp as usual. But this time, there was something more: a sprig of mugwort to ward off mosquitoes. It was early summer, the mountains heavy with rain and heat, and insects swarmed relentlessly, especially at night. Only then did Pei Su recall how, earlier that day, she had seemed delighted to discover something in the forest—surely it had been this. He pressed his fingers lightly to his temple. The forest’s illusions deepened with each passing day, and his encounters with her grew more frequent.
The night in the dense woods was as still as a deep pool. The scent of mugwort drifted in thin threads, its herbal sharpness mingling with the freshness of leaves and a faint bitterness that stirred his lungs, as though the plant’s jagged edges brushed against his heart, teasing out an itch that could not be soothed.
Pei Su opened his eyes, brows furrowed. The hazy warmth of moonlight fell into his dark pupils. He looked toward the sprig of mugwort that unsettled his spirit—only to see that, at some point, it had brushed against the hem of his robe. He moved aside the stalk of mugwort, lifted his hand to straighten his robes, and sat with composed focus, just as he always did. At dawn, he rose and walked toward the stream.
Shen Xiyin awoke in the morning, rinsed her face and mouth with the stream’s water, then began preparing the firewood she would need for the day. While she was busy at it, she suddenly heard familiar footsteps approaching. Looking up, she saw that elder coming toward her. Noticing his immaculate attire, she quickly set down the firewood and hid her mud-stained hands and sleeves behind her back.
“Madam Xu,” he addressed her solemnly.
Shen Xiyin did not know why he had come so early—he had never sought her out of his own accord before. She froze for a moment, then answered blankly, “Yes.”
After a few breaths, she heard him state his purpose directly: “From now on, there’s no need to bring things over anymore.”
“I don’t need them,” he said calmly.
The words fell, and the air seemed to tighten for an instant.
The aura between people is strange—sometimes no harsh words or strong emotions are needed. Even in the most ordinary tone, one can sense, from the subtle atmosphere, another’s deep aversion and rejection.
Shen Xiyin had been sending things mainly to repay him for the fire he had once lent her, and also out of a sense of mutual aid in shared hardship. Perhaps, too, because she lacked knowledge of the profound Daoist arts and could not help in breaking the formation, she wished to do what little she could without disturbing him. But if doing so only troubled him, then it was not something she ought to continue. She lowered her gaze and answered softly, “Alright.”
Seeing her acquiesce, Pei Su said no more. He left behind only one line: “Take fire from the source yourself,” then turned and departed.
After that clear statement, she no longer brought him cooked food or anything else. She seemed to have thought of some good way to preserve the fire herself, and scarcely came to fetch it from him again.
So be it—things returned to how they had been.
Only, Pei Su noticed that she now avoided him more deliberately than before, so deliberate it was impossible not to notice. In the past, when they met in the forest, she would lower her head or turn away. Now she simply acted as though he were invisible, walking past him without a flicker of acknowledgment. Such deliberate disregard made it harder for him to ignore it.
Shen Xiyin had no wish to draw his attention. She only felt his resistance toward her and did not know how to respond. Thinking carefully, they were strangers with no reason to cross paths. Just as at that gathering of discourse, he had never once cast her a glance, and she had not dared to lift her eyes to meet his. Perhaps ignoring one another was the best way for them to coexist. That was what she thought. Yet the ceaseless dripping sound by her ear reminded her of another, hidden and shameful bond that still tied them.
The next night, as darkness fell—
Pei Su was seated beneath a tree, meditating to regulate his breath, when he heard footsteps approaching. He lifted his eyelids slightly, and in the corner of his vision caught the sweep of a pale lotus-colored skirt. At that moment, he ought perhaps to ignore her.
“What is it?”
Shen Xiyin was still uncertain how to begin, but unexpectedly he spoke first. Standing a few steps away, she measured her words carefully: “I should not have disturbed you without cause. Only, I found something strange in the forest today, and thought it best to bring it to you.”
Pei Su asked, “What thing?”
From her sleeve, Shen Xiyin drew out an object carefully wrapped in a handkerchief, and extended it toward him across the trees. He glanced at her, rose, and walked to where she stood. Stopping just an arm’s length away, he lifted his hand and took the item from hers. She felt the faint breeze stirred by his sleeve brush past her hand, carrying with it the distinctive scent of pine and bamboo that clung to him. Flustered, she quickly withdrew her hand.
Pei Su unfolded the handkerchief and saw several small fragments of stone within it—delicate in shape, pale green, and half translucent.
Shen Xiyin explained in detail how they had come to her: “Today I dug some cassava in the forest. When I washed them by the stream, these stones came out of the mud clinging to the roots. I’ve often seen such bits of ore in the mountains, so I paid them no mind and tossed them aside. But then something strange happened…”
As she was kindling the fire, a few sparks brushed against the scattered ore fragments. The moment the stones touched flame, they glowed a vivid red—strange and otherworldly, clearly no ordinary substance. Since they had been found within the Bewildering Array, she thought it best to bring them to Pei Su.
After examining them, Pei Su told her, “This is indeed something of the Xuan Sect.”
Shen Xiyin looked on curiously, her gaze accidentally meeting his before she quickly turned aside. “What kind of Xuan Sect object?”
“Scarlet Jade,” Pei Su replied. “A rare mineral used in forging sect artifacts.”
“Rare? Then it must be precious,” Shen Xiyin said.
“It used to be,” he answered evenly. “Not anymore.”
She pressed further: “Is it harmful? Does it have anything to do with the maze?”
Pei Su replied in turn, “Harmless, and I suspect it has little to do with the array.”
Shen Xiyin lowered her eyes. “I see.”
So, it seemed the stones were of little use. Yet Pei Su, perceiving her thoughts, added, “They are not useless—on the contrary, they are very useful.”
She looked at him, puzzled.
“They tell me where the array has brought us,” he explained, gazing toward the horizon. “Scarlet Jade is scarce, found only in the Xunyang region since ancient times. That means we are now somewhere within a hidden forest of Xunyang.”
“I understand.” Shen Xiyin’s face warmed at his words. It felt as though she had unwittingly helped uncover something important.
The moonlight lay like gauze, unable to veil the flush spreading across her cheeks in quiet delight. Pei Su caught sight of the red that reached all the way to her ears.
When their exchange ended, silence fell again, broken only by the faint chirping of insects. Shen Xiyin turned away, murmured a soft “farewell,” and had barely walked a few steps when the hidden force within her surged up once more—at the most untimely moment. Her steps faltered, knees pressed tightly together.
Pei Su noticed her unease and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Shen Xiyin’s lashes trembled; her lips pressed and released again. She forced her voice into calm steadiness: “N-nothing.”
Yet Pei Su saw her standing rigidly in place, body curled in on itself. “Are you certain?” he asked, puzzled.
It wasn’t that Shen Xiyin refused to move—she simply couldn’t. Any shift tugged at her garments, and when that hidden force surged, even the slightest pull became unbearable. She lowered her head, hiding the unnatural flush on her cheeks, and whispered a plea: “Please don’t ask. I’ll walk on in a moment.”
Pei Su respected her words and did not press further. He reminded himself that he ought not waste thought on matters irrelevant to him. Even so, he could not help but hear the stifled, uneven rhythm of her breath.
The moment grew all the more awkward—and worse, just as she strained to endure, the slow dripping sound that had lingered in her ears suddenly quickened. It meant the time limit was near. The second trial of the Enchantment Maze was about to be enforced.
For days, Shen Xiyin had pondered one troubling question. The prompt for this trial was vague: Touch. Feel each other’s warmth.
But who was meant to touch whom? And where? There seemed to be no restriction. If the array forced execution, they would have no control over how far it went. Knowing the array’s cruel humor, it would likely drive them toward the very places they least wished. Yet before the time expired, they still had a choice: they could select the safest possible point of contact to complete the trial. Perhaps simply touching hands. So—was it better to yield, or to keep resisting?