After her strength returned a little, Shen Xiyin hurriedly left the grove where Pei Su was. The quickening drip at her ear made her heartbeat race. In the still night, each drop struck against her chest, unsettling her with its relentless rhythm. Leaning against a boulder by the stream, she could not escape the echo of the second trial’s command reverberating in her mind. Tormented through the long night, she was utterly exhausted by dawn, her eyelids heavy, her consciousness slipping. In her dream, she saw a hand—its joints long and distinct—beginning to carry out the trial. Her wrists were bound to a tree trunk, unable to break free, forced to watch helplessly as that hand drew closer. Her breath quickened. She turned her face aside, unwilling to meet it, but the hand guided her gaze back, compelling her to confront it directly. His forefinger traced lightly along her chin, almost touching, before settling upon her lips, pressed red from being bitten. The finger lingered, stroking the curve of her mouth, mapping every line and crease. He seemed especially taken with the bead of her lip, returning to it again and again.
Shen Xiyin’s back pressed against the tree, nowhere left to retreat. The slow, deliberate motion drove her breath into trembling gasps.
“Don’t…” she whispered. But as the word formed, his long finger slipped inside her mouth. The suddenness of it jolted her entire body. She felt the distinct warmth of his touch—cool, like cold jade sliding into a warm pool, stirring still waters. Her head tilted back, tears shimmering in her eyes.
Moments later, she woke with a start, gasping for air, shaken from the unbearable dream. Even after some time, her tongue still seemed to carry the tingling trace of where his finger had grazed it.
She steadied herself and, almost without thinking, raised a hand to her neck. Finding only sweat clinging there—nothing else—and seeing her collar drawn tightly together, not loosened as in her dream, she let out a long breath of relief.
Shen Xiyin walked to the stream, intent on washing away the discomfort that weighed on her body. As she began to undo her long skirt, her hand faltered, struck by the memory that her dream had ended at precisely this gesture. She shook her head, refusing to dwell on it, and bent forward into the water.
By the stream stood the fence she had recently woven from branches and bark, shielding her figure so that she would not again be caught unawares, as she had last time, when that elder followed the maze’s illusions and suddenly came upon her. The cold, clear water rinsed the sweat from her skin, but could not wash away the dread lodged in her heart.
She remembered the hands from her dream—long and finely jointed, nails trimmed neat and clean, the palm marked with calluses left by years of sword practice. But those were not her husband’s hands.
Shen Xiyin closed her eyes, willing herself to forget, yet no method seemed to work. Perhaps it was her unsettled mind, but the dripping sound at her ear now seemed to quicken. This could not go on. How could she allow the dream to dictate reality? How could she endure such disgrace?
At that moment, she felt herself on the verge of yielding. If she must face the trial, then before being forced, she would choose a way that still held dignity. She dressed, tightened her sash, drew a deep breath, and followed the maze’s pull into the forest.
Soon she came upon the elder. They met across a thicket, branches crisscrossing between them. Sunlight streamed through the green canopy, illuminating even the dust motes in the air.
This encounter—whether chance or deliberate—was not hard to discern.
Pei Su’s gaze darkened, his thumb rubbing the hilt of his sword, the habitual gesture he made when facing an enemy.
Shen Xiyin stood to the side of the thicket, half-turned toward him. Some things needed no words. What she could imagine, he surely had already thought. She bit her lip and stayed silent. He too stood still, unspeaking.
Their shared silence carried the weight of unspoken contest, as though pressing down something that threatened to break free. Her eyes, almost without intent, slipped through the branches to rest on his sword hand.
That hand was exactly as in her dream—every callus from the blade in the same place, not a detail out of line. When had she come to remember his hand so clearly? Was it in the stone chamber, at their first meeting, when the flame at his fingertips was the only light and her gaze could not help but fall upon it? Or was it during the forced trial of the first checkpoint, when his hand had been so near she could not avoid seeing it? Or perhaps at some other moment… She did not know, nor did she dare think too deeply. She was ill. Though she had never harbored the thought of offending that elder, her body’s memory had slipped free of her will.
Lowering her eyes, Shen Xiyin pressed her fingertips again and again into her palm, helplessly. Even when she quickly shifted her gaze away from his sword hand, he still keenly sensed the meaning in that glance. Such scrutiny displeased him.
“What are you looking at?” His voice came from beyond the tangled branches.
Her heart was already in turmoil; at the sudden sound of his voice, she trembled, answering in panic, “I—I was looking at your sword.”
Pei Su’s tone carried doubt. “The sword?”
She was no cultivator of the Xuan Sect, likely unable even to hold a sword steady—why would she be interested in the weapon in his hand?
Shen Xiyin was no skilled liar. Clutching tightly at her skirt, she spoke in a voice soft and trembling: “Yes…”
Pei Su heard the panic in her voice. He had no wish to expose her further or add to her embarrassment, and so turned to leave. Yet as he moved away, he caught the faint, familiar trace of her aura—so subtle it seemed almost not to exist—and stopped in his tracks.
He turned back to face her, his expression grave. “This sword is called *Shouxin*—Guarding the Heart. It signifies not being swayed by things, nor moved by desire, but holding fast to one’s true self. From childhood, I was taught that a man must stand upright, never yielding to external force or compromise. What does Madam Xu think?”
Shen Xiyin started at his words, quickly grasping the meaning beneath them. Sunlight cast shadows beneath her lowered lashes. She was silent for a long time, lips parting then closing, pride and humility tugging back and forth within her. At last she answered softly: “It should be so.”
Hearing her reply, Pei Su said no more and walked away.
Shen Xiyin watched his departing figure, her palm clenched tight. Such a man, who would rather break than bend, would never choose submission. It was both family teaching and his own nature. His pride would not allow him to bow his head. And what of her? Was she to yield to the corrupt array, abandon her principles, and forsake the creed she guarded in her heart? She knew she would not. To yield once is to yield again; compromise only drives the boundary ever backward.
Pei Su had not gone far when her voice, fine yet unyielding, carried after him: “Your family teaching—I heard it from my husband. I will not forget.”
“Please be at ease.”
Pei Su’s steps faltered. For a moment he could not tell whether she meant she would never cross the line to provoke him, or whether she was reminding him that she belonged to another. His thoughts deepened as he searched his memory for her husband. After a pause, he recalled only that the man’s appearance was decent enough, and that he seemed young and promising—but nothing more. For people and matters without meaning, he never troubled his heart. Her husband had not the weight to make him spend effort in knowing more.
Though he did not know the man himself, Pei Su had heard a little of sect affairs. Years ago there had been talk of a sect master who fell in love with a village woman, defying opposition within the sect and insisting on marrying her. Such things were rare among cultivators, and so people often mentioned the couple’s deep affection in idle conversation. But what did that matter to him?
Pei Su gave a faint, dismissive laugh and thought no more of it. Breaking the array was what mattered; he should not waste time on such trivialities. At noon, he again encountered Madam Xu in the forest. She was bent over, gathering firewood as usual, seemingly unaffected by the morning’s events.
When Shen Xiyin had collected enough for the day, she lifted her head and saw Pei Su. Without reacting, she passed by him.
Pei Su suddenly felt that she was not as fragile or timid as her outward appearance suggested. He quickly withdrew his gaze. If all went well, he might locate the boundary of the formation before tomorrow’s sunset. The dripping sound at his ear quickened. His heart tightened—he hoped the time limit would hold a little longer. By the usual rhythm of its acceleration, it should.
But the Enchantment Maze was never bound to human will. The closer one drew to hope, the swifter hope collapsed. Almost the instant that thought arose, a harsh sound like a worn mechanism grated at his ear— “Time expired. Forced execution of the checkpoint.”
The cold, merciless voice declared the end of his resistance.