The sky was murky, heavy with gloom. Rain fell from above, striking the forest canopy with a muffled crackling, while the damp wind swept through, setting the ancient branches trembling.
Shen Xiyin heard the tearing sound of her skirt ties being pulled apart. That sharp rip made her feel both insulted and toyed with, yet at the same time it stirred within her a heat she could neither name nor deny—a secret fire she did not wish to acknowledge, but could not resist.
Pei Su sat cross-legged beside her. A flash of lightning lit his taut profile for an instant—solemn, upright, utterly at odds with what he was about to do.
Shen Xiyin had no strength left to push him away.
If not for necessity, Pei Su would never have undone her skirt ties. But the gown was too elaborate, too cumbersome; without loosening it, he could not reach the places where the curse had taken hold. Fortunately, beneath the gown she still wore an inner robe, long to the ankles, loose and thin. It covered her skin modestly, yet would not hinder his task. He paused briefly, then decisively removed her embroidered shoes, slipped off her silk stockings, and slid his hand beneath the robe to clasp her ankle.
The moment his palm pressed against her flushed skin, Shen Xiyin could not suppress a muffled cry. It was like parched earth enduring endless drought, suddenly touched by the first drops of rain—her long-stifled thirst eased by that fleeting relief. She knew she ought to resist. Yet her body told her otherwise: she needed this, and worse, she was unwilling to settle for so little. She wanted more.
Pei Su heard that muffled cry. His hand slackened slightly as he glanced at her—eyes closed, leaning weakly against the tree trunk, uncertain whether she was drifting into unconsciousness or still aware. He lowered his gaze, withdrawing his glance. If he were a physician, could he let gender deter him? To act in righteousness is to ask no questions of merit or blame. He thought no further. His grip tightened again on her ankle, and he continued.
The curse scriptures said: the Jieyang Curse was a charm devised for pleasure in the bedchamber, its undoing akin to caress. Yet he was not caressing a woman’s skin for desire—he was driving out the corruption that gnawed at her body. His fingertips pressed, kneaded, rubbed gently, repeating the motion until the curse dispersed. When the flush at her ankle faded, he found his own palm damp with sweat.
Pei Su did not stop. His hand moved an inch higher, ready to press again—when from deep within his palm came the tremor of her body, a shiver she could not suppress. But he could not break off. Once begun, the unbinding must not be interrupted, or all would be undone. He thought she would not wish to endure it twice.
Shen Xiyin bore the rhythm of his touch—light, then firm, each press sending tremors through her. It was a sensation utterly foreign to her. Her husband had never given her this.
Three years of marriage, and they had always slept clothed. Even in those rare moments of intimacy, Xu Yanxing had never touched her with such care. He was always hurried, always direct.
Unnoticed, the rain in the forest grew heavier. The branches above, unable to bear the weight, shuddered and spilled their gathered drops in torrents. Water cascaded like a sudden waterfall, softening the thirsty earth, pooling and spreading through the mud.
Shen Xiyin knew better than anyone—the overflow was not only in the soil. Sweat beaded across her brow. She forced her eyes open, struggling, and with all her strength, she whispered— “Stop.”
But Pei Su told her, “I cannot.”
Shen Xiyin looked at the hand moving ceaselessly beneath her robe, her lashes trembling violently. “This is wrong.”
Pei Su fell silent. After a moment, he closed his eyes. “I know.”
Shen Xiyin stared at him in shock, seeing the veins stand out at his temple, sweat seeping faintly across his brow.
At this moment, Pei Su had no space for explanation. He cast aside all stray thoughts, focusing wholly on sensing the curse’s presence.
Shen Xiyin could feel the warmth of his fingertips pressing, again and again, just above her ankle. His hand was still moving upward, each inch sending her heart into a frantic flutter. She thought—he must have lost himself, bewitched by the evil array. She fought to keep her mind clear, trying to call him back.
“Respected elder.”
He did not answer, only lowered his head, his expression unchanged as his hand continued.
“Respected elder…” she tried again.
Still no reply—yet his movements grew unconsciously faster.
“Res… respected elder…” Shen Xiyin’s voice quivered, breaking into gasps as she called.
But it was useless. His palm had already reached her calf.
Unable to bear it any longer, Shen Xiyin finally cried out— “Pei Su.”
The moment the name left her lips, she regretted it. How could she call him by his given name? She was neither his elder nor someone close to him—how could she address him so? And why had she remembered the name of a man she could never truly approach? To speak it aloud felt like admitting she had crossed a boundary.
At that single utterance, Pei Su’s movements faltered, though he did not stop. Sweat gathered at his brow, beading and sliding down the sharp lines of his face, disappearing beneath his collar. His robe, always immaculate, now bore a spreading stain of dampness. His expression remained unchanged as his hand moved upward to her knee. Beneath his palm, the flesh was fine and soft, but it was only skin over bone—ordinary, unremarkable.
Rain spattered against Shen Xiyin’s inner garment. The thin fabric clung to her slender frame, tracing out a blurred silhouette. Pei Su did not linger on the sight; he turned his gaze aside. Yet his grip upon her knee tightened unconsciously.
Shen Xiyin trembled violently under his touch, staring at him in shock. He kept his eyes averted, his face composed, as though unaware of the subtle shift. But she could endure no longer. The pressure made her want to cry out. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to hold back—until his fingers pressed a certain point. Then her restraint broke, and from her throat spilled a long, thin sound: “Mm…”
That single note, drawn out and clinging like thick syrup, stretched between them. The taut string in Pei Su’s heart snapped tight at once. His steady breath faltered—three beats lost.
And then, from the air around them, came the sound of the formation’s prompt: “Congratulations to you both. May you enjoy your success.”
The words of felicitation brought no joy to either of them.
Pei Su’s gaze fell upon the hand that still gripped her knee. His palm burned with heat, and for a moment he could not tell whether it was her warmth—or his own.
Hearing the prompt of the formation’s success, Shen Xiyin let out a breath of relief, thinking at last it was over. But before her heartbeat could settle, Pei Su’s palm pressed another inch upward—and only then did she realize his movements had never ceased. Strength was slowly returning to her limbs. She struggled to lift her hand to push him away, but his free hand caught hers. She could not withstand his force; her wrist was pinned. He pressed her hand against the tree trunk above her head, his gaze fixed upon her, his voice stern: “I am saving you.”
Shen Xiyin looked up at his cold, severe face, tears welling in her eyes. Was this salvation? It felt like being driven to despair.
Pei Su himself did not wish for it to be so.
The Enchantment Maze was treacherous, feigning calm to lull its victims into carelessness. The Jieyang Curse showed no symptoms at first. Madam Xu, being mortal, could not grasp its severity. Her endurance only allowed the curse to spread until half her body was afflicted.
Pei Su continued the dispelling.
Shen Xiyin shook her head. “Not there.” She cried out ten times with titles of respect, fifteen or sixteen times with “no”—until all her refusals blurred into a single tone. She had never known her voice could sound like that.
Sweat dripped from Pei Su’s brow onto her neck. His breath was heavy as he told her, “Endure.”
Obediently, Shen Xiyin pressed her lips tight, nearly biting them to blood. That damp flush of crimson was impossible to ignore. Pei Su felt as though he were committing a sin.
The rain shifted from scattered drops to a relentless downpour, the entire forest swallowed in its curtain. Water pooled into torrents, carving paths through the mud.
Shen Xiyin’s loose hair clung to her lips as she gasped for breath. Half her body was drenched, yet she thought—thank heaven for the rain. Those final two motions of dispelling, pressed deep to the root, drew from her lips two involuntary hums. She lay back, chest rising, eyes lifted through the tangled canopy toward the sky. Was it over?
Pei Su’s movements told her: not yet.
Was he going to…? Startled, she seized his hand, halting him before he could go further.
His gaze darkened, his voice cold: “You misunderstand.”
“I have no such intent.”
Her face blanched; shame bit her lip. He freed her hands, pressing instead to her flat abdomen and kneading firmly. A dull ache spread through her belly, as though something inside swelled like soaked cotton.
Sensing the curse retreat, Pei Su withdrew his hand at once.
The rain, once a torrent, thinned to scattered drops. Beneath the ancient tree, the pooling water mirrored Shen Xiyin’s exhausted form, eyes closed in surrender.
Pei Su stood there, unmoving. Time passed—he could not tell how long—until a single shaft of sunlight pierced the still-murky clouds, falling at his side. He lowered his gaze to his hand, now dry, yet seeming still to bear traces of water unlike any rain.