The line of restraint, meant to suppress desire, instead splintered into countless invisible threads. They pierced every inch of his flesh, pulling at him like a puppet on strings, driving his body to carry out that absurd command.
Soon, the command took shape in his mind—Hold her waist. Her waist is slender; one hand can easily encircle it. Press her against the wall. She has no strength to break free. Untie her sash. You are well practiced at this…
Shen Xiyin felt his gaze fixed upon her without pause. His eyes were calm, detached, as placid as still water, showing no ripple of desire. Yet somehow, wherever his gaze touched her skin, a faint heat rose. She lowered her head, trying to escape his eyes, only to find she could not. The realization left her unsettled, at a loss.
The cicadas of summer droned on, long and feverish, each cry chasing the next, stirring restlessness in the heart.
They stood several paces apart, neither speaking. In the silence, torn open by the cicadas’ cries, some nameless undercurrent surged and swelled.
Shen Xiyin heard his heavy breathing—not the usual steady, measured rhythm, but a sound forced from the depths of his chest, labored and restrained, each inhale and exhale weighted with effort. It was as if he were straining with all his might to suppress something, his body rigid, sweat soaking the clean front of his collar at the neck.
Shen Xiyin could see he was very uncomfortable. “Respected elder, are you all right?”
Pei Su’s gaze slipped uncontrollably to her moist lips as they parted to ask, his left hand casually resting on his right arm to steady the trembling stiffness of his right hand. He answered calmly, “It’s nothing.”
Shen Xiyin felt something was wrong with him and wanted to ask more, yet thought their relationship wasn’t close enough to allow such questions. She pressed her lips together and said no more. After glancing at him a few more times, she turned and left.
Pei Su watched her departing figure, then let himself sink against the wall, raising a hand to his brow. He could not understand where the breach had opened, allowing the desire line to slip in. From the moment it invaded his heart-pool, a heat had risen in his lower abdomen—an urge to couple with another, stronger and harder to control than anything he had felt before, unlike that rain-soaked moment in the forest.
The Enchantment Maze sought to use this desire to seize his body completely. But it would not succeed.
Pei Su closed his eyes, forcing down the restless craving. He thought himself fortunate she had gone. Yet when he opened his eyes again, that stiffly washed old skirt was suddenly before him, closer than before. She had come back. Why?
Seeing how distressed he looked, Shen Xiyin took a porcelain bowl from her bamboo basket. She carefully wiped its rim with her sleeve, then poured in half a bowl of water from the flask at her waist. Holding it with both hands, she offered it to him with care. “Heat sickness makes the body suffer. Please, drink some water first.”
Pei Su stared at her, stunned, a sharp pain piercing his chest as though driven in by the desire line. The restraint he had forced upon himself was shattered as the line urged him again— Rip open her collar, touch her skin. You know what will stir her desire. What are you waiting for? She is right before you. You have endured long enough. She came closer of her own accord—how could anyone blame you?
His hand, driven by the insistent command, rose uncontrollably toward the damp opening of her collar, still carrying the chill of stream water.
Shen Xiyin leaned nearer, bringing the bowl to him. She was closer now—close enough to make it easy.
Just one move. One move and he would have her.
His fingers tightened suddenly, seizing with force. A heartbeat later, they clamped down hard— not on the soft warmth of her body, but on the rough porcelain bowl in her hands. His knuckles locked against the bowl’s rim, as though clutching the only driftwood in a raging sea.
Pei Su fixed his gaze on her, clear and resolute. He could not touch her. No matter what, he must not.
She was another man’s wife, an innocent woman. Ordinary, unremarkable perhaps—but never to be trampled or defiled. This was the code of conduct he followed—the principle he could never betray.
Supporting himself, Pei Su tilted his head back and drained the cool water from the bowl. As his Adam’s apple moved up and down, the sweat beading on his skin slid down his neck, dripping into the rise and fall of his chest.
Shen Xiyin glanced aside at the sight.
“Thank you,” Pei Su said. “I feel better now.”
Shen Xiyin came back to herself at his words. “No need to thank me.” She quickly took the empty bowl from his hand. “The sun is strong. You should go inside and rest.”
Pei Su answered, “All right.”
Since he agreed, she said no more, shouldered her bamboo basket, and hurried away. Back in her small hut, she shut the door, set down the basket, and leaned over the table to catch her breath. Her fingertips still seemed to carry the lingering warmth from when she had accidentally brushed the back of his hand while taking the bowl. Nothing had happened—he had only looked at her for a moment—yet her whole body felt as if it were falling apart, weak and unstrung. She lay across the table to steady herself, then went into the inner room to change her underclothes. She wanted to leave this place, to go outside and find a proper physician. The doctors Xu Yanxing had sought before had failed, but that did not mean there was no cure. She had to search for others herself—she must find a way to heal this illness. The constant dampness clinging to her body, the hollow fluttering in her chest—it was unbearable.
As the crimson sun sank westward, the harsh glare softened into a long, gentle glow, the clouds at the mountain’s edge dyed a dusky orange-red.
Within Pei Su, the desire line was slowly forced back, retreating beneath his heart. He sat quietly in his room, meditating to calm his breath. From outside came a faint sound. He opened his eyes, rose, and walked to the door. Pushing open the old wooden frame, he looked out and saw, not far from the threshold, a bamboo basket. Inside lay a bowl of freshly brewed herbal tea, still cooling. The one who had brought it was already gone—likely knowing he was at rest and unwilling to disturb him.
Pei Su carried the basket back inside. He remembered telling her not to bring him anything again. Was she too kind-hearted, or stubbornly unheeding? Then again, it was he who had first drunk her water, breaking that boundary himself. The bitter tea cleared the heat from his body, though it could not cool the fire in his heart.
Night spread unhurriedly across the sky, deepening into every corner.
Shen Xiyin, having finished her supper and her chores, was boiling water at the stove to wash. At that moment, Pei Su came. She heard his measured knock, wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve, and went to open the door. He had come to return the basket and bowl.
“There’s no need to send more tea.”
Shen Xiyin lowered her gaze, took the basket, and answered softly, “All right.” She turned, set the basket down on the table behind her, and stood with her back to him in silence.
From behind her came his voice: “What I mean is, the bitter brew has worked well. I am already much improved, so there’s no need to continue.”
Shen Xiyin slowly turned back and murmured, “Mm.” Afraid he might misunderstand, she explained softly: “When I used to fall ill with fever, kindly aunts in the village would also bring me herbal tea.”
Pei Su replied, “Mm.” The basket had been returned, the explanation given—by rights he should have left. Yet today he was strangely uncharacteristic, lingering at the doorway without moving.
Shen Xiyin felt awkward about sending him away, so the two of them simply stood facing each other in uneasy silence.
“That tea usually takes three doses before ordinary folk feel better. You recovered after only one—perhaps because a cultivator’s body is stronger.”
“Yes.”
She had meant to ease the awkwardness, but such empty words only made the air between them more strained. Fortunately, the water on the stove began to bubble just then.
Shen Xiyin seized the excuse to fetch it, moving to the hearth. Seeing her walk away, Pei Su did not linger further. He turned and left. In the night, he brushed a hand across his chest. He had tested it. Since seeing her, the desire line at his breast had several times tried to grow, but each time he forced it back beneath his heart. It was not beyond his control.
After washing, Shen Xiyin loosened her inner garments and lay down on the bed. All her underclothes had been laundered and hung to dry in the courtyard. For now she wore nothing. Fearing discomfort might soil the bedding, she placed a pillow beneath her waist to raise her body slightly. Amid the summer night’s chorus of cicadas, she drifted into sleep. At dawn, she woke from the clammy residue, bathed again, and carefully washed the pillow.
The morning light was gentle, golden rays leaping across the distant ridges. After hanging the pillow to dry, she stepped out into the courtyard and caught sight of Pei Su returning from the far mountains. It seemed he had spent the night there. As he drew nearer, passing before her house, his gaze met hers unexpectedly.
Shen Xiyin’s fingertips curled slightly. After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Morning.”
Pei Su’s steps faltered. “Morning,” he replied.