Within the Enchantment Maze, another tranquil day passed.
By the following dusk, Shen Xiyin returned from the dense forest with a bamboo basket on her back. The sky had grown dark and heavy, and soon a fine drizzle began to fall. She was walking along the village path, unable to make it back to her house in time, so she slipped into a shabby thatched pavilion at the roadside to take shelter.
Raindrops struck the thatched roof with a muffled rustle, while outside the pavilion rainwater streamed down like a curtain of beads, turning the world into a hazy white blur.
Through the rain’s veil, a tall, slender figure in dark robes approached from the direction of the distant mountains. Step by step, his silhouette grew clearer as he entered the pavilion.
The space inside, once roomy enough, suddenly felt cramped with another person. His black robe was soaked through, clinging to his lean, well‑built frame. Droplets slid from his hanging sleeves and hem, splashing into tiny blossoms of water at his feet. The damp spread quickly, pooling on the ground and slowly creeping past an unseen boundary—until it reached the embroidered edge of her shoes.
Shen Xiyin’s hands, hidden within her sleeves, curled slightly in unease.
Pei Su cast her a faint glance. “Sheltering from the rain?”
She answered softly, “Mm.”
What else could she say? The rain showed no sign of stopping anytime soon.
Standing in the corner, Shen Xiyin quietly drew her legs together, as though trying to conceal something.
Pei Su lowered his gaze a fraction, noting the faint stir of the restraint line across his chest. The damp air, thick with the earthy tang of rain and mud, clung heavily inside the pavilion, almost sticky. The chaotic patter of rainfall unsettled the mind.
Shen Xiyin broke the silence. “Did you go to the far mountains again today?”
Pei Su looked toward the blurred outline of peaks beyond the curtain of rain. “Yes.”
The multiple barriers within the maze were bound to the earth veins of this place. To unravel them all, he first had to determine where exactly they were. Earlier, Madam Xu had found traces of crimson jade ore in the forest. In recent days, he too had discovered plenty of this mineral—unique to the region of Xunyang—in the distant mountains. From this, he could judge that they were trapped somewhere within Xunyang. Yet the precise location remained unclear. He tried to deduce their position from the mountain ranges and terrain features, but it was difficult. Though he prided himself on knowing the geography of many lands, he could not match this landscape to any place in memory. Of course, compared to such roundabout methods, there was a more direct way to discern their whereabouts. But that method required a vast expenditure of spiritual power—far more than the meager reserves he had left.
Pei Su had tried several herbs said to bolster spiritual strength, but none had any effect.
The maze had sealed nearly every possible exit, leaving only one path: to endure and complete the trials of passion.
The rain fell in fine, endless threads, refusing to cease. Like pillars of water, the downpour hemmed the two within the pavilion, leaving them no way forward or back.
Shen Xiyin saw that Pei Su was deep in thought and did not disturb him. She stood quietly, lowering her gaze to her embroidered shoes, worn and frayed beyond recognition.
In his mind, Pei Su was rehearsing countless methods to unravel the barriers, yet for some reason he could not focus. He raised a hand to his chest, probing lightly, and indeed felt the restraint line stirring faintly, threatening to grow. Fortunately, it was still within his power to suppress. Closing his eyes, he sighed, wishing only for the rain to end soon.
Shen Xiyin stole a glance at him, noting the deepening shadow on his face. She pressed her lips together gently.
The next day, Pei Su shut himself inside, secluding himself in meditation. By evening, a knock at the door broke his concentration. He slid open the wooden door and saw her standing beneath the eaves, clad in a washed‑thin, old dress. The candlelight spilling from within illuminated her clear, gentle features. She seemed startled by how quickly the door had opened, her eyes still carrying a trace of unprepared panic.
Pei Su asked, “What is it?”
She lifted the bamboo basket from her shoulder, holding it out to him.
“These…” Her voice carried the faint breathlessness of recent labor, her tone unsteady. “Are these what you were looking for?”
Inside the basket lay herbs that could strengthen spiritual power. They were freshly gathered, still glistening with mountain dew and speckled with soil.
Pei Su’s gaze shifted from the basket brimming with herbs to her fingertips, still speckled with mud, then to the damp strands at her temples, and finally to the eyes that held a trace of uncertainty and timid resolve. He suddenly recalled—she had once seen him testing spirit grass.
Shen Xiyin said softly, “I thought perhaps you might need these.”
Pei Su lowered his eyes, his Adam’s apple moving unconsciously. The cold refusal he had been about to utter—I don’t need them—was swallowed back, replaced with a gentler reply. “I do need herbs to strengthen spiritual power. But the ones you’ve brought won’t be of much use.”
Hearing this, she drew back the basket and answered simply, “All right.”
Pei Su thought he had made himself clear. Yet the next day, she returned again, carrying another basket of herbs. This time, they were rarer, harder to find—he had no idea where she had gathered them. “Would these be of use to you?” she asked.
He raised a hand to sense their energy, then shook his head.
The Enchantment Maze had sealed their paths so thoroughly that such things could not possibly be effective.
Looking at the herbs she had collected, Pei Su asked, “Do you recognize these?”
Shen Xiyin flushed at being asked about something she knew. She nodded. “I do.” She explained that before marriage, she had lived by gathering spirit herbs. She had a quick memory, knew many crafts, and could manage heavy work as well. But as she spoke, she noticed his silence and stopped. What she said—her skills, her livelihood—seemed to him like matters too trivial to mention.
On the third day, she brought yet another assortment of unusual spirit herbs. Naturally, those too proved useless.
Pei Su found her stubbornness remarkable. She kept pouring effort into something with only the faintest chance of success, repeating the same futile task again and again. But perhaps, as a mortal, this was the only way she could think of to help. By the fifth time she came with herbs, she had nearly exhausted everything the mountain forest could offer.
Pei Su thought surely she would give up now—that there would be no sixth time. Yet that very night, she came again.
Seeing her appear once more, Pei Su was taken aback. This time she carried a deep‑green herb, its shape strikingly similar to mugwort leaves.
“Respected elder, please try this one,” she said.
The herb in her hand was called Moonflower Grass—a common plant, usually used to invigorate the blood and dispel stasis. It did have some effect in boosting spiritual power, though not a strong one.
Pei Su had little hope. But to his surprise, as his hand neared the sprig of moonflower grass she held, he distinctly sensed a long‑lost ripple of spiritual energy. “It works.”
At his words, a flush of joy lit her pale cheeks, blooming in a sudden, vivid red.
“I’ll gather more tomorrow,” she said.
Pei Su guessed that the moonflower grass she carried must not be easy to find—otherwise she would not have waited until the sixth attempt to bring it. He had intended to ask where exactly the herb grew, so he could collect it himself. But when he saw the flush of joy on her face, the words that left his lips instead were simply: “All right.”
At that, the restraint line across his chest stirred faintly, threatening to rise again. Fortunately, she did not linger and soon turned to leave. If all went well, they might soon escape the maze—and from then on, have no further ties.
Watching her departing figure, Pei Su found himself asking, almost against his own will: “If you leave this array, where will you go?”
Shen Xiyin halted, turned back to look at him, and after a long silence replied, “To see the ones I miss.”
She had not visited her parents’ graves in a long time. Once free, she meant to go, clear the weeds from the mound, and bring offerings to honor them.
Pei Su thought to himself: the ones she misses must surely include her husband, the man with whom she shared affection. Her wish to return to him was only natural. Yet at her words, the restraint line across his chest began to extend uncontrollably. A wild command surged through his mind— Leave upon her a mark that belongs not to her husband, but to you.
But such shameful, base acts he would never commit, nor had he ever stooped to them.
By the next morning, the desire line at his chest finally subsided. Though it no longer stirred, it could not be forced back to its former place. All through the night, his body was nearly drenched in sweat.
At dawn, the village lay quiet beneath the first pale light, birdsong rising in a dense chorus.
Pei Su sat by the window and slowly opened his eyes, just in time to glimpse her—already up early, a bamboo basket on her back, heading toward the mountains. He thought she would surely return by midday at the latest, yet even by dusk she had not appeared.
Sensing something amiss, Pei Su did not wait any longer. He followed the path she had taken into the hills.
By nightfall, a fine rain began to fall.
The mountains were shrouded in darkness, the paths invisible. He raised his hand and summoned a flame of mystic fire, tracing the hidden barrier as he searched. Half an hour later, he came upon the bamboo basket she had carried that morning, lying beside a steep slope. It was filled with moonlit grass. She had to be nearby.
“Madam Xu,” Pei Su called out several times.
Before long, a faint voice drifted up from below the slope. I’m here.”
The moonlit grass grew along the cliff face, difficult to harvest. By the time Shen Xiyin had finished gathering it, dusk had already fallen. In the dim light, she missed her footing and slipped down to the base of the slope.
Later, the rain began to fall again. Darkness pressed in on all sides, the ground slick beneath the downpour. She dared not move recklessly, deciding instead to wait until morning light to find a way back up.
Pei Su probed the terrain with the flame in his hand and said to her, “Take five steps to the right. The ground is gentler there—you can climb up from that spot.”
“Alright.” Shen Xiyin answered softly, following his instructions. Sure enough, she found a slope she could ascend. Step by step she climbed, guided by the glow ahead, moving toward the figure in dark robes illuminated by the fire in his palm.
Pei Su noticed the rain-slick path beneath her feet. “Slow down,” he cautioned.
She advanced carefully, her embroidered shoes worn thin, her body wracked by waves of discomfort. Stumbling and unsteady, she pressed forward. She fought to endure it, but as she drew close to Pei Su, the ache surged suddenly, stabbing deep into her lower belly.
A muffled sound escaped her lips. Her legs gave way, and she toppled forward, falling into the heat and solidity of his chest. He said nothing, his breath heavy against the crown of her head—steady, powerful, unrelenting.
“I—I’m sorry.” Startled, Shen Xiyin lifted her face from his embrace, about to pull away. But a strong hand closed around her waist, holding her fast, leaving her unable to move. The searing warmth of his palm burned through her rain-soaked garments, sinking into her skin.
Then, at her ear, came the long-familiar rustling sound. Shen Xiyin recognized it instantly—the announcement of the next trial within the Enchantment Maze. If not for that familiar yet unsettling sound, she might almost have forgotten the long‑delayed third trial— to bare themselves, to know each other’s bodies, until traces were left behind. And yet he had clearly said this trial would never be enforced.