Shen Xiyin slowly awoke from a long period of unconsciousness, her mind still echoing with the terrifying scenes she had witnessed before fainting. Her thoughts were scattered as she opened her eyes, only to find herself surrounded by pitch-black darkness, unable to see a thing.
The place was stifling and damp, the air heavy with salty, clammy moisture that pressed against her chest and made it harder to breathe. All around was silence—so deep that she could hear the faint reverberation of her own breath. She sensed she was in some kind of enclosed space, perhaps deep within a lightless cavern or an underground stone chamber.
Fear of the unknown surged through her heart. With her vision useless, her hearing sharpened. Amid the deathly stillness, she thought she caught the sound of another person breathing. Low and steady, like hidden currents beneath a still pond—quiet yet brimming with power.
Just as Shen Xiyin’s heart wavered between suspicion and dread, a faint glow flickered a few steps away.
A man stood there, conjuring a small flame between his fingers. By its dim light, Shen Xiyin could just make out his silhouette. He was a stranger—taller than her husband by half a head, his figure straighter and more imposing.
The man had noticed her presence, too. He tried to see her more clearly through the wavering light. For a moment he stood motionless, as though deep in thought, then began to walk toward her. When he drew closer, Shen Xiyin finally caught a vague glimpse of his face.
It was strikingly handsome and well-defined, his eyes dark as ink, his expression stern and cold. His steps were measured, his shoulders squared, his bearing upright. He stopped just one pace away from her, maintaining the proper distance one should keep from a stranger, and came no nearer.
Perhaps because of his towering height, an invisible aura of authority seemed to radiate from him. Even when he did nothing but stand there, he inspired a natural sense of awe, making one instinctively cautious not to show the slightest impropriety in his presence.
Shen Xiyin lowered her head uneasily, avoiding his gaze. The silence between them stretched awkwardly until he spoke first: “Who are you?”
The moment his voice reached her ears, Shen Xiyin froze, her eyes widening slightly—for she recognized it. Not long ago, at the scholarly gathering, she had accidentally spilled wine on him. He hadn’t so much as glanced down at her, only replied with distant courtesy: “It’s nothing.” His tone carried the magnanimity of someone in a higher station, dismissing the mishap as beneath notice.
At the time, she had been flustered, too afraid to lift her head, and he had quickly moved on. She never even had the chance to see his face clearly, but that voice—she could never mistake it. She was still wearing the elaborate gown from that gathering, though she doubted he would remember someone as insignificant as her.
Now he stood before her, waiting for her to answer.
Her fragile, overlooked pride tugged back and forth within her. She thought perhaps she should embellish her reply, make herself seem less easily dismissed. Yet in the end, she answered honestly: “My surname is Shen. I am from Shuangxi Village at the foot of Changliu Mountain.”
He gave a brief acknowledgment: “Mm.”
“My husband is Xu Yanxing of the Changliu Xu clan. You likely know him,” she added.
Her words implied she recognized his identity. He glanced at her, replying coolly: “I know.”
He had no interest in probing how a village woman had married into a prestigious sect or how she had come to recognize him. With polite detachment, he addressed her simply: “Madam Xu.”
Shen Xiyin did not know his personal name. She only knew he was the head of the Pei clan, the man her husband revered. Judging by his appearance, he seemed a few years older than she. Their stations were worlds apart, their ages different as well. It would be improper to call him Pei Langjun in a familiar tone. After a moment’s thought, she offered the respectful title: “Elder.”
After a brief exchange of courtesies, silence fell once more.
Lowering her gaze, Shen Xiyin noticed—by the faint flame flickering at his fingertips—that her sleeve had been torn, likely when she fell into this place. A stretch of pale arm was exposed. She quickly tugged at her clothing to cover the bare skin. Glancing up, she saw the man standing just a step away. He seemed not to have noticed, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
In the cramped, airless chamber, the presence of a lone man and woman together made his breathing sound all the clearer in her ears. Shen Xiyin instinctively edged back a step, adjusted her attire, and pulled her collar tighter. He paid no mind to her movements. Instead, he turned toward the walls, lifting his eyes to examine the stone surfaces, as though searching for a mechanism to escape this place. The chamber was so small that no matter how far he moved, he remained within her sight.
Listening to his steady footsteps pacing back and forth, Shen Xiyin’s heart grew restless. She pressed her lips together, wanting to speak, yet fearing he might ignore her. The dread of being dismissed warred with her uncertainty. After a moment of struggle, she clenched her palms and finally whispered: “May I ask you a question?”
His gaze fell on a shadowed corner of the chamber. He did not look at her, but replied, “Ask.”
Shen Xiyin asked softly, “Where are we?”
After a long silence, he finally answered, “Within the Enchantment Maze.”
Shen Xiyin frowned. “What is the Enchantment Maze?”
He gave only a terse reply: “An evil formation.”
“What does that mean—an evil formation?” she pressed.
He did not answer again. Perhaps, like her husband, he thought such knowledge useless to her and could not be bothered to explain. Or perhaps he found the question too shallow, beneath his dignity.
Left to her own guesses, Shen Xiyin pondered: the word “evil” must mean something ominous. In other words, they were trapped inside something dangerous, their situation dire.
This realization unsettled her even more. She still did not understand why she had suddenly been cast into this array, nor why that revered elder was here as well. She did not know what sinister power the array held, nor how one might escape from such a strange place. But one thing she was certain of: that elder must share her desperation to leave this lightless prison. At that moment, he seemed to be calculating something, head bowed in deep thought.
Shen Xiyin knew little of the mystic arts of the sects and could offer him no help. The only thing she could do was remain silent and avoid disturbing him at such a moment. She stood quietly to the side. After about half an incense stick’s time, she noticed his expression ease slightly. Guessing that he had found a way out of the array, her own heart relaxed a little in turn.
He raised a finger and traced a charm upon the stone wall to their left. A grinding sound of hidden mechanisms followed, and a fissure split open in the middle of the wall. Bright daylight streamed through the crack, as though a doorway out of the formation had been opened.
But before Shen Xiyin could savor her joy, the opening slammed shut with a thunderous boom right before her eyes. She froze in shock, staring at the man not far away. How could a proper exit suddenly vanish?
His expression grew grave. He closed his eyes briefly, then spoke a single cryptic line that left Shen Xiyin bewildered: “The Gate of Life has been sealed.”
She thought hard, and at last recalled something faintly. Back when she was at the Xu clan of Changliu, she had heard disciples mention that the arts of Qimen Dunjia contained eight gates. She could not remember them all, but vaguely recalled one called the Gate of Life. It was said to be the most auspicious gate—the gate of vitality and hope.
Men of the mystic sects, like her husband Xu Yanxing, devoted themselves to exorcising demons and hunting spirits. This required mastery of countless arts, yet each person’s talent differed, and their ability to comprehend the Dao varied greatly.
Among all these techniques, the art of breaking formations was the most profound and difficult to grasp. In the world, those who truly understood it and could wield it with ease were few indeed.
At the very least, her husband Xu Yanxing was incapable of it. Shen Xiyin remembered well his frequent headaches and complaints over such matters. But what her husband could not do, that revered elder accomplished effortlessly. Just moments ago, he had seemed to discover an exit from this sinister array—the so‑called Gate of Life he had spoken of. Yet, to his surprise, the Gate of Life had been sealed shut for some unknown reason. In other words, they were now trapped within this evil formation.
“What should we do?” Shen Xiyin asked instinctively.
He gave no reply, only casting her a glance of unreadable meaning before quickly looking away. That reaction made her heart pound with dread. She could not guess what he meant. Was his silence because there was truly no other way out, or because the method of escape was too unspeakable to reveal?
Either way, neither possibility boded well.
Her thoughts tangled in confusion, anxiety gnawing at her. Suddenly, a sharp clunk sounded beneath her feet. Startled, she stepped back. The chamber was narrow; she had barely retreated a pace before her spine pressed against the cold, unyielding stone wall. The wall was slick, as though coated with some greasy balm. It seemed to bear carved reliefs. Her palm rested against the surface, and she distinctly felt the shape of one such carving. It was long and slender, with a bend—she froze, realizing it was a human thigh. Shocked, she cried out and sprang away. What kind of sinister place was this, where the very walls were carved with human limbs?
Tears welled in Shen Xiyin’s eyes, born of fright. Images of blood‑soaked dismemberment flashed in her mind, followed by visions of the terrifying hell. She felt certain she was doomed to a miserable end. Yet what came next was worse than death itself.
In the very next instant, the pitch‑dark chamber blazed with sudden light. A blinding radiance burst overhead, flooding the stone room in an instant. Her eyes, long accustomed to darkness, could not bear the glare. For a time she could not open them at all. When at last she adjusted and lifted her gaze, the sight that met her eyes left her utterly aghast.
The stone walls, now illuminated, revealed carvings that were not scenes of slaughter nor visions of hell, but countless lifelike erotic tableaux. The images sprawled across the walls like tangled vines, dense and unrelenting.
Figures writhed in every posture—some struggling, some abandoned to indulgence. Slanted brows and disheveled hair, bodies entwined, expressions mingling pain and pleasure. Scattered hairpins, loosened sashes, arched throats, tangled locks, and even beads of sweat rolling down bare spines—all were etched with startling clarity.
Never in her life had Shen Xiyin seen anything so filthy. Her heart lurched; her face burned crimson. In panic, she lowered her head, unable to look. Her mouth was dry, her breath ragged in the narrow chamber. Only after a moment did she remember she was not alone.
The elder stood silently behind her, his expression calm. A man of the sect, trained in discipline and self‑restraint, he seemed to regard the obscene murals no differently than ordinary landscapes, unmoved by them.
Seeing his composure only deepened Shen Xiyin’s shame. To witness such debauchery alongside a man other than her husband—and to be the only one unsettled by it—made her wish she could sink into the earth. But the more she longed to escape, the more fate tormented her.
A sharp clunk sounded, as if some mechanism had been triggered. The murals on the walls stirred, coming alive. They began to move, emitting strange, unsettling noises.
The grotesque, explicit scenes assaulted her mind, pressing on her chest until she could scarcely breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to block it out, but it was useless. Worse still, beneath her shame, a heat unfurled within her, prickling and insistent. It was a sensation she had never known before—nor dared to know. How could this be happening? How could she feel this way? It was against all propriety.