Inside the Enchantment Maze, the wall that moved gave off a muffled, broken hum.
Shen Xiyin curled up in the corner, head bowed, trying to suppress her ragged breathing. She couldn’t understand why the woman on the wall made such sounds—half like torment, half like something else entirely. Inwardly, she prayed for it to stop, but the more she wished, the more the wall writhed, as if determined to torment her.
Fortunately, the ordeal did not last long. A flash of fierce, commanding sword light cut through, and the wall finally stilled. It was that venerable elder who had forced the wall to stop with his blade.
Shen Xiyin lifted her gaze to the sword embedded in the stone. Thin as a cicada’s wing, it gleamed with a frosty, silver-white brilliance. She remembered Xu Yanxing once saying that cultivators’ swords reflected their masters’ natures. If this sword shone so pure and immaculate, then surely its master was just as lofty and unsullied.
“Madam Xu, are you unharmed?” Out of courtesy, the man across from her asked when he saw her huddled and silent.
Shen Xiyin answered awkwardly, “I’m fine…” She tried desperately to hide her discomposure, unwilling to appear so wretched before someone so calm. Yet her breath still came unevenly, her chest rose and fell, and the sweat at her neck dampened her collar. Saying she was fine felt like a hollow denial.
Thankfully, he did not press further, and both tacitly let the moment pass.
The stone chamber fell quiet again, only the faint sound of breathing lingering.
Now, with the room bright as day, Shen Xiyin could not help but see him more clearly. He wore a dark robe, the kind suited for travel, his belt tied with meticulous precision. At his waist hung a piece of ancient black jade, its color deep and solemn, just like the impression he gave. Carved into the jade was a single character—“Su.”
Shen Xiyin did not know many characters, but she recognized this one. As a child, she had once dreamed of studying, but survival alone was already too hard; such hopes were far too extravagant. For a time she worked as a servant in a wealthy household in the city. That family kept a private school, and whenever she passed the rear courtyard, she would hear the young sons and daughters reciting lessons with their teacher.
Sometimes, after finishing her chores, she would see the courtyard gate left ajar and stand outside the wall, watching from a distance. Once, she saw the teacher guiding the young sons and daughters in reciting poetry. When they came upon this very character, she remembered it meant “to go against the current.” Later, that family moved away to Xunyang, and someone like her—small in stature yet with a hearty appetite—was dismissed as an unnecessary servant.
Shen Xiyin stared at the single character carved on the black jade for a long while. Cultivators of the Xuan sect often carried items that marked their identity, such as jade engraved with their names or personal seals. This “Su” character must be his name. So, he was called Pei Su.
She naturally committed his name to memory. Looking at his fine robes, she thought how he would likely never know hers. Even though she now wore an ornate gown, there would inevitably come a day when she had to take it off.
Pei Su noticed her gaze. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” Realizing how improper it was to stare at a strange man’s belt, Shen Xiyin did not try to excuse herself. She lowered her eyes and whispered, full of guilt, “I’m sorry.”
For some reason, after hearing her honest admission, his expression darkened slightly.
Silence fell again, heavy as death.
Shen Xiyin hugged her knees in the corner. The discomfort stirred up by the moving wall had not yet faded. Everything else was bearable, but her lower abdomen felt as though stuffed with a wad of cotton soaked in hot water—so uncomfortably swollen that she longed for something to press the water out. Her condition seemed to be worsening. If she remained trapped in the maze with no way out, she had no idea what would become of her.
“Respected elder,” she clutched at her skirt and asked softly, “is there any other way to escape from here?”
Pei Su replied, “There is.”
Shen Xiyin pressed eagerly, “What way?”
He lifted his gaze to meet her innocent, unknowing eyes. For a long moment he said nothing, then answered with a face utterly calm: “It’s something you would not want to know.”
Shen Xiyin was baffled. She had asked precisely because she wanted to know—if she didn’t, why would she bother asking?
Just as her thoughts tangled in confusion, a rustling sound broke out, like gravel tumbling down. In an instant, the relief carvings on the walls melted away like sand swept by the wind, replaced by lines of ancient script she could not read.
Shen Xiyin was both shocked and helpless. She had no idea what trick this so‑called Enchantment Maze was playing now.
“What… what does it say?”
Pei Su looked at the inscription on the wall before them and read it aloud in a steady voice. At the same time, a strange sound reached her ears, like the grinding of an old, worn mechanism.
The two voices fell almost together— “Draw near, and become familiar with each other’s scent.”
Shen Xiyin froze where she stood, then felt goosebumps rise all over her body. “What does that mean?”
“The literal meaning.”
Here, “each other” could only refer to her and Pei Su. Inevitably, she wondered—just how close would they have to be to recognize each other’s scent?
Once the thought crossed her mind, she could not shake it off. Irritation flared, and like a small beast provoked, her face flushed red as she ground out, “I have a husband.”
The words left her lips, and regret followed immediately. He already knew this fact; why emphasize it now? Saying it made it sound as though he would even want to draw near to her.
Pei Su gave a low, mocking laugh. His reaction left Shen Xiyin both ashamed and angry, unbearably ill at ease. She clenched her fists, her lips trembling, and then heard him reply in a calm voice: “I would not stoop so low.”
After that, silence fell again—an unspoken understanding between them.
By now, Shen Xiyin could no longer deny what kind of wicked maze this was. The obscene carvings on the walls, and now the glaring ancient script, were all things that transgressed propriety and defied reason. Entangled with desire and lust, they gnawed at the mind and left one undone. She was certain: this was a thoroughly debased, corrupt formation.
The chamber walls blazed with the words “Draw near,” yet somehow the two of them had retreated to the farthest corners apart.
Shen Xiyin pressed her back against the stone wall. The cold, unyielding surface seeped through her thin, sweat‑dampened clothes, and the chill steadied her body just a little. She knew better than anyone that she could not remain here any longer—she would not be able to endure it.
As though steeling herself with resolve, she asked again: “How can we get out of here?”
This time, when he heard her repeat the question, Pei Su did not evade. Fixing his gaze on the words carved into the wall, he answered bluntly: “Do as it says.”
When he lowered his eyes afterward, his gaze fell upon the pale lilac folds of her skirt and the hand that had suddenly clenched tight around her sleeve. Those slender, fair hands hid shyly within the fabric, only half visible. Calloused, yet neatly trimmed, the rounded fingertips flushed faintly red from the pressure.
At last Shen Xiyin understood why he had said earlier, “You wouldn’t want to know.”
Both of them knew—she would never obey, and neither would he.
Her lips pressed together, then parted. “And if we don’t?” she asked.
Pei Su replied, “I do not know.”
The ancient texts on the Enchantment Maze contained no detailed records. Outside, countless rumors circulated—some true, some false, impossible to discern. The only certainty was that the maze held forty‑nine trials of passion, and to escape one had to pass them all. As for other unverified tales—such as no man and woman ever leaving the maze with their chastity intact—there was no proof, and he could not affirm them.
He did not believe his will could be swayed by external force.
The uncertainty left Shen Xiyin fearful, yet also faintly hopeful. Perhaps there might be another way, just as he had earlier stilled that obscene wall with his sword. She stole a glance at him from across the chamber. His composure at this moment gave her some reassurance. And besides, since the voice had spoken, nothing had yet happened. She told herself it would be fine. Yet the steady dripping sound that had echoed since earlier made her heart pound wildly. It felt like some kind of countdown.
“Do you hear it too?” she asked Pei Su.
“Yes,” he replied.
Shen Xiyin asked again, “Is it the sound of dripping water, in a steady rhythm?”
Pei Su replied, “Yes.”
Her breathing quickened. “Why would there be such a sound?”
Pei Su told her, “This trial has a time limit.”
That meant they had to draw near before the time ran out; to become familiar with each other’s scent. Otherwise…
Shen Xiyin had no idea what would happen. She thought of her status as a married woman, of the rules she had observed since childhood, of the lessons instilled in her as a girl. In truth, she barely even knew the scent of her own husband. They had seldom been close; their encounters were brief, always in the dark of night, too fleeting to remember clearly. The relentless dripping tormented her. She pressed her dry lips together and lifted her eyes toward him. He made no particular move, only stood as before, back straight, at a distance. It was as though a chasm lay between them—he would not cross it, and she could not take a single step closer.
Shen Xiyin closed her eyes, waiting for the time to run out. Yet it never did. She felt like a condemned prisoner, waiting beneath a blade suspended overhead that refused to fall. Over and over she steeled herself, sweat gathering at her temples, her patience worn thin. Just as she began to doubt whether the dripping meant something else, the sound ceased. And then the familiar voice returned to her ears—”Time limit reached. Trial will now be enforced.”