In the black cavern, mud trickled sluggishly down the stone walls, pooling at the bottom where two figures lay half-buried. The slow, wet sound echoed softly, like the fading breath of the earth itself.
The thick, suffocating air seemed to pulse in time with Jin’an’s heartbeat—each thud loud, heavy, relentless. His veins felt frozen, yet his heart pounded like a war drum refusing to yield.
He pressed both hands to Li Shuang’s chest, channeling his inner force again and again. Sweat and mud mingled on his brow. He didn’t know if it would work—only that he couldn’t stop. Not while the faintest warmth remained in her body.
Tears cut clear paths down the mud on her face. Each one trembled before falling, like pearls slipping from a broken string.
Then—after what felt like eternity—a sound.
A faint cough.
Jin’an froze. Then his eyes lit up with raw, shattering relief. The gleam in them was brighter than the dawn.
Li Shuang’s body stirred weakly, curling in his arms. Her cheek pressed against his bare chest, instinctively seeking the warmth of life. The small motion made his pulse stutter. His fingers trembled; he dared not hold her too tightly, dared not breathe too loudly—as if one wrong move might make her vanish again.
Gradually, her breathing steadied. She blinked open her eyes, their glassy sheen reflecting his face—drawn, desperate, yet filled with tenderness.
“You…” Her voice was hoarse, fragile. “Why…”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Jin’an murmured. His hand, still trembling, came to rest over her heart, slowly pouring his inner force into her frail body.
The energy that flowed into her was warm, like a spring wind melting frost. Heat spread through her cold limbs, and beneath that warmth came another sensation—his emotions. His worry. His pain. His fear of losing her.
Li Shuang, startled by this raw connection, lifted her trembling hand and covered his.
Jin’an’s body quivered beneath her touch. His other arm drew her closer, letting her rest fully against him. His chin brushed her forehead as his voice fell to a whisper.
“Are you alright now? You’re okay, aren’t you?”
His tone was careful, almost pleading. It was not the voice of a warrior, but of a man terrified of breaking what he had just saved.
For once, Li Shuang didn’t push away the closeness. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heart—it wrapped her in a fragile sense of safety.
He had saved her again.
At the edge of despair, he had fought death itself for her, carving a legend out of sheer will.
Never before had anyone made her feel so protected simply by existing.
And yet… she barely knew who he truly was.
“I’ll take you away from here,” Jin’an said after a moment. Feeling her pulse steady beneath his hand, he gathered her in his arms once more and leapt upward. His movements were smooth, almost feral, as he soared toward the faint ribbon of moonlight filtering through the rocks.
But before they could emerge, a figure appeared—tall, calm, and smirking. He tapped a folding fan against his chin, eyes gleaming with amusement.
“What a splendid show I’ve just witnessed,” he drawled. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you leave so easily.”
Beyond him, the moonlight bathed the barren landscape in silver. Li Shuang recognized the terrain instantly—this was the far side of the wooded hill, a forgotten strip of Western Rong territory. No cities, no patrols, only silence.
Jin’an’s aura shifted, his warmth replaced by the sharp chill of killing intent.
The fan-wielding man only laughed. “No need for hostility! Allow me to introduce myself—I am Wu Yin. This little arrangement was never meant for General Li.” His smile widened, lazy and cruel. “I came for you, my little Gu-person.”
Li Shuang’s eyes widened. Gu-person? What did that mean?
She looked up at Jin’an—and her breath caught. His veins glowed faintly beneath his skin, crimson lines spreading across his chest like molten fire. His eyes had turned a shade deeper than blood.
“Get behind me,” he said quietly, lowering her to the ground.
But the moment her boots touched stone, her knees gave way. Her strength drained as if her body had forgotten how to stand.
Jin’an’s hands darted out to steady her. “What’s wrong?”
Wu Yin chuckled, his fan snapping open. “Oh, she’s fine,” he said lightly. “Just a touch of my wu-poison. Applied earlier, you see.” He pointed toward Li Shuang’s arm.
Jin’an looked down—and saw it. The torn sleeve. The faint wound. A tiny mark, nearly forgotten amid chaos and mud.
His hand closed over the wound, protective and trembling. His gaze lifted—murderous. “The antidote,” he said, each word sharp as steel.
Wu Yin shrugged. “I told you, I bear no grudge against the General. She’s merely… necessary. You, however—”
He never finished.
Jin’an vanished. One heartbeat he was still, the next he was a blur of motion. The air cracked where he’d been standing.
Li Shuang gasped, bracing herself against the jagged stone as the two men collided.
Steel clashed. Wind howled.
Their shadows spun and shattered across the cave walls, movements too fast for her dimming vision to follow.
The clash of their power sent tremors through the cavern, rocks tumbling loose and crashing across the ground. Li Shuang barely dodged a falling stone; when she turned, she saw Wu Yin pinned beneath Jin’an—his crimson eyes blazing with fury as his fingers tightened around Wu Yin’s throat.
“The antidote,” Jin’an’s voice was low, like the growl of a beast on the edge of madness. “I won’t ask a third time.”
But Wu Yin only laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. “If I die, General Li will accompany me to the afterlife.”
Jin’an’s hands trembled, his gaze flickering to Li Shuang—still haunted by the memory of her body growing cold in his arms not long ago.
“It’s simple,” Wu Yin said softly, raising a hand to brush away a strand of Jin’an’s disheveled hair. “I’ve no wish to harm General Li. I only want you. Come with me, and I’ll give her the antidote.”
Jin’an knew that the farther he strayed from Li Shuang, the deeper his body would ache. Yet at this moment, such pain no longer mattered.
“Don’t… trust him,” Li Shuang rasped, her strength fading, her words jagged with effort. “I’m fine… kill him… the doctors can… treat—”
Li Shuang was never one for mercy. She had lived her life through decisive strikes and cold judgments; anyone who plotted against her or the Eastern Palace deserved no second chance. Eliminate the threat first—everything else could wait.
“General Li is truly ruthless,” Wu Yin said with a thin smile, his gaze slanting toward her. “You only feel weak now, but soon your limbs will go numb. Then the pain will come—ten thousand ants gnawing at your bones—and finally, death. Your doctors can’t save you from this poison.”
His voice was calm, almost tender, and it made Jin’an’s expression grow even darker.
“Kill him,” Li Shuang ordered, her tone unwavering.
But Jin’an did not move. “I don’t trust you,” he said instead.
Li Shuang frowned, trying to call his name—only to realize she didn’t even know what to call him.
“I said I won’t harm her,” Wu Yin continued, producing a delicate white porcelain vial that gleamed under the faint light. “General Li’s life means nothing to me. Whether you trust me or not—that’s your choice. This is the drug that binds you. Drink it, and she lives.”
Before Li Shuang could protest, a wave of agony swept through her body. Her throat tightened; her limbs went rigid as searing pain spread like fire under her skin.
Without hesitation, Jin’an seized the vial from Wu Yin’s hand and swallowed its contents in a single gulp. “The antidote,” he demanded hoarsely.
Wu Yin’s smile curved, lazy and cruel. “Good. Be patient. I’ll keep my word.”
A flutter of white descended from above—a woman dressed in flowing robes landed beside Li Shuang, gently lifting her chin to feed her a pill. Li Shuang’s body softened, her lashes fluttered once, and she fell into unconsciousness.
Jin’an’s heart clenched. He tried to reach her, but Wu Yin caught his wrist.
“You belong to me now.”
As those words slithered into his mind, Jin’an felt something invasive crawling through his skull. The voice burrowed deep into his thoughts, binding his will, freezing his steps.
“Let’s go home, Jade Silkworm.”
His limbs moved against his will. The world blurred. Through the haze of his fading consciousness, he saw only Li Shuang—lying motionless, peaceful, as if in a dreamless sleep.
She’s safe now, he thought faintly. That’s all that matters.
Nothing else matters.
“Young Master,” the woman in white murmured as several more figures dropped from the cavern’s shadowed ceiling. Two lifted Jin’an, while others covered Li Shuang with a white ermine cloak.
“Good work, everyone,” Wu Yin said, brushing the dust from his robes. “We’ve reclaimed the Jade Silkworm. Time to return.”
“The Jade Silkworm has already bonded with a master,” one of the women hesitated. “Should we leave her behind?”
Wu Yin’s eyes flicked toward Li Shuang. “It’s only been a few days. The bond can be erased. Besides…” He smirked faintly. “Smuggling the Northern Border’s Great General through the pass would only cause trouble. I prefer my travels peaceful.”
Stretching lazily, he turned to the faint light of dawn spilling through the cavern’s mouth.
“This frozen northern wasteland,” he murmured, “makes me long for the warmth of southern blossoms.”
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