Wu Yin stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the dungeon. His voice rang out, cold and commanding:
“Those who can still move, drag the wounded away.”
The ever-present smile that usually lingered on his lips vanished, replaced by the solemn authority of a sect master.
From his sleeve, he drew a steel folding fan. Each step he took pressed down like a mountain, his aura forcing the berserk figure’s attention wholly onto him. Behind, the survivors seized the chance to drag the fallen from the blood-soaked ground.
“Jade Silkworm,” Wu Yin said evenly, “you’re being disobedient again.”
A faint fragrance drifted from the fan, curling through the air. Li Shuang’s eyes narrowed as she watched—the man’s crimson gaze locked onto Wu Yin, his violent aura seeming to ease. But just as Wu Yin drew closer, those dark red eyes flickered with a sudden, murderous light.
Li Shuang’s instincts as a soldier screamed. “Look out!”
Too late.
The iron chain embedded in the wall snapped free, lashing toward Wu Yin with a shrill whistle.
Wu Yin’s form blurred as he dodged, but fate twisted cruelly—nearby, a soldier had just lifted a wounded comrade. The chain’s deadly arc swept straight toward them.
Such force would kill without question.
Wu Yin flung his steel fan, striking the chain mid-swing. The impact diverted its path, but not enough—the chain still roared forward.
Then—
Zing!
An eight-sided sword sang from its scabbard. Li Shuang leapt, her blade piercing the chain’s center, driving it down into the stone floor. With a sharp stomp, she forced the sword a full chi deep, nailing the chain like an iron spike. The berserk vessel’s left arm was pinned, the two soldiers spared.
“Oh, General Li, excellent move!” Wu Yin clapped leisurely, his tone mocking even in admiration.
Li Shuang ignored him. Her boots struck the chain as she advanced directly toward the man. Wu Yin opened his mouth to stop her, but before words could form, the vessel’s other arm surged.
Huala!
Another chain whipped up, coiling around Li Shuang’s waist. In the next instant, his hand clamped around her throat.
Her face flushed purple-blue as her breath was cut off.
Wu Yin’s eyes narrowed. His fan was gone, knocked aside earlier. Without a weapon, even he dared not approach recklessly. His voice rang sharp with urgency:
“Call his name! Only you can wake him!”
The Jade Silkworm Gu had once recognized Li Shuang as master. But too long apart had driven it feral, blind to friend or foe. Only her voice might pierce the madness.
Yet Li Shuang’s mind went blank.
Name?
She did not even know his name. Not his past, not his origins. Only fragments: the black mask, the clear eyes that always reflected her, the burning chest, the crimson mark…
That mark.
Jin’an had one too.
Her thoughts raced, fragments snapping together in a single, blinding instant—the red mark, the man who appeared only at night, the boy who clung to her side, the inexplicable leaks in the camp, the old woman who had risen from death seeking someone within the army…
There could not be two Jade Silkworm Gu in this world.
He was—
“…Jin’an?”
The word rasped from her crushed throat, faint as a dying ember. Yet that single, broken syllable struck like thunder.
The man’s body froze. His crimson eyes trembled. His grip slackened.
Li Shuang collapsed to the ground like a discarded doll, clutching her throat. Each breath was agony, searing fire spreading from her neck into her chest.
Jin’an stood rigid, his body trembling. The blood-red haze in his eyes ebbed, leaving only bloodshot whites and, deep within the black pupils, the faint reflection of Li Shuang.
On the ground, she curled in pain, her hoarse breathing rasping like the mournful strings of a horse-head fiddle, each cough tearing through the silence of the dungeon.
Jin’an did not move. He only stared at her, his expression dazed, as though caught between dream and waking.
Wu Yin narrowed his eyes. He could not judge Jin’an’s state. This was the same man who had feigned calm before, only to strike with ruthless cunning. Stillness did not mean safety. Yet Li Shuang’s survival was paramount—not only was she the sole thread that might restrain Jin’an, but with fifty thousand troops waiting below Southern Long Mountain, Wu Yin could not allow her to die here.
She was gravely injured, her life hanging by a thread. Today, he had to take her away.
Wu Yin moved. Jin’an did not notice, his beast-like eyes fixed only on Li Shuang, devoid of human warmth.
Wu Yin retrieved his steel fan from where it had fallen. With a flick, the fan snapped open, and three steel needles shot forth, aimed directly at Jin’an’s heart.
Jin’an’s body reacted before his mind—instinct guiding him. He twisted, sidestepped, and turned his head, evading all three needles. But when he looked back, a sharp ka echoed.
The iron door had slammed shut. Li Shuang was gone.
Chains still bound his neck and ankles, limiting his range. He pulled against them, straining until the iron links scraped the stone floor with a harsh clatter. He reached the door, pressing close to the wire mesh inset with fine steel threads. Through it, he could faintly glimpse the world outside.
“Call the medicine woman!” Wu Yin’s voice carried urgency.
Through the mesh, Jin’an saw Wu Yin bearing the woman in red armor with silver trim, climbing the steps one by one, until both vanished from sight.
Anxiety.
It surged through him uncontrollably—helplessness, fear, and a suffocating ache in his chest.
He paced like a caged beast, chains dragging with a metallic rattle. The crimson haze in his eyes faded, the flame-like markings on his body shrinking back toward his chest.
His fingertips brushed against something—two or three strands of hair, caught around them. Still warm. Still carrying her scent.
He froze.
That faint warmth, that fragrance—it was her. Nostalgia and yearning struck him like lightning. He wanted to see her again. To stay by her side. He craned his neck toward the door, though nothing could be seen. Yet her scent lingered, close, unbearably close.
Clutching those strands of hair, Jin’an stared through the iron mesh. His frenzy had ebbed, replaced by a restless, pleading anxiety. He looked less like a monster now, more like a small animal torn from its master, left behind and desperate.
Did he know whom he had hurt? Did he know what he had done? No one told him. He only knew the dull pain in his chest, the suffocating emptiness.
Who was she? Was she safe?
“Not very well.”
The rasping voice of an old woman answered elsewhere.
A hunched medicine woman, her hands gnarled with age, pressed against Li Shuang’s neck. With a practiced twist, a sharp crack sounded. Li Shuang groaned low, her face pale.
“Bring wooden boards,” the medicine woman ordered. “Her neck must be bound for two or three months. The injury is severe. She will not speak easily for some time.”
Wu Yin exhaled, relief softening his features. “As long as she lives.”
The medicine woman shot him a sharp glance. “Didn’t you say the Jade Silkworm Gu vessel would calm when this young lady arrived? And yet she ends like this?” She gestured at the groaning wounded nearby and snorted. “Useless brat.”
Wu Yin gave a bitter smile. “Grandmother, how can you blame me for this?” His gaze lingered on Li Shuang before drifting toward the prison. “Still, I heard the dungeon is quiet now. Bringing the General was effective. When she called his name, he calmed. To fully pacify the Jade Silkworm Gu vessel—it is only a matter of time.”
On the wooden bed, Li Shuang lay silent, her throat aflame with pain. She could not speak, but her mind was clear, sharper than ever.
She remembered the flicker in Jin’an’s eyes when she whispered his name.
Yes. That was the key. Only this truth could untangle the mysteries of the Northern Border.
Her chest tightened with shock, but as she thought deeper, she realized—what mattered most was not why Jin’an had hidden this from her. She understood him. His insecurity, his fear of being seen as a monster, his silence born of dread that she might cast him aside.
What she cared about, what she counted in her heart, was something else entirely.
In the Northern Border… how many nights had she fallen asleep with Jin’an at her side?
So those nights—those embraces she thought were dreams—
They were real.
Li Shuang let out a long, weary sigh.
She had been taken advantage of countless times by this silent, obstinate rogue… and she had never even known.
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