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Chapter 35: Moonlight Beyond Chains

                     When she awoke, darkness still enveloped everything. Time seemed to halt inside the sealed dungeon, and Li Shuang, disoriented, could no longer tell night from day. Then she felt a faint weight on her lap. Looking down, she understood. It was night. Jin’an had transformed into an adult once again—just as he did every night back in the Northern Frontier. Without his black armor mask, his features appeared sharper, more refined. He was deeply asleep, exhaustion softening his expression. He had not rested in days; now, even sleep clung to him stubbornly. Watching him breathe quietly, Li Shuang’s heart rippled. Memories of those nights—his teasing, his silence, his gaze that always unsettled her—rose unbidden. Her hand moved before her mind could stop it. Fingertips brushed his cheek, tracing his brow and the bridge of his nose. His bone structure was deeper than that of Great Jin men, yet he lacked the coars...

Chapter 33: The Gu Vessel Who Loved His Master

                    

Li Shuang’s neck was still braced with wooden boards, barely holding up the throat that Jin’an had injured. The medicine woman had urged her to rest for a month, but she didn’t have that luxury.

At dawn, she rose, found paper and brush, and wrote a letter to the soldiers stationed at the mountain’s base, ordering them to hold their ground. Once the message was delivered, she steadied her aching head and made her way toward the dungeon.

Just as she reached the entrance, Wu Yin appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he opened the door.
“General Li.” He smiled, spotting the brace on her neck. “Shouldn’t you rest a few more days?”

Li Shuang only cast him a cold glance.

Tch. Not one of her subordinates—no reason to fear her, no authority to reprimand him.

Keeping her silence, she followed him in. Wu Yin’s grin lingered as he activated the stone mechanism and guided her down the dim stairs.

“I heard the Jade Silkworm Gu vessel was unusually calm last night—the quietest since arriving at Southern Long Mountain,” he remarked, holding a torch. “Truly loyal to its master, just as the legends say. It’s a pity, though… this time, the master isn’t me.”

Li Shuang’s hoarse voice finally broke the silence. “Being born at the wrong time isn’t anyone’s fault.”

Wu Yin was momentarily taken aback, then chuckled softly. “General Li, I never blamed you. In fact, perhaps I should be grateful the Jade Silkworm recognized you. It’s… a rare stroke of fortune.”

Li Shuang’s brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing.

Wu Yin continued, his tone shifting. “You may not have realized it yet, but your body is no longer the same as before.”

Her steps faltered. A memory flashed—back at the Northern Border, when Chang Wanshan brought word of a mysterious black-armored man infected with Gu. When Li Shuang touched him, the Gu worms had fled his body instantly…

Wu Yin’s voice echoed in the torchlight.

“Once the Jade Silkworm finds its host, it merges into the bloodline—granting power, but also binding itself for life. The first blood it tastes determines its master. From then on, the Gu vessel becomes utterly devoted, dependent on their master’s essence to remain calm. That bond draws the vessel irresistibly closer—sometimes even to the point of… mating.”

Li Shuang stiffened, nearly missing a step on the stairs.

Wu Yin caught her arm, then smiled innocently at her shock. “My father once raised a beautiful Jade Silkworm Gu vessel. When he died, the Spirit Woman stole it and fled—she wished to raise a male vessel this time. Looking at the one we found, I’d say she succeeded. A rare beauty indeed.” He winked. “General Li is blessed.”

Li Shuang coughed awkwardly, her throat raw.

“Physical intimacy strengthens the Gu’s bond,” Wu Yin went on. “When that happens, even the master absorbs part of the Jade Silkworm’s essence. It’s the king of Gu—other worms fear it. That’s why, when you step into my Five Spirits Gate, not a single Gu dares approach.”

Physical intimacy…

Li Shuang felt the heat creeping up her ears. Her “intimacy” with Jin’an was nothing more than sharing a blanket. Though… there had been those few forced kisses—

“Then why did you still pursue him?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

Wu Yin smiled faintly. “To be honest, finding the Jade Silkworm wasn’t essential. No one dared offend the Five Spirits Gate without it. But it’s a sacred relic of our clan. I led men north when I heard rumors of a formidable warrior—and found the Gu vessel. I planned to extract the Jade Silkworm, nothing more. The idea of a man obsessed with me day and night was… unsettling.”

Li Shuang couldn’t help but imagine Jin’an clinging to Wu Yin the way he sometimes clung to her. The mental image was absurd—almost laughable.

“But unexpectedly,” Wu Yin gestured toward the iron door ahead, “he resisted to the end. No matter what I did, he wouldn’t let me extract the Gu.”

Li Shuang stepped closer. Behind the wire mesh, the cell looked much the same as yesterday—chains dangling from the walls, two broken, three still shackling the prisoner’s neck and ankles.

But the man inside had changed.

No longer a towering warrior, the figure curled on the cold floor was a child, small and fragile, sleeping soundly in torn clothes.

It was Jin’an.

Wu Yin’s tone softened. “He’s truly peaceful now. Haven’t seen him sleep like that in a long time.”

“He…” Li Shuang’s voice trembled. “Why is he—?”

“Something must’ve gone wrong when the Spirit Woman made him. Since the day we captured him, he’s changed back and forth—child by day, adult by night. I’m surprised you never noticed, after all the time you spent with him in the North.”

Li Shuang fell silent. She hadn’t known. She had even suspected he might be the black-armored man’s son. But this? No one could have imagined such a thing.

“He’s the most unique Gu vessel in our history,” Wu Yin continued. “And you’re the most unusual master. The Jade Silkworm has only ever recognized Five Spirits Gate’s sect masters, trained from birth in Gu arts. To us, a Gu vessel is a tool—a living weapon, nothing more. My father’s Gu vessel may have been close to him, but he never saw her as human.”

Li Shuang frowned, eyes fixed on Jin’an through the iron bars.

“General Li,” Wu Yin said gently, “don’t forget—he’s still a Gu. He has no humanity, no memories, no identity. His devotion, his loyalty, his affection for you—they exist because he was made to serve you. Keep your distance.”

Keep her distance?

How could she, when in her heart, Jin’an wasn’t just a Gu? He had a name, a story, a soul. He was human to her—more human than many she’d known.

Li Shuang pushed open the iron door. The creak echoed through the chamber. The boy stirred and slowly raised his head. When his eyes met hers, they lit up with a brilliance that cut through the darkness.

At that moment, all the coldness in Li Shuang’s heart melted away.

She knelt beside him and gently wiped the dirt from his face. Jin’an lifted his small hand, touching the brace around her neck. His bright eyes shimmered with pain.

“Pain…” he murmured—not a question, but a certainty, as if he felt her wound within himself.

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