When Li Shuang met Jin’an’s gaze, a trace of bitterness mixed with the tenderness in her heart. She gently brushed his hair, afraid that her hoarse voice might deepen his worry.
The dungeon was silent. Wu Yin stood aside, quietly observing. Seeing Jin’an so calm, he cleared his throat and said, “General Li…”
But the instant he spoke, Jin’an’s head turned sharply toward him.
The moment his eyes left Li Shuang, they clouded with darkness. On his bare chest, flame-like markings flickered and crawled upward toward his neck.
“Jin’an,” Li Shuang called softly—barely a whisper, but firm enough to reach him. She cupped his face and made him look at her. “It’s alright.”
At her voice, the chaos in his gaze began to fade. Slowly, he raised his hand and touched the wooden brace around her injured neck, remaining silent.
Wu Yin sighed. “It seems the chains can’t come off just yet.”
But Li Shuang said at the same time, “Give me the key.”
Wu Yin hesitated. “General Li, as I mentioned, he’s—” He stopped when he noticed Jin’an no longer reacting to him. “Even if you’re his master now, his condition is uncertain. It’s best to be cautious.”
“I understand,” Li Shuang replied, her tone low but resolute. “Give me the key. Leave us.”
So, she intended to lock herself in with the Jade Silkworm Gu.
Wu Yin studied her, then looked at Jin’an—who was quietly focused on Li Shuang’s neck, his touch gentle and restrained. No sign of violence lingered.
Perhaps it was best. The master’s presence might soothe the Gu’s unrest.
He withdrew a key from his sleeve and set it on the ground. “I’ll be outside,” he said before stepping out and locking the heavy iron door.
When the sound of the lock faded, Li Shuang bent to retrieve the key.
Jin’an watched her every move, straining against his chains as if wanting to steady her head.
Seeing his anxious expression, Li Shuang couldn’t help but smile faintly. “My head isn’t going to fall off.”
Her calm tone softened the air. She knelt beside him and began unlocking the fetters from his neck and ankles. As the chains fell away, Li Shuang noticed the raw, festering wounds they had left around his throat.
Her brows drew together.
Sensing her frown, Jin’an immediately covered his neck, turning away in shame—as if afraid his ugliness might repulse her.
“I’m dangerous,” he murmured. “You should chain me again…”
Li Shuang ignored him and stood up.
He watched her back, his heart aching. She should leave. He was losing control more often—his body burning as though fire had consumed his blood, killing intent searing through his veins. He wanted to destroy everything, escape everyone.
Yet deep inside, something told him there was one person who could quiet the storm—a presence that cooled the fire.
But when he had seen her yesterday, he hadn’t recognized her… and he had hurt her.
She shouldn’t stay. He couldn’t trust himself.
Then her voice broke through his thoughts: “Bring me some medicine. His wounds need treatment.”
Jin’an froze.
Through the iron door, he saw her speaking to Wu Yin in that rasping, tired voice, listing the medicines she needed.
Moments later, Wu Yin passed clean water and ointment through the door before locking it again.
Li Shuang took the supplies and knelt in front of Jin’an. “Lift your chin,” she said softly. She cleaned the wounds on his neck, her movements rougher than she intended—her hands were those of a soldier, not a healer.
Jin’an stayed silent, enduring the sting without flinching. Compared to the torment inside him, this pain was nothing.
“Aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked quietly.
“Why should I be?” she replied, steady and calm.
“I hurt you.”
“You just lost control for a moment.”
“What if… I lose control again?” His voice trembled, and the flame markings on his chest began to flicker once more.
Li Shuang met his eyes. “But you’re fine right now, aren’t you?” She brushed his hair and said gently, “Want to rest?”
Her calmness disarmed his fear. When she patted her thigh, he hesitated before lying down, resting his head carefully on her lap.
“Sleep,” Li Shuang murmured, leaning back against the wall. “You haven’t slept well in days. I’ll rest too.”
Jin’an relaxed slowly. Her scent, her warmth—everything around her quieted the chaos in him. As her fingers moved softly through his hair, the fire within him dimmed, replaced by peace.
Before long, he drifted into sleep.
Li Shuang kept stroking his hair and noticed something strange—the wounds on his ankles were healing, the flesh knitting together at an impossible speed.
Her breath caught. So that’s why she had never suspected it before. Each time the adult Jin’an saved her, his body bore fresh wounds. But the next day, when he became a child again, they had vanished completely.
Such regeneration was beyond ordinary comprehension.
Li Shuang sighed. What would become of him if he couldn’t live apart from her? When she returned to the capital, surrendered her military post, and married the emperor—what then?
Who would protect him? And before all this—before he became a Gu vessel—who was he really?
As these thoughts swirled in her weary mind, Li Shuang leaned against the cold wall. The future could wait. For now, she had achieved what she came for: to find him, to save him.
And as Jin’an slept peacefully in her arms, she finally allowed herself to rest—content that he was alive, safe, and close.
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