After spending some time, Shang Can gradually began to understand her current situation.
The feeling of exhaustion around her had not fully dissipated, and the person who had rushed out moments ago showed no intention of returning. Shang Can listened intently for a while but heard no sounds, so she attempted to stand from the bed and walked to the table, where she sat down. The iron chain on her ankle clinked with her movements, a sound impossible to ignore.
“…”
Deliberately ignoring the chain, she glanced down at the table. A few simple dishes were neatly arranged, but she had no appetite and merely poured herself a cup of tea.
To her surprise, the tea was still piping hot, likely brewed just before she woke. Having gone so long without food or drink, she wasn’t prepared for the burn when it touched her tongue. The pain was sharp, but she soon realized it felt muted, distant—like it was coming through an indistinct haze.
Setting the teacup down, she stood in silence for a moment before moving to the copper mirror in the room, holding her breath as she looked in.
The reflection showed a striking face with long, flowing black hair resting lazily on her shoulders. She was dressed in a white robe with faint bamboo patterns, a style reminiscent of the garments worn in the clouds.
The person in the mirror appeared unwell. In the dim light, her skin looked pallid, and the eyes that usually sparkled with charm now held a trace of confusion. Their gaze trembled, making her dark pupils appear like stars.
It was indeed Shang Can—her true self, not a half-demon form.
Relief washed over her, though it was a secret she kept to herself. She looked down at her hands, hesitantly tracing her forearms and torso, her confusion only deepening.
Despite not understanding the reason, she had undoubtedly regained her physical form, leaving the realm of the otherworld and returning to the present.
Yet something felt off. Although her senses seemed intact, pain and discomfort felt dulled and distant. This body, of unknown origin, was puzzling. She knew her original body had been reduced to ash on that mountain by heavenly fire, yet here she was, clearly reflected in the mirror as if she had somehow defied fate.
But it was impossible to revive a soul. Shang Can could feel a strange energy coursing beneath her skin—something she couldn’t control, unlike her true self.
No matter how hard she tried to avoid thinking about it, that name came back to her. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and returned to the table, picking up the now lukewarm tea and cautiously finishing it.
There was no point in speculating; it was clear that she had been pulled from the otherworld by some means unknown to her. And then…
The iron ring clasped around her ankle, against her bare skin, was made of a mysterious material. Unlike the cold exterior, the inside felt oddly warm, but she couldn’t ignore its presence.
She shouldn’t be lost in thoughts here. Questions swarmed her mind—about how long she had stayed in the otherworld, what the clouds had done, and she knew exactly who to ask for answers. Yet, she felt paralyzed, unable to move.
It didn’t matter; she was indeed locked away by the clouds.
Just a few hours ago, she had been anxious to see the clouds again after such a long absence. But now that she had seen them, thoughts of whether their meeting could be termed a “reunion” made her fingers tremble.
She struggled to hold the teacup steady, eventually placing it back on the table, staring blankly at the surface.
The clouds had said they hated her.
It was expected, she thought, given the lies she had told over the years, hiding in their sword all this time. It was only natural to be disliked after such cowardice and awkwardness.
Considering that she was merely confined, perhaps the clouds had shown her mercy.
As she sat in the dimly lit room, the tea cooled to a chill, and the oil lamp flickered out, plunging the space into darkness.
Shang Can realized she had accepted her situation. No matter how she existed here, she carried the memories of her life back to the world, and she would face the consequences of her actions, no matter how much the clouds resented her.
The vague ache in her heart during these solitary hours would soon be dismissed as mere illusion.
The clouds were people of their word.
Shang Can had always trusted their words, including the fact that they disliked her. After all, they left the room shortly after she woke, clearly not wishing to engage.
Having sat quietly for a long time, she was adjusting her mindset, resolving to position herself correctly and not cause trouble for the clouds.
But just as her resolve solidified, the door suddenly swung open without warning, startling her.
It dawned on her that her spiritual energy felt slightly stifled, not as clear as before—this phrase felt strange, not as acute as her previous senses. It seemed her spirit was still adjusting to this unfamiliar body, which felt quite ordinary. Even normal approaches might go unnoticed, especially since the visitor likely moved with intent to mask their footsteps.
The person who had been away all afternoon reappeared at the door. Seeing the familiar white robes made her instinctively avert her gaze, and she felt a tinge of helplessness at her own reaction.
The clouds remained silent, and Shang Can dared not speak. As she watched the light streaming in from the open door, she finally realized how dark the room had become. She chided herself for letting her wandering thoughts be so evident, and hastily reached for the oil lamp, but the clouds had already stepped to the table and lit it first. The warm light illuminated their delicate features, their expression still calm and collected, as if nothing had occurred.
Never had she imagined that being alone with the clouds would feel so tense. Shang Can’s eyes darted around, landing on the takeout container on the table, which the clouds had brought.
She had touched none of the original dishes, a fact not lost on the clouds. Yet their gaze only lingered for a moment before moving on, avoiding looking at Shang Can as they opened the container in silence, placing its contents on the table while taking away the now-cold food.
It felt like they were caring for a small pet.
The thought suddenly popped into her head, causing Shang Can to shake her head vigorously. Hesitantly, she pushed the bowl the clouds had placed in front of her closer, and when she saw they showed no reaction, she finally moved it to her side.
Dinner that night was chicken noodle soup—simple yet fragrant, and the aroma made Shang Can’s appetite awaken. After so long without feeling hunger, she hesitantly touched her stomach and, after some deliberation, asked quietly, “…Do I need to eat? Is it fine if I don’t?”
“…” The clouds paused while picking up the bowl and utensils, and when placing the bowl on the table, it made a louder sound than intended, as they replied coldly, “Eat.”
Only then did Shang Can notice the clouds had brought another bowl of noodles, and even her scattered thoughts couldn’t help but realize that they intended to join her for dinner.
Now, Shang Can felt she couldn’t say anything more. Despite the clouds seeming to imply it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t eat, she immediately picked up her chopsticks, focusing on her meal as the clouds silently took a seat across from her.
The meal felt like sitting on pins and needles. To be fair, the chicken noodle soup tasted good, but with every bite, Shang Can felt less and less enjoyment. She dared not speak or glance sideways, especially as the clouds remained completely silent, their presence so palpable that she even slowed her chewing, genuinely worried that the sound of her teeth might be too loud and heard by them.
In the unbearable silence, her mind began to spiral. She felt strangely aware of her own oddity, wanting to shrink down to a size that would go unnoticed, yet secretly wishing this meal would last longer—after all, who knew when the clouds would visit again?
…Why were the clouds here, sharing a meal with her?
Many possible reasons flashed through her mind, yet each one was shattered by that lingering memory of “I hate you too.” Shang Can struggled to convince herself not to overthink it, but that was difficult, especially with the cloud sitting right next to her.
It was just a meal; there was no need to think positively. Shang Can silently reminded herself that the clouds were so good, and they were once sisters in the same sect, so it was only natural for the clouds to offer her a meal.
Lost in her thoughts, it took Shang Can a moment to realize her bowl was empty, while the person beside her had long since put down their chopsticks. Uncertain whether her earlier daze had been noticed by the clouds, she quickly set down her utensils and looked down to express her gratitude: “It was delicious, thank you.”
She felt the person next to her momentarily hold their breath. Although she couldn’t fathom how her six simple words could offend the clouds, their mood visibly soured in an instant.
After two years apart, the clouds seemed even colder than before. Facing the real thing was different from watching them on the screen, and Shang Can found it difficult to cope. The atmosphere in the room became more oppressive. In the awkward silence, an inexplicable ache welled up in her heart. Surprised, Shang Can instinctively touched her chest, just as the cold voice beside her broke the quiet.
“Thank you?”
The two words were spoken flatly, devoid of any emotional rise or fall, yet they were enough to leave Shang Can frozen in place, her body feeling numb.
After that cold retort, the clouds fell silent. Shang Can momentarily felt at a loss for how to respond, but she managed to stammer, “…I didn’t mean anything by it. I just suddenly thought to thank you after tasting something so delicious. Besides…”
As she spoke, her mind went blank, and she struggled to articulate her thoughts. Though she had many questions and things to say, they all felt lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes tightly, her hands unconsciously clenching into fists beneath the table. After several failed attempts to gather her thoughts, she finally composed herself to ask softly, “Besides, I should have already—yet I can still walk and talk and touch things now…”
“What spell did you use?” The moment that thought crossed her mind, she abandoned all else, looking up urgently to meet the cloud’s inscrutable gaze. “You’ve taken the soul from the void, but now… did you use some forbidden technique? Is there—”
“Enough.”
Before she could utter the word “hurt,” she was cut off sharply. Shang Can noticed the clouds seemed weary as they lowered their eyelids.
The long lashes concealed the emotions in their eyes, making it hard for her to discern what they were feeling. The clouds slowly stood up, their gaze drifting off somewhere else as they softly said, “…What are you asking these things for?”
Shang Can felt a lump in her throat, instinctively wanting to speak, but the clouds interrupted her with a firm tone: “If I told you I did use a forbidden technique that defied nature, or that I paid a great price, suffered injuries, and bled, what then?”
“If you knew, would you leave again?” The cloud’s voice was light, and she seemed less cold than moments before. If before she resembled a solid wall of ice, now she felt like a mist in the mountains, vague and soft, revealing a rare vulnerability. “…Just like you did before, disappearing without a word?”
“…”
With a dry throat, Shang Can moved her lips, wanting to deny it, but she couldn’t find her voice in the face of such undeniable truth.
What could she say? That she had originally had little time left to live, so she chose a path she thought was better?
Such obstinacy felt empty and childish when spoken aloud. Shang Can had no idea how the current clouds would react if they understood the truth; it certainly wouldn’t be better than her previous expectations. It was better kept a lifelong secret.
Perhaps sensing her prolonged silence, the clouds turned their head away and broke the heavy stillness in the room.
“In the future, you will stay here.” Their gaze flickered, and though their expression remained unchanged, their tone was unusually firm. “…Don’t go anywhere.”
Shang Can pressed her lips tightly together, her wandering gaze landing on the white robe before her. The warm light from the lamp reflected on it but failed to warm the frosty atmosphere in the room.
She felt the person before her had hardened into solid ice, a clear rejection that kept others at bay. What was locked within them was perhaps hatred or something else, but it no longer mattered.
There were no other answers, and besides, she was willing to accept it.
Shang Can swallowed hard, slowly lowering her eyelids.
“Okay.”
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