Stalemate.
Life after that day can be described with this word; or perhaps it’s more accurate to say it resembles a stagnant pond where no one can create a ripple.
Shang Can has been obedient. Ever since she returned to the mortal realm, she has never stepped out of her room even once.
She has no way to contact the outside world, nor does she think to make any attempts. Instead, she dutifully searches her old room like a treasure hunt, looking for something to pass the time. Since returning to the mortal realm, the many reincarnation memories that once belonged to the half-demon Phoenix have gradually faded. Shang Can quickly forgot most of them, and she couldn’t even reflect on her past life from a third-person perspective to kill time. Fortunately, her room seems to have remained mostly unchanged since she left Qing Yu. Shang Can soon found many old storybooks and read them happily—these used to be forbidden items she had to hide away, but now no one is watching, so she counts it as a small blessing.
The chain is neither too long nor too short; it is long enough for her to wander around the room, but not long enough to let her walk out the door. Even when fully extended, it barely reaches the entrance. She has accepted her situation with Yunduan, feeling no objections. Although she initially found the sound of the chain annoying while moving, she thought it was similar to a bell hanging on a cat’s collar—after listening to it for a while, one eventually gets used to it.
Her three meals a day have not been missed. Yunduan comes three times a day at set times, bringing meals and necessities like clean clothes, and she would eat with her. Even though it’s difficult to tell the exact time in the room, Shang Can noticed that Yunduan’s arrival was often alarmingly precise. After a few days, although Yunduan still came quietly, Shang Can gradually got a sense of when she would arrive and would sit obediently at the table a few minutes beforehand.
It increasingly felt like she was being tamed like a pet.
Complex emotions welled up in her heart as Shang Can silently sighed and earnestly finished her meal.
Though Yunduan hasn’t disclosed her true situation to her, Shang Can is somewhat aware that while she still feels hunger, she shouldn’t actually need to eat. Yet, whenever Yunduan silently sits beside her, Shang Can can’t bring herself to rebel against Yunduan over such trivial matters. She always eats out of a sense of compliance.
It doesn’t feel like a waste; after all, she feels hungry. Shang Can thought perhaps food serves as some kind of energy that keeps her lively. Eating more might reduce whatever else is being consumed, though she doesn’t even know what else that might be.
These days, she has constantly been troubled by the fact that Yunduan didn’t respond directly to her question that day. She doesn’t even know what basis she exists here, nor does she know if Yunduan has paid any price to create this situation. Shang Can really struggles to feel justified in her presence.
However, she also realizes that asking again is not a good choice. Yunduan hasn’t talked much with her since that day. Shang Can has tried to find topics to discuss, but Yunduan either responds with a few terse words or simply remains silent. It often happens that an entire meal passes without Yunduan speaking.
Clearly, she is still angry.
But the reasons for this anger are too complicated, and Shang Can, looking at the intricate web of causes and effects, feels utterly helpless, pondering day and night about where to start.
At least one thing is clear to her: no matter what, she cannot act on her own anymore, or else something truly might go wrong—for both her and Yunduan.
Thus, they have fallen into a stalemate.
Shang Can felt quite distressed but dared not show it on her face, and this stalemate was eventually broken by Yunduan.
“I need to go down the mountain tomorrow.”
After placing the meal on the table, Yunduan spoke calmly, “I might be gone for a few days; the return date is uncertain.”
Shang Can, who had just picked up her chopsticks, was taken aback but quickly realized that Yunduan must be very busy.
Over the past two years, Yunduan has never had much free time, even outside of searching for her. She has been a busy person, exorcising demons everywhere. Rather, it’s rare that Yunduan has managed to visit her three times a day like this, as even the elders and disciples of Qing Yu must be lining up to deepen their relationships with Yunduan.
“…Um, okay. Be careful on the way,” Shang Can replied.
She mulled over whether it would be inappropriate to ask what Yunduan was going to do, but considering that Yunduan didn’t directly say anything, it probably meant she didn’t want to reveal it. So, Shang Can merely kept it simple, adding, “Don’t worry; I won’t run away while you’re gone.”
“…”
Yunduan paused, her hand that held the chopsticks froze. Despite not having eaten much, she silently put her chopsticks down, causing a clear clink as they rested on the edge of the bowl.
Seeing her behave as if she no longer intended to eat, Shang Can hesitated and thought for a moment. Although she felt reluctant to end today’s meal since she wouldn’t see Yunduan for the next few days, she decided to put down her chopsticks as well. However, just as Shang Can began to do so, Yunduan remained unfazed and picked up her chopsticks again. Without lifting her gaze, she said, “Eat quickly. The food will get cold.”
Shang Can felt a bit confused, but she thought she had come out ahead, so taking advantage of Yunduan’s momentary willingness, she enjoyed a steady meal in silence.
The next day, morning.
She had thought she wouldn’t see Yunduan today, but to her surprise, as soon as she opened her eyes, she saw Yunduan sitting at her table, her posture straight as a green bamboo. Startled, she sat up, almost convinced she was still dreaming.
Yunduan glanced at her and quickly turned her head away. After a moment, she spoke, “…Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”
Shang Can was taken aback, instinctively looking down at herself, only to find her sleepwear a mess. She hurriedly tidied herself up before replying, “No, why?”
“…” Yunduan fell silent for a moment, suddenly standing up and turning towards the door. With her back to Shang Can, she didn’t show her expression and avoided answering Shang Can’s question. “It’s nothing. I’ll be leaving now.”
Since the morning had been so surreal, Shang Can now realized it was still dark outside, and she hadn’t even reached the time she was supposed to wake up. Perhaps she could say that it was thanks to the sudden palpitation that jolted her awake, allowing her to see Yunduan.
Knowing that if she hadn’t woken up on her own, Yunduan probably wouldn’t have awakened her, Shang Can felt a rush of confusion. Words spilled out of her mouth before she had a chance to think: “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
This was the first time in days that Shanggan had the courage to press Yun Duan like this; she was startled by her own subconscious response. After speaking, she shrank her neck back and sat up straight, preparing herself for what might come next.
Yun Duan paused at the doorway in response to her words. Normally, when Yun Duan came into Shanggan’s room, she wouldn’t wear a sword, so the red tassel that swayed at her waist was particularly conspicuous. Shanggan’s heart skipped a beat, and just as she was about to focus and get a better look at Yun Duan’s sword, Yun Duan suddenly moved, hiding the sword from Shanggan’s line of sight.
“…Nothing happened,” Yun Duan said.
Whether it was Shanggan’s imagination or not, Yun Duan’s voice seemed softer than usual, tinged with a weary melancholy. “…I just had a nightmare.”
Shanggan didn’t have time to ask what kind of nightmare it was; Yun Duan had no intention of lingering, pushing the door open and leaving. Shanggan was left dumbfounded on her bed for a while before slowly standing up, putting on her outer robe, and sitting down at the table. On the table was a food container, clearly brought by Yun Duan. Shanggan opened it to find only one serving, indicating that Yun Duan hadn’t planned to eat with her this time.
Beside the container was a plain wooden token. At a glance, Shanggan recognized it as a storage tool similar to one she had used before. After using a bit of spiritual energy to activate it, she saw that it contained neatly arranged items related to food, clothing, and shelter—things she might need.
Placing the token down, Shanggan noticed a basin of clean water by the washstand. She walked over to wash her face, staring into the rippling surface of the water, lost in thought.
How long did Yun Duan spend preparing these things? Did she rest well yesterday? Was she going to be gone for a long time?
A strange emptiness filled her heart, and Shanggan shook her head, drying her face before returning to the table to eat her breakfast. The soup dumplings were still warm, filled with delicious broth and tender meat, but Shanggan chewed absentmindedly, tasting nothing.
She felt inexplicably melancholy and couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Yun Duan had just left, yet she found herself wanting to see her again.
The next two days were especially hard to bear.
The anxiety of losing contact with Yun Duan gradually built up, intensifying far more quickly than when she was in the Realm of Non-Attachment, leaving Shanggan surprised by the overwhelming emotions she felt but unsure of what to do about them.
To be fair, her treatment regarding whether she could see Yun Duan after coming out was not much different from when she was in the Realm of Non-Attachment. She couldn’t take the initiative to do anything and relied on others to achieve anything. Before, it was relying on the sword spirit, and now it was Yun Duan herself. She didn’t know whether this change was for the better or worse.
After closing the book she had been holding for the afternoon without remembering a single word, Shanggan noticed the lamp on the table flickering again. She lifted a finger slightly to stabilize the flame.
She would only do this when Yun Duan was not around. Shanggan had realized from the beginning that she could once again summon the heavenly fire. Initially, she felt the flow of spiritual energy in her body was a bit sluggish, but now it was mostly resolved. Although she hadn’t fully recovered to the point of being able to engage in combat, she could manage to light a lamp without issue.
Even though Yun Duan never mentioned it, Shanggan had noticed that Yun Duan didn’t like her to light the lamp in front of her the first time she did so. Hence, she learned to be obedient and no longer used any spiritual energy in front of Yun Duan.
Whatever kind of person Yun Duan wanted her to be, she would become that kind of person.
Unconsciously, the sky outside darkened, and Shanggan stood up, a little dazed, realizing that it felt like she hadn’t done anything all day. As she walked to the window to close it and sleep, she suddenly heard a series of slightly disordered footsteps coming from the night, unmistakably approaching her room.
Shanggan’s heart tightened. It took her a moment to recognize the identity of the approaching figure, and she hurried to the door, throwing it open. The iron chain trailing behind her clinked loudly, and before the sound had even faded, a white figure, cold and tinged with the night, crashed heavily into her arms.
Knocked back two steps by the unexpected impact, Shanggan instinctively wrapped her arms around Yun Duan and quickly closed the door. Even though she knew they were in Qingyu, she still stood by the door, listening intently for a while until she confirmed that there were no pursuers behind Yun Duan before she felt a little steadier.
At that moment, she suddenly realized that once the chill from the night had faded away, Yun Duan’s body felt alarmingly hot against her. Shanggan’s previously relaxed heart now raced again, and she didn’t even have time to react to their overly intimate position. She gently patted Yun Duan’s back, whispering, “Yun Duan, Yun Duan? Can you hear me? Is something wrong?”
After crashing into her embrace, Yun Duan slumped against Shanggan’s shoulder like she had lost all her strength. Shanggan could feel Yun Duan trembling; she seemed to be awake, but her breath fluctuated between light and heavy, radiating an intense warmth that felt all wrong.
Perhaps hearing her call, Yun Duan stirred slightly, attempting to lift her head but failing. Instead, she weakly raised the hand that had originally hung limply at her side, grabbing onto Shanggan’s clothing.
“…So hot.”
The muffled voice from her neck sounded weak, more breathy than anything else, devoid of its usual coolness, and instead, it took on a hint of hazy sweetness. The hot breath escaping her lips brushed against Shanggan’s neck, making her instinctively shrink back.
Cursing herself for having such inappropriate thoughts at a time like this, Shanggan didn’t dare delay. In a fluster, she carefully laid Yun Duan down on the bed. However, the usually compliant Yun Duan, who had been resting her head on Shanggan’s shoulder, suddenly refused to cooperate when it came to being placed on the head of the bed, clinging silently to Shanggan’s clothing.
Shanggan had no choice but to comply and half-sat, half-kneeled at the side of the bed, anxiously asking, “What’s wrong? Did you catch a cold, or are you hurt somewhere?”
While speaking, she had already started checking Yun Duan’s shoulder down to her waist and abdomen, but thankfully, she didn’t find any injuries. Shanggan wondered to herself how a cultivator could catch a cold when suddenly, she heard Yun Duan emit a soft, restrained sound, a quiet noise that carried an indescribable blush of emotion, hinting at an unspoken intimacy.
That sound hit Shanggan’s heart like a hammer, leaving her momentarily frozen. A disbelieving thought crept into her mind, and she raised her hand, looking at Yun Duan in confusion.
Yun Duan’s skin was fair to begin with, so the flush was particularly pronounced. At that moment, her exquisite face was completely flushed, and even the bit of her fair neck exposed above her clothing was tinged with an unusual crimson. She was trying to look elsewhere, attempting to cover it up, but the typically reserved and indifferent dark eyes were now clouded with a mist that could not be ignored, long eyelashes trembling helplessly. The once neat white robe had become slightly disheveled against Shanggan’s embrace, as if the icy barrier had cracked, melting the distance that had lingered between them, making one look at her and feel inexplicably parched.
Shanggan dared not look any longer; her gaze darted away, her tongue licking her dry lips as she stammered, “…Did someone, drug you?”
“……”
No response came, but the hand gripping her clothing tightened suddenly. A heaviness settled in Shang Can’s heart, and anger mixed with fear surged within her, throwing her into a state of confusion.
In this situation, it was no longer necessary to inquire further about what kind of drug had been used.
With great effort, Shang Can suppressed her anger. She dared not delay any longer, lifting Yun Duan once more and softly reassuring her, “Let’s go to the pharmacy, or find Master. It’s fine; you’ll get better soon—”
However, as she reached the door, she suddenly felt her feet frozen in place. It was only then that Shang Can remembered the chains on her feet. Flustered and distracted, she disregarded her lack of spiritual energy, placing Yun Duan on a nearby chair and crouching down to grasp the iron ring where her ankle was shackled to the chain, trying to force it open.
To her surprise, before she could channel any energy, a fair hand quietly rested over her clenched fist, its fingertips slightly warm yet clearly signaling for her to stop.
Shang Can was taken aback and instinctively looked up, meeting Yun Duan’s graceful face, her eyes shimmering with moisture, revealing a storm of indistinguishable emotions beneath the darkened gaze.
“…You promised me,” Yun Duan said, her tone unsteady as she held Shang Can’s gaze, enunciating each word slowly amidst Shang Can’s confusion and panic, “We aren’t going anywhere.”
Shang Can’s heart jolted, and she hurriedly retorted, “I’m not trying to leave, but right now—”
Her words halted abruptly as the hand resting on her knuckles pressed down slightly, gently prying her fingers away from the chain and leading her hand to rest against her chest. Yun Duan’s gaze trembled slightly yet resolutely met Shang Can’s as she bent her head and gently kissed the knuckles of her fingers.
Yun Duan’s lips were warm, a heat that spread straight to Shang Can’s heart, burning more intensely than even heavenly fire, leaving Shang Can in a state of shock.
She knew she shouldn’t continue looking at Yun Duan; Shang Can was well aware that the right choice would be to break the chains and take Yun Duan to a doctor. Yet, it felt as if she were enchanted, unable to look away, her body slowly losing its autonomy. A vague thought flitted through her mind, and Shang Can caught it, trembling as she voiced her question.
“…Who… drugged you?”
Yun Duan gazed quietly at Shang Can, her eyes clear like a deer gazing into the shimmering water.
Then she leaned in closer, her soft black hair brushing against Shang Can’s nose, carrying with it her faint, cool scent.
Shang Can watched in astonishment as Yun Duan effortlessly closed the distance between them, pressing against her ear in an intimate manner. The hand that had once rested on Shang Can’s knuckles was suddenly withdrawn, replaced without a sound on her shoulder. The heated fingertips intentionally caressed her shoulder, applying just enough pressure to pull Shang Can back from the instinctive urge to lean away.
Yun Duan whispered in her ear, in a voice only the two of them could hear, calmly delivering her answer with an incredible sense of composure.
“—It was me.”
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