Chapter 53: Undercurrents of the Heart

In the dim corner of the rocky outcrop, Yu Jingshuang’s voice, close to his ear, was as clear and crisp as pearls striking jade.

Qian Yu’s body stiffened slightly. In an instant, his hands, usually so adept with blade and sword, felt as heavy as if crushed by a massive boulder.

“Qian Yu, don’t move.”

Such natural, intimate words echoed from years ago, when they were mere children. She had mischievously climbed a persimmon tree and found herself unable to descend. He, volunteering without a second thought, had used his Qinggong to leap up and rescue her. As the two children stood on the branch, it swayed violently. Terrified, Yu Jingshuang had cried out, “Xiao Lan, Xiao Lan, don’t move!”

*Xiao Lan, don’t move. Don’t let his little ‘green plum’—his childhood sweetheart—fall. Don’t let her get hurt.*

*Lan Chengyuan, don’t move. You’ve already caused Jing Shuang harm once; must you now condemn her to wander the world with you, burdened by infamy?*

*Son of the Lan family, don’t move. Just obediently become a medicinal ingredient. Wasn’t the peculiar bone and blood of your Chenguang Clan a divine mandate, meant for you to sacrifice yourself for the greater good?*

*Little dog, little dog, don’t move. Crossing the boundary between life and death, will we meet again tomorrow… tomorrow?*

In all the years since parting from Yu Jingshuang, amidst so many identities, he had even blurred the memory of himself—which one was the real him?

“Qian Yu, where do you think he’s planning to go?”

Lost in his brooding, Yu Jingshuang’s soft inquiry pulled Qian Yu back to awareness. He tilted his head slightly, deliberately avoiding a stray strand of her hair that had fallen on his shoulder, forcing his gaze onto Bai Rong below.

Bai Rong looked around warily for a moment and, seeing no one nearby, sneaked furtively around the rockery. As he approached the spot where Yu Jingshuang and Qian Yu were hiding, he slowed his pace, startling the two above into holding their breath, not daring to make a sound.

Fortunately, Bai Rong stopped but didn’t notice the two above him. Unaware of the principle of “hiding in plain sight,” right under Yu Jingshuang’s watchful eyes, he twisted a rock on the rockery. With a faint click, a narrow, dark passage slowly appeared. Bai Rong slipped inside sideways, his figure vanishing into the darkness.

Yu Jingshuang stared intently at the entrance, deep in thought.

Not long after, the entrance opened again slowly. Bai Rong emerged, looking noticeably more relaxed. He carefully restored the rock to its original position before quietly slipping away.

“Qian Yu, as the saying goes, ‘Fortune favors the bold.’ Do you dare come with me and see what secrets these people are hiding?” Yu Jingshuang whispered, her eyes fixed on Bai Rong’s retreating figure.

Qian Yu gently tapped his sword scabbard against the stone wall, listening to the echo it produced. He frowned slightly. “It’s hollow underneath, and the space is quite large. The situation might be complicated.”

His voice was low. “I’ll go down and investigate—”

He tried to stand up, but Yu Jingshuang grabbed the hem of his clothes, pulling him off balance. She pressed him back into place and shot him a sidelong glance. “I said ‘*we’ll* go down and investigate.’ How did it become just *you* going? Do you look down on me?”

Qian Yu’s heart clenched. He turned to her urgently. “How could I?!”

In his eyes, Jing Shuang had always been the most remarkable—kind and generous as a child, saving him from dire situations, and growing up to be bold and discerning. Wherever she was, she was the most extraordinary and dazzling person.

It was only he who was the coward, the fool, the worst of them all.

If anyone should be looked down upon, it was someone like him—a hustling, scheming lowlife—who deserved to be scorned by Jing Shuang.

He stumbled over his words, struggling to explain himself, his face burning red beneath his face covering, though it remained completely hidden. Yu Jingshuang could only see the urgency and embarrassment filling his exposed eyes.

Eyes like these—she felt as if she had seen them somewhere else before.

Yu Jingshuang narrowed her eyes slightly and sighed. She reached out both hands, pressing them on Qian Yu’s shoulders, bringing his face level with hers. “Don’t rush to explain. I was only joking… The way you are now always reminds me of an old friend. He was just like you—when he got nervous or flustered, he couldn’t even speak clearly.”

Qian Yu froze. He stopped feeling anxious altogether, his entire body going rigid.

In the cramped corner of the rockery, he felt as if his soul had been ripped out, floating high above. All he could hear was his own voice, stiff and strained: “…Who… was it?”

The moment the question left his lips, silence fell around them. His heart hung suspended in his chest, and a thin layer of sweat dampened his palms.

“Ah… it’s not worth mentioning,” Yu Jingshuang replied casually, completely unaware of the turmoil in the heart of the person beside her.

“……”

Qian Yu didn’t understand where the sudden sense of loss came from when he heard her dismissive “not worth mentioning.” Nor did he know, in that moment when he had mustered the courage to ask, which name he had truly wanted to hear Jing Shuang say.

“Alright, let’s go!”

Yu Jingshuang had no time to dwell on his sudden vulnerability. Keeping a close watch on their surroundings, she seized the right moment and nimbly leaped down from the rockery. With a wave of her hand, she signaled for Qian Yu to follow.

Mimicking Bai Rong’s actions, she felt around the stone wall and successfully opened the hidden door to the secret chamber. The two moved slowly and quietly, Yu Jingshuang leading the way while Qian Yu guarded the rear with his sword.

They moved forward, passing through a dark, deep tunnel. The sound of water dripping from the ceiling echoed faintly. Suddenly, a drop of water fell with a “drip,” and Qian Yu’s footsteps halted.

“What’s wrong?” Yu Jingshuang noticed and asked softly in a hushed tone.

Qian Yu stood still, his hand gripping the sword hilt trembling slightly. In the gloom, Yu Jingshuang couldn’t make out his expression clearly, but Qian Yu could feel it himself—beads of sweat trickling down the back of his neck, scraping against his skin like grains of sand, stinging with every movement.

The dark cave, the dripping grotto, the damp and sticky stone floor…

In a daze, it was as if he had returned to the cavern where he had once been imprisoned. For ten years, he had lost count of how many times his skin had been cut open, how many times he had endured excruciating pain as if his heart were being gouged out and his bones scraped. He could no longer remember who he was—a kept blood slave? The rescued Lan Chengyuan? Or the little dog who had once escaped but was recaptured, his tendons severed, leaving him broken?

All he remembered was lying on that stone platform, cold chains binding his hands and feet, and the seemingly eternal drip of water falling onto his brow.

Drip, drip, drip—like Jing Shuang’s tears had once been, yet also like the summons of Yama.

Qian Yu closed his eyes, channeling his inner energy. In an instant, the Gu worms lying docile and dormant within him erupted like wild horses, thrashing madly. The veins on his sword hand bulged, the taste of blood flooding his mouth. Every meridian in his body, forcibly severed and reconnected, spasmed inch by inch!

As the intense pain washed over him, the nightmare gradually receded. When he opened his eyes again, Yu Jingshuang’s concerned face slowly came into focus, once again dispelling all the shadows, just like the first time they met.

Her gaze was cautious and scrutinizing. “Qian Yu… what did you just say… What’s wrong with you?”

What?

In that moment of unconsciousness, had he blurted out something he shouldn’t have?!

Qian Yu jerked his head up, his heartstrings pulled taut to their limit.