Morning pressed against the curtains, pale light spilling across the small bedroom. The rain had washed the world clean, but inside, the air was heavy, carrying the faint musk of sweat and lavender.
Lianhua stirred. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked at the ceiling, disoriented. For a fleeting instant, she wondered if the night before had been only a fever dream brought on by loneliness. But when she shifted beneath the sheets, her legs trembled, sore in ways she hadn't felt in years.
Her breath caught. Heat rushed to her face as she pressed her palm between her thighs, only to flinch at the tenderness there. Not a dream…
She bit her lip, sitting back on the bed, one hand rising instinctively to cover her mouth as shame and disbelief coursed through her. A widow's pride had shielded her for so long—but it had not protected her from last night.
Only then did she realize she was not alone.
Shi Yang's body lay sprawled beside her, his face calm in sleep, breath steady. The sight jolted her heart. For a long moment she just sat there, staring at him, torn between the impulse to shove him away and the ache of wanting to cling to the warmth that had stolen into her bed.
Finally, her hand reached out. She gripped his shoulder and shook.
"Yang Shi…" she whispered, her voice trembling, "wake up."
His brows furrowed. His lips parted, as if resisting the pull of waking.
The moment her fingers pressed harder, something snapped.
—
Shi Yang stood on the side of a desolate mountain, mist curling around jagged pines. In his hand was the rust sword, corroded yet alive, its edges weeping orange streams that hissed as they fell.
He swung.
The blade cleaved through a tree, bark and sap bursting into withered fragments before the trunk crumbled into dust. Another swing carved into stone, and the boulder cracked open, veins of rust spreading like a sickness through its core.
He laughed softly, intoxicated by the power seeping from his grip. This was his Dao—corrosion given form, his path cutting through the world.
But just as the rusted edge sank deep into another boulder, the sword lodged. His arms strained, the weapon refusing to move.
A violent pull seized him. His vision shattered.
—
Shi Yang shot upright in bed, eyes wild, chest heaving. "My sword!!" he screamed, hands clutching empty air.
The word echoed against the walls, startling his aunt as she jerked back. Her breath came fast, her hand still pressed to her lips, her heart caught between fear and something far more dangerous: the knowledge that last night had been no dream.
Shi Yang stared around the room, disoriented, his gaze snapping from the pale curtains to the sheets tangled around his waist.
"…Where am I?" Shi Yang whispered hoarsely, rubbing his temple as if waking from a nightmare.
The words struck Lianhua like a blade. Her chest tightened, heat rising in her cheeks—not the warmth of desire, but the raw sting of humiliation. He doesn't even remember?
Last night replayed in her mind in flashes—the weight of his arm, the warmth pressed against her, the whisper at her ear. He had come to her, stolen into her bed, broken past the walls she had clung to for years. And now, here he was, looking around like a lost child, muttering as though the night had been nothing more than some dream he had stumbled through.
Her hand trembled as it lowered from her mouth. The shame twisting in her stomach ignited into anger, and before she could stop herself, her palm cracked sharply across his cheek.
Shi Yang's head snapped to the side, the sound echoing through the small room. His eyes widened, not in pain, but in surprise.
"You dare…" he began, but her voice cut him off, trembling yet sharp as a blade.
"Get out," she snapped. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, fury masking the shame trembling beneath. "Get out of my room, Yang Shi! If you have no memory, then at least have the decency to leave me in peace!"
Shi Yang froze. For a heartbeat, silence filled the air, heavy with her ragged breathing. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips, faint but mocking, as though her anger amused him more than the sting on his cheek.
"Mn," he murmured, voice low, as he slid off the bed. His bare feet touched the floorboards, his movements unhurried, deliberate. "If that's what you want, Auntie."
Her hands clenched in the sheets as she turned her face away, unwilling to meet the glint in his eyes.
Shi Yang paused at the doorway, glancing back once. His cheek still bore the red imprint of her hand, yet his smile only deepened.
Then he left, the door clicking softly shut behind him, leaving Lianhua trembling in the hollow silence he'd carved into her heart.