Shi Yang let out a long breath, leaning back in the seat while Lianhua slumped against him, her body still trembling from the aftershocks. Neither of them spoke at first—the sound of their ragged breaths mingled with the faint patter of rain on the car roof.
Eventually, he reached over into the glove compartment, pulling out a small pack of tissues. He wiped himself down with quiet efficiency, then leaned over to gently clean her thighs, her flushed skin twitching under his careful touch.
"Stay still," he murmured.
She gave a weak laugh, half-embarrassed, half-touched. "You make it sound like I'm your patient."
"Maybe you are," he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "A patient in need of constant care."
Her heart skipped at the tone. For a fleeting moment, the rawness of what they had just done softened into something almost domestic.
Once she was cleaned, Shi Yang moved into the driver's seat and shifted the gear into drive. "You're not in any state to handle the wheel. I'll get us home."
Lianhua didn't argue. She curled into the back seat and watched the streetlightsblur past. Despite the lingering ache in her body, warmth pooled inside her chest—a dangerous warmth she didn't dare name.
By the time they pulled into the driveway, her exhaustion had caught up. Shi Yang slipped an arm around her waist, steadying her as they walked inside. The house was quiet, shadows stretching long in the dim lamplight.
"Bath first," he said simply, guiding her toward the bathroom.
Steam soon filled the space, the scent of soap sharp against the humid air. They slipped into the tub together, the hot water easing away the soreness. She leaned against his chest, eyes half-lidded, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
They lingered until the water cooled, then dried off and dressed in loose clothes. Neither bothered with cooking. Instead, Shi Yang ordered fast food—greasy noodles and fried dumplings delivered in paper cartons. They sprawled on the couch, the flicker of the television washing their faces in pale blue light.
Lianhua picked half-heartedly at her food before setting it aside, her gaze caught by the news anchor's grave expression.
"Breaking story tonight," the woman announced. "The crazed leader of the still-unnamed terrorist organization, first confronted by citizens at Blue Bird Mall earlier today, has now been identified. Stay tuned for his name—and for the shocking raw footage of what witnesses are calling two massive creatures—dragons—battling in the heart of the city."
The anchor paused briefly, the screen cutting to dramatic clips before returning as the station shifted into the details of the attack.
Shi Yang, already well aware of what had happened, didn't spare the footage a glance. Instead, his eyes drifted toward Lianhua, watching closely for her reaction.
"Authorities have confirmed that the terrorist leader, previously identified as a middle-aged fisherman named Zhou Hanmin, is believed to be among the casualties. Investigations are ongoing…"
The broadcast cut to shaky phone recordings: a blazing figure wreathed in fire, another formed of raging water, their clash illuminating the skyline like false dawn. The screen trembled with each thunderous roar, each strike that sent shockwaves rattling windows for miles.
Lianhua's chopsticks slipped from her fingers, clattering against the carton. She stared at the screen, her breath caught in her throat.
Dragons. Real dragons. And one of them—she didn't want to believe it, but her gut twisted with certainty—was him.
Slowly, she turned to Shi Yang. He hadn't moved, his face unreadable, eyes fixed on the television. The faint glow from the screen carved sharp lines across his features, shadowing his jaw, his lips pressed thin.
Her hand trembled as she reached for him, her fingertips brushing against his arm.
"Shi Yang… That was you, wasn't it?"
He didn't answer immediately. When he finally turned to her, a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.
"Roar~," he teased, raising his arms in mock menace before laughing. "Do I seriously look like a dragon, Lianhua? I know my little brother's shaped like one, but me? If there really are mythical creatures like that running around, I wouldn't dare call myself one."
She blinked at him, then flushed crimson.
"You're right… What was I even thinking?" she muttered, covering her face with both hands. "There's no way you could possibly be a dragon. How could you even…?"
Shi Yang chuckled softly at her embarrassment. He reached forward, gently prying her hands away from her face.
The moment her eyes met his, they widened.
"Yang… Shi…" she breathed.
"I might not be a dragon," he said quietly. Behind him, a rusted sword floated in the air, humming faintly as his eyes glowed with a pale, eerie blue light. His smile was gentle as he held her gaze. "But I've found a way into the supernatural side of this world."
Her lips parted, words failing her as her heart pounded violently in her chest.
"And I wasn't joking," Shi Yang continued, his tone steady and solemn. "When I said I wanted to be with you until the end of time… I meant it. Because I think I've stumbled onto the path of immortality."
Her breath hitched. A wave of dizziness overtook her, the revelation crashing into her like thunder. The edges of her vision blurred.
"Yang Shi…" she whispered faintly before her body went slack and she collapsed into his arms.
Shi Yang caught her before she fully collapsed, her body limp but warm in his arms. He held her carefully, gazing at her face—eyes fluttering, breath soft, lashes trembling like she was lost between waking and dream. With a faint smile, he carried her through the quiet house, every step deliberate, as though afraid a heavy footfall might disturb her rest.
He pushed open her door with his shoulder and laid her gently onto the bed. The covers rustled as he tucked them snug around her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. For a moment he lingered, studying the way her features softened in sleep, the faint trace of moisture at the corner of her lashes from tears not yet dried.
"Rest," he whispered, though she couldn't hear him.
Then, lowering himself onto the wooden floor, he crossed his legs and steadied his breathing. The room grew silent, the faint glow of moonlight slanting through the curtains. His mind sharpened as he sank into meditation, qi flowing steadily through his meridians, a rhythm like a tide pulling him deeper.
And then—it happened.
With a sudden clarity, his spirit slipped free of its mortal vessel. His body sat unmoving on the floor, but he himself rose, translucent, weightless, his essence unbound. The ceiling vanished into a haze of clouds, and he felt the call of the higher skies, an instinctive pull urging him to soar. He could almost taste the freedom of the heavens, the return to his true self.
But then—
Cut… cut… cut…
The sound wasn't a sound at all but a tearing echo that vibrated within his very soul. He froze. The rusted sword—its presence pressed against him like a jagged pulse, sharp and insistent. It wasn't mummering steel anymore. It was calling.
His spirit turned, and there it was, floating before him in the formless dark. Rust clung to its edge, ancient and corroded, but its aura seethed with something alive. A single word resounded from it, heavy, unavoidable—
Cut.
Shi Yang reached out. His fingers brushed the corroded hilt, and the world folded.
In an instant, he was no longer in Lianhua's quiet room, no longer half-drifting toward the heavens. He appeared inside the swaying interior of a carriage, the floor beneath him solid, shadows pressing close. Yet he wasn't standing—he was levitating, his spirit hovering weightless.
And in front of him—
The rusted sword floated in the air, steady, defying gravity. Its presence filled the carriage, oppressive yet commanding, as though even time itself bent beneath its authority. The blade gave a faint hum, a low resonance that made the wooden walls tremble.
"Oh! Uncle Shi Yang, you're awake!" Xiu Mei beamed, leaning through the doorway. "I was just about to wake you. Come look at what we've found. Hurry, we'll need that vulture of yours and its string!"
Shi Yang blinked, then glanced back at the blade. His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he rose to his feet.
"Sure…" he murmured, then turned to her. "Xiu Mei… tell me. Am I still meditating?" He gestured toward the hovering sword.
"Hm?" She tilted her head at him. "No, you're wide awake! So stop dawdling and come quickly before our spirit stones run off. Quick, quick!" she urged, already rushing out of the carriage.
—
One hour earlier, inside the mimicked Earth inner world.
Shi Yang's soul soared through the clouds, both hands overstuffed with gifts—an awkward bundle of a bouquet, a phone, a tablet, and a ring box.
"Where is it, where is it, where is it…" he muttered under his breath, darting from one mountainous island to another.
At last he stopped, recognition flashing in his eyes. Below, lodged deep in a jagged boulder, was the rusted blade. Relief softened his shoulders.
"There you are. I thought I might've lost you," he sighed, setting down the gifts and gripping the hilt. With one firm pull, he tore the blade free.
The steel shuddered violently in his hand, and then —
A voice, soft and breathless, rang in his mind. Feminine. Hungry.
Finally… I'm free.
Shi Yang froze, feeling something unseen brushing against him, as though an invisible figure pressed close, caressing his arm.
"You don't know how happy I am to see you again," the voice whispered, warm yet sharp as a blade at his throat. Come, let's cut. Cut that boulder—for imprisoning me. Then that tree. And then this whole island. When we're done, we'll fly to the next. We'll cut there too, until we find animals to slaughter… then people… then continents…
The blade vibrated in his palm, trembling with a hunger that wasn't his own.
But Shi Yang only frowned, distracted, patting at his bundle of gifts.
"Wait… did I drop my new phone and tablet!?"