A body that wasn't his, a name that carried sins not his own—yet every breath he took now shackled him tighter to that cursed identity.
The hateful words still echoed in his skull, relentless as a curse carved into bone.
"Evils can never be pure."
"You'll burn in our hate forever."
"We'll never forget such a devilish Dao like you."
Each voice clawed at him, dragging him under. He could almost see their faces, twisted in rage, lips frothing, eyes burning holes through his soul. Their hate was not memory anymore—it was alive, gnawing inside him, louder than his own heartbeat. His chest constricted, air refusing to come. He wanted to rip them out, tear their words free, but they were stitched into him, suffocating like iron chains coiled around his lungs.
Wèixié swallowed hard, throat raw. He hadn't asked for this rebirth. He hadn't asked to wake in another man's skin, cursed to choke on sins he couldn't even name. Yet the universe had mocked him with cruel irony, binding him to a stranger's flesh, branding him with another's damnation.
If they ever learned the truth—that he had returned, reborn into this fragile vessel—they would not hesitate. They would carve him open again, flay him with their hatred until nothing remained. He would die twice, damned twice, and this time no rebirth would save him.
The doorknob rattled.
Panic detonated inside him. His veins iced over, his body stiffening as if struck by lightning. He dropped to the floor, collapsing among toppled scrolls and shattered ornaments, forcing his limbs slack, his chest shallow. A feigned unconsciousness, a pitiful deception—but it was all he had left.
Every second stretched into eternity. His heart thrashed too loud, too wild—surely they could hear it hammering against ribs that felt ready to split. He clenched his jaw, forcing his breath into ragged stillness, praying his body would obey. If even one wrong inhale betrayed him, the illusion would shatter.
"God… please save me from this…" his lips trembled, the prayer barely audible, strangled between teeth. His lashes sealed shut, and darkness pressed harder as the door creaked open .
Light footsteps crossed the threshold. A sharp gasp cut through the silence.
A man stepped in.
Black hair, bound neatly, glinting under the dim glow of lantern light. A tall, slim frame wrapped in golden silk, dragons embroidered in emerald thread coiling across the fabric. The stranger's posture spoke of nobility, composure—yet his voice betrayed him, trembling like a harp string plucked too sharply.
"Wèixié kumsun!" The exclamation cracked, both alarm and worry entangled. "How did you end up fainting here? Why did you rise from your bed? You should be resting!"
The words quivered as though on the verge of breaking.
Through his lashes, Wèixié caught fragments of the man's face: wide eyes clouded with worry, lips pressed tight as though holding back more words. His hands trembled as he swept away the scrolls and shards from Wèixié's side, movements hurried yet careful, like tending to something too fragile.
Why? Why so much worry—for him?
To this stranger, he was not Wèixié, but the body he wore. The whore with marks of shame carved into his skin. A husk sullied by women's obsession, treated as flesh, not soul. Yet this man's hands moved as though he were priceless, not broken.
A firm arm slid beneath his shoulders, lifting him effortlessly. Wèixié nearly gasped at the sudden closeness, the heat of another body pressing into his own. His nerves flared, every muscle screaming at the intimacy. He had never leaned into another's warmth, never sought touch, never allowed it.
And yet—this chest felt steady. Familiar. Too casual. As though this man had held him many times before.
Wèixié's pulse hammered so violently he thought it might split his ribs.
Did this borrowed body… crave this touch? Did it belong to someone who had always welcomed this closeness? The thought coiled like venom through his veins. His body betrayed him, reacting, shivering under each brush of the stranger's hand.
Damn this body… damn it to hell.
"You're burning with fever," the man stammered, tightening his hold as sweat slickened Wèixié's skin. "I should fetch water, or you'll worsen."
He was laid back onto the bed, the mattress sinking beneath him, sheets clinging to his damp body. He longed to recoil, to push the man away, to scream—but the act of unconsciousness chained him still. He could only endure, each second dragging like a blade against his nerves.
The stranger left briefly, then returned with a damp cloth. He pressed it gently to Wèixié's chest, the chill biting through heat. Relief spread across his skin, but twisted with something darker, something unfamiliar.
"You should… try to avoid those obsessions," the man whispered, barely above breath, "for your own good, Wèixié kumsun…"
The words, spoken with such care, shattered him more than scorn ever had. Why? Why did someone speak to him as though he deserved kindness? Hadn't this body been marked for nothing but degradation? A vessel for others' hunger?
The cloth traced lower, dragging across his torso, each motion unbearably slow. The sensation tangled heat into his gut, unbidden and unwelcome. His breaths quickened, shallow, sweat dripping down his temples. He cursed silently, nails digging into his palms to fight the response.
But then—
A finger, whether accident or intent, brushed his most sensitive bud.
Wèixié's entire body arched, a hiss tearing from his lips despite his desperate attempt to bite it back. Lightning shot through his spine, every vein burning, heart convulsing in frantic protest. His skin prickled, sweat beading, nerves trembling like strings pulled too tight.
No. No, he couldn't—
In a flash of panic, he jerked upright, gasping violently, clutching the man's waist with startling strength as though to anchor himself—yet pushing him away in the same desperate motion.
His eyes snapped open, blazing and wide, chest heaving, breaths ragged like a hunted beast.
The stranger froze. Their gazes collided, sharp as a blade drawn in silence. Shock rippled across the man's face, lips parting, words faltering before they could form.
The room tightened, air heavy with unspoken truth. Silence stretched, suffocating, broken only by the thunder of Wèixié's heart hammering against ribs that felt on the verge of shattering.
He had sworn to hide his truth, but in a single, breathless instant, the mask of the nameless was already beginning to crack.