In the darkness, sobbing sounds were faint and desperate.
“Please, spare her… I beg you…”
“Sh-she has nothing to do with all this, don’t…”
Xia Ji curled up in a cold corner, her body trembling uncontrollably from fear and sorrow.
Tears traced down her pale cheeks, leaving cold, wet streaks.
Around her was an impenetrable blackness, thick and unyielding, except for the small area where she sat, which seemed faintly outlined by some invisible force.
“Spare her?” A low, slightly hoarse voice came from the deeper darkness, calm in tone but carrying an icy edge.
“And who spared you? Back then, who spared… forget it. Just remember, this is a debt you owe.”
The owner of the voice was hidden in the shadows, only a vague silhouette visible, as if merging with the darkness itself.
“I know, I know…” Xia Ji’s eyes glazed over, clutching herself in agony.
“B-but I haven’t had a friend for a long time…”
“Friends?” The person let out a cold laugh, utterly devoid of warmth, filled only with endless mockery.
“Have you forgotten? You only bring death to your friends, to everyone who cares for you, everyone who wants to get close.”
The words slithered like cold venomous snakes, winding into Xia Ji’s heart.
“I, I…” Xia Ji’s face suddenly turned pale.
She wanted to retort but couldn’t find the words.
Fragments of past memories tangled with her current fear, leaving her mind in chaos.
“Think about it, Xia Ji.” The mysterious voice slowed, carrying a hypnotic power, pressing relentlessly.
“When you needed help, where was she? When you were in pain, where was she? Now she’s here, barging in like a hero, but who can guarantee she isn’t just another one pushing you into the abyss?”
“Revenge is the only way for you to be reborn.”
“Only by making those who hurt you, or those who seek to pry into your pain, feel the same despair can you truly be free.”
“Put away your kindness.”
“Xia Ji, you’ve long lost the right to such fragile and laughable things.”
Every word hammered against Xia Ji’s mental defenses like a hammer on steel.
“Is… is it really like that…” Xia Ji’s breathing quickened, her gaze starting to lose focus.
Then, suddenly, a change.
As if responding to the collapse of her inner defenses, black veins—like living blood vessels—began to rise beneath the snow-white skin of her neck, twisting and crawling upward.
Xia Ji tried to cry out in pain, but only hoarse gasps escaped her throat.
The black veins quickly covered her jawline, spread to her cheeks, and finally formed a web of despair converging on her eyes.
Her pupils sharply contracted, then endless pitch-blackness swiftly devoured the whites and irises of her eyes until the entire eye sockets became two bottomless pools of darkness.
At that moment, the sobbing abruptly ceased.
The high concentration of twisted corruption brought by this ultimate malice had transformed the porcelain doll-like Xia Ji beyond recognition.
She stood up, her expression grotesque and twisted, lips curling slightly as if smiling, yet filled with sorrow and madness.
Her once delicate face now resembled an exquisitely crafted but lifeless doll, only those bottomless black eyes shifting faintly within.
A subtle, almost imperceptible whisper escaped her slightly parted lips, carrying a last trace of struggle and an endless warning:
“Don’t… don’t come…”
The voice was as light as a mosquito’s buzz, vanishing into the thick darkness.
…
…
The bell for morning reading rang.
Chu You swiftly dashed through the withered, yellowed grass and turned to climb through the window of the old teaching building.
“Drip, drip…” The sound of water droplets echoed from deep within the corridor.
Chu You clenched the phone in her pocket tightly; her fingertips could feel the faint vibration confirming the call was still connected, giving her a minuscule sense of safety.
She lowered her voice and quickly whispered toward the pocket: “Lin Mo, I’m inside, on the first floor of the old teaching building.”
Without waiting for a reply, she cautiously moved forward.
Most classroom doors on both sides of the corridor were open, their paint peeling and flaking to reveal dull, dark wood beneath.
She didn’t linger on the first floor; most windows here weren’t sealed shut, and no sane person would keep prisoners in such an accessible place.
She hurried through the first-floor corridor to the stairwell.
The stairs were old concrete, the handrails rusted, and the edges of the steps worn and broken.
Chu You stepped lightly, trying to make no sound.
One floor, two floors… with every step upward, an invisible pressure grew heavier, as if something in the darkness was watching her.
Passing classrooms along the way, she glanced cautiously inside any slightly ajar doors, only seeing piles of discarded desks and thick cobwebs.
Finally, she reached the sixth floor.
The air here was denser, dust mixing with a faint, elusive scent—something like sandalwood incense burned and mixed with a strange, sweetish substance.
The dripping sound disappeared here, replaced by absolute silence, so still she could hear the buzzing of her own blood.
At the far end of the corridor was the last classroom.
The worn nameplate barely showed the characters for “Music.”
The door was ajar.
Chu You’s heartbeat involuntarily quickened.
She took a deep breath, suppressing the growing unease in her chest, and stepped toward the door.
Stopping in front of it, she tentatively pressed her hand against the cold, rough door.
“Squeak—”
The ancient hinges groaned with an ear-piercing screech.
The door slowly swung open.
Inside, the classroom was darker than the corridor, the outline of the interior barely visible—the scattered, toppled music stands, a huge object covered by white cloth, and…
In the very center of the room, a figure stood silently, back facing the door, motionless as if a frozen statue.
Chu You’s pupils shrank sharply; every muscle tensed instantly.
Perhaps hearing the door, or sensing her gaze, the figure slowly turned around.
As the side of the face gradually became clear in the dim light, and finally the entire face was revealed by the faint glow from the doorway—
Chu You narrowed her eyes slightly.
Lu Ran.
He was really here!
Lu Ran stared directly at Chu You for a long moment, then sighed softly: “Sigh… the professor was right, you really would come.”
“Professor?” Chu You’s pupils contracted, a flicker of understanding passing through her eyes.
“Got it, you set this trap for me, didn’t you?”
Lu Ran didn’t answer directly, just tilted his head with a cryptic smile.
“I really don’t understand why the professor makes things so complicated,” a voice filled with impatience and resentment came from behind Chu You as the old wooden door was pushed open again.
Chen Xinyu leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, completely blocking the only escape route.
“Going all the way around just to lure this woman here, and he even specifically said to keep her alive.”
Chu You’s mind clicked into place.
She subtly shifted back, her spine pressing against the cold wall, her gaze sharp as it swept over Lu Ran in front and Chen Xinyu at the doorway.
Lu Ran glanced at Chen Xinyu, the faint false kindness in his eyes nearly vanished, replaced by businesslike indifference.
“The professor doesn’t want unnecessary trouble. After all…” He paused, eyes returning to Chu You, lips curling into a teasing smirk, “…our classmate Chu You’s identity isn’t exactly ordinary, is it?”
His tone rose slightly, filled with curiosity and barely concealed mockery.
“Or rather, how should I address you—”
Lu Ran lowered his voice, enunciating the title word by word:
“Commander of the Sword-Wielders?”