Screams.
Yells.
Sobbing.
All of it merged together—like a mournful symphony echoing through the chambers of despair.
"Jiějiě Bǎihé! Bǎihé!!"
The voices came muffled at first, distant cries through a fog of unconsciousness. Bǎihé could hear her name, but everything around her was blurry. Her eyes fluttered open, met with a blinding haze. A sharp, searing pain pierced through her chest, anchoring her to the present. She was lying against someone—someone clutching her tightly as if trying to hold her soul in place.
The sobbing grew louder. It was familiar. One of her sisters—holding both her hands, calling her back from the edge.
As her vision began to clear, she saw a man in deep red robes kneeling over her, cradling her to his chest, his body trembling with anguish. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he called out her name again and again, his voice cracking like porcelain dropped on marble.
She looked down—her own robes were red.
A wedding scene?
The chamber was adorned in silk and gold, the scent of lotus and incense lingering in the air. Lanterns glowed softly around her. A wedding? Was she... getting married?
Then the pain reminded her—no, not a wedding. She had been stabbed. Her hand brushed against her side, confirming the presence of a dagger still buried in her chest.
Panic surged. Her heart thundered.
"Bǎihé..." the man whispered hoarsely.
She turned her gaze to him. His eyes were warm light brown, filled with grief. His hair—long, dark, and partly braided—flowed down his neck like a silk ribbon in the breeze. His nose slender, his jawline sharp, clenched in pain. He was beautiful, heartbreakingly so. Yet her mind couldn't place him. He felt familiar... and foreign at the same time.
"I won't let you go," he wept. "You promised to stay with me... please!"
Bǎihé blinked slowly, still dazed. Something about him pulled at her—deep, almost buried emotions. But her memory failed her.
Suddenly, a chill swept through the room, as if the doors to the afterlife had cracked open. Her skin prickled. Was this the end?
She closed her eyes tightly, a single tear escaping.
But then—light.
A warmth surged through her body. The pain in her chest faded like a dream upon waking. Her eyes flew open. The man before her now looked pale, his face ghostly, sweat lining his brows. His breath was shallow.
A soft hand touched her chest, and with careful precision, pulled the dagger from her body.
Bǎihé winced, expecting agony—but felt nothing.
She slowly pushed herself up from his chest, confused. Her eyes fixed on his pale face, his trembling form. His life force—whatever it was—had poured into her like sunlight warming frozen ground.
"Gēge Yí!" a voice cried out.
Bǎihé turned toward the sound. It was Bao—her youngest sister—tears flooding her cheeks, her face pale with fear.
"Is she going to be alright?"
The man nodded, his gaze still locked on Bǎihé. His eyes were glassy, but full of sorrow.
"Why did you do it?" she whispered. "If you die... then I die. Don't you know that? You promised to stay with me."
Bǎihé looked at him, confusion mounting inside her. Her heart ached for him—there was love, undeniable and deep—but also something darker. Pain. Bitterness. Betrayal. Her chest tightened as a strange fury stirred in her veins.
Her expression hardened. Her hands moved to push him away.
Then she saw it.
A trickle of blood slid from his nose, followed by another. He coughed violently, the sound ragged and choking. Then, without warning, he collapsed against her.
"What's happening?!" another voice cried out—one of her older sisters.
He burned with fever now. His body limp, breath ragged. Bǎihé held him in her arms, her own tears streaming freely.
She looked up—desperate, lost, trembling.
"Someone! Help!!"