The Lin residence was deep.
It was as deep as a dry well that had never seen the sun in ages; all sounds falling into it left no echo.
Shen Qingqiu followed the steward through the winding corridors. The flagstone path, slippery and cold after the rain, seemed to be covered with a layer of greasy residue. Red lanterns hung along the way, but their red was not the festive vermilion; rather, it was an old, purplish-black, blood-red. A gust of wind caused the candlelight inside the lanterns to flicker, illuminating the carved auspicious beasts on the corridor pillars, making them appear ferocious, as if living creatures were lurking in the shadows.
Seventeen followed three steps behind her.
His footsteps were light, almost weightless, like a cut-out shadow. Shen Qingqiu didn't need to turn around to feel that unique chill—it was her domain of absolute safety.
"Madam Su, this way please." The steward stopped before a carved mahogany door, his voice dry and lifeless, like two pieces of rotten wood rubbing together.
This was an independent courtyard called "Listening to the Rain Pavilion," the residence of Lin Zixuan, the eldest son of the Lin family. The courtyard was filled with crabapple blossoms, all in full bloom. What should have been a beautiful, vibrant scene was, in Shen Qingqiu's peculiar eyes, an overly flamboyant display.
It was eerily flamboyant.
Each petal possessed an exquisitely perfect geometric curve at the edge, free from insect damage or withering. Thousands upon thousands of blossoms seemed like identical copies.
[Warning: High scene texture duplication rate. Rendering resource anomaly.] The cold, mechanical voice in his mind flashed again. Shen Qingqiu subtly adjusted his sleeves, his fingertips digging into his palms, using the pain to keep himself awake.
This was no earthly paradise; it was a meticulously programmed hellish realm.
Stepping into the main hall, a strong, pungent smell of medicine mixed with benzoin assaulted his senses.
Two armchairs stood in the center of the hall. To the left sat an elderly woman with a full head of silver hair—the matriarch of the Lin family. She held a string of prayer beads in her hand, her eyelids drooping, seemingly half-asleep. To the right sat a young man.
This was Lin Zixuan, the eldest son of the Lin family.
Shen Qingqiu looked up.
This man was extremely handsome, with a face like jade, exuding a scholarly air, but his complexion was excessively pale, and his lips were an unnatural scarlet. He wore a wedding robe, sitting in the shadows, looking like a faded, long-painted traditional Chinese painting.
"This is… the Su family's maid?" The matriarch slowly opened her eyes.
They were cloudy eyes, mostly white with little iris, and when her gaze fell on Shen Qingqiu, it carried a chilling scrutiny, as if assessing the weight of a beast.
Shen Qingqiu immediately feigned panic, bowing gracefully, her voice choked with emotion: "Wives Su Wan... greet the Old Madam."
"Poor child," the Old Madam sighed, her tone devoid of any pity. "Now that you've entered the Lin family, you are a member of the Lin family. Although the wedding ceremony hasn't taken place yet, your status is already established. Zixuan is unwell; you will stay tonight to attend to him." Attend to him?
They've only just entered and they're already making him stay overnight? The Lin family can't even be bothered with formalities.
"Yes," Shen Qingqiu replied meekly.
Lin Zixuan, who had been silent all along, suddenly coughed. He coughed violently, his whole body trembling, as if he were coughing up his lungs.
"Cough cough... Sister Wan'er..."
He raised his head, his eyes fixed on Shen Qingqiu.
In that instant, Shen Qingqiu's [Overclocked Vision] automatically detected the anomaly.
She saw that Lin Zixuan's chest cavity didn't contain rising and falling lungs, but rather a chaotic mass of black mist. With each cough, the mist churned, vaguely forming countless faces groaning in agony.
Even more terrifying was his gaze.
It wasn't the gaze of a man looking at a woman; it was the gaze of a starving person seeing food. Greedy, eager, with a naked, predatory desire.
He reached out, seemingly to take Shen Qingqiu's hand: "Sister, you've been frightened. Let your husband take a look..."
His hand was pale and long, but his nails were a dull, bluish-purple.
Just as his fingertips were about to touch Shen Qingqiu's sleeve...
*Clang—* A very faint, crisp sound, like a snapping string.
A dark shadow appeared without warning between the two.
Seventeen had teleported to Shen Qingqiu's side. He didn't draw his sword, but simply used the back of his hand, wrapped in tattered cloth, to coldly deflect Lin Zixuan's hand.
His movement was stiff, yet unyielding. Lin Zixuan's hand recoiled as if it had touched a block of ice, a thin layer of frost forming on his fingertips.
"Insolence!" The old lady slammed her prayer beads on the table, her voice sharp and harsh. "Where did this wild servant come from? Doesn't he know any manners?!"
The air in the hall froze instantly.
Although the maids and servants around him kept their heads down, Shen Qingqiu could feel their muscles tense, like traps poised to strike.
Seventeen ignored the old lady's rage. He simply stepped aside to shield Shen Qingqiu, his dark eyes, visible only through his mask, fixed intently on Lin Zixuan. Deep within his eyes, a stream of dark blue data began to surge wildly.
In his logic, that action was classified as a "high-risk attack."
The attacker must be eliminated.
A murderous aura spread throughout the hall like a tangible force. Seventeen's fingers clenched slightly, a forced suppression of his instinct to snap the other's neck.
Shen Qingqiu's heart skipped a beat.
She couldn't act here. This was the core area of the "instance," and if Seventeen erupted, it might attract the "Heavenly Dao's gaze" from a higher dimension.
"Seventeen!" Shen Qingqiu suddenly shouted, then immediately adopted a look of fear and anger, slapping Seventeen's arm—though not with force.
"How dare you act as a guard? How dare you stop the young master? Get back!"
While scolding, she subtly pressed twice on the inside of Seventeen's arm—the spot where she had previously injected blood.
This was a "soothing command" she had just figured out.
Sure enough, the blue light in Seventeen's eyes flickered, and his previously tense body slowly relaxed. He lowered his head, retreating back into the shadows, becoming the silent mute he once was.
"Grandma, please calm down," Shen Qingqiu quickly turned and apologized, her eyes red-rimmed. "This is a bodyguard I brought from my maternal home. He suffered a head injury and is a bit slow-witted. He's stubborn and thinks everyone wants to harm me. I'll definitely teach him a lesson later." Lin Zixuan rubbed his frozen fingers, his eyes sweeping over Seventeen with a sinister glint, then a warm yet eerie smile appeared on his face: "It's alright. With such a loyal servant protecting my sister, I'm at ease. Since he's mute, let him guard the door."
... Night fell.
The bedroom in Tingyu Pavilion was large, almost empty.
Red candles burned brightly, their thick flames dripping crimson tears, like lines of blood.
Shen Qingqiu sat on the canopy bed, listening to the patter of rain outside the window. Lin Zixuan hadn't come in; supposedly, he'd gone to take his medicine because he wasn't feeling well, leaving her alone to "rest."
This only made Shen Qingqiu more wary.
She looked around. The bridal chamber was lavishly decorated, with sheer curtains, rosewood furniture, and calligraphy and paintings by renowned artists adorning the walls.
But in her eyes, everything about it felt artificial.
The portrait of a lady on the screen blinked every five seconds.
The steam from the teapot on the table rose in perfectly repeating circles.
This was a pre-programmed scene, waiting for her, the "player," to trigger the plot.
"Come in," Shen Qingqiu softly called to the shadowy figure outside the window.
The window opened silently, and Seventeen drifted in like a falling leaf.
He removed his mask, revealing a stunningly handsome face. The stain Shen Qingqiu had applied was still there, giving him a broken, fallen appearance.
"Check this place," Shen Qingqiu said softly.
Seventeen nodded. He didn't move around, but stood still, closing his eyes.
An invisible ripple emanated from him, spreading outwards.
A moment later, he opened his eyes, his brow—if that micro-expression could be considered a brow—furrowing very slightly.
"Space…folded." He stretched out a finger, tracing a square in the air. "This room…is a cage. There is no…exit." Shen Qingqiu's heart sank.
Sure enough, once inside this door, there was no easy way out. The so-called "Su Wan" was nothing more than a sacrifice to the monster Lin Zixuan.
"Can you break it?" Seventeen looked at her, a hint of "contempt" flashing in his eyes—the arrogance of a Heavenly Weapon.
"Anytime." Those two simple words inexplicably eased the anxiety that had gripped Shen Qingqiu's heart.
She looked at Seventeen. In the candlelight, his pale skin gleamed with a jade-like luster, his eyes clear and deep, reflecting the flickering candlelight, beautiful beyond compare.
In this world filled with lies, fake images, and malicious code, only this man, who had lost his memory and wasn't even human, was real.
"Sit here." Shen Qingqiu patted the edge of the bed beside her.
Seventeen hesitated. In his database, the concept of a bed was usually associated with "hibernation," and he wasn't currently in hibernation mode.
But he obediently sat down anyway.
Shen Qingqiu took out a handkerchief from her bosom, dampened it with tea, and gently wiped the grime from his face.
"Seventeen, who exactly are you?" she murmured, "or…some kind of god?"
Seventeen didn't answer; he simply let her wipe him silently. This touch was unfamiliar to him; his system was frantically analyzing the tactile signals it sent—warm, soft, accompanied by a slight friction.
[Warning: System overheating. Logic circuit generating unknown redundant data. Recommendation: Maintain the status quo.]
Just then, a sudden change occurred.
The bright red candles suddenly turned a ghastly green.
The temperature in the room plummeted.
The bronze mirror on the dressing table, which had previously reflected an empty room, now suddenly displayed a figure.
A woman in a wedding dress stood with her back to the mirror, combing her hair.
"First comb, comb to the end..." A faint, eerie melody echoed in the room, yet its source remained elusive. The sound shifted from left to right, as if drilling directly into one's mind.
"Second comb, white hair all..." Shen Qingqiu abruptly turned to look at the bronze mirror.
The woman in the mirror slowly turned her head.
It was a face without features! Where a face should have been, there was smooth skin, upon which a grotesque smile was drawn in bright red cinnabar.
"Third comb... my lord... I'll devour you." As the last word fell, the woman in the mirror suddenly split open—a real split, her entire face ripped in two, revealing countless sharp teeth like those of a lamprey.
At the same time, blood began to seep from the walls of the room. The figures in the famous paintings and calligraphies came to life, their limbs twisting, crawling down from the paper, transforming into paper-thin monsters that swarmed towards the bed.
"Is this the Lin family's way of treating guests?" Shen Qingqiu sneered, her eyes showing no fear, only a chilling excitement.
She grabbed a teacup from the table and smashed it against the bronze mirror.
*Crack!*
The bronze mirror shattered. But the monster behind the mirror didn't disappear; instead, countless black strands of hair surged from the shards, surging towards Shen Qingqiu like a tidal wave.
"Seventeen!"
No order was needed.
The man beside her had already moved.
This time, he didn't use his hands, nor his sword.
He simply stood up, blocking Shen Qingqiu's path, and slowly opened his mouth towards the surging black hair and paper-like monster.
A deep, ancient syllable escaped from the depths of his throat.
It wasn't language; it was source code.
"Format."
*Buzz—* Space trembled.
All the horrific sights—the green candlelight, the blood-soaked walls, the twisted monster, the black hair—seemed to be paused for a moment.
Then, they began to disintegrate.
Like weathered sand, or a pencil drawing erased by an eraser, the grotesque monsters, upon contact with Seventeen's sonic waves, instantly reverted to their most primitive, meaningless ink smudges and light spots.
In a mere three seconds.
The room returned to its original state.
The red candles still burned with a warm yellow light, the walls were pristine white, and the bronze mirror… though shattered, no longer reflected the faceless woman.
Only Seventeen stood in the center of the room, his posture upright as a pine tree, emanating a faint, chilling aura.
He turned to look at Shen Qingqiu, his eyes filled with a pure desire for praise:
"Trash… cleaned… complete."
Shen Qingqiu looked at him and suddenly laughed.
She laughed heartily, her eyes slightly moist.
In this crumbling, cannibalistic world, she had found not only a sword, but a god capable of rewriting the rules for her.
"Well done, Seventeen." She stood up, walked to the broken bronze mirror, picked up a shard, and saw her bright yet cold face reflected in it.
"The small fry are done, now it's time for the big boss to appear." A heavy knock came from outside the door.
"Sister Wan'er," Lin Zixuan's voice came through the door, thick and cold, "I heard some noise inside, are you…asleep?" Shen Qingqiu held the shard in her palm, blood seeping out and staining her palm lines.
She turned around, gestured for Seventeen to be quiet, then adopted a weak and terrified tone, calling out to the door:
"Husband…I'm afraid of the dark, please come in quickly." The red candle flickered, making a soft crackling sound.
The mask has been peeled off; tonight, the roles of hunter and prey will be reversed.