[Yaonan Hidden Manor · Guest Courtyard]
After a night of recovery, Feng Mian woke before Wan Luo.
Yet when he opened his eyes, he was nothing like the man he used to be—his gaze hollow, his expression dull. His words came in broken fragments, and now and then he even let out a childlike, foolish giggle.
Si Mo Heng watched him coldly, suspicion rising in his chest. He stepped forward and murmured to the guards, "Loosen the chains a little. I want to see whether he's truly mad—or merely pretending."
Before his hand could lift, Ye Qixiu shook his head and stopped him.
"No need." Ye Qixiu's voice was heavy, his expression grave. "His soul is already incomplete. The Feng Mian you see now is a thoroughly ruined man."
Si Mo Heng's brows sank. A glint of frost passed through his eyes—if that was true, then there would be no wringing a single scrap of truth from Feng Mian's mouth.
Ye Qixiu looked at the dull, foolishly smiling figure, and in the depths of his gaze there was a trace of pity. "Whatever he once did… he has still become a victim in the end. Settle him properly. Do not press him further."
The others exchanged glances, knowing any more interrogation would be useless.
Outside the hall, the wind howled and torchlight wavered. Now, the only hope rested on one person—Wan Luo.
Ye Qixiu turned, eyes landing on the door to the room where she still lay unconscious. His voice was low, but firm. "Two souls are entangled within her. Only when she awakens can we learn what truly happened—who cast this forbidden art, and whose soul it is that was forced into her."
At once, Yaonan Hidden Manor felt shrouded in haze and dread.
[Wan Luo's Sea of Consciousness · A Dim, Empty Realm]
In a boundless darkness, Wan Luo felt as though she were falling into an abyss. Her body was icy cold, yet deep within she could sense another presence—strange, unfamiliar.
Suddenly, a low voice rang out, carrying the guardedness and unease of a youth.
"Who are you?"
Wan Luo's heart jolted. She looked around—only to see black mist surging, and a young man's figure forming before her: handsome brows and clear features, yet his face was filled with confusion.
Her lips trembled. "And… who are you?"
They stared at each other, their voices almost overlapping.
"Why are we here?"
Ling Shuo's brows drew tight, his tone sharp with disbelief and resistance. "This isn't my body. Why am I conscious—yet trapped in this void?"
Wan Luo took a breath, her expression pained but resolute. "This is my body. You… were forced into me by someone's art."
Her voice shook, but she spoke the truth word by word. "What he truly wanted was your body. The one who performed the soul transfer placed his own soul into your body… and your soul was forced onto me."
Ling Shuo's face changed instantly, shock slamming into him like a hammer. He wanted to deny it—yet under Wan Luo's clear, suffering gaze, the reality was impossible to evade.
"…Absurd!" His voice trembled with anger; his chest rose and fell violently, as if he'd been torn apart. "Then why do I… feel that what you're saying is true?"
Wan Luo's face was pale, but her eyes held a restrained bitterness. "Because it is the truth. You and I are both victims."
Her voice came in shaky fragments through the mist, threaded with fear. "Before he cast the formation, the one who performed the transfer told me his name… was Ye Yi. Have you ever heard that name?"
Ling Shuo frowned deeply. "Ye Yi…?" After a moment, he shook his head, still bewildered. "No. Why would he steal my body? What use is my body to him?"
Wan Luo's stare tightened, her voice hoarse as she forced the question. "Is your identity… extraordinary? Is your background… of great importance?"
Ling Shuo's breath caught. His voice fell low. "I… am Ling Shuo, the lord of Xiling City's eldest son. The day the Rift-Yao attacked, my father and I led troops to meet them—yet we lost. The city fell. My parents and my younger sister all died in the flames…"
His chest heaved, bitterness and hatred filling his eyes. "And I didn't die. I was imprisoned."
Only then did he seem to understand. "Now I see… they didn't spare me. They kept me—so they could steal my body, and the identity that comes with it."
Wan Luo held her breath, then demanded shakily, "Then what does he want… to do?"
Ling Shuo's brows were knotted with pain. He murmured, "I don't know… I only want to know if I can ever return to my own body."
His voice sped up, panic rising. "If he's taken my body and uses it to commit unforgivable crimes… then what?"
[Yaonan Hidden Manor · Guest Room]
A candle flame trembled above the desk.
You Qing bent over the table, writing in hurried but legible strokes:
[Caster: Suspected Ye Yi (identity unknown)]
Below it, she drew two branching lines:
[Feng Mian → Metal-Yao Transference Art / Soul incomplete]
[Wan Luo → Black-Yao Soul-Transfer Art / Two souls contending]
She frowned, thinking deeply, fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of the paper. As she pondered, a sudden knock-knock sounded at the door.
"Who is it?" She instinctively gathered the pages and looked up.
A low, familiar voice answered from outside. "It's me."
A moment later, the door pushed open. Night wind swept in.
Si Mo Heng stood at the threshold, tall and straight. His eyes skimmed the candlelight on the desk, and the corner of his lips lifted slightly, his tone teasing. "Before, if I wanted to see you, I had to climb in through the window like a thief."
He walked in, steps steady, though something unreadable flickered in his eyes. "Now I can finally come in openly."
You Qing poured him a cup of tea and slid it to the table. Her voice was calm. "It's this late—why aren't you asleep? Is there something urgent?"
Si Mo Heng took the cup, his fingers pausing—but he didn't drink. He set it down lightly.
Then, without warning, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, half-commanding as he settled her onto his lap.
"There is." His voice dropped close to her ear, husky and low. "I missed you."
Before her breath could steady, his lips were already on hers.
You Qing's heart slammed. She lifted a hand and lightly punched his shoulder, cheeks flushing instantly. "You—why are you getting more and more shameless?"
Si Mo Heng only held her tighter, his warmth nearly melting her into his chest. Amusement and tenderness glinted in his eyes as he murmured into her ear, "I'm shameless only for you, Qing'er."
His lips curved, his voice hot and certain, like a vow that allowed no refusal. "You're not allowed to take it back."
You Qing froze—her heartstrings seized all at once. She was annoyed by his arrogance, yet beneath his words she heard a devotion too naked to hide.
He leaned in, half-teasing, half-serious. "You're still up this late… were you thinking of me? Or were you waiting for me?"
You Qing blinked, then cupped his face and examined him carefully, smiling. "Are you really Si Mo Heng? That tone—why does it sound a little like Cang Yuan?"
Si Mo Heng's gaze darkened, faint jealousy sharpening his voice. "Cang Yuan… the man who climbs into your room through the window at midnight? When he comes, you let him in? He—what is he to you—"
Before he could finish, You Qing rose and pressed her lips to his, sealing his words away.
With a faint smile, she whispered, "Don't overthink it. From now on… only you may enter my room. All right?"
That single sentence—only you—fell into Si Mo Heng's chest like fire.
His throat tightened. The smile in his eyes burned into something fierce. In the next breath, his arms locked around her and he claimed her mouth again, leaving her no room to catch her breath.
You Qing's breathing turned unsteady. She tapped his chest, scolding under her breath, "Si Mo Heng… you're going too far…"
But before she could finish, his hand tightened at her waist and lifted her. He carried her to the bed, set her down with absolute certainty, and caged her beneath his arms. The blaze in his eyes—devotion and possessiveness—was almost overwhelming.
He lowered his head, voice rough with laughter. "Qing'er, since only I may step in here… then starting tonight, your room—and you—should be occupied by me."
Pinned beneath him, You Qing's pulse thundered.
Reason whispered that this closeness was too much—that she should push him away, keep her distance. Yet her body betrayed her, trembling as if he controlled her heartbeat and breath.
She met those burning eyes, and panic flared inside her. There was no shadowy calculation there—only heat, focus, and a tenderness so intense it threatened to drown her.
How… did it come to this…? she thought.
Yet her fingers still gripped his sleeve, as if seeking the only anchor left.
Her lips formed a shy, indignant complaint—
"Si Mo Heng… why are you getting more and more overbearing…"
But deep down, she could no longer deny it: this arrogance made her tremble—and made her want to fall.
Just as their breathing tangled and the atmosphere threatened to slip completely out of control—
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A heavy knock sounded at the door.
"Third Prince," came Tu Tan's deep, stiff voice outside. "You have been in the Imperial Daughter's room for a long time. It is late. You should return to your quarters."
The room fell so silent it seemed a pin could be heard.
You Qing's face turned red in a flash. She shoved at Si Mo Heng and hissed, "Get up—now! If people hear this, we'll never live it down!"
Si Mo Heng, unhurried as ever, leaned close to her ear and murmured with a laugh, "Looks like even Tu Tan is afraid I'll carry you off."
You Qing shot him a glare, her heart pounding wildly.
Outside, Tu Tan added bluntly, "When we left the Underworld, the Nether Emperor instructed us—no wolves from outside are allowed to snatch the Imperial Daughter away."
Inside the room, both of them froze.
You Qing was so embarrassed she nearly wanted to disappear into the floor. She whispered fiercely, "You heard that, didn't you? If my father finds out you're like this, he'll—"
Si Mo Heng only curved his lips, wickedly amused. "If he says a wolf mustn't carry you off… then I'll be a wolf who recognizes only one master."
His eyes pinned her. His voice dropped, soft and absolute. "And my master is only you."
You Qing's ears burned. Flustered, she pushed him away again. "Out. Now!"
At last, Si Mo Heng rose. He gently smoothed the hair fallen by her temple. At the door, he left her with a whisper so light it was almost a promise:
"Qing'er. Remember—your room… will only ever allow me inside."
He stepped out, meeting Tu Tan—who looked mortified, yet still forced himself to stand rigid and salute.
Si Mo Heng gave him a bland glance.
But his departing back carried an unmistakable air of smug satisfaction.