As Luo Jialan’s question hung in the air, Su Mu averted her gaze with a practiced nonchalance, as if the weight of the moment could be brushed aside with a flick of her eyes.
‘She doesn’t know a thing, does she? Perfect.’
The thought flickered through Su Mu’s mind, tinged with a hint of irresponsibility.
But then, she reasoned, ‘Why should I be the one to bear the burden? Never mind, then.’
“I saw your mother,” Su Mu said, her tone casual but deliberate.
“That woman, Luo Linglan. She’s strikingly similar to this Ning Ling.”
“…Only in demeanor, perhaps,” Luo Jialan replied, her voice soft, almost distant, as her eyes lingered on the bustling figure of Ning Ling.
Being near that woman—Luo Linglan—felt like standing in a suffocating storm, the air heavy with an oppressive weight.
“No, I ran a scan just now,” Su Mu countered, a glint of intrigue in her voice.
“Guess what I found.”
She held up her handheld device, the screen displaying a single designation:
[Subject 0—Ning Xi.]
For a fleeting moment, Luo Jialan’s composure faltered, her eyes widening in stunned silence.
“Subject 0… What does that mean?” she murmured, then shook her head, resolve hardening.
“No, I need to ask her.”
Luo Jialan had long known that Ning Xi carried a fragment of Luo Linglan’s core essence—a truth she’d come to terms with.
But the idea that another test subject, someone like Ning Ling, had already crossed their paths unnoticed?
That was a revelation she hadn’t anticipated.
Yet, no matter how keenly she searched, she couldn’t sense the familiar, intoxicating aura that Luo Linglan exuded.
Instead, gazing at Ning Ling brought an unexpected calm to her heart, a stillness that felt almost sacred.
True, after hearing about the absurd fiasco Tang Nai and Ning Ling had caused, Luo Jialan wasn’t convinced Ning Ling was as serene as she appeared.
But for now, at least, nothing felt amiss.
“Don’t be so hasty,” Su Mu interjected, her voice tinged with caution.
“Confronting her like that might come off as rude, don’t you think?”
Luo Jialan’s gaze shifted to Su Mu, her expression unreadable.
After a beat, she sighed.
“You’re right. It’ll come up eventually.”
“But we’re here to unwind, aren’t we?” Su Mu pressed, her tone light but pointed.
“Stirring things up now will just make everything tense.”
Luo Jialan hesitated, then relented, sinking onto the bench beside Su Mu.
“Fair point.”
She took a delicate bite of her grilled fish, inwardly chiding herself.
‘Coward. Backing down again.’
Time and again, when faced with matters tied to Luo Linglan, she wavered between confrontation and retreat.
Even when she mustered the courage to act, the slightest excuse would send her hesitating once more.
Deep down, she knew why: she dreaded facing that woman.
Luo Jialan’s thoughts drifted to her final day with Luo Linglan.
Despite the rigid rules that woman imposed, stifling her heart like chains, Luo Jialan was, after all, only human.
Living in the shadow of the Desire Witch, she couldn’t escape the slow erosion of dark magic that seeped from Luo Linglan’s presence.
Those insidious tendrils of desire entwined with the long-suppressed yearnings in her soul, igniting a dangerous harmony.
Her vision blurred with a haze of peach-pink, her body burning as if set ablaze, even in the depths of a heatless winter.
No amount of pummeling the sandbag—adorned with a crude sketch of Luo Linglan’s face—could quell the restless fire within.
Emptiness gnawed at her, dissatisfaction roiled, and she couldn’t fathom why.
After her fifteenth birthday, these episodes began to strike with alarming frequency, each wave crashing harder and faster than the last.
In the past, when desire consumed her, Luo Linglan would vanish, leaving Luo Jialan to vent her frustrations on that sandbag.
But as the intervals shortened, the ritual lost its power.
Night after night, she’d spend at least half an hour in a futile struggle to exhaust the turmoil within.
She refused to seek Luo Linglan’s help.
Never once did she confide in that woman, despite Luo Linglan’s daily inquiries—delivered with a cold, perfunctory tone that grated on her nerves.
Luo Jialan’s response was always the same: ‘Nothing’s wrong.’
But now, she was drowning in it, unable to manage alone.
She could feel the restless energy pooling in parts of her body, yet its meaning eluded her.
She wasn’t just physically behind her peers; in certain matters, she was utterly ignorant—a consequence of Luo Linglan’s deliberate efforts to shield her from the world.
The internet, real-life interactions—every avenue of knowledge had been sealed off.
And such a girl, naive and sheltered, was the easiest prey for a few honeyed words.
“What’s happening to me? Why…?”
Even as she pounded the sandbag—its caricature of Luo Linglan now torn to shreds—the fire within showed no signs of abating.
Luo Jialan collapsed to the floor, fighting the instinct to shed her clothes, her legs twisting together in a desperate bid for control.
Her eyes flickered with crimson hearts, desire clawing at her senses, yet Luo Linglan’s rules—etched into her very being—tormented her subconscious.
‘ “Never remove your clothes outside the bathroom. Never let your hands wander beneath them.” ‘
Those rules, ingrained over a decade, held firm even as her consciousness frayed.
But after reading Su Mu’s debut novel, Luo Jialan had found a phrase that captured her torment with haunting precision:
‘Resilient strength, ceasing at perfection.’
Only someone who had endured it could truly grasp the agony of that paradox.
The martial arts dojo lay dark, bathed only in the cold glow of moonlight, offering no solace for her fevered heart.
Then, a tall silhouette eclipsed the pale blue light, stepping silently over the scattered remnants of the sandbag’s sketch.
The figure stood before her, a quiet presence.
A faint sigh broke the silence.
“Let me help.”
Pure magic flowed from her fingertips, weaving into chains as unyielding as the rules Luo Jialan had memorized.
They bound the rampant dark magic within her, taming its chaos.
But as they did, the icy frost that perpetually cloaked Luo Linglan’s cheeks began to crack and crumble.
The peach-heart glow in Luo Jialan’s eyes didn’t fade—it merely shifted, leaping from one soul to another.
“Not you,” Luo Jialan spat, her voice thick with anger as she recognized the woman beside her.
She thrust out a hand, trying to push Luo Linglan away.
“Get out.”
“Hold on. Just endure a little longer,” Luo Linglan said, her voice steady but strained.
“Endure? To hell with your endurance! Get out!”
For the first time, Luo Jialan’s restraint shattered, and she hurled curses even in Luo Linglan’s presence.
It was all too clear now.
The arbitrary rules, the suppression of her desires—Luo Linglan wasn’t protecting her.
She was guarding her own secrets.
“You’re just afraid your own mess will come to light!” Luo Jialan didn’t know the full truth, but she was certain of one thing: the woman she’d shared a roof with was the source of this torment.
Luo Linglan’s face remained impassive, but her quickening breath betrayed her.
She ignored Luo Jialan’s accusations, focusing solely on the task at hand.
“I said leave!” Luo Jialan shouted, summoning every ounce of strength to shove her away.
But how could a mere human overpower a witch?
The desire within her was sealed, locked away by chains of icy blue light.
Her body went limp, and she sank to the floor once more.
Luo Linglan, meanwhile, seemed to mirror her earlier state—perhaps even more intensely.
Her mature form radiated an alluring aura, banishing the dojo’s chill, but her hurried gaze betrayed her intent to flee.
With one final glance at Luo Jialan, Luo Linglan turned and left, her silhouette vanishing into the night.
Watching her go, Luo Jialan found herself at a loss for words.
Freedom, when it came, wasn’t the relief she’d imagined.
Instead, it carried a hollow ache.
But one truth stood firm in her heart: she would never return to those days.