Duan Ling’s grip loosened, and the dagger fell down, striking the coffin beneath them.
He ignored it and kept staring at the person holding his wrist.
Lin Ting, who had seemed lifeless moments ago, suddenly opened her eyes, meeting his gaze.
In that instant of eye contact, a tear slid down Duan Ling’s reddened eye corner and fell onto Lin Ting’s cold hand, making a faint sound.
He suspected it was an illusion.
Duan Ling had imagined countless times that Lin Ting would suddenly come back to life and open her eyes to look at him.
Because Lin Ting’s reaction to learning she was doomed by a strange illness was unusual, as if she had foreseen it all and was in control.
Her words to him were strange too, which led him to a wild thought—that Lin Ting might actually come back to life.
So he waited.
From the very first day after Lin Ting’s death, he waited, but she did not wake.
The second day passed, still no awakening.
The third day was no different.
The longer time went on, the more Duan Ling doubted his guess.
Maybe Lin Ting had only come to terms with life and death before dying, which was why she said those things.
How could a person really come back to life?
He looked at the rosy complexion of Lin Ting inside the coffin and thought to wait a little longer—maybe she would come back to life and call his name at the next moment.
But as the burial grew closer, Lin Ting still did not awaken.
A wave of hopelessness washed over Duan Ling.
He wanted to lie down with her forever.
As for the vow he had sworn to bury her properly, he abandoned it.
Duan Ling did not believe in an afterlife, and even if there were one, it would not be for them.
What he could not have in this life, he would never have.
Some feelings are easier to let go if never experienced; once felt, they become impossible to release.
He liked Lin Ting liking him.
He enjoyed Lin Ting liking him.
Duan Ling could not bear the days without Lin Ting by his side.
Although he usually reveled in collecting the gazes of others, indifferent to whether those eyes belonged to the living or the dead, it was different with Lin Ting.
Even if he could buy rare Miao tribal gu insects to preserve Lin Ting’s corpse, allowing her to remain by his side in that way, he would not do it.
He only wanted the living Lin Ting.
On the fifth day after Lin Ting’s death, Duan Ling picked up the Spring Embroidery Dagger, ready to cut his neck, but his peripheral vision caught sight of four paintings she had entrusted Jin Anazi to deliver.
Two of the paintings remained unseen; he had to wait until Lin Ting’s seventh day before he could view them all.
His hand holding the dagger froze.
Paintings only to be seen on the seventh day… and Lin Ting had insisted he bury her on the seventh day.
It was all on the seventh day.
Could Lin Ting come back to life on her seventh day, and was that why he had been waiting?
The thought gave Duan Ling pause.
He slowly put down the dagger and looked through all the paintings Lin Ting had painted.
He decided to wait until her seventh day.
Alas, reality shattered his last hope.
She did not wake on her seventh day either.
The burial was imminent; she would not awaken.
Waiting any longer was pointless.
What he never expected was, just as he was about to end his own life, he saw the illusion of Lin Ting awakening again, even stopping him from acting.
The Lin Ting in his vision could touch him, but whenever she touched him for too long, or when he tried to reach out to her, the illusion would burst like a fragile bubble, vanishing without a trace.
It was fake—all fake.
Several times, Duan Ling had sat silently beside the coffin through the night, seeing illusions of Lin Ting stepping out to embrace him, or holding Li Jingqiu’s hand in the courtyard, waving at him.
This moment was likely another illusion.
It had to be—he longed for Lin Ting to come back on her seventh day so desperately that his mind created this.
Duan Ling felt as if he were being tortured in Zhaoyu at the Beizhen Police Department, sharp knives slicing layer by layer of flesh, exposing dirty bones hidden deep inside.
The pain of flesh being cut and bones scraped could not be worse.
He slowly lifted his hand and carefully traced Lin Ting’s opened eyes.
Even if it was an illusion, he had to grasp it.
Hold on to it with all his might.
Then Lin Ting’s hand slid down his wrist, fingers interlaced.
She looked at him and said, “I…”
Before she could finish, Duan Ling hugged her tightly.
Pressed so close, she could feel his body trembling slightly.
Duan Ling confirmed it—this was no illusion.
Illusions could not speak.
Lin Ting had come back to life.
Lin Ting returned the embrace.
At first, Lin Ting thought she would be in a sleep-like state for days after death, unaware of the outside world, but later realized she had been beside them all along, only unseen by others.
So she knew everything they had done, including Duan Ling strangling her wrist with her silk ribbon and even trying to wound himself with her golden hairpin.
Lin Ting felt her heart being torn apart, all sorts of emotions intertwining and rending her flesh.
Instinctively, she used all her strength to hug Duan Ling tightly, giving him strength while drawing strength from him.
Duan Ling smelled Lin Ting’s breath and buried his face in her neck.
The pulse beating under her skin reached his body—it was alive.
Lin Ting’s pulse stirred Duan Ling’s heart, causing it to race out of control.
After a moment, Duan Ling’s voice whispered in Lin Ting’s ear.
He did not ask anything else, only: “Will you still do that again in the future?”
She was momentarily stunned, then resolutely replied, “No.”
Duan Ling closed his eyes: “Mm hm.”
“You’re not going to ask me anything else?” Lin Ting gently stroked the many tiny wounds on Duan Ling’s hand.
She remembered those injuries were from when he had scratched himself under the tree hung with prayer ribbons late at night.
He lifted his head from her neck, revealing faintly reddened eyes filled with her reflection, whispering, “I don’t care about anything else. As long as you wake up… just wake up.”
Lin Ting uncontrollably shed tears, her throat feeling clogged with cotton.
Duan Ling guessed there were things she could never say, so he simply did not ask.
He only wanted her to wake up.
“Let’s go out.”
Lin Ting stood, kicked the coffin lid aside, and pulled Duan Ling away from the coffin symbolizing death, away from the grave dug for her.
Just as they left the coffin, a sharp scream rang out: “Leyun!”
Lin Ting heard the familiar voice, wiped her tears, and looked up.
Duan Xinning stood not far off, eyes wide, staring intently in their direction, her expression a complex mixture of shock, confusion, and wild joy.
Almost fifteen minutes had passed since Duan Ling spoke, and Duan Xinning had come to speak privately with Lin Ting before the burial, only to witness the scene of Lin Ting coming back to life.
Duan Xinning’s attention was fully on Lin Ting, paying no heed to Duan Ling’s crimson attire.
Shortly after the scream, people from the nearby woods rushed back to the gravesite.
Li Jingqiu ran fastest, nearly charging over, having heard Duan Xinning call Lin Ting’s name and fearing something had happened to the body.
Li Jingqiu stopped abruptly in front of the grave, her face full of disbelief, lips moving as she stammered, then stared blankly ahead.
Lin Ting, who should have been lying lifeless inside the coffin, was actually standing.
“Leyun?” she cautiously called.
Lin Ting threw herself into Li Jingqiu’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably, “Mother.”
In an instant, Li Jingqiu wept like rain, “Leyun, is it really you? Could it be Mother’s dreaming?”
In recent days, her eyes opening meant seeing the lifeless Lin Ting lying in the coffin; closing them meant dreaming of a lively Lin Ting.
Lin Ting shook her head, “It’s not a dream. It’s real. Mother, I’m still alive.”
After her initial shock, Duan Xinning quickly came to Lin Ting’s side, ignoring whether she was human or ghost, and hugged her from behind with tears choking her voice, “Leyun, I missed you so much.”
Lin Ting freed one hand to wipe Duan Xinning’s tears, “Stop crying. You’ve cried for so many days, be careful you don’t cry your eyes blind.”
Though she said that, she was crying too.
Duan Xinning’s tears spilled in streams in the blink of an eye, soaking Lin Ting’s shoulders.
She sobbed repeatedly, calling “Leyun.”
If tears could bring Lin Ting back, she wouldn’t care about losing her sight.
Jin Anazi walked over to them, staring at Lin Ting in disbelief, swallowing hard before speaking softly, “Lin Leyun…”
Lin Ting looked at him with tear-streaked eyes.
Jin Anazi did not know how to react.
Lin Ting was alive?
He pinched himself, feeling the pain, and for once, a faint smile appeared.
His joy surpassed the shock of seeing someone return from death.
Lin Ting felt Madam Feng’s gaze.
“Mother.”
“Leyun?” Madam Feng, who had lived for many years, had never encountered such a thing.
She involuntarily glanced at Duan Ling, who had been standing beside Lin Ting.
Only then did she notice his crimson clothes, not mourning attire, but a deep red similar to Lin Ting’s dress.
What was he planning?
Her eyes flicked to the coffin and caught the dagger inside—it was unsheathed.
Suddenly, realization struck her.
Could it be that he intended…
Duan Ling had asked them to wait in the woods for fifteen minutes to die together with Lin Ting.
Had she not suddenly awakened, he might already be a corpse.
She knew Duan Ling’s feelings for Lin Ting ran deep but had no idea they ran so deep as to want to follow her into death.
A shiver of fear passed through Madam Feng.
When the dead suddenly live again, some rejoice, others fear.
A timid servant stepped back a few paces, whispering, “The Young Mistress was dead, how can she be alive again?”