Ye Lan stood to the side, watching her eat in silence.
In the dim light, her expression was unreadable.
Mu Xi ate slowly, but with intense focus. She needed this food to regain her strength, to fuel her continued resistance.
Only after licking the bowl clean of congee and finishing the bread in small bites did Mu Xi stop.
She lifted her head and looked at Ye Lan, her gaze still icy cold, carrying an undissolved hatred.
Ye Lan crouched down, picked up the revolver from the floor, and her fingers unconsciously stroked the cold metal body.
“Little Xi,” she finally spoke, her voice low. “It seems I underestimated you.”
Mu Xi didn’t respond.
“But the game has only just begun.” Ye Lan stood, holstering the revolver at her waist. “You’d better pray you can stay this ‘lucky.'” With that, she didn’t linger any longer. Turning, she walked toward the door.
Bang!
The metal door slammed shut again. This time, the sound of the lock turning came through clearly.
Click.
The last sliver of light vanished, and the storage room returned to darkness.
Only the lingering warmth in her stomach and the cold touch of the iron chains reminded Mu Xi of everything that had just happened.
She leaned against the wall, slowly regulating her breathing.
Ye Lan was gone.
But this was by no means the end.
What kind of new torture would that madwoman come up with next?
Mu Xi closed her eyes. In the darkness, a very faint, very cold curve appeared at the corner of her mouth. ‘Just wait and see.’
Darkness was the eternal theme; cold was the only companion. The warmth of the congee and bread remaining in her stomach was like a pebble thrown into the deep sea, stirring tiny ripples that were instantly swallowed by the boundless chill.
Mu Xi leaned against the rough concrete wall. The chains cut deeply into her flesh, and every breath pulled at the dull pain in her wrists and ankles.
She was forced to maintain an extremely awkward posture—neither sitting nor standing properly. The length of the chain limited any possibility of stretching out.
Time lost all meaning in the darkness. Perhaps it was an instant, perhaps an eternity.
Until that old metal door let out an ear-grinding screech again.
Creak—
A sliver of dim yellow light pierced the darkness, outlining a tall, slender figure.
Ye Lan had returned. Her footsteps echoed with unusual clarity in the empty storage room, carrying an undeniable sense of oppression.
She closed the door behind her without locking it, but the dull sound of the door shutting still caused Mu Xi’s heart to sink.
This time, Ye Lan wasn’t carrying food. Only a dagger gleaming with cold light.
It wasn’t an ordinary survival knife. The blade was long and narrow, the lines smooth, the edge so sharp it seemed it could cut through the air itself.
Ye Lan walked up to Mu Xi, crouched down, so close that Mu Xi could smell the faint scent on her—a mix of gunpowder smoke and some kind of chilly fragrance.
Ye Lan didn’t speak. She simply used her free hand to gently lift Mu Xi’s chin.
Her movements weren’t rough; they even carried a strange gentleness. But to Mu Xi, it was nothing but bone-chilling cold.
The tip of the dagger slowly pressed against Mu Xi’s delicate cheek. The icy touch instantly sent a shiver through her.
‘Truly beautiful. Beautiful enough to stir the heart, and beautiful enough… to make one want to destroy it.’
The blade moved across her skin with extreme slowness, sliding from her cheek toward her earlobe. The force was controlled perfectly, leaving a cold trail but never breaking the skin.
“This face,” Ye Lan’s voice was low, carrying a hint of playfulness. “It is the symbol of her being the Princess of Wucheng, the medium through which Luoyuan controls her, and one of the reasons Ye Lan is obsessed with her.”
Mu Xi’s body was stiff from being immobilized for so long, but her will was as firm as a rock.
She didn’t dodge. She didn’t struggle. Her eyelashes didn’t even flutter.
Her pupils reflected the dagger’s faint light, and within them lay a dead, frozen wasteland, utterly unruffled.
Fear? What was that?
But to Mu Xi now, it meant nothing. It was just a skin bag—one that disgusted her, one that constantly reminded her of her humiliating situation.
If destroying it would make Ye Lan suffer, if it would take away some of the leverage she had over her, then why not?
“What’s wrong?” Mu Xi finally spoke. Her voice was a little hoarse from not speaking for so long, but it carried a venomous coldness. “Afraid to do it?”
Ye Lan’s fingers gripping the dagger tightened. She stared into Mu Xi’s fearless eyes, which held only pure hatred and a kind of almost indifferent provocation.
“You think I wouldn’t dare?” Ye Lan let out a low laugh, a dangerous air seeping into her voice.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Mu Xi tilted her head slightly, offering her cheek more fully beneath the blade.
“Cut it. Let me see whether you enjoy the thrill of destruction more, or whether I enjoy… the pleasure of release.”
She paused, a faint, extremely cold curve twitching at the corner of her mouth, as if mocking Ye Lan, or mocking herself.
“Or maybe we can make a bet. Let’s see who flinches first—you from your heartache, or me from the pain?”
“You!” Ye Lan’s breath suddenly became heavier, her chest heaving violently.
Mu Xi’s reaction was completely beyond her expectations. She had thought she would see fear, see begging for mercy, see this little thing trembling before her like countless times before.
But now, all she saw was a sheet of ice—ice cold enough to freeze anyone who tried to get close.
Rage, mixed with an indescribable sense of frustration, instantly overwhelmed Ye Lan’s reason.
“Little Xi, you really… are getting better and better at provoking me.” She gritted her teeth, speaking each word deliberately.
The dagger was removed from Mu Xi’s face and casually sheathed at her waist. Ye Lan suddenly leaned in, her hot breath spraying onto Mu Xi’s icy skin.
The next second, her lips pressed down fiercely.
It was a kiss meant as punishment—rough, violent, full of plunder and possessiveness.
Ye Lan forced open Mu Xi’s teeth, her tongue delving inside with an irresistible force, trying to seize every inch of breath in her mouth.
Mu Xi’s body instinctively wanted to resist, but with her hands and feet bound, she couldn’t move.
Ye Lan’s breath—the scent she both knew and hated—overwhelmed her like a tidal wave.
The memories of those past humiliations, of being forced to submit, surged up like a tide.
Hatred churned and boiled in her chest.
Just as Ye Lan thought she would bear it as before—numbly or forced—Mu Xi suddenly clamped her teeth shut.
Pain. A strong, metallic taste of blood instantly spread between their entwined lips and teeth.
“Mmph!” Caught off guard, Ye Lan felt a sharp, stabbing pain on her tongue. She jerked back, covering her mouth, a fierce fire blazing in her deep phoenix eyes.
A trace of bright red seeped through her fingers, dripping onto Mu Xi’s pale neck like an enchanting blood plum.
“How dare you bite me?!” Ye Lan’s voice twisted with pain and anger. She raised her hand, the palm whistling through the air as it instinctively swung toward Mu Xi’s bloodless cheek.
Mu Xi didn’t close her eyes. Instead, she lifted her chin slightly, offering the other half of her intact cheek to meet Ye Lan’s impending slap.
Her gaze remained icy cold, even carrying a hint of grim satisfaction.
Hit me.
Go ahead.
Let me see your anger, let me feel your loss of control.
Ye Lan’s hand stopped abruptly just a few centimeters from Mu Xi’s cheek.
She stared into Mu Xi’s eyes—eyes utterly devoid of fear, even faintly anticipating the pain—and her heart felt as if it were being violently squeezed by something, both constricted and aching.