Ye Lan left.
The metal door closed heavily, letting out a soft click, like a lock, completely isolating this small space from the outside world.
Silence surged in immediately, swallowing the last trace of another person’s presence left in the room.
Mu Xi curled up on the wide, soft bed, wrapped tightly in the blanket, but she couldn’t dispel the chill seeping from her bones, nor the contradictory scorching heat burning in her blood.
The effects of the research institute’s drugs, just as Ye Lan had said, stubbornly lingered in her body, continuously releasing their influence.
The cramping pain in her stomach came and went, like an invisible hand twisting her insides.
She closed her eyes, her long silver eyelashes casting trembling shadows on her pale cheeks.
The forced washing in the bathroom replayed uncontrollably in her mind.
Ye Lan’s fingers, with undeniable force, slid across her skin, brushing over the crisscrossing new and old scars.
That action could be called gentle, even tender, but to Mu Xi, it felt more humiliating and chilling than the roughest treatment.
Gentle?
Ye Lan’s gentleness had always been sugarcoated poison.
She remembered those days of being imprisoned and trained. Ye Lan had shown such gentleness before, giving her a trace of false warmth when she was bruised and on the verge of mental collapse, only to mercilessly push her into deeper despair.
This kind of gentleness was essentially no different from cold coercion. To Ye Lan, she was just a puppet without a will of her own.
Mu Xi bit her lower lip hard until she tasted a hint of blood. Pain was meant to destroy her, control her, turn her into a doll completely belonging to Ye Lan. Every move, every look from Ye Lan carried a clear purpose. She couldn’t be fooled by this false facade.
She wanted to tame her again, using this invasive care to make her accustomed, to make her dependent, to make her fall again without realizing it.
Stockholm Syndrome.
‘That’s what Ye Lan thinks. Ridiculous.’
She, Mu Xi, was the princess of Wu City.
Her parents had died under Ye Lan’s knife, a blood debt etched in her bones.
Her current endurance was for Li Xin and Little An, to gather strength, to reclaim everything that belonged to her, to make Ye Lan pay blood for blood.
She repeated the vow of revenge in her heart over and over, burning her nerves with the flame of hatred, fighting against the discomfort from the drugs and the shadow Ye Lan left behind.
“I must endure… this is part of the plan…” she whispered to herself, her voice so faint it was almost inaudible.
Her body was still weak.
She tried to move her fingers, but they were still somewhat powerless.
Under the bandages around her arms and thighs, the wounds from the glass shards throbbed dully.
Ye Lan had handled the wounds skillfully, but the memory of that touch made her uncomfortable.
Time flowed slowly in the silence.
The sky outside had long since fallen into complete darkness. Inside the Silent Language Building, only the emergency light gave off a faint glow, outlining the room’s simple, hard-edged contours. Everything here was cold and solid, like an exquisite cage.
For the entire day, Mu Xi had barely had the strength to get up.
The escort team brought food and water on time, setting them on the small table by the door without entering to disturb her.
She forced herself to take a few bites, but her stomach immediately protested. In the end, she could only drink a few sips of water, then lie back down, curling into a ball.
The irritability caused by the drugs hadn’t completely faded; instead, it became more tormenting after lying still for so long.
She felt like her body was a vessel that didn’t belong to her, occupied and transformed by an unfamiliar force. She struggled through psychological construction in her mind.
The indescribable, constantly accumulating strange sensation inside her body grew clearer.
At first, it was just a vague fullness, but gradually, it became real and sharp.
Late at night, in the dead silence.
Mu Xi tossed and turned in bed, the blanket rubbing against her skin, bringing a slight itch, but unable to relieve the increasingly intense, shameful swelling deep inside her body.
She turned over, facing the wall, trying to ignore the feeling.
‘Just because I’m producing milk doesn’t mean I’m not a man…’
This absurd thought suddenly intruded into her mind.
She had always told herself that no matter how her body was treated, as long as her soul and will identified herself as “Mu Xi,” as the man she once was, that was enough.
But now, that belief began to waver.
The physical changes were so real, so invasive.
That feeling of fullness, of heaviness, was not just physical discomfort; it was more like a stripping away of identity.
Was she really a man?
Once this thought surfaced, it grew like vines.
Fragments of past memories emerged.
Those days wearing dresses, those moments when drugs distorted her body’s instincts, that increasingly unfamiliar reflection in the mirror.
Could it be… could it be that during the repeated torture by Ye Lan, her subconscious, even her body, had begun to… accept this forced “female” identity?
No! Impossible!
Mu Xi’s eyes snapped open, her pupils contracting in the darkness. No! Impossible!
She was a man! She was the heir of Wu City! She was alive for revenge!
Cold sweat seeped from her forehead, wetting her silver hair. She gripped the bedsheet tightly beneath her.
But the urgent, swelling pain inside her body grew stronger, impossible to ignore.
It was as if… as if something was actually building up inside her, urgently seeking an exit.
She hadn’t expected the drug’s effect to be so fast, so… strange.
No wonder she had felt so terrible all day. It wasn’t just weakness and pain, but also this unspeakable, panic-inducing, and confusing physical reaction.
What was Ye Lan’s true purpose?
Was it just to use her against Nan Qiao?
Or did she want to completely destroy her will this way, making her submit from body to soul?
In the deep night of the Silent Language Building, only her ragged breathing and heartbeat could be heard.
Mu Xi curled up, burying her face in the soft pillow, trying to block out the shameful physical sensations.
Under her fair, delicate skin, that indescribable fullness felt like a silent declaration, proclaiming that Ye Lan’s control had penetrated to the marrow, even beginning to change her body’s instincts.
She felt a wave of overwhelming despair and anger.
No.
She couldn’t give up.
A faint glimmer of light seeped through the curtain gap, reflecting on her clenched fist.
She still had the gun.
The gun hidden under the mattress. That was her last trump card, a symbol of her will to resist.
As long as the gun was still there, as long as the thought of revenge still burned, she hadn’t lost.
Mu Xi slowly released the bedsheet she had been clutching, her fingertips ice cold. She carefully adjusted her position, trying to reduce that embarrassing pressure.
Her consciousness remained absolutely alert in the darkness, hatred burning quietly like cold fire in her heart.
She could feel that on the third floor, in the surveillance room, Ye Lan’s escort team was taking turns watching, cold electronic eyes monitoring every move here.
But they couldn’t see the killing intent in her heart.
Mu Xi closed her eyes, no longer thinking about the confusing identity issue, no longer feeling that humiliating physical change.
She focused all her consciousness, repeatedly simulating every detail of the plan in her mind.
She would survive.
She would grow stronger.
She would find an opportunity to aim that gun at Ye Lan’s heart.
The strange physical sensation still existed, even clearer, but Mu Xi’s gaze gradually became firm.
She shifted her body slightly, her fingers quietly exploring the edge of the mattress, touching the cold, hard outline.
A faint, barely perceptible sense of reassurance quietly rose.
The gun was still there.
Hope was still there.
Her fingertips touched the metal, carrying a trace of coldness. Mu Xi withdrew her hand and hid it back under the blanket.