Chapter 86#

In the Prison#

Yin Yuheng had already formed some guesses about the shifting will of Heaven, and smiled faintly, lowering his eyes.

Within his sea of consciousness, Xiaobai had keenly sensed the change in the plot and was surprised. “Huh, what happened… is it Zhu Anning?”

“Should be him.” Yin Yuheng’s smile remained.

“Heng-ge.” Xiaobai withdrew its attention, sensing that Yin Yuheng’s smile carried many complex emotions layered within it.

Was it wistfulness? Relief? Mockery? Forgiveness? In the end, there even seemed to be a trace of contentment.

Yin Yuheng raised an eyebrow lightly. “Mm?”

Xiaobai: “I didn’t quite expect this.”

In truth, Xiaobai didn’t have much fondness for Zhu Anning. Having walked alongside Yin Yuheng through all these years, Xiaobai had witnessed his struggles and his unwillingness, and understood his pain and perseverance. Xiaobai admitted it was biased — it couldn’t help thinking that Yin Yuheng had never done anything wrong, so why did he have to suffer through all of this?

As for Zhu Anning — he had been a blade, wielded by the will of Heaven’s plot, plunged straight into Yin Yuheng. Xiaobai had always felt that, of the combined harm done to Yin Yuheng by Li Guanghan and Zhu Anning, perhaps it was Zhu Anning who had wounded him more deeply.

If Yin Yuheng had long steeled his heart against Li Guanghan and never harbored any hope, then toward Zhu Anning, Yin Yuheng had once truly and wholeheartedly cared. Xiaobai still remembered that day on the Star-Picking Platform, when Yin Yuheng learned that the person he had protected was in fact one of the fated architects of his own destruction — and that complicated look in Yin Yuheng’s eyes.

Later, when Yin Yuheng came to treasure Lu Yan, Xiaobai understood what he felt. Even if Yin Yuheng had always been strong enough, perhaps it wasn’t until Lu Yan appeared — like a lamp suddenly lit in a dark room — that he became certain his perseverance had not been without meaning.

From the lingering illness that had plagued him since youth, to the inescapable entanglement of love and hate — Yin Yuheng had grown weary in the midst of it all. The so-called plot and the will of Heaven were like a great net, a cage. Those trapped within were not only Yin Yuheng. Zhu Anning, and the others too — every one of them was a moth struggling in a spider’s web, a sick bird locked in a cage. No freedom. No release.

Now, the original plot had already become unrecognizable. If Zhu Anning truly made a choice this time that was completely different from his destined fate—

Xiaobai said quietly, “Heng-ge, you’re glad, aren’t you?”

“Mm,” Yin Yuheng didn’t deny it. He curved his lips candidly. “Heaven’s will is shifting — that’s good for me. And besides, he’s a child I personally saved. When all is said and done…”

Yin Yuheng lowered his eyes softly and let out a helpless sigh.

When all was said and done, this child Zhu Anning was still… a little different.

“Actually, thinking back on it, I suppose it was partly my fault. After I saved him, I left in a hurry. I didn’t teach him nearly enough — not enough to help him learn how to face his fate.” Yin Yuheng said calmly. “He never grew up in a proper world. There was too much he didn’t know and didn’t understand. Later, still so young, still confused, memories faded, deceived by others, toyed with by fate… He was just Heaven’s pawn as well.”

Among those who had hurt him — Li Guanghan, Shen Liyuan, and the rest — perhaps the only one who had ever felt true dread, confusion, remorse, and understanding was this youngest of them all.

The bitter sea is hard to cross. One must turn back in the end.

And Yin Yuheng had, after all, left behind a vessel to carry him across.

“That he could break through the demons of his heart — that’s a good thing,” Yin Yuheng said to Xiaobai within his sea of consciousness.

The plot continued to diverge further from the track Heaven had laid down. Even a pawn like Zhu Anning had found the true conviction of his own heart.

Fate was tilting further toward Yin Yuheng’s hand.

But at this moment, Xiaobai was thinking of something else entirely. “…Heng-ge, my instinct really wasn’t wrong — you really are different from before.”

It could feel that the Yin Yuheng of today had lost a certain sharpness — that sharpness had turned inward, leaving him more serene and tranquil.

Was it because Heng-ge’s cultivation had advanced, because real power was now in his hands and he finally had something to stand on — or was it because being in a relationship just changed a person?

Xiaobai glanced at the quietly smiling Yin Yuheng, then at Lu Yan beside him, who was staring at Yin Yuheng with focused attention. It thought: it has to be the relationship, right…

Heng-ge wasn’t speaking, just examining the Kunlun Mirror shard in his hands, and Lu Yan was watching him. Heng-ge was clearly a little lost in thought, but Lu Yan didn’t interrupt… Xiaobai had a vague feeling that it was somehow very much in the way here. No, wait — I’m the one who’s been with Heng-ge the longest! Just as Xiaobai was lost in its own private musings, it suddenly felt Lu Yan glance in its direction.

Just one glance — and Xiaobai seemed to feel a searing heat, like the fire of the golden crow of the sun scorching through it.

That sensation gave Xiaobai a small fright, and it instinctively shrank back inside Yin Yuheng’s sea of consciousness and shivered.

He can see me?

While Xiaobai was still startled and uncertain, Yin Yuheng turned to Lu Yan and said, “Come to think of it — what happened to the previous owner of the Kunlun Mirror shard? I nearly forgot all about Shen Liyuan. I haven’t thought of him in a long time.”

……

Deep in the dungeons of Zhaoge, a wretched figure lay prostrate on the ground. Chains bound its body, driven through the flesh and bone of its shoulders, cruelly piercing out the other side, the ends hammered fast into the wall.

The chains were cast from dark iron cold-stone, of considerable weight — a blade could not cut through them. This was treatment reserved for only the most heinous criminals. The slightest movement would yank the chains and tear at the wound, the pain unbearable.

The dungeon saw no daylight. Time meant nothing here. Shen Liyuan had long since lost count of how many days and nights he had spent in this place.

There in the dungeon, the figure bound in chains could barely be recognized as the elegant scion of a great clan he had once been. Having been locked away in this lightless pit for so long, his complexion had turned a ghastly white, his appearance broken and haggard. Both legs lay at an unnatural angle, useless — he had always been crippled, but now they looked like two strange pieces of dead flesh.

This thing that still barely held a human shape would occasionally move — reaching out a hand, using its fingernails to scrape at the ground, carving a name over and over again, deepening the grooves.

Yin Yuheng.

After an unknowable stretch of time in that darkness, a long creak finally broke the silence — someone was coming.

The figure lifted its head and looked toward the door of the cell.

A prison guard.

The guard walked to the front of his cell, looked him up and down with cold indifference, and said, “Young Master Shen. I’ve come to bring you a spirit candle.”

A spirit candle?

The chained Shen Liyuan was briefly confused.

“This spirit candle contains fire essence — it will ward off the cold and keep you comfortable for two hours.” The guard lit the candle and placed it in a corner of the cell. “The sovereign has ascended the throne. All under Heaven celebrates. The sovereign is benevolent and has given special permission to show some consideration to the prisoners — regrettably, those convicted of grave crimes fall outside the scope of the general amnesty. This is all we can offer you.”

He had been locked away so long that Shen Liyuan’s mind had grown sluggish.

At last it registered, and he began to tremble uncontrollably. The chains draped over his body clattered and rang.

“He…”

He opened his mouth, only to find his voice had grown this hoarse.

Shen Liyuan worked his lips, and finally, through the taste of blood filling his mouth, he spoke those words: “You said — the sovereign? Is that… Yuheng?”

The guard’s brows snapped together in fury. “How dare you address the sovereign by his given name!”

Shen Liyuan’s eyes went wide. His lips trembled. After a long moment, a smile slowly spread across his face.

Tears, mixed with blood, ran down his cheeks — at a glance, he looked like some vengeful ghost.

But he was glad.

Yuheng had woken up. His Yuheng — thank heaven, he was alright, he hadn’t been killed by him.

Unable to stop himself, Shen Liyuan braced his hands against the ground and tried to crawl forward, but the movement yanked his shoulder, and the pain drenched him in a cold sweat.

“Yuheng is awake — when did he wake up, how long has it been?” he asked, his voice full of longing. “Will he come… will he come to see me?”

Yuheng would come to see him, wouldn’t he?

Even out of hatred, he would come, wouldn’t he? Even just to see Shen Liyuan in this wretched state — to vent a little of his anger — that would be fine.

He missed him so desperately. Even just one glimpse.