Chapter 15: No one touches what's mine

The next morning, Ziyu slammed the sliding doors wide open.

“Up. Now.”

From the mound of blankets on the bed came a groggy voice. “Five more breaths. I swear, if the world ends in six, it won’t be my problem.”

Ziyu strode over, grabbed the edge of her blanket, and yanked. “Attendants don’t sleep past sunrise.”

Zixuan yelped and clutched at the covers like her life depended on it. “Thief! Robber! You’re stealing my warmth!”

“You’re supposed to be serving His Majesty. Not hibernating.”

She poked her head out, hair sticking in every possible direction. “Serving him what? My yawns? Because that’s all I have right now.”

Ziyu sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ll regret being this lazy when His Majesty freezes you into a statue.”

“Statue?” She sat up, squinting. “I’d look good as a statue. Elegant pose, maybe holding a teacup. You’d miss me.”

Ziyu didn’t dignify that with an answer. “Get dressed. Ten breaths, or I drag you by your ankles.”

That got her scrambling. She hopped around the room, wrestling with her robe, nearly tripping as she shoved her boots on. By the time they reached the hall, she was half-wrapped, sash crooked, hair wild.

Aoshen sat already at the low table, scroll in hand, every line of his posture calm and precise. He didn’t look up when she stumbled in with the tea tray.

Zixuan puffed her chest. I can do this. No spills. She poured slowly, tongue peeking out between her lips. A drop trembled at the rim, but she caught it. Miraculously, the tea filled the cup.

Aoshen finally glanced at her. Just a single, cold look.

“…Hn.”

Zixuan blinked. “Was that… good? Or was that the sound of someone dying in your mind?”

Ziyu muttered, “Take it as approval.”

---

Later, her curiosity got the better of her. Wandering, she heard voices behind a door slightly ajar. Aoshen’s voice carried, low and sharp.

“…The Heavenly Realm. They think themselves eternal, gilded in gold and arrogance. But eternity is brittle. Ice cracks stone. Water wears mountains down.”

Zixuan’s eyes widened. He hates them. Not dislike… hate.

A voice whispered behind her ear. “Enjoying yourself?”

She nearly screamed. Aoshen stood directly behind her, silent as death.

“I—no! I wasn’t—I was just—uh—admiring this hallway. Very… straight.”

He stepped forward until her back met the wall. His hand brushed her chin, tilting her face up. His eyes were glacial.

“Reckless. Foolish. Stupid little thing,” he murmured.

Her heart thundered, but she forced a shaky grin. “Stupid? Maybe. But curious people live longer, don’t they? Uh—don’t they?”

“No.” His breath was cold against her cheek. “Curiosity kills faster than frost.”

"Why are you trembling, Zixuan? Scared?"

She blurted, “S-scared? Me? Never. Of you? Please. You’re just… tall. And cold. Like a very grumpy icicle.”

Aoshen’s lips curved faintly, almost amused. “Your tongue saves you. But it will betray you soon.”

He stepped back, his presence vanishing like a storm cloud. Zixuan sagged against the wall, muttering, “Great. Now even walls are warmer than him.”

---

The Northern officials knelt before Aoshen in the great hall, their fur-lined sleeves sweeping the icy floor. The air smelled faintly of frost and incense.

Zixuan shuffled forward with a tray of wine, trying not to stumble. Her muttering slipped out without thinking.

“Old goats in fur coats…”

One official’s head snapped up. His sharp eyes narrowed. “What did you say, girl?”

Her smile was quick, nervous. “Oh—nothing! Just praising your—uh—fine coats. Very warm. Very… goat-y.”

The man’s face darkened. In a flash his hand shot out. SMACK!

The sound echoed, sharp as thunder against the stone walls.

Zixuan gasped, hand flying to her cheek. “You—you hit me?!”

For a moment, no one breathed.

The temperature dropped at once. Frost snaked across the marble, coating the legs of the officials’ chairs, crawling up the walls.

Aoshen finally moved. He didn’t raise his voice, but the weight of it filled the entire hall.

“…Who dares.”

The official who had struck her paled. He dropped to his knees, bowing so low his forehead nearly cracked the ice.

“Your Majesty! Forgive me! She—she insulted us, I only sought to correct—please, spare me!”

His voice shook, cracking with fear.

But Aoshen only lifted his hand slightly. The man froze mid-word, ice racing over his body, locking his mouth open on the last syllable.

Zixuan’s breath hitched. She could still hear his muffled scream behind the ice, his eyes wide, rolling desperately toward her, pleading.

He begged with his gaze, as if she might be able to save him.

She couldn’t move.

Aoshen’s voice cut through the hall, calm as falling snow.

“No one lays a hand on her.”

The ice groaned, fractures spreading like spiderwebs.

“Please—!” The man’s muffled plea barely escaped before the frost swallowed him whole.

Then—CRACK.

The body shattered. Ice shards and crimson flecks rained across the floor.

Gasps erupted, but were quickly strangled as every official dropped flat to the ground in terror. The only sound left was the dripping of water as frost melted from the ceiling.

Zixuan staggered back a step, hand still pressed to her cheek. Her stomach churned. The man’s eyes—his begging eyes—were burned into her mind.

Aoshen lowered his hand, expression unreadable. His words were soft but cut like a blade.

“No one touches what is mine.”

Zixuan’s hand still pressed to her cheek, trembling slightly. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of melting frost.

---

That night, she tossed in bed, staring at the canopy above.

Her cheek still burned faintly where the man had struck her. But it wasn’t the sting that kept her awake—it was his face. His wide, terrified eyes staring at her, begging, right before the ice shattered.

“No one touches what is mine.”

She turned over, pulling the blankets tight around herself. “I’m not sure if I should feel flattered… or write my will.”

The chill of Aoshen’s words lingered long after sleep refused to come.

◇◇◇

The chamber smelled faintly of ink and cold iron. Aoshen sat behind his desk, brush in hand, scratching another line across the scroll without even looking up. The silence was so sharp that when Ziyu stepped in, the sound of his boots on the icy floor echoed too loud.

He bowed low. “Your Majesty.”

“Report,” Aoshen said, not lifting his gaze from the page.

Ziyu’s hands tightened behind his back. “A summons from the Underworld. One hundred and twelve rogues gathered at the Hollow River Maw. Their overseers request Your Majesty’s judgment.”

The brush paused mid-stroke. Aoshen finally looked up, cool eyes flicking over him like frost sliding down a blade. “Preparations?”

“Portals can be opened within the hour,” Ziyu said carefully. “I will accompany—”

“No.” Aoshen set the brush down with quiet finality. “I’ll take the stupid child.”

Ziyu blinked. “…Miss Zixuan?”

“Mn.”

A silence thick enough to choke on. Ziyu weighed about fifteen polite responses before risking, “May I… inquire why?”

Aoshen’s answer was immediate, flat. “Because she’s stupid.”

Ziyu stared at him, lips parting before he snapped them shut. He bowed his head, muttering, “Understood.”

“Good. Open the northern gate. Have a cloak ready,” Aoshen said, already rising. “She’ll forget.”

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Ziyu clenched his jaw. “…At once.”

---

Zixuan was buried under three layers of blankets like a dumpling, hair sticking out in every direction, just about ready to melt into dreamland.

Her door slammed open.

She shot upright with a shriek so loud the windows rattled. “WHAT—” She grabbed at her blankets. “Have you people never heard of knocking?!”

Aoshen walked in without pause, the cold practically following him inside.

“What if I was undressing?!” she demanded, clutching her robe tighter around her shoulders.

“You look no different either way,” Aoshen said.

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?!”

He didn’t so much as glance at her expression. “Get dressed. Fix your hair. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” she repeated, blinking. “Where? The kitchen? Tea table? To admire your own reflection?”

“The Underworld,” he said simply.

She froze, mid-flail, hair a tangled halo around her head. “…The—the Underworld? Like, the actual Underworld Underworld?”

He gave her a flat look. “Do you know a second one?”

She scrambled off the bed, almost tripping over the blanket. “Okay, wait—hold on. That sounds, um, really illegal? Why me? Isn’t this a Ziyu job? He’s qualified. He’s scary competent. I’m more… decorative. Charming. Loud.”

“You’re loud,” Aoshen agreed. “It will keep you alive.”

“That—no! That’s not how life expectancy works!” she said, yanking her robe closed.

“Clothes,” he repeated. “And hair. The dead will mistake you for one of them.”

Her mouth fell open. “Wow. Rude. Also vague. Am I ugly-dead or pretty-dead?”

He ignored that.

She grabbed a sash, fumbling to tie it, muttering under her breath, “Fantastic. Love this. Field trip with a snow demon. What could go wrong?”

Her hair refused to cooperate, flopping out of her half-hearted bun as soon as she stuck a pin in. “Stay. UP!” she hissed, stabbing at it again. The pin clattered to the floor. She groaned. “I give up. My hair has a personal vendetta against me.”

Aoshen flicked his fingers. Frost swirled through the air, delicate as spun glass, lifting her hair strand by strand. It smoothed, twisted, and bound itself into a perfect, clean knot that gleamed faintly like it had caught the moonlight.

She blinked, hands hovering. “…Oh.” Tentatively, she touched the back of her head. Nothing fell apart. It held.

For once, her face softened into something like real gratitude. “It’s… nice.” She tilted her head up at him and smiled despite herself. “多谢.” (Duōxiè — thanks.)

His gaze didn’t move. “Don’t thank me. You were unpleasant to look at.”

Her jaw dropped again. “You—” She pointed at him, scandalized. “You have the personality of a locked door.”

“Shoes,” he said, turning for the door.

“I have feet, thanks.” She shoved her boots on with exaggerated stomps. “But sure, Mr. Bossy. Field trip to the land of the dead. Do I need to bring snacks? Water? A ‘Hi, I’m not a criminal’ sign?”

“Pack your silence.”

She grinned sweetly. “Impossible. I was born with a mouth.”

---

The hall outside was dim, lit only by a frost lantern in Ziyu’s hands. A heavy cloak rested neatly folded over his arm.

When they emerged, Ziyu looked… resigned. He bowed deeply. “Your Majesty. Miss Zixuan.”

“Hi, Ziyu,” she said brightly, instantly clinging to the one sensible person here. “Quick question—on a scale of one to ‘I’m dead meat,’ how bad is the Underworld?”

Ziyu hesitated, clearly debating whether sugarcoating was worth it. Finally, with grave calm: “Keep your head down. Do not touch the water. Do not answer voices that call your name. Stay within three steps of His Majesty.”

Zixuan stared at him. “Cool. So it’s… a solid ‘I’m dead meat.’ Fantastic.”

Ziyu wordlessly held out the cloak.

She took it, swinging it over her shoulders with a flourish. “Well. If I freeze, I’m haunting both of you equally.”

“You won’t,” Aoshen said, striding past them.

“Confidence,” she muttered, tugging the cloak tighter. “Love that for us.”

They walked. The corridor stretched long and silent, frost crunching faintly underfoot. Ziyu’s lantern light threw their shadows tall across the wall.

As they reached the great northern gate, its runes began to glow—pale and shifting like starlight caught in water. The air in the center shimmered dark and liquid, humming low.

Ziyu extended the lantern to Aoshen. “Your Majesty.”

Aoshen didn’t take it. “Keep it. Guard the gate. If we are followed, close it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Ziyu’s gaze slid to Zixuan, quieter, more personal. “Stay behind him. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

She nodded seriously… then leaned in conspiratorially, whispering, “If I scream, that counts as me speaking to myself.”

“Zixuan,” Aoshen said without even turning, “if you scream, I’ll throw you in first.”

She snapped her mouth shut, then piped up anyway: “Kidding! Totally kidding. I don’t scream. I squeak. It’s different.”

Aoshen stopped at the threshold, pale light flickering across his face. “Ready?”

“No,” she said promptly. “But apparently my opinion doesn’t matter, so let’s go anyway.”

He turned his head just slightly, glancing at her. “Good.”

---

The portal deepened, its shimmer collapsing into liquid slate. Cold seeped out in waves, sharp and metallic, carrying the faint stench of iron and storms that never rained.

Zixuan tugged her cloak tighter, wrinkling her nose. “Yum. Smells like death and rust. Can’t wait.”

“So. One hundred and twelve rogues, huh?” she asked as they neared the threshold. “Why so many? Was there a two-for-one deal?”

Aoshen’s voice was flat, sharp as the cold air. “Because mercy makes nests.”

She blinked at him. “…Wow. You’re really bad at bedtime stories.”

“Step.”

He moved forward, tall frame swallowed in the shimmer.

Zixuan lingered half a second longer, fingers white-knuckling the cloak. “Last chance to turn back, Zixuan,” she muttered to herself. Then, louder: “If I die, Aoshen, I’m haunting you specifically. Ziyu gets off scot-free.”

“You have no chances,” Aoshen’s voice floated back, already distorted by the gate. “And haunting privileges are revoked.”

She scowled. “Control freak.”

And then she squeezed her eyes shut, took a breath, and stepped after him.

The gate folded closed behind her, sealing away the lantern light and Ziyu’s steady figure—leaving only the dark, the cold, and Aoshen ahead.

♡♡♡♡

The moment they stepped through the gate, the world changed.

The floor was stone, but not clean polished stone—old, cracked, stained in ways Zixuan didn’t want to think about. The walls stretched too high, like they were walking in a hollow ribcage, everything damp and echoing. The air stank—iron, mold, wet ash.

“This is horrible,” Zixuan muttered immediately, wrinkling her nose. “Like a public toilet but ten times worse. And scarier.”

Aoshen didn’t reply, his steps echoing steady and calm.

The passage ahead yawned wide, shaped like the inside of a tomb. Grotesque carvings ran across the walls—twisted faces screaming silently, their eyes hollow, their mouths stretched open like they were still mid-wail.

Zixuan stopped dead. “Nope. Not going in there. Absolutely not. I’ve seen enough horror plays to know where this is going.”

Aoshen kept walking. “Stay behind me.”

She bit her lip, shuffled forward a few steps… then suddenly lurched and grabbed the back of his robe with both fists. Not dainty. Not ladylike. She clung like a drowning person clinging to driftwood.

“Zixuan,” Aoshen said without turning.

“Shut up. Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re wrinkling the fabric.”

“Cry me a river,” she muttered, her face half-buried in his back.

He tried to flick his robe free, shaking her off. She didn’t budge. Instead, when another low moan rolled through the passage, she panicked and hugged him from behind, arms tight around his waist like a limpet.

Aoshen froze. He actually froze—body stiff, as if the idea someone would touch him willingly hadn’t even occurred. He looked down at her hands clamped to him like claws.

下去 (Xià qù) — “Get off.”

Zixuan (Clinging tighter)

才不要！(Cái bù yào!) — “Absolutely not!”

His eyes narrowed. He exhaled frost and let a thin layer of freezing air spread across her arms. She yelped, “Ahh! It’s cold!” but still didn’t let go.

“Cockroach,” he muttered.

“Mm-hm. Better a cockroach than demon food,” she said shamelessly, pressing closer. “You’re colder than everything else here, but at least you’re not them.”

He finally pried her off, peeling her away like stubborn glue. With a sharp flick of his fingers, ice shards spun into a glowing golden bracelet around her wrist, its runes faintly humming.

“What’s this?” she asked, wiggling it.

“A leash,” Aoshen said. “If you get lost because you’re stupid, I’ll drag you back.”

Her face lit up like he’d given her jewelry. “Aww, you do care.” She lifted her arms to hug him again—

But he flared a wall of ice right in front of her nose. She squeaked, jerking back, then laughed nervously. “Heh. Kidding! Totally kidding. Boundaries. Got it. Thanks for the leash, Boss.”

---

They kept moving deeper into the tomb. The air grew heavier, sounds swelling around them—whispers, screams, moans, sobbing that seemed to crawl along the walls.

Zixuan staggered, pressing a hand to her ear. The voices clawed at her, calling her name in tones that were almost hers, almost not.

Her legs trembled. “Aoshen…”

He spun and caught her wrists instantly, his grip like iron. “Pathetic,” he snapped. “Weak already?”

“It’s loud,” she whispered, voice thin. “It feels like—like they’re—”

“Enough.” His hand sparked with frost, a rush of sharp, cutting cold blasting through her veins. She gasped, flinching hard, the chill snapping her back to herself like a slap of winter wind.

Her eyes refocused. The whispers dulled.

“…Oh.” She blinked up at him, lips curling sheepishly. Then—suddenly—she hopped on her toes, shaking her hands out, bouncing like nothing had happened. “All good! Totally fine! Let’s keep moving.”

Aoshen stared at her, unimpressed. “Idiot.”

“Mm-hm,” she chirped, grinning.

“Don’t listen. Don’t answer. Don’t stop,” he said, each word sharp.

She saluted. “Yes, General Ice Cube.”

---

THE PUNISHING GROUND

The passage spat them into a wide cavern. Torches guttered along the walls, burning with sickly blue fire that didn’t give warmth, only light. The floor was lined with black chains sunk into the stone.

And chained there—one hundred and twelve rogues.

They were twisted creatures, some barely human-shaped anymore. Shadows dripped from their mouths like tar. Eyes glowed in the dark, too many, too hungry. They snarled, hissed, some begging in broken voices, some cursing.

Zixuan froze. “Oh.” She gulped. “So… like… orientation day in hell?”

“Stay silent,” Aoshen ordered.

He raised one hand. Frost rippled across the floor, spreading fast, climbing up the chains and pinning the first twenty rogues in place.

The cavern filled with howls, shrieks, desperate thrashing. Zixuan covered her ears but couldn’t look away.

Aoshen’s voice was low, flat, cutting through the noise: “Twenty deaths. No rebirth.”

The frost solidified. The creatures’ bodies stiffened, iced over from the inside. Eyes widened, begging, turning glassy as the ice cracked through their veins. One by one, their forms shattered—splintering like statues dropped from a height. Pieces scattered, fading into nothing but ash and shards of frost.

Zixuan whimpered under her breath.

The next rogues began thrashing harder, shrieking promises, threats, even pitiful cries for mercy. Aoshen ignored them.

He stepped forward, calm and terrifying. The next wave froze. Then exploded into dust. Then the next. Then the next.

Zixuan’s stomach churned, but Aoshen’s face never changed. For him, it wasn’t cruelty. It was routine.

By the time the twentieth had been shattered, the cavern floor glittered with shards. The others still chained wailed and writhed. Aoshen didn’t slow.

For Zixuan, it blurred. Ice, screams, silence. Ice, screams, silence. Over and over.

Her knees weakened, but she forced herself to keep standing, her golden bracelet glowing faintly like a reminder of his grip.

◇◇◇

Zixuan had gotten bored. Aoshen was still busy freezing rogues like he was doing laundry, not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, she stood at the side, fiddling with the golden bracelet he had slapped on her earlier.

She twisted it one way, then the other. “So shiny,” she murmured, tugging on it. “What if I—oops.”

The bracelet slid off.

She blinked. “Wait—no, no, no, come back—”

The moment it hit the ground, a spark of flame burst under her palm. Her hand jerked back. The bracelet smoked—then snapped in two, dissolving into embers.

“…Oh,” she whispered, staring at her hand. “Did I… burn it? Wait. Since when do I—”

The ground beneath her feet quaked.

Before she could scream, something yanked her backward. The cavern, Aoshen, the rogues—they blurred into shadows. A dark abyss swallowed her whole, and she tumbled down into choking blackness.

Crystal-like steam drifted around her, glowing faintly, floating like fireflies—but their light wasn’t comforting.

Zixuan blinked rapidly, her breath fogging in the strange, suffocating air. The abyss was endless—shadows swirling like liquid night, crystal-like steam floating in and out of sight.

A low chuckle slithered across her ears.

Voice: “So fragile. So easy.”

Her head whipped around, her hands clutching at her bracelet—but it was gone. “W-Who’s there?” she demanded, trying to sound brave.

The chuckle deepened.

Voice: “You don’t belong here… child. You shouldn’t even exist.”

Her throat went dry. “Tch… says who? Show yourself if you’re so bold!”

The abyss answered with whispers from every direction, crawling into her skull. Her pulse hammered. She staggered back, hands covering her ears, but the voice slipped straight into her mind.

Voice (hissing, sharper): “Worthless.”

Zixuan froze. Her stomach dropped, breath caught.

Voice: “Alone.”

Her heart squeezed painfully. “Shut up,” she muttered, voice cracking.

Voice: “They hate you.”

Zixuan’s nails dug into her scalp. “Stop it! That’s not true—”

Voice: “No one would save you.”

She flinched violently, the words sinking like knives. A ringing pain bloomed behind her eyes.

Voice: “Weak.”

Her knees buckled, the whispers crawling deeper. She screamed, a raw, desperate sound.

Voice: “You’re unloved.”

Her eyes clouded, pain blurring everything into black fog. She thrashed, clutching her head, before her gaze went still—pitch black, consumed by the abyss.

☆☆☆

Outside, Aoshen had been mid-swing, freezing another rogue into shards when his wrist twitched. He paused. His connection to the bracelet snapped.

His eyes narrowed. “Tch.”

He closed his palm, focusing. Nothing. No signal.

Then his jaw clenched. He inhaled sharply. Sweet—too sweet—like something warm had brushed through his chest. A scent. Hers.

His lips pressed into a line. “That stupid child.”

His eyes glowed ghostly white. Without another word, he vanished.

---

She dangled in mid-air, bound by black, snake-like mist. It wrapped around her arms, her waist, her ankles, suspending her like prey caught in a spider’s web. The crystal steam swirled closer, voices pressing into her head.

“You’re weak. You’re a fool. You’re only a burden. Even he despises you.”

Her body twitched, the shadows seeping into her skin.

---

He materialized in the abyss, frost spilling from under his boots. His gaze found her instantly, dangling like a broken doll in the black mist.

He shot upward, hand outstretched—

Only for his palm to smack into a barrier of flame. The heat bit his skin, making him hiss.

Aoshen froze, staring at his hand. He was frost. She had fire. The barrier rejected him.

“…Fine,” he muttered, turning. “She’s useless anyway. Let her rot.”

He took a step back. Paused. Looked over his shoulder at her trembling form, her black eyes staring blankly into nothing.

Aoshen sighed. Long, annoyed, through his nose. “Tch. Idiot child.”

He placed his hands on the barrier again. Flesh sizzled, smoke curling from his fingers. He didn’t let go. Inch by inch, frost spread over the fire until the barrier shivered.

Inside, Zixuan flinched as his hand finally broke through. He tapped her cheek.

Her head lolled. Pitch black eyes glared at nothing.

---

A voice slithered through the abyss.

“She can only be freed… if she hears truths that break my whispers.”

Aoshen’s head turned, sharp as a blade. “Show yourself.”

Laughter echoed. A shadow peeled off the abyss wall, tall and twisted, a form made of smoke and teeth. “You can’t save her. You’ve never known love. What words could you possibly speak? She’s mine now.”

Aoshen scoffed. “I don’t need words to deal with trash.”

He raised one hand. Frost speared upward, forming a sword of pure ice.

---

THE FIGHT

The rogue lunged from the shadows, claws gleaming black as they slashed for Aoshen’s throat.

Aoshen didn’t even blink. With a flick of two fingers, a sheet of frost surged up from the ground, the claws screeching against it. He turned his wrist, and the wall fractured into hundreds of jagged shards—exploding outward like a storm of knives.

The rogue howled as the frost tore through its smoky form, scattering it like broken glass.

But the shadow reformed instantly, swirling behind him, faster this time. It lunged again, a strike aimed for his spine.

Without turning, Aoshen shifted his grip. His sword dissolved into glittering frost dust, then reappeared in his other hand mid-motion. One upward slash—clean, elegant—severed the rogue’s arm.

The limb broke apart into smoke, writhing on the ground before slithering back into its body. The rogue hissed, reforming, but slower this time.

Aoshen’s expression didn’t change. His eyes were glacial, detached.

He stepped once, and the ground froze beneath his boots. Another finger flick—and chains of ice erupted from the floor, whipping around the rogue like living serpents. They tightened, biting into the shadows, forcing it to its knees.

The rogue thrashed, screeching, but Aoshen only raised his blade. With a swift thrust, he pierced through its chest—frost flooding the cracks of its form.

The rogue’s body shattered like fragile glass. Shards of ice and smoke scattered into the abyss—before vanishing completely.

The silence was sharp, cold. Aoshen lowered his sword, his tone flat as the echo of frost lingered:

“Run while you still can.”

And from the darkness, a faint, shuddering hiss answered—then faded, as the rogue’s presence slipped away into the abyss.

He turned back to Zixuan. Her eyes were still black, her body still bound by dark mist.

Aoshen narrowed his eyes. “He wasn’t serious about that, was he?”

The dark mist whispered: She must hear truth.

Aoshen sighed. “Ridiculous.”

Still, he leaned closer. “You’re… beautiful. Brilliant. Smart.” He cringed visibly.

“Disgusting. I can’t believe I just said that.”

Nothing.

A golden tablet flickered into existence in front of him, glowing words etching themselves:

“Only truth will break the seal.”

Aoshen scowled. “Truth? Hah.”

He leaned back, arms crossed. “Fine. Truth then.”

He began flatly:

“You look like a foolish rat. You behave like a cockroach. You trip over your own feet more than anyone I’ve met in six realms. You’re noisy. Annoying. You whine too much. You make my head ache.”

The mist trembled slightly.

“But…” His voice dipped lower. “You’re real. Honest. Everyone else fears me. Pretends to admire me. Pretends to love me. You’re the only one who dares show me you hate me. And I…” He exhaled sharply. “I hate you too. But… I like that you’re honest. At least you’re not a liar.”

He pulled back, scowling again. “If you don’t wake up, I’m leaving you here, stupid child.”

---

Her pitch black eyes slowly shifted, the black fading at the edges until a slight golden brown appeared.

She immediately fell, screaming at the top of her lungs like a banshee. “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH—”

Aoshen pinched the bridge of his nose. “…Why did I even save you?”

She flailed mid-air, screeching, “AOSHEN!!!”

With a mutter, he shot downward, scooping her into his arms just before she splattered. “Loud, stupid brat.”

Zixuan clung to him instantly, sobbing into his chest. “You actually saved me! You—you—”

“Stop talking,” he growled.

They landed. Aoshen frowned, holding her awkwardly as she bawled. He finally set her down like she was heavy cargo.

But she didn’t let go. She hugged him tighter, ignoring his frost flaring in protest.

“…Cockroach,” he muttered.

She only sniffled and buried her face deeper.

After a long pause, he awkwardly patted her back—like he was patting a dog.

“Sing me a song,” she murmured, voice muffled against his chest.

Aoshen froze. Then he scoffed. “Ridiculous.” He chopped her neck with one hand. She went limp instantly.

“Stop stressing me out, little fire,” he muttered, carrying her as frost swirled around them.

He stepped back through the portal, his frown deep but his grip on her steady.