Chapter 100 — Lingering Light

  Darkness surged in like a tide.

  The skittering hiss crept along the inside of his skull, sharp and relentless.

  Crimson eyes flared one after another in the shadows—countless, cold, and hungry.

  The Rat King burst forward, fangs bared—

  YiChen brought his blade down.

  Putrid fluid exploded across his body, sticky and foul, clinging like a curse that would never wash away. His breath hitched. His fingers dug hard into his palm—

  “YiChen…”

  A gentle voice rose from the dark.

  In the next instant, rose-gold Spiritflame bloomed like dawn. It wrapped around him completely, devouring every trace of filth, leaving nothing behind.

  He jerked awake.

  His pupils contracted sharply in the dim light. For several seconds, he couldn’t tell dream from reality—

  until he heard it.

  Breathing.

  Steady. Close.

  YiChen turned his head slowly.

  Elena lay beside him, completely unguarded.

  She wore light gray loungewear, curled against his right side, the tip of her nose nearly brushing his cheek. Messy strands of hair spilled across the pillow, a few tangled into his collar. One hand rested loosely on his shoulder; her warmth seeped through the fabric, her body pressed against his arm like a small animal seeking shelter.

  Morning light filtered through the gauze curtains, dusting her lashes with faint gold. Tear tracks still marked her pale skin—

  as if she had cried herself empty, then fallen asleep only after exhaustion claimed her.

  He didn’t dare move.

  Afraid the slightest shift would shatter this fragile tenderness.

  Afraid it was only a dream.

  Afraid she had stayed not because she wanted to—but because she felt she had to.

  Ripples stirred within the Consciousness Sea.

  Inside the Star-Dome Temple, Shadowfang opened his eyes, dragon horns faintly aglow.

  “…You stink.”

  Then, without warning—

  “Did you soak in a corpse pit for three days straight?! Go take a shower!!”

  Shixi added weakly,

  “We… do smell pretty bad… but she stayed the whole time. She purified your Spirit Meridians. She even cleaned the grime from between your fingers…”

  A dull, blade-thin pain slid straight into YiChen’s chest.

  …Why put yourself through this?

  He rose with extreme care, each movement cautious, as though stepping through glass. His hand closed around the doorknob—

  Shh.

  The bedsheets rustled softly.

  He turned.

  Elena was sitting up amid the rumpled bedding, eyes red as she looked straight at him. Tear traces still clung to her lashes.

  His gaze dropped away. His throat was so dry he could barely speak.

  “…I’m sorry.”

  The words left him—and his strength seemed to go with them. He leaned heavily against the wall.

  Elena stepped down from the bed, barefoot, crossing the floor toward him. His voice shook as he forced the words out:

  “I shouldn’t have let you stay.

  Shouldn’t have let you see me like this.

  I’m too… dirty.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  YiChen froze.

  Then, slowly, he lowered his head. His arms trembled as he returned the embrace. She buried her face against his chest, sobbing in broken gasps.

  “I kept waiting at home… I was so scared…”

  “Why put yourself through this…” he whispered.

  That broke her.

  Everything she had held back spilled out at once. She cried until her strength gave out, until her body sagged against his. YiChen held her tighter and tighter, until her sobs finally softened.

  Only then did he lift her gently and carry her to the bed in the adjoining room.

  “Rest for a while,” he said quietly, tucking the blanket around her.

  “I’ll go shower. I’m too dirty.”

  Her fingers caught the edge of his clothes.

  Her eyes were red. Her voice was small.

  “Then… when you’re done…

  could you come lie down with me for a bit?”

  She swallowed.

  “I won’t touch you. I promise.”

  Something in his chest caved inward.

  After a long, breathless silence, he finally answered, hoarse—

  “…Alright.”

  ————

  Elena waited until YiChen had left, then slipped quietly into the bathroom herself for a quick rinse.

  A faint trace of that foul, corrupted scent still clung to her skin.

  She didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable when he came back.

  She changed into clean white sleepwear, climbed onto the bed, and propped two fluffy pillows behind her—half-sitting, half-leaning as she waited.

  —But he was taking far too long.

  Her eyelids grew heavier with every passing minute, as though filled with lead. They drooped shut; she forced them open again. Two nights without sleep had finally caught up to her, exhaustion rolling in like a tide she could no longer hold back.

  Just close my eyes for a moment… she thought dimly.

  In the haze of half-consciousness, she dreamed the door opened. Startled, she snapped her eyes open—

  …Just a dream.

  This happened again. And again.

  At last, darkness wrapped her gently and pulled her under. Her body slumped sideways against the pillows, and she sank into deep, unguarded sleep.

  ———

  YiChen stayed in the bathroom for a very, very long time.

  Hot water poured over his skin as he scrubbed, harsh enough it felt as though he might strip himself raw. Inside the Consciousness Sea, Shixi urged him on with strange enthusiasm:

  “Scrub harder! Even if you actually rub off a layer of skin, I can patch it back up! Go on—don’t hold back!”

  Shadowfang’s dragon eyes swept over his Spirit Meridians like cold searchlights.

  “Every trace must be purged. Leave even a shred behind, and this sovereign will bite your meridians clean through.”

  Under their merciless scrutiny, he wasn’t finally allowed to leave the bathroom until a full hour had passed.

  He changed into dry cotton loungewear and moved quietly toward Elena’s room. The door was left ajar—one gentle push was enough to open it.

  She was already asleep, leaning against the pillows.

  The other side of the bed was empty.

  Clearly left for him.

  She hadn’t even lain down properly—she had just sat there waiting, until her body finally gave out.

  YiChen turned instinctively to leave.

  Then her red-rimmed eyes flashed through his mind.

  Her voice followed, soft and hesitant—

  Could you come lie down with me for a bit?

  His chest tightened painfully. His feet felt rooted to the floor.

  After a long moment, he released a quiet breath and stepped back into the room.

  She slept restlessly, her brow faintly furrowed, small hands clutching the edge of the blanket. YiChen reached out to support the back of her head, removed the extra pillows, and gently laid her flat. Only then did he sit down beside the bed—so carefully that he didn’t touch her at all.

  Sensing warmth, she turned unconsciously. Her forehead came to rest against his leg, her body curling inward like a flower closing after a storm.

  YiChen froze, hardly daring to breathe.

  His fingers brushed lightly through her hair—so softly it was as though he were touching a dream. It carried a faint floral scent, clean and fragile.

  —She was truly exhausted.

  And suddenly, he understood.

  Her tears had come from holding on for far too long.

  Her embrace had taken every ounce of courage she had left.

  And this deep, unguarded sleep—

  was her finally laying down the weight of waiting.

  A dull ache spread through his chest—part remorse, part heartache, part something almost reverent. He bent forward, resting his forehead against the crown of her head, and whispered:

  “I’m sorry…

  for leaving you to hold on alone, for so long.”

  —————

  Time slipped by quietly.

  Sunlight slanted through the window lattice, gradually spreading across the floor. It grew too bright, so YiChen reached for the remote and drew the curtains closed.

  At one point, the butler entered on feather-light steps, asking in a voice no louder than a breath whether a meal should be prepared. YiChen merely shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving the person beside him.

  She was sleeping deeply, her breathing light and even. He watched her peaceful sleeping face in silence, fingertips brushing—so lightly—through her loosened hair.

  Outside the window, the daylight drifted westward without a sound.

  Drowsy awareness rose like a thin veil of mist.

  When Elena opened her eyes, a gentle wash of orange-pink dusk was already filtering in from beyond the thick silver-gray velvet curtains.

  The breathing beside her was light and steady; the bedding dipped slightly, and there was that familiar presence.

  She froze, then turned her head—

  He was right there.

  Leaning against the headboard, arms folded, chin slightly lowered, crow-feather lashes casting faint shadows beneath his eyes. Clean and refreshed—utterly unlike the blood-soaked image etched into her memory.

  He’s by my side…

  He didn’t leave.

  The faint glow of dusk washed over him in soft color, gentling even the sharp lines of his brows and eyes.

  For a moment, Elena didn’t dare breathe—afraid that this, too, might dissolve like a dream.

  Just then, his lashes trembled.

  Slowly, he opened his eyes.

  Their gazes met.

  The air seemed to still.

  He looked at her, and his voice—low, unguarded—broke the silence.

  “…You’re awake?”

  Her nose stung. She swallowed hard, forcing the ache down, and answered quietly,

  “Mm.”

  Beneath the blanket, her fingers curled tight, as if anchoring herself to the moment.

  After a brief hesitation, she asked in a voice barely above breath,

  “You… stayed here the whole time?”

  He nodded.

  No explanation.

  No justification.

  Her eyes burned hotter. She looked away for a second, pretending calm.

  “What time is it… now?”

  “Six.”

  Her lashes fluttered.

  “…Then you woke up a long time ago, didn’t you?”

  Silence spread between them—thin, delicate, almost trembling.

  At last, he lowered his gaze to her and spoke quietly,

  “I didn’t want to leave.”

  A pause.

  “When you were asleep, I just… wanted to stay.”

  Something struck her chest—hard and deep. She wanted to cry, but didn’t dare. Wanted to move closer, yet feared that any motion might shatter what was holding.

  Then—

  He reached out.

  So lightly it barely counted as movement, his fingers closing around hers.

  Warm. Steady.

  His voice was soft as breath against glass.

  “Trust me once.”

  A pause, deliberate and unhurried.

  “This time,” he said quietly,

  “I’ll stay.”