Chapter Twenty-Five
The Red Flame Festival had ended, the evening banquet had dispersed, and the clamor gradually returned to silence.
On the second floor of the Moonlight and Flames shop, in Xue Yin’s room, the balcony door was half-closed, and the night wind made the window curtains flutter gently.
Xue Yin had not lit a lamp.
She stood alone by the railing, relying only on the moonlight filtering in from outside.
The Moonshadow Silk gown, which had made her feel both ashamed and ecstatic during the day, now flowed in the night like liquid moonlight.
The hem moved slightly with the wind, revealing a portion of her porcelain-white calves.
Her silver hair was loose, draped over her shoulders and back, with a few strands blown messy by the evening breeze, lightly brushing against her slightly flushed cheeks.
*Click.*
The door was pushed open gently and then quickly closed.
Jin walked in, and the moment his gaze touched her, his breath hitched.
Without any adornment, she looked cold and breathtaking under the moonlight, her beauty enough to make one stop breathing.
Jin was afraid of disturbing this illusory peace, yet this extreme, quiet beauty made his heart contract suddenly, beating violently.
Jin hesitated for a moment before finally taking something out from a hidden pocket close to his body—a bone comb.
This object was only the size of a palm, entirely creamy white, its edges worn smooth by years of use.
Fine ancient runes were carved between its teeth.
It was the only heirloom his mother had left him, and he never let it leave his side.
In his memory, his mother often said, ‘Child, remember.
In this life, you must give your all and leave no regrets.
Whether it is protecting someone you cherish or practicing the path in your heart, only by moving forward bravely can you be worthy of your soul.’
Later, the village was burned to scorched earth.
His mother touched his head one last time.
She didn’t speak, but she pressed this comb firmly into his palm.
This comb was his only remaining thought of “home,” and it was the token he used to confirm he was still alive during countless bloody nights.
“Master…” His voice was very light, as if he were afraid of shattering something, “your hair is messy.”
Xue Yin was startled.
She did not look back, her shoulders tensing slightly.
“There is no need.”
But the sound of footsteps had already reached her back.
Jin’s movements were extremely gentle as he slowly combed down from the roots of her hair.
The silver hair was like a waterfall, flowing through his fingers with a luster like moonlight.
The bone comb brushed through the strands, making a faint rustling sound, as if combing through a buried past.
He did not dare touch the tips of her ears, nor did he dare let his breathing become too heavy, as if she were a fragile glass statue—one touch, and she would shatter into fragments he could never put back together.
Once, twice, three times.
The originally messy silver hair gradually became smooth and obedient in his hands.
“You are always like this,” Xue Yin suddenly spoke, her voice somewhat hoarse, but she did not stop him again.
Jin’s hand paused, his knuckles tightening slightly before relaxing. “Because Master deserves to be treated well.”
She turned around abruptly, her star-cold eyes staring straight at him.
There was no reproach in her eyes, only a long-buried fatigue that seemed ready to drown a person.
“I have some things I must say to you tonight…”
She pulled the corner of her mouth in self-mockery, her voice carrying a hint of desolation.
“I am Xue Yin, or perhaps I am also Zhou Yao—an unlucky person who can’t even figure out who they are.”
Her figure was reflected in his dark red pupils, clear and steadfast.
“In my eyes, Master is Master; it has nothing to do with names, and nothing to do with the past.”
Xue Yin closed her eyes and suddenly laughed.
The laughter was light but tinged with a sob, like an undercurrent surging beneath a layer of ice.
“Do you know? Then let me tell you a story.A story I often mention but have never told anyone in detail—the story of Zhou Yao.”
She leaned against the railing, her gaze cast toward the empty night sky outside the window, as if piercing through the barriers of the Demon Realm to see another distant blue planet.
“In another world, he was a senior in high school. Every day, after finishing practice problems until the early morning, he had to wake up on time before dawn. His desk was piled with coffee cans and painkillers. Coffee—do you know it? That stuff as bitter as medicinal juice. It was clearly hard to swallow, yet he had to desperately gulp it down just to ensure he wouldn’t fall asleep in the dead of night. His father gambled away the family property, and his mother worked as a cleaner during the day and mended clothes late at night. Her ten fingers were covered in cracks just to support me so I could get into the Physics Department of A University.”
Xue Yin paused, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the pink Demon Rose mark on her lower abdomen—it had once been her only “miracle,” but it was also the bullseye of the hunt order.
“Back then, I felt that as long as I got into college, everything would get better. As long as I worked hard, I could change my fate. But now…”
She gave a bitter laugh, her eyes full of confusion.
“I am wearing a dress, being called ‘Master,’ with the blood of a high elf flowing in my body. Even my gender has become a blurred boundary. I don’t even know who that person in the mirror really is.”
Jin listened quietly, his chest feeling as if it were being gripped tightly by something, making it hard to breathe.
“For these three years, I have always been hiding,” Xue Yin’s voice gradually lowered, almost swallowed by the wind.
“I was lonely and miserable. Every night, I was on edge, afraid that I would wake up and be caught by strangers. But what I feared most was dreaming of my mother at night. Every time I woke up, I couldn’t stop the tears.”
At the mention of her mother, her voice finally couldn’t help but carry a sob.
“I miss her, I miss her so much. I miss the only person who was good to me, and I miss that home that, although poor, was full of life. Until I met you.”
She turned her head, her gaze falling on Jin’s face, her expression complex and difficult to read.
“When we first met, seeing you so clumsy yet so heartbreaking…”
Xue Yin murmured softly, her gaze somewhat unfocused, as if looking through the young man before her at that blurred period of time.
She seemed to be speaking to herself, yet also to him.
“I once thought it would take you a long time to grow up, and that I would need to protect you through a long road.”
She thought for a moment, and the mist in her eyes dissipated a little, replaced by an unprecedented softness and pride.
“But I need to take back what I just said.”
Xue Yin took a small step forward.
The moonlight spilled over her, making her entire being look both holy and real.
“You have made great progress, Jin.
The current you can already stand on your own.”
There was a hint of a smile in her voice, a heartfelt relief.
“Seeing you grow, I am actually happier than at any other time. It is truly incredible.”
Jin froze in place, his heart feeling as if it had been struck hard by something, with bitterness and wild joy intertwining.
He wanted to reach out, to hug her, to say, ‘From now on, I will protect you, just as you looked after me.’
But just as his hand rose, he was gently stopped by Xue Yin.
“I know how you feel.”
Xue Yin looked straight at him, her gaze sharp as a blade, yet soaked with endless exhaustion and infinite tenderness.
“How could I not know the feelings of a young man?”
Jin’s whole body stiffened, and his blood seemed to freeze at this moment.
He thought he had hidden it well, thought that his admiration was just a secret in the depths of his heart.
It turned out she had seen through it long ago, silently watching him burn in the corner.
“But I cannot respond.”
Her voice was very light, yet every word was clear, like a knife scraping across ice, piercingly cold and heartbreakingly painful.
“It is not that I am unwilling; it is that I do not dare. Jin, you don’t understand. I haven’t even figured out who I am, so how can I love someone else? If I agree to you today, but tomorrow I turn back into that Zhou Yao who only knows how to calculate scores, would you hate me? Would you feel that I took your sincerity as a cure, only to fill the void in my heart?”
Jin lowered his head, his knuckles tightening and relaxing.
His nails dug deep into his palms, and he was unaware that blood was trickling out.
“I don’t need a promise,” he said hoarsely, the words practically squeezed out from between his teeth.
“I only want to stay by Master’s side—as a disciple, as a friend, or even as a shadow. As long as I can be by Master’s side, anything is fine.”
Xue Yin’s tone shifted, tears welling in her eyes, but her voice became even firmer, carrying a tenderness that was almost like mercy.
“No, don’t be so humble. We made rules, didn’t we? If we cross the line even once, the title of master and disciple becomes a joke. I don’t want to lose you, Jin.”
She paused, took a deep breath, and her voice was barely audible, yet heavy as a thousand pounds.
“You can blame me for being greedy. I don’t want to lose you, yet I won’t let you cross the line. I want to keep you by my side, yet I can’t give you the future you want.”
“Why? Why are you so heartless?” There was a hint of desperate questioning in Jin’s voice.
Her tears finally fell, and her voice trembled.
“Because you are Jin—my favorite disciple. You have already lost too much. You lost your family, you lost a good life, and you lost the childhood that should have been happy. You have already lost so much; how could I, as your master, have the heart to make you shoulder more? How could I have the heart to let you take even one more risk?”
Jin was completely frozen.
Looking at Xue Yin’s tear-stained face, the emotion he had suppressed for so long instantly broke through the dam of reason.
“Master…” Jin’s voice choked.
He could no longer hold back and strode forward, but stopped abruptly one step away from her.
His hands were clenched into fists, and he roared hoarsely:
“But the things I lost, Master, you lost them too!”
His eyes were full of grief and indignation.
“You also lost your home, lost your parents, and lost your original life! We are both covered in wounds! On what grounds do you leave me out of this alone? I am clearly relying on you to live! Since we have both lost so much, then let us depend on each other, okay?”
Tears streamed down Xue Yin’s face as she looked at his face so close at hand, at those eyes filled with deep affection and grief.
She wanted to nod, to throw herself into his arms, but the final line of defense in her reason was still struggling to hold on.
“It’s not enough…” She shook her head, tears flying.
“The current us, we are not strong enough. Jin, wait a little longer, okay? Wait until we both truly find ourselves, until we are strong enough that we no longer have to fear losing. At that time, we will talk about ‘love,’ okay?”
Looking at her resolute yet pained eyes, the fire in Jin’s heart gradually settled into a deeper strength.
He slowly released his clenched fists and nodded solemnly.
“Fine. I will wait for you.”
His voice was hoarse, yet every word was powerful.
“No matter how long, I will wait.”
Xue Yin looked at him, her mouth barely pulling into a tragic and beautiful arc.
She turned around and no longer looked at him, afraid she would break down the next second.
“Liking someone makes you reckless, but love is restraint.”
This sentence was very light, as if spoken to him, but more like a warning and persuasion she had given herself countless times in the dead of night.
Jin retreated to the door and took one last deep look at her.
“It is late. Master should rest early.”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob, his voice barely audible, yet heavy as a thousand pounds.
“No matter who Master is, whether it is Xue Yin or Zhou Yao, I accept it all.”
The door closed gently.
She was the only one left in the room.
Her silver hair fell over her shoulders, smooth as water—it was the warmth he had left behind, and also the warmth she did not dare to hold tight.
She raised her hand, her fingertips stroking the ends of her hair, where the scent of him combing her hair still seemed to remain.
She did not move for a long time.
Suddenly, as the light sound of the door latching completely disappeared, Xue Yin’s tense nerves snapped instantly.
She could no longer suppress it.
She opened her mouth and let out a wail that erupted after being suppressed to the extreme.
It was not a restrained sob, but the grievance and fear accumulated over three years, exploding at this moment like a flood breaking a dam.
She collapsed to the floor, her hands tightly clutching the lapel of her robe over her chest, and cried out loud.
The sound of her crying echoed in the empty room, shrill and desperate.
Hot tears flowed freely, burning her cheeks.
“Useless! Useless!” She cursed while crying, her voice broken and battered.
“What are you crying for? Who allowed you to be weak?!”
But the tears surged even more, instantly washing away all pretenses.
She hated this weakness, hated this dependence.
She hated that she had clearly agreed to “not cross the line,” yet when he turned around, she felt a large piece of her heart go empty, with a cold wind whistling inside.
She hated that she clearly wanted to be a calm and rational youth like Zhou Yao, yet here she was wearing a dress, having her hair combed by someone, and collapsing just from a single sentence, “I accept it all.”
“I can’t even control my tears, so how can I talk about surviving?”
On the table, the ledger lay open quietly.
The line reading **[Mental Strength: -2]** was glaring in the candlelight, as if mocking her incompetence.
She suddenly grabbed that bone comb, wanting to stuff it into the depths of the drawer to completely cut off this thought.
But when her fingers touched the warm teeth of the comb and felt the residual body temperature on it, she stopped.
In the end, she only curled up on the soft couch by the window, letting the tears fall silently, soaking the sleeves of the Moonshadow Silk and spreading a dark stain.
And outside the door.
Jin leaned his back against the cold wall and slowly slid down to sit on the floor.
He raised his head, looking at the mottled light and shadows on the ceiling.
A tear fell from the corner of his eye, but he quickly raised his hand to wipe it away.
He clutched the lapel at his chest, right over his heart, which was beating violently.
Through the thin door panel, he could faintly hear the suppressed crying coming from inside.
He understood.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love him; it was that she didn’t dare.
She was afraid that in this cruel world, once their bond deepened, she would eventually have to face the piercing pain of “losing” again.
“I understand, Master.”
He spoke softly to the void, his voice firm and beyond doubt.
“Master is afraid of losing me once more, so she doesn’t dare get close.”
“Then let me become strong.”
“Strong enough to reverse fate, strong enough to block all the light of blades and the rain of swords, strong enough that Master can no longer find a reason to push me away, and strong enough that Master never has to fear losing me again.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the violent throb of his heart, as if swearing some eternal contract.
“I believe it. I have always believed it.”
“As long as Master is by my side, I am omnipotent, and I will burn everything away.”
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