Shadow and Form
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On the eve of nightfall, twilight shrouded the sky, still holding onto its last faint hue of amber. Light and shadow slipped away, filtering through the narrow window, leaving only fragmented reflections. A large hand gently turned the pages of a book as Wu Zhuming meticulously examined the many volumes in Shangye’s room—not with a purpose, but with careful, deliberate attention.
The matter had long been foreshadowed. Back at Yuantan Mountain, he recalled her words—those rare utterances. The scene of their parting replayed in his mind, and he shook his head, knowing that such thoughts were futile; he only blamed himself for not keeping pace with her.
“Bang—bang.”
The fading light barely outlined Wu Zhuming’s face. His posture was erect, a faint smile gracing his brows as he pondered where Shangye might be now. He turned a page, then reached for another book, his gaze fixed on the text. There was no sentimentality or lingering warmth—only a deep immersion in these written portraits.
“Thump—thump.”
He glanced up briefly, then returned to the desk.
Yet... he was beside Shangye, and she was beside him. If she left without so much as a farewell, that surprised Wu Zhuming more than anything. But even more inscrutable was her state of mind at that moment—hesitation, confusion—he had not misread these signs. Trying to empathize with her past self, he recalled her fluctuating expressions: brows slightly furrowed, sometimes chillingly composed, other times marked by evident worry. Was her heart unsettled, or did she harbor some reluctance? Or perhaps it was merely a fleeting displeasure?
What caused you to halt? Wu Zhuming racked his brains but found no answer, shaking his head vigorously.
There was only one thing he was certain of: he could not grasp the full picture nor understand it entirely, yet Shangye's own judgments rarely erred.
“This is...” Wu Zhuming thought hard, weighed the matter, and then faltered. Defeated, he lowered his head and turned aside. Li Cang was pacing the room, inspecting everything.
“What are you doing?” Wu Zhuming asked.
Li Cang first stuffed a small item into a bag, then realized he was being questioned. He shook the travel bag—it was Shangye’s, filled with her belongings.
“Shangye left in a hurry. I thought I’d pack some useful things so she could ask for them later.”
“She left, not moved.”
Li Cang examined something carefully, then laughed lightly upon hearing Wu Zhuming’s words. “At this time, if she said goodbye, she’d disappear before you could blink. Moving alone, Yun Ge and the others are surely staking her out here.” He gestured around, indicating the room. “Turn on the light; it’s dark now.” His tone was relaxed, seemingly indifferent about Shangye’s departure.
The warm light filled the room.
Looking around, a single area stood out—an orderly array of countless “books.” Unlike the other collections, these were arranged chronologically, from old to new, clearly forming a series.
Wu Zhuming glanced back but paid little attention.
“What period? If she wanted to avoid being found, who could catch her? If she comes back on her own, who could keep her? Besides, if they really wanted to watch her, wouldn’t they watch you instead?” he asked.
“She needs someone to find her when she returns,” Li Cang chuckled. “Besides, even she can’t evade the strict surveillance of the bureau. Anyway, she can’t come back here. Hah, leaving so hastily...” Li Cang wandered about, his demeanor unchanged. Compared to Wu Zhuming, he was more accustomed to Shangye’s departure.
Is it really that serious? Wu Zhuming pondered. He was less sensitive to the current situation, more concerned about where certain people had gone. Looking at Li Cang—it was hard to tell what he cared about, or whether he cared at all.
Thus, Wu Zhuming muttered, “If she wants to come back, let her. Who’s watching her anyway...” His mood swelled and then softened. “Besides, if the stuff’s with you, why not keep it there?”
Hearing this, Li Cang nearly laughed aloud but said nothing. While busy with his tasks, he updated Wu Zhuming on the city’s situation and Yun Ge’s movements. His brief words emphasized the many changes in Yexiao, which were more serious than the usual skirmishes, hence Yun Ge’s worry and their attention.
After finishing, Li Cang hoisted the travel bag and headed out.
“Where to?” Wu Zhuming asked, putting away his smile.
“Home. Then to see how things are progressing.”
Wu Zhuming nodded to himself: Li Cang cared more about Yexiao’s affairs; if he went, his interests lay elsewhere. Finally, Wu Zhuming waved him off.
Sometimes they were inseparable; at other times, though inseparable, their hearts spoke differently.
After Li Cang left, Wu Zhuming planned to depart too, but his attention was drawn again to the book where Shangye had left a message—the cover’s striking and peculiar design caught his eye.
He had yet to flip through it, neglecting the most conspicuous part. He halted, approaching the desk.
Whether for work or Shangye’s own interest, she had spent much effort studying phenomena unseen by ordinary people—those peculiarities or special aspects beneath appearances. She once described such things as ordinary parts of people and the world, only that “secrecy” was often their hallmark.
Wu Zhuming did not understand these as she did. She never glorified the unseen or unrecognized phenomena; in her explanations, one phrase stuck with him clearly:
“They are just aspects of people and the world that seldom reveal themselves.”
Thinking of this made Wu Zhuming’s lips twitch in a faint smile. In the past, Shangye had devoted much energy to delving into these matters, though he never heard if she truly loved this pursuit.
He wondered if he could even comprehend this notebook, since he did not grasp these spectral and uncanny things.
Scratching his head, he admitted he was likely ignorant.
This was an unbound notebook among many in Shangye’s room—some genuine books, some notes she had penned, and printed, bound works she completed. The variety was vast and countless.
Beyond the page where Shangye left her message, much remained. This seemed her latest notebook, all handwritten. Though there were still many blank spaces, it was not something to be read quickly. Each of her books was of this size.
Every page revealed Shangye’s expansive thoughts; her intelligence went far beyond.
Her records rarely conveyed emotion, focusing mostly on narration. The first half centered on a single matter, unstated but vaguely perceived by Wu Zhuming as one reason she left.
“‘Core essence’—that’s what they called it, fitting their definition. The innermost part of the heart—does it encompass all of the heart? Their theory is quite intriguing. Even if such a ‘core essence’ exists, how might it extend into...”
“Core essence,” Wu Zhuming mentally noted the useful term; “they”—he recalled the past and what he had learned.
“They believe this is another hidden supernatural aspect beneath Yexiao’s surface, akin to a regionally specific natural product, like mountains and rivers made tangible. I have no objection to this visualization; it’s better to clarify and resolve this matter soon. Although they firmly believe this, I suspect they have other methods.”
Shangye’s notes resembled drafts—sharp strokes, less formal but easy to understand. Wu Zhuming could grasp parts of her argument thanks to the accessible language; he had felt similarly when reading such things before.
“As for their various extraordinary descriptions of the ‘core essence,’ my knowledge is insufficient to verify their truth.”
Insufficient knowledge, Wu Zhuming raised his brow. Seriously? He suppressed suspicion and continued. Most of the following sections involved specific theories and her views, from which he retained few details. Regarding the people related to the “core essence,” it was clear Shangye prepared for something. After this section, the notes became sparser, more fragmented, with only brief passages remaining.
Naturally, he read through. Certain phrases made him pause:
“Unknown to most, seldom recorded but truly existing—the so-called ‘gods’ of Yexiao. I have yet to verify them. Whether human or divine, they have long taken root on this land. Yun Ge and the others likely possess more information. From what I know, she seems to have undergone several different manifestations.”
One line stood out deliberately:
“Rather than being gods of Yexiao, they seem more deeply connected to Yuantan Mountain?”
The notes ended with this insight, enough to clarify much for Wu Zhuming. He silently praised, “As expected of Shangye. With her here, many things find direction.”
Preparing to leave, Wu Zhuming habitually flipped to the last page, unexpectedly catching sight of something.
Was there a final message? Curious, he looked closely.
It was a sketch of Shangye:
In the bustling street, a figure’s back, rendered in black, walked away into the distance.
The sole caption Shangye wrote on this page read:
“Invisible, unencounterable; if encountered, unattainable?”
The light was dimmed, car shadows fleeting.
On the nighttime street, Wu Zhuming had yet to decide his next step. Looking up at the sky, no anomalies he sensed before were present—no moonlit strangeness, not even that ache in his chest reappeared.
Since Li Cang planned to stay with Yun Ge and the others, Wu Zhuming chose not to meddle. Yet he had one last place to visit.
Familiar with the way, he pushed open the door.
The light was gentle, the interior quiet; unlike the narrow entrance, the inside felt spacious.
It was a bookstore, now almost empty. The tranquil atmosphere brought peace—not a quaint antique study, for it had never been so inclined. Rather, it was sufficiently spacious and insulated from most outside noise. Amid this unique stillness lay a subtle, elusive depth, like a fragment of night seeped in unnoticed.
Wu Zhuming moved softly, the enveloping ambiance making him uneasy.
The woman at the counter had noticed him early on and now approached with a graceful smile.
Her presence was striking and hard to ignore. Though dressed in work attire, which restrained her outward appearance, it could not conceal her beauty.
Description of her ends here, as Wu Zhuming was not particularly concerned, preferring to speak plainly and finish the matter.
Before she spoke, he began:
“Is no one else here? You’re manning the front desk yourself?”
Her every movement exuded charm. Raising her hand, soft yet strong fingertips pointed aside where a young man was inspecting books. Soon he left, disappearing from their sight.
She turned to Wu Zhuming, a smile of expectancy on her face.
“Is this about Shangye?” Her voice was low and mysterious, tinged with softness.
Not surprised—Shangye was familiar with her, and came here often.
“Yes, yes. I have something to ask you about Yuantan Mountain. That person—do you know anything?”
His tone was steady. After a pause, the woman laughed:
“So, not for her after all.”
“Yes, sorry to trouble you, just came to ask this.”
She shook her head and replied:
“What I know, Ji Linyun knows; what I don’t, he knows as well.”
Wu Zhuming nodded, signaling he understood, then smiled and asked:
“And Shangye? Has she come to see you?”
The woman lowered her brows, a smile blooming:
“Her—of course not.”
Humph, she had come, Wu Zhuming thought, already knowing the answer, so he hadn’t asked first.
“Gone then, won’t keep you.” As Wu Zhuming walked away a few steps, she added:
“Departures always have their reasons. That one at Yuantan, whether god or ghost, is not one to be tamed.” She turned, voice gentle, “Remember to come by often, for anything or nothing. Shangye is a good girl; she doesn’t mind much. I welcome her too.” She waved, watching him leave.
Remembering her last words, Wu Zhuming thanked her and left.
His phone buzzed just then.
A quick glance and then he hurried away.
Meanwhile—
At a corner outside the bookstore,
The young man, having sensed something, greeted briefly before exiting the back door towards the alley’s end.
Sure enough,
“It’s dangerous here too, not like inside,” Fu Heng said reproachfully, still calm as ever. Chan Yu avoided his gaze, head bowed, silent, wrapped in dark clothes. Whether he understood or not, he made no move.
Through a crack, Chan Yu pointed towards the bookstore’s entrance, “Who’s that?” “A customer,” he said, “what’s wrong?” Eyes fixed, Chan Yu kept his unsettled thoughts to himself.
The figure quickly left. Chan Yu hurried after, recalling Fu Heng halfway and signaling him. Fu Heng sighed, letting him go.
The man had gone far ahead; Chan Yu tried to quicken his step, but his frail body struggled to keep pace.
Passing by,
Walking the veins of Yexiao, the more people, the more one felt its pulsating energy and vigor,
Provided order was maintained, indeed.
“He likes to be in such places, I guess.” Wu Zhuming thought, eyes fixed ahead.
The bustling, famously wide pedestrian street of Yexiao; surrounding buildings did not seek height but encircled the crowd. The sky was unobstructed, the full night canopy visible to all.
There was said to be a great spot nearby for star-gazing, but that was unrelated now. Wu Zhuming checked his phone again.
“Xiao Yao Ge went out alone again!!! Not near the usual spots, maybe went to…”
No new info. He had just started sharing info with Yun Ge’s group, limited and low-clearance for now. It seemed Li Cang’s previous assessment was more accurate.
At the scene, crowded and flowing, finding one person was no easy task. Yet he pressed on, hurrying from the bookstore. Always moving, never resting was his steadfast habit.
Dodging the crowd, he pondered:
Xiao Yao once said he felt calm in crowds; this place met that need and was closest to home. But Wu Zhuming knew, the reason he frequented such places was not warmth from people but the constant press of bodies. The illusion of protection came from being surrounded, distracting him from inner chaos and fear.
Uneasy about his lone wandering, Wu Zhuming quickened pace, eyes sharp.
The bustling city’s other side was cooled and calm. Not far away lay a quieter part of the city. People gathered here; loud disturbances were rare, no endless splendor, only the constant hum of voices through the night.
“Use my eyes, anyway I won’t live long... hiding, what can I see?” Chan Yu tried to keep low-key. He whispered to someone, but no one was ahead.
“Still far from death. Sigh, didn’t keep up—hmm?”
In the crowd’s midst, the shadowed alley stretched out; dim lights obscured its depths.
Someone sat slumped against a wall, head down. Approaching slowly, outside the dazzling city shone bright, but the alley was quiet. Except for Chan Yu, no one noticed him. Approaching, no reaction; squatting nearby,
Was he asleep?
Suddenly, Chan Yu panicked: so close already?
Footsteps approached steadily. The sleeping person’s phone rang, waking him. The first to notice was Chan Yu. Feeling uneasy, he hurried up and turned his back.
Entering the alley, Wu Zhuming first noticed Xiao Yao, then the strange figure—a stooped man walking away. Reaching Xiao Yao, Wu Zhuming still watched the stranger’s retreating back. Behind him was another man who, seeing Xiao Yao, relaxed.
“Zhuming?” The man shielded Xiao Yao. Wu Zhuming, however, moved out.
Chan Yu struggled with his legs, limping more the harder he tried.
This was bad—not the time to be exposed. He regretted making complications.
A hand rested on his shoulder.
“Need help? You look strained.”
They paused briefly. The man shook his head slightly, never revealing his face to Wu Zhuming. Removing his hand, Wu Zhuming watched him vanish before turning back.
“Where did Zhuming go?” The man asked, middle-aged, with a weathered strength.
“Nothing, Uncle Tan. Where’s Xiao Yao?” Wu Zhuming shifted the topic.
“All good. You, why go out without a word again?” Tan uncle tapped Xiao Yao’s nose.
For various reasons, many under Yun Ge’s organization required accompaniment and “supervision.” Xiao Yao was one. Why, no one yet explained.
Most who first met Xiao Yao lingered, struck by the sorrow on his face—no youthfulness or vigor remained, only mental torment no one could share, worsening his condition.
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His eyes bore faint tear stains and deep dark circles; cracked lips resulted from his heavy, rapid breathing. Bloodshot pupils reflected chaotic emotions and avoidance.
“Xiao Yao” was not his real name; he was called so because there was also a “Da Yao.”
He stood quietly, head bowed, silent, with tidy clothes and hair.
This gloomy boy suffered severe mental illness, unable to control his thoughts or act normally without great effort. He was slowly consumed by himself, unable to lessen this internal struggle even for a minute. Often he couldn’t hear others, leading to speculation about possible hearing loss—still unconfirmed.
Seeing Wu Zhuming, he trembled, lifting the corners of his mouth in a strained smile. Wu Zhuming responded with a brighter smile, thinking: mental issues partly explain why Yun Ge’s group cared for him, but they were no charity—they supervised him because he was special, nothing more.
In this, Xiao Yao was somewhat fortunate among the pitiful. Wu Zhuming closed his eyes in thought. After years of care from Yun Ge and others, Xiao Yao had improved greatly.
Drawing close, Wu Zhuming reached out.
Upon contact, something inside him stirred.
Suddenly, Xiao Yao retched, crouching repeatedly, hands waving frantically to shield his face, writhing in inexplicable pain.
“What’s wrong?! Come, Xiao Yao.” Uncle Tan was shocked, steadying him.
The suddenness froze Wu Zhuming. He instinctively wanted to protect Xiao Yao but quickly realized better not to touch him, waiting for Uncle Tan’s comfort.
Xiao Yao’s distress was brief. He forced himself to appear less troubled and stood steady, repeating, “It’s nothing, it’s nothing.”
What happened?
Regaining composure, Wu Zhuming stood upright, adjusting himself.
He embraced Xiao Yao again; the boy held him tightly, thinking: Brother Ming feels so stiff and cold today.
“Sorry, Xiao Yao.” Wu Zhuming whispered; the boy only shook his head.
After stroking Xiao Yao’s back, Wu Zhuming calmed. No, it wasn’t the other man—it was himself. The moment of contact felt like something within him was being glimpsed.
“Ha—what’s this?” A young woman ran up, panting. Her lively eyes swept the group. They exchanged glances, all peaceful.
“Xiao Yao Ge! Next time report first! I must accompany you!” Sister Yu stomped anxiously.
“Yeah, honestly, slacking off before wasn’t a big deal, but now the situation’s special; someone must go with you.” Uncle Tan explained; Sister Yu nodded repeatedly.
While they talked, Wu Zhuming closed his eyes, anger welling inside:
“Thought it was just borrowing my body, but you dared—”
His shirt was tugged. Opening his eyes, Xiao Yao stood beside him like a child. Though younger than Sister Yu, he never appeared older before her. He stood silently, listening to the conversation about himself.
Often, Xiao Yao seemed on society’s fringe, abandoned amid noise—quiet, introverted, unknown, just living so. He approached Wu Zhuming, pointed to the sky. Following his gesture, Wu Zhuming saw the usual night sky. Xiao Yao asked:
“See anything?”
No answer.
Wu Zhuming understood a little or maybe not. He gazed long at the sky.
“Under the same sky, no matter where, we can be together.” He spoke comfortingly, even if humble, murky, or dark—not alone. A solace. His heart was complex; he dared not dwell.
Surprisingly, Xiao Yao accepted readily, eyes bright, voice lifted:
“From the sky, you can see everything.”
“Heh, even so, he’s in the sky, I’m on earth; without closeness like now, we can’t know each other.” Wu Zhuming followed his words.
“No, no, just knowing this is enough! Knowing someone watches me, our distance shrinks, for better or worse.” Though tired, Xiao Yao’s eyes were clear. His mind often confused, but his words made sense.
They gazed at the vast sky.
“Better to look deeply than far,” Xiao Yao said, words not fitting his usual self.
“Well said.” Wu Zhuming patted his head. “Who said that?”
Pointing at himself, “Me?” He was surprised.
The conversation ended; Xiao Yao grew tired.
Wu Zhuming kept those words in mind.
The sky? Indeed, if extended...
“It’s time to go. Zhuming, what say you?” Uncle Tan asked.
Wu Zhuming stared skyward, then shook his head.
“I have someone to find.”
“Someone? I’ll go with you. Xiao Yao can go back with Sister Yu.”
“No, Uncle Tan, Sister Yu, now I must watch over the one who needs watching.” Wu Zhuming said firmly.
They parted.
The pedestrian street buzzed on, but Wu Zhuming’s gaze hardened.
His left hand clenched tightly, bones cracking inside; his right hand swept over his chest, force nearly piercing the skin beneath clothes. Without empathy, cold and mechanical indifference prevailed. His eyes burned like torches.
He looked to the sky.
Right here, in my chest, it’s your mark, isn’t it? He questioned silently. You use me as your extension, unseen, influencing others beyond me.
A forged canopy, the pain in my chest—behind all this, isn’t it you?
“Since Yuantan Mountain, you dared not walk the city. Yexiao’s ‘gods’—aren’t you just a specter, hiding in the mountains, fearing people?” Wu Zhuming murmured inwardly, eyes icy, gazing upward.
“Since you’re watching me, I want to see you.”
Crowds rushed past.
In a blink, all was normal. No reply, no change.
Did something go wrong? Was instinct insufficient?
Dark clouds cloaked the night, no stars gleamed. Remembering Yuantan Mountain, he had indeed seen a false canopy, like a deep pond inverting the sky.
“Just understand, just understand this.” The voice echoed in his ear.
She was with you.
The sky changed, the night sea surged, black curtains shifted.
A strange beat stirred in his chest—her response.
“So you really watch from there.” Wu Zhuming whispered.
The noise ceased, passersby vanished, leaving silent emptiness. The surroundings draped in thick black veils. The street froze into a mysterious tableau.
The clouds above cracked, bleeding black lines like wounds, quietly streaming through the night.
At the street’s far end, she finally unveiled herself.
Clear and vivid, the woman’s face was real. She too looked up at the sky, as if sensing others sharing this world.
At first glance, her depth was unfathomable; her dark silhouette seemed detached from the world. The woman carried an incredible aura of mystery. To Wu Zhuming, she seemed closer to ordinary than expected.
Approaching, her black-purple attire enveloped her, the skirt trailing behind, blending into the night’s gloom, evoking a poignant beauty. Yet her outfit was not ancient, but modernized for ease of movement. Strange—Wu Zhuming knew little about her but was sure she had not appeared in Yexiao only in recent decades.
She danced, swaying as if a non-existent wind rose with her. Wu Zhuming stood cold as ice. Nearing her, she continued dancing, indifferent.
They waited silently. Wu Zhuming nearly lost patience, pondering how to question her. Then a soft, chilling voice reached his ear, echoing in the empty space:
“You finally came for me.”
The woman spoke to herself. Wu Zhuming was unsure if she noticed him. Her emotions flickered like her form—uncertain and elusive, opposite his steady resolve. She was ever-changing and unpredictable.
“Many seek you,” Wu Zhuming said calmly. “You should know.”
No reaction. She kept her pose, avoiding eye contact, as if unheard.
“I should have come for you,” she said. “But I can’t walk on Yexiao’s land. I can only watch from afar. Why does Yexiao reject me?”
Wu Zhuming thought: she can’t hear, but she’s not mocking me.
She seemed immersed in a world only she felt.
“Her mental state... needs more observation.” His icy demeanor softened slightly.
He asked her:
“It’s you—your remnants affecting that child. You bypass me to influence others, using me as your extension to infect them.” His words held some anger, but softened shortly after.
“I don’t care what you do to me, but don’t hide your purpose. Whatever your intent, if you wish to meet me, be clear here.”
She stopped, perhaps moved by his words or anger. Lowering her head in sorrow or thought, she clutched her chest.
“Sorry, sorry—I just wanted to be closer.” Her voice quickened. “Why? Why? Ugh.”
Seeing this, Wu Zhuming said nothing. Didn’t she understand? Perhaps the cause was Xiao Yao... Did he see her then?
Wu Zhuming was not so fragile as to lose control over tears. Besides, the woman had yet to reveal her purpose—perhaps she could not focus.
Strange, out of place, erratic, obsessive.
Somewhat akin to Xiao Yao’s state.
Abnormal mental issues might be contained under supervision, but her immense, uncontrollable power... Wu Zhuming understood why others anxiously sought her.
“You say you cannot walk Yexiao’s city, yet you speak to me.” Wu Zhuming tried a detached tone, following her lead.
“Projected from the sky among these buildings, I can do nothing.” She tightly wrapped one hand with the other, nervous? She looked at Wu Zhuming. “It was your brother who did this.”
Yun Ge? Unlikely. She was mistaken. He shook his head.
“You overthink. So your goal is to break this limitation?”
Wu Zhuming was straightforward. Her hesitation made her seem worried, but she showed no distrust toward him.
“I only wish to be with you, living as ordinary people on this land.”
For the first time meeting Wu Zhuming’s gaze, she said:
“Will you listen, Wu Zhuming?”
He nodded.
The street vanished, day turned to night, and an endless water mirror extended beneath their feet. Mountains appeared faintly in the distance—the very place Wu Zhuming had seen.
“Kindness, understanding others’ pain, empathy for sorrow—that is you, Wu Zhuming,” she explained. “That is why I left part of myself with you.”
The reason was simple. Wu Zhuming was silent. Given current circumstances, his attitude hardly earned strangers’ trust, yet the woman defied ordinary judgment.
“You should have told me before placing something on me. Also, it hurts quite a bit.”
“At first, there was rejection, especially severe in you.”
Though she trusted him somewhat, guiding gently was not Wu Zhuming’s forte.
Her obsession and gloom lingered, as if something was lost inside. Trying to touch her core was like passing through a phantom, like breaking water’s surface—no substance, only blurred ripples.
“Do you know all our actions?” He asked. She willingly answered, her trust in him based on some unusual logic. Unconcerned with time, she spoke slowly:
“I tried to approach you but failed; tried to leave Yuantan Mountain but couldn’t.”
“So you extended your reach. For you, the sky’s obstacles are less harsh than the city’s. From above, you can observe us without blind spots.”
There was another key question: she was not a ghost of mist but had a physical form. Where? Not yet time to ask. Wu Zhuming pressed on:
“Even so, the sky isn’t a good hiding place—everyone can see.”
She shook her head. “Not only the sky but the night. The night gives me camouflage, like clouds in daytime or dark clouds before rain. I roam over Yexiao, following this rule. Sometimes I reveal more; when fearful, I retreat deeper behind the sky.”
She spoke calmly.
“Still, I struggle. I cannot move far, even now.”
Bound by unknown reasons, her movement was limited. “So she left a mark on me—this makes sense.” Wu Zhuming thought.
Though unstable and strange, she bore no malice. If anything, her odd behavior might be inherent or deliberate.
“If I didn’t extend my influence downward, speaking to you would be difficult. Without this, our link would only rely on the mark I left on you.” Her tone was sincere.
“I’d sacrifice everything just to be close to you, close to the people of my land.”
Wu Zhuming stayed silent, asking:
“Is this your current goal?”
“It’s always been my only goal. I love everything here, born from it, guardian of Yexiao. It no longer needs me now. From god to human, all my thoughts return to this.”
“From god to human,” Wu Zhuming inhaled deeply and asked:
“But even without change, you can feel others and communicate, like now.”
An oppressive emptiness washed over him, mingled with her sorrow.
“No! What do you know!” Her voice rose, then softened.
Clutching her chest, panic spread across her face. She said immediately:
“No, no, I have my reasons. It’s just, Wu Zhuming...”
He crossed his arms, nodding only.
“Thank you for finding me.” She breathed a sigh of relief, a faint light flickering in her dark eyes.
“Then don’t forget.”
She danced; the world shifted. From the water mirror emerged another figure—
Another herself—
Clearer, brighter, yet only a phantom here. The girl in the mirror was identical to her, walking confidently, vibrant and self-assured, dressed lightly, coming from somewhere in Yexiao.
Looking at the woman before him, alone and constrained, fearful and worried—
Like two sides of the same coin.
A third person, clearly connected to “her,” caught Wu Zhuming’s silent gaze. His eyes fixed unwaveringly on the girl’s image, who appeared joyous and at ease, captivated by her surroundings.
“I created her; she doesn’t know yet.”
Wu Zhuming said nothing, studying the reflection closely. His dark eyes burned with insight. He reached toward the girl’s image—
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Comparing, clarifying, squinting.
There were two of them, outwardly so different; touching one caused ripples.
The figure leaned diagonally.
He withdrew his hand, bent down, obscuring his actions.
“Hahaha—” He laughed softly, speaking quietly to no one, “Must be exhausted, huh, hmm.”
The woman waited silently, hands clasped before her, rubbing gently.
“Where’s she going, walking instead of taking a cab?” Wu Zhuming asked lightly.
A smile returned to the woman’s face. She answered:
“I told her to come.”
“To where? Where you are?” Wu Zhuming swallowed excess emotion and said:
“Even if I trust your words, without you, there’d be no her. You came first, then she. On this premise, how does it fit ‘from god to human’?”
The woman paced lightly on the water mirror.
“It’s just a rejoining, leaving behind a mistaken past. She will find me, come where I am.” She smiled, soft with love, even maternal care, yet unsettling, perhaps due to her unstable mind.
She fiddled with her clothes, hiding her inner turmoil. Pausing, Wu Zhuming awaited her next words.
“Correcting errors, merging as one.” She turned away. “From god to human.”
Finishing, Wu Zhuming smiled bitterly, nodding slowly, thinking:
“Fine, fine. No inheritance, no love; merging as one—ha, you said it all.”
Still unclear, to avoid misunderstanding, he pressed on:
“She’s not a puppet; she’s conscious. What does merging mean?”
“As you understand it. I become her, she becomes me—no distinction.”
“Don’t tell me this was your mutual decision.”
“I’m reclaiming what’s mine. She’s confused, rootless, desperate to know her origin, lost in this meaningless life, chasing a past that never existed. She came from an accident years ago, shouldn’t exist, should be me—she will accept it gladly because we were born as one, never separated.”
“So, your consciousness will coexist?”
“No. She will live well in my future; I’ll allow her past existence, as she accepts me.”
Wu Zhuming glanced at her, then at the clear image of the girl walking in Yexiao, unaware someone aimed to completely replace her body and mind.
Possession, he muttered—strange, yet the woman spoke of it plainly, as if nothing odd.
“Couldn’t you create another unconscious vessel? You said you’d give up everything.”
“How? Shaping clay is a god’s power.”
But you created humans before; the god’s power is in your hands. Besides, after ‘god to human,’ so what?
The woman seemed to read his thoughts.
“Since awakening, I know my mission. Long ago, I realized my authority is trivial. As long as I finish what I began, whether watching from the sky or living among you, I will have no regrets.” She spoke as if hoping to convince him.
“She is necessary to me; I am inevitable to her.”
Wu Zhuming understood: “necessary and inevitable.” The girl was uniquely formed; something she couldn’t mention, something she wanted to reclaim—ultimately, theft and gain. “Giving up everything” was just her ploy to convince him.
“But why tell me this?”
Long silence. Neither spoke. The woman danced in the illusion, waiting for his acceptance or refusal, confident and unhesitant.
“She’s in the city?”
“Yes, coming to me.” She said, “Just a little lure, and she’ll come running.”
After hearing this, Wu Zhuming was unsure how to react.
“So, do you think I’ll agree? Or do you want me to do something?”
“Whether you’re involved or not, our outcome won’t change.” She said,
“I just thought you might understand my sorrow.”
“No, illusions. Many things are illusions.” Wu Zhuming said. “You should know me well enough to realize I won’t let your vision come true.”
The woman was calm, placing her hand on her chest, showing no anger, hatred, or regret—utterly peaceful.
Cold and desolate, like a still pool.
“It’s okay. I’m used to separation. I believe in you, in someone, so my actions need no reason.” She spoke warmly.
“Goodbye, Wu Zhuming. Until we meet again.”
The illusion faded instantly; crowds surged back, the street restored.
Wu Zhuming sighed deeply.
As expected, a sharp pain pierced his chest, bone-deep but bearable, and the alien, exclusive sensation lessened.
Feeling her presence, he thought:
Even descending from the sky, she struggles? So she must be nearby.
Guided by this feeling, he sprinted swiftly. This sixth sense was clearer than any other, no hesitation, just forward. Navigating the crowd, he chased the inner pull, everything familiar.
But no matter how fast, could he catch Yexiao’s supernatural?
A sudden, strange glimpse—he had no doubt and dashed towards the sensation. His speed was so great few passersby saw him.
He raced, immersed in Yexiao’s myriad faces.
Wu Zhuming wondered: why tell me all this? Such effort to meet me. Simply because, as she said, no reason?
Once started, questions flooded his mind, but he silenced them.
The stir within him echoed another’s heartbeat, strong and clear, shifting with his own.
She was close, very close.
For a moment, her figure appeared, then vanished into the crowd. No one saw her pass—perhaps only Wu Zhuming noticed.
When he saw her, she glanced back slightly, surprised—perhaps at his speed or accuracy.
The figure disappeared again; he chased tirelessly, sensing her coming and going. His steps showed no fatigue, face expressionless, eyes fixed solely on the goal, unwavering.
Wu Zhuming did not tire; she seemed weary—he could feel it.
Her description of struggling in Yexiao seemed understated. The sky and night only helped observe and hide her. The glimpses of her were illusions, but some form of her deeply waded through her swamp. She approached Wu Zhuming, then spoke.
Knowing this, he had more questions.
Though she moved fast, distances often extended, preventing her escape. With his speed, he could keep pace. The unknown reason slowed her, impeding her freedom.
“If not for other reasons holding her back, she wouldn’t be caught.” Wu Zhuming mused.
He wondered by what principle she moved.
Their distance shortened repeatedly. Her black shadow flashed in the light. Every moment around seemed frozen.
Frozen, then moving, moving, then frozen. He doubted if he was truly chasing anyone.
The strange feeling inside him eluded description until now: akin to the choking feeling during emotional distress, or like drowning.
Sensing her, Wu Zhuming reached into the void.
Everything stilled—the crowd briefly vanished.
He grasped the woman’s sleeve. She stopped, turned, smiling bitterly and sadly, silent but seemingly questioning him.
“Why not take it back?” Wu Zhuming pointed to his chest.
“Take it back? No, don’t you understand? What I gave you is flawless. Also, I don’t want to take it back, and can’t. It was painfully imprinted on you... you’ll understand. Heh, even if you sense me, you’re always a step behind.” She said,
“Our pact won’t change for anyone.”
Turning, the woman easily slipped from his grasp—just an illusion.
The exchange was brief; no turning point.
“I must find that girl first.” Wu Zhuming pressed on.
He sprinted through the city’s night.
Voices, night breeze, steady steps. Though the situation was tense, running through the city felt light and free.
Yet the woman’s image grew distant; the stirring and connection waned.
Tall buildings merged into indistinct shadows, pedestrians thinned, noise faded.
Reflecting on where he’d been since meeting her, Wu Zhuming guessed.
Now, they were away from Yexiao’s center and bustling areas.
The chase neared its end; the gap widened. He had to strain to see her figure, barely visible, connection fading. Approaching a place, she seemed lighter, less restrained.
As if truly merging into Yexiao’s night, under her control.
Stopping, Wu Zhuming looked around. Few people remained. At a Yexiao crossroads, he’d lost direction but showed no panic.
Just as she vanished, perfectly timed, he glimpsed her shadow flash—ethereal, boundless, uncertain. He did not immediately follow.
Going that way meant following the crowd—toward Yexiao’s heart.
Looking to the horizon, Yuantan Mountain’s veil descended. Peaks shifted from parallel buildings to standing before him, endless ridges encircling.
“Connection to Yuantan Mountain.” Wu Zhuming thought, no hesitation, running the opposite way.
Lights cannot pierce black clouds; faint glow cannot brighten long nights.
On a main avenue in Baiyan District, a girl sat quietly on a bench, resting. She wore a white dress; a black-purple ring on her finger caught the eye—a gift from someone symbolizing their bond.
She faced downward, expression blank, legs swinging, lost in thought.
“Hey.” She jumped up, stretched, hand on her hip.
“Quite a distance to come.” She smiled brightly.
Why stop so close? She didn’t know.
The girl examined herself, moved and swayed confidently, inside and out.
Joyfully, she walked along the street.
Looking up, Yuantan Mountain dominated the view,
Pressing down like chaos.
Soon, she saw before her—
A woman identical in face but wholly different within, standing mid-deserted street, wearing a soft, seductive smile.
The black-clad woman spread her arms as if to welcome her.
The woman could not step closer.
No surprise. The girl walked forward; with each step, the woman’s pull grew, and the girl’s extra thoughts fell away.
Everything behind and around faded.
Light disappeared, sound vanished.
Until the girl felt the distant embrace of Yexiao release her,
Welcomed into the arms of the black-haired woman,
Then suffocation, pressure, exploded into a headache.
The view pulled back. The “black lines,” like wounds in the sky, bled down, trying desperately to reach the girl, but like the woman, they could not penetrate deeper into Yexiao, only clinging to Yuantan Mountain.
No matter; the girl willingly entered her embrace.
She wanted to speak but could not utter a sound. Her eyes watched the woman’s fading form, only her enigmatic smile remaining.
In the night sea, grasping at nothing, drowning silently in pain.
Pat-pat-pat—
The girl laughed softly, reaching out. Ahead lay only Yuantan Mountain’s giant shadow.
Behind came hurried footsteps.
Just as the “black lines” were about to envelop the girl, to take her completely,
A sudden pull yanked her away; the rift vanished.
Wu Zhuming, thrown by inertia, tumbled thrice before a street lamp and stopped.
Shaking his head, he recovered, looking sideways. The black-clad woman still stood, smiling enchantingly, then faded with the wind.
Someone approached him.
A hand reached out.
Looking up,
Moonlight faintly lit the girl’s lively smile.
“Didn’t expect someone else to find me.”
“Xi Yao, that’s my name.”
Their shadows overlapped, frozen in that moment.
Page 3/3 End.