Chapter 36

That night had been dark, the bonfire behind us, our shadows cast straight into the cups. No wonder we didn’t see anything.

“The environment inside the human body is totally different from wine. Once inside, the worm awakens. It burrows into the bloodstream and travels to the brain.”

His voice dropped lower and lower, as if deliberately trying to spook me. “Once it reaches the brain, it eats. Eventually, the person becomes nothing more than a shell—a vessel for the gu.”

I stared at him.

So they never let outsiders leave. That’s how this place remained hidden for centuries. Those who stumbled in thinking they’d found some untouched paradise… once they left, they would become walking puppets.

Such a simple truth—and I had only just understood it.

The light in his room was excellent; even though dusk had fallen, it illuminated every detail of his striking face.

“So they’ve all been infected? The wine from the Fire-Cutting Ceremony? Everyone drank it!”

“We have ways to repel the gu,” he said lightly. “Besides, it was the villagers who insisted on using that wine.”

So basically—yes. He was pretending innocence, as if he truly had no control over any of this.

He could have at least warned us.

“I drank the wine too,” I murmured. “So when will I turn into a puppet? You’d be happy then, wouldn’t you? A perfect little plaything who can’t disobey you.”

“Absolutely not.” Shen Jianqing pulled me into his arms, his chin resting on my shoulder. “I already left something on you. No worm stupid enough to touch what’s mine would live long.”

He left something… on me?

Something strong enough to keep all gu away?

My mind spun—then the memory hit me. The green snake in the cave. I’d been too weak to fight it then. It had clearly intended to strike, but when I accidentally threw out the sachet—

It had recoiled.

Not from me, obviously. I’d been half-dead.

“It’s the sachet!” I clutched at my chest. Shen Jianqing had tied it there with a silver chain. Ever since that day, I hadn’t dared take it off.

At first it bothered me—I’d wanted to remove it—but the moment I turned to look at him, his cold, dangerous stare froze me in place. Eventually, I got used to it.

The sachet was firm and stuffed full; pressing on it made the dried herbs inside crackle faintly. The scent had faded—or maybe I’d simply lived with it long enough to stop noticing.

Shen Jianqing’s smile blossomed. “You’re so smart, Li Yuze. No wonder you’re the one I like.”

“What’s inside it?” Anything that could terrify instinct-driven creatures like snakes and gu worms… what could it be?

“Guess,” he teased. “Maybe it’s a gu of my own.”

My stomach dropped.

A gu? His gu…

I looked toward the windowsill. His gu jar was gone—but a crimson insect clung to the wood. Bright red, the size of a fingernail, unsettling and vivid.

It seemed aware of me. Noticing my stare, it raised its front half, balancing on two thin hind legs. The distance made it hard to see clearly, but even so—

My heart lurched.

“Shen Jianqing, that bug looks strange… could it be poisonous?”

In nature, the brighter the creature, the more dangerous it usually is. You can’t take anything for granted.

What I meant was for Shen Jianqing to shoo it away. Instead, he stood up, walked to the window, lowered his gaze, and reached out. And the bug—shockingly—crawled onto the back of his pale hand as if it were perfectly familiar with him.

“This is Honghong, just a little thing I’m raising.” He brought it closer to me. “Li Yuze, it likes you a lot. Want to pet it? It’s very tame.”

Up close, I finally saw the bizarre markings on its red shell—no pattern, yet disturbingly mesmerizing. Its bead-like black eyes could swivel in all directions. I guessed its field of vision must be wide, which only made the thing more unnerving.

When it got near me, it lifted its two front legs and bounced twice on the back of Shen Jianqing’s hand, like it was greeting me.

I’m not afraid of insects in general, but this one triggered a deep rejection and fear. I shut my eyes for a second and shook my head. “No… please take it away.”

Shen Jianqing sighed with exaggerated regret, stroked the bug’s back with one finger, and murmured to it, “What are we going to do, Honghong? Yuze-ge still doesn’t like you. You’ll have to work harder.”

Then he bent down and placed Honghong on the floor. It wriggled, paused, then disappeared from sight.

I didn’t want to stay in his room any longer. Even with all this sunlight, something in here always felt chilled and unsettling. “Can I go back to my room now? I can go on my own—you don’t have to bother.”

But he said, “I already did what you asked. Now there’s something I need you to do for me.” As he spoke, he leaned in closer. By the time the words landed, he was practically pressed against my side, his breath brushing the hollow of my neck—itchy, intimate.

Habit really is terrifying. Pavlov’s dog needed twenty-one days to start salivating at a bell. I didn’t even need that long. Just a few days, and I’d already gotten used to Shen Jianqing’s boundary-crossing touches.

These past two days we’d been maintaining a warped calm, pretending nothing had happened. But I knew this peace was fragile—only waiting for his next bout of madness to shatter it.

I still instinctively resisted, my eyes dodging his. “I’m… still not fully recovered…”

“Li Yuze, don’t go thinking about that kind of thing all day long.” Shen Jianqing cut me off, laughing as he said it. His eyes glinted with mischief, like a hunter watching prey fall into a trap he’d painstakingly set.

As if I were the one eager for that!

I didn’t want to deal with him anymore. I reached for the bedpost to stand, but he wrapped his arms around my waist. “Yuze, I said the wrong thing… don’t ignore me.”

He was always like this—retreating just enough, acting soft, giving the illusion of yielding. If he kept doing this, I probably would get numb to it one day. Which was exactly why I kept reminding myself: don’t forget where you are, or what he is.

I steadied my breath. “What do you want me to do?”

Shen Jianqing gently tugged me back down, settling his head against my shoulder—his favorite position, clearly. “In a few days, it’ll be my mother’s death anniversary. Come with me to visit her.”

Then he lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were painfully beautiful—anyone facing that gaze wouldn’t have the heart to refuse.

I answered quietly, “Okay.”

The next few days passed in an unreal sort of calm—so calm that sometimes I actually felt like I belonged in this Miao village, waking to the crowing roosters, falling asleep under the evening stars.

Except for the lock on my door every night. That cold iron reminder that I was still a prisoner.

Shen Jianqing didn’t sleep in my room anymore. Once, he even explained—with a shy awkwardness—that in Miao tradition, unmarried people couldn’t share a room.

“But once we live together, we have to get married.” His eyes shone almost feverishly when he added that.

He really scared me with that.

Marriage?

I used to imagine what kind of girl I’d marry one day. Maybe beautiful, maybe ordinary. Smart, or maybe a bit quiet. Anything was fine—as long as she wouldn’t abandon me like my parents did.

My expectations weren’t high.
But never—not once—had I imagined marrying a man.

Where I came from, that wasn’t even legally possible.

I don’t remember what I said at the time. Maybe I nodded. Maybe I didn’t.

Either way, the days passed peacefully. Shen Jianqing didn’t explode, didn’t make any extreme remarks.

I found myself… almost grateful for the quiet.