He was completely out of his mind again.
His tone dripped with malice. I didn’t believe for a second that anything “fun” would come from him. The moment his grip on my arm loosened just slightly, I twisted free and sank my teeth into his forearm.
“—Tss!”
He sucked in a sharp breath, but his arm didn’t move. He let me bite him, as if he couldn’t feel pain at all.
I bit down harder, jaw trembling with anger, wanting to vent every ounce of frustration and fury I’d bottled up.
The taste of iron spread across my tongue.
Blood.
Shen Jianqing didn’t even flinch—just held out his arm for me, like pain didn’t exist for him. But I wasn’t heartless enough to actually tear flesh from bone. Eventually, I had no choice but to let go.
A perfect circle of teeth marks marred his pale forearm. The skin was split open, blood seeping freely.
I stared him down, openly defiant.
But the fury I expected never appeared. Instead, Shen Jianqing gave me a gentle, almost tender smile.
In that moment—more than anything else—it terrified me.
“So,” he said softly, “is this the new gift you’re giving me?”
My mouth tasted like blood. Nausea roiled in my chest. But I still sneered and forced out the words I’d never dared say before.
“Freak.”
Shen Jianqing’s pupils tightened, his expression darkening. For a split second, he looked dazed, as if dredging up some distant memory. But he didn’t say a word—he simply acted.
He stepped forward, lifted his knee, and drove it hard into the small of my back, pinning me to the bed. Then—rip—a sharp sound split the air.
Cloth tearing.
With just a few rough yanks, he tore the bedsheet apart. He grabbed my wrist and tried tying it to the wooden bedpost.
I lurched up to hit him, but he caught my fist midair and growled low, “Don’t push me.”
Who was pushing who to this point?!
But that moment of stunned anger cost me. He took advantage and bound my wrist tight. I lay there on my back, helpless, like a frog on a lab table waiting to be cut open.
His hair had fallen loose during the struggle. He gathered it back with one hand, then looked down at me from above—me, limp and unable to move.
I refused to beg, and I knew he wouldn’t untie me anyway, so I turned my face toward the wall, refusing to meet his eyes.
He gave a cold laugh and turned to leave—but his steps suddenly halted.
A moment later, I heard rustling from the corner of the room. I thought back—there was something in the corner. The pouch of herbs Wan Ying had given me to repel insects. I’d been too scared to use them at the time, so I tucked them away.
Shen Jianqing’s voice came soon after, sharp with barely restrained fury.
“So. Looks like you were living pretty comfortably without me. Who treated you so well? Who gave you this insect medicine?”
So it really was the herbs. And I’d misunderstood Wan Ying before. But knowing Shen Jianqing’s temperament, if I mentioned her name now, I’d only drag her into trouble. So I shut my eyes and pretended to be dead.
The next second, my jaw was seized—hard. His grip was so fierce I thought he might crush my bones. I had no choice but to open my eyes, and what I saw was pure jealousy burning inside his.
“I don’t even need you to tell me,” he hissed. “Only Luqi knows herbs in this village. Was it Asong who gave them to you? I told you before, Li Yuze—you’re very good at attracting people.”
If my hands weren’t tied, I would’ve smashed my fist right into his face.
“Stop twisting everything with your filthy imagination!” rage flared in my chest. “Who else but you would think—”
I couldn’t bring myself to utter the rest of those disgusting words.
Asong had ended up in that state, yet Shen Jianqing suspected that between us? It was laughable.
He stared at me intently, searching my face for even the smallest sign of guilt.
I stared right back without flinching.
Fortunately, he didn’t press further about the herbs. He turned and walked out of the room.
But the way he looked at me before leaving—there was something wrong in it. There was no way he’d just walk away.
Sure enough, I soon heard footsteps outside the door—unhurried, steady, like drums pounding one by one against my heart.
Whatever he planned, I would not react. That’s what I told myself. If he realized he might as well be facing a corpse, he’d get bored and leave.
But when he came in, he said nothing at all.
The room grew so silent I could hear the dust settling.
They say death isn’t frightening—it’s the waiting before it that terrifies you.
With every passing second, my nerves wound tighter and tighter. I finally broke and opened my eyes.
Right then, a sudden mechanical chime rang out.
“Din-ling, din-ling-ling—”
I blinked, confused—the sound was familiar. After a moment, I recognized it.
My camera powering on.
My stomach dropped.
What was he trying to do?
Shen Jianqing lifted his head and met my gaze. Then, unbelievably, he smiled—a childish, sweet little smile.
“Yuze-ge, don’t you love playing with this? Why make such an ugly face now? Aren’t you happy?”
As he spoke, he stepped closer and raised the camera, aiming the dark, gaping lens at my body.
A shiver shot through me.
It was the first time I ever found a camera lens terrifying—like a black void, ready to swallow a person’s soul whole.
I struggled again, but the knot on my wrist was too tight. I writhed on the bed like some helpless insect, but it accomplished nothing.
“You… you can’t do this…” My voice shook uncontrollably.
His tone softened, gentle even. “You look so good when you look at me like that.”
Then, just when I thought he was only trying to scare me, his whole demeanor turned frigid. “And why can’t I? You’re mine, Li Yuze.”
He said it so naturally—like I’d been his property all along, a thing he could use however he pleased.
“Let me go! You lunatic!” I shouted.
“Don’t call me that.” His hand shot out and clamped around my jaw, cutting off my words. “My dad only ever shouted ‘lunatic’ when he was sick. You’re not going to repeat his mistake… are you, Yuze-ge?”
I froze, staring at him in stunned silence.
Shen Siyuan’s desperate cries—his anger, his pleading—in A-Qing’s teachings had been rewritten into “episodes.”
So in Shen Jianqing’s mind, they’d been in love. His father had simply fallen “ill” from time to time, causing minor trouble at home.
It took me a long moment to come back to myself. When I finally did, I realized I was shaking. It was midsummer, yet I felt cold—cold from the marrow outward.
Seeing me grow quiet, he finally released my jaw. But his hand didn’t leave. It slid downward, stopping at the collar of my shirt.
His fingers moved deftly. With a single flick, the buttons came undone, baring my chest.
“Don’t…” I whispered, pleading.
Holding the camera in one hand, he hid his face behind the black lens. Only his blood-red lips were visible as he spoke—softly, with childlike cruelty.
“You wanted to leave so badly, didn’t you? If you really end up leaving someday… I should at least keep a souvenir. Don’t you think so, Yuze-ge?”
His cold fingers slithered over my skin like a living snake, roaming wherever they pleased, as if this body truly belonged to him and he could toy with it however he wished.
“I’ve actually seen it before,” Shen Jianqing suddenly said, moving the camera away and looking at me with unsettling seriousness. “Back in the Miao village in Dongjiang, that thing from the camera can turn into a thin piece of paper you can hold in your hand. Amazing, right? When that day comes—don’t worry—I’ll write down every single person who’s ever looked at the pictures in your camera, and I’ll have Honghong bite through their skulls one by one.”
I trembled so hard I couldn’t get a single word out.
The demon kept whispering, “So don’t worry. No need to be that stiff… just relax…”
It was the longest, most agonizing night I’d ever lived through. Years later, whenever I woke up in the middle of the night, half-conscious, I’d find myself dragged back to this moment—smothered by the same drowning panic and despair.
In the end, I couldn’t tell whether I passed out or simply fell asleep. I had no idea when Shen Jianqing finally left.
Drifting between sleep and fainting, I seemed to fall into a dream.
Dreams are reflections of the subconscious—our deepest desires or fears made visible.
But strangely, I was back beneath the stilted house, on the day I first showed Shen Jianqing how to use a camera.
The forest around us was a deep, suffocating green. The breeze stirred the leaves, but everything felt unnervingly silent.
Shen Jianqing looked up at me with innocent curiosity, his eyes fixed solely on me, focused as if nothing else in the world existed.
“Can you teach me how to use it?”
No! No, you can’t!
Weird—why was someone screaming in my ear?
I looked around in confusion. Nothing was there—just Shen Jianqing’s striking, delicate face.
“Of course,” I told him. “Try holding it.”
I handed him the camera and guided him step by step. But even as I taught him, an inexplicable unease gnawed at me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I smiled. “Nothing.”
He dropped the question and went back to fiddling with the camera. He was quick—after one explanation, he already understood it perfectly.
“Li Yuze!” he suddenly called.
I leaned against the railing, turning my head instinctively.
There he stood, holding up the black camera. His face was hidden behind the dark, gaping lens, only his bright-red lips exposed.
And that pitch-black camera lens—it radiated a strange dread, like a bottomless abyss waiting to swallow my soul.
His lips parted, and he said, “Your body’s too stiff. Relax…”
My pupils blew wide; my heartbeat spiked; a roar filled my ears. The scenery in front of me warped, twisted, darkened—
This is a dream!
I jolted awake.