Shushin POV
I was lost in a deep, soul-weary slumber when suddenly, I found myself standing at a door, surrounded by blood. Beside me sat the spirit of Niaoniao, her eyes wide with shock. I followed her gaze and saw Rang, his hands stained deeply with blood. Curiously, I looked down at his hands and observed the source of the blood. It was streaming from Minghao. Minghao, writhing in agony from the deep wound that pierced through his stomach and emerged from his back.
As I took in his state, Rang stood up and approached me. Minghao's pained cry sliced through the air, his voice filled with desperation: "Run!"
I felt the weight of a terrible realization wash over me. The blood on Rang's hands, the sight of Minghao in agonized pain—it was all suddenly clear.
There was a painful irony in this realization, a bitter truth known by me alone. Despite the horrific act he had committed, Rang would never harm her - for he was foolishly blind to the woman lying wounded at his door.
I stood there, torn between the love she felt for him and the horror of his actions. In her heart, she believed he could never bring harm to the woman he cherished.
The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt before, and yet, I struggled to discern whether it was my own pain or hers. Her soul stood beside me, her pain etched on her face as she too observed this insane man before us. It was a pain that left an indelible mark on my heart, a feeling that would never be replicated, no matter how long I lived. Each pain, distinct from the others, shaped my experiences and left its own unique impression on my soul.
I wrestled with the conflicting emotions swirling within me. I had been through so much, yet this moment, this man, this pain - it was something else entirely. My heart ached, and I wondered at the peculiar mixture of my own feelings and hers.
He stepped closer and uttered, "You are not her." As his eyes fell upon the ground, his tears spilled forth. In a moment of revelation, he recognized her presence. He Saw Her, HE SAW HER!
Suddenly, the surroundings changed, awash with the presence of soldiers, their bows trained on him.
Rang dropped to the ground, perhaps feigning victimhood or truly feeling like one, yet his true affliction was with his inner demons.
While his pain may have been significant to him, it paled in comparison to the depth of her love and anguish. In that moment, I refrained from asking him, "Why?" For even in death, she had not found solace, and her lack of understanding of her death only deepened her pain.
And I remembered her words, that everyone must learn the meaning of love for themselves. How well I knew then that love is a bet against dice of life. The chance of Love, much like a game of chance, offered no guarantees. The odds of encountering that one true love, the rare 10 on the die, were daunting. And yet, the possibility of that single opportunity - the life-changing moment that brings two souls together - remained a tantalizing mystery.
The atmosphere thick with despair, the soldiers dragged Rang away, creating a heavy, mournful vibe, almost as if the very air was tinted with the color of grief. Meanwhile, the medical team rushed to aid Minghao, adding to the air of hopelessness that hung over us, each moment growing more somber and foreboding.
The following day, I passed on the responsibility of Rang's arrest to Qianyu, given that this was his city, his palace, and his land. I was merely passing through, and Niaoniao's spirit remained, but now it was for her own reasons, not merely out of love.
We made our way to the City of Death, to visit her grave. We did so as a final act, after confirming that Minghao had been saved and was recovering. I believed that the snowy city would never feel or smell the same when I return again, for the feelings and memories would flood back, as if a lifetime had been lived.
Now, I felt like a different person, one who had endured pain and love, learning an abundance of lessons. I believed that the pain I now carried kept me alive and that I would willingly repeat the choice of giving her my soul, time and again, without regret.
"Maybe pain keeps me alive."
We stood silently before her grave, and in a gentle whisper, she spoke, "I will take my memories with me. I know they can hurt me. I have truly absorbed this truth, carrying them in my mind."
I listened intently, committing her words to memory.
Approaching the grave, I laid blue flowers down, symbolizing a desire to be reborn, cleansed and free from the weight of memories.
I looked at her, pained by the situation she was stuck in. She thought love would save her, but instead, it had stolen her and broken her. Her body began to vanish, and when I reached out to hold her, all I could grasp was her elusive shadow. Her soul took flight as the wind carried it away.
As her soul drifted away with the blowing wind, I was overcome with profound sadness. I realized that I hadn't said all I wanted to say, and there were words left unspoken between us. Her absence felt like a part of my very soul had been torn away.
I could almost hear her voice whispering around me in the wind, a lingering presence,
I listened intently to the wind, straining to catch her words as they whispered around me.
"I knew, I think I used to know a way home that doesn't make me lonely," her voice echoed through the air.
"Perhaps if I hadn't loved, I would've walked forever, consumed by my own thoughts."
"Is this not better than living with the ghosts of memories?"
"Because we were young, because we were lonely, because we didn't love ourselves," she continued, each word carrying a weight of truth.
"This led us down this path," her voice carried A chill ran down my spine as her words washed over me.
"How I love now being alone," her voice echoed in the wind, as if she found newfound peace in solitude.
"Wind is now my name, closer to myself."
Her voice grew softer but no less emotional. "Now go to the wide world and embrace new journeys," she said.
"I swear to love, to believe, and to hold onto hope."
...
After returning to the Xin Palace, I went directly to my writing desk, taking a seat on the floor. I arranged my hair, sat upright, and took up a pen and paper.
Leaning in, I began to write...
"I don't believe in nice lady
even in the dark you'll see her smiling,
holding something I can't get
you will find her man with another, but she does not lose hope. Respect
she's something I can't be
So, nice lady, where did you lose your dream?
To be so Sweet, to let go of the past and work hard for the present?
She is kind to others, walks gracefully and politely, her hair and body look like a piece of Poems
So dear lady, I will give you my heart if I die, I think you deserve happiness more than me
I used to think I was too much, but next to you I look so few, Like nothing. you say "I wish you happiness"
I wish you too, but I don't say it from my heart, because I wish no one happiness but myself
I'm selfish, broken, and I'm not ashamed
Can you give me your eye for a moment? I want to see the world from your view
Is it like milk and morning sparrows? Is it water or clouds? Are you a butterfly? So do you fly?
Then Can you give me your hand? I would like to fly. Next to you I feel like I want to die
Do you think you are an angel? You're just nice, better than me
I'm not jealous, but you die every time, and you keep saying, "Take care of yourself."
So who will take care of you? No matter what happens, you don't take revenge, oh my God, how much I want to hide
The world is scary, and you're making this worse. Go, don't look back, I'll be better. Nice lady..."
The pen glided across the paper, and when I finished writing, a deep sigh escaped me. I carefully folded the paper and placed it inside a book. With my pen, I wrote on the cover, "Shadows in My Heart."
Rising from my seat, I opened the closet and gently placed the book inside, a final resting place for my written thoughts.
I spun around to find Tian Yang leisurely leaning against the wall next to my desk. With a raised eyebrow, I scolded, "Were you never taught to knock on a lady's door before entering?"
Unrepentant, he chuckled, his laughter always managing to rile me up a little more. "Judging by the look in your eyes, you're probably wishing I'd gotten stabbed instead?"
I feigned shock, placing my hand over my mouth, "Oh, how ever did you know? I tried to suppress my rudeness to spare your feelings."
He rolled his eyes and questioned curiously, "And what have you stashed away in your closet?"
I smiled and settled onto my bed, replying casually, "A message."
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "A message? I suppose letters are meant to be sent, not tucked out of sight."
I smiled sadly, my voice soft and sincere. "The truth is, I write messages for myself because I cannot be honest with others. There are countless individuals who I cannot share my heartfelt words with, so instead, I scribble them down for my own comfort and soul's peace. It's a consolation that might be difficult for you to grasp."
He seemed pensive as he considered my explanation. "So, you write these messages just for yourself, then?"
I nodded gently. "Yes, it's a way for me to find comfort in my own words. It's meant to console my soul."
He furrowed his brow. "But what of the people who could help you if you shared your thoughts with them?" he asked tentatively.
I let out a weary sigh, my voice carrying a hint of sadness. "There might be those who could provide support if I shared my thoughts with them, but writing is a form of therapy for me. It liberates my innermost emotions, even if I can't vocalize them to others."
He looked at me thoughtfully, trying to unpack the weight of my words. "But don't you think it's lonely to confine your thoughts solely to paper?" he inquired gently.
I smiled ruefully, the solitude of my thoughts weighing heavily on me. "Perhaps it is lonely, but there's a strange comfort in knowing my true feelings are recorded on paper. It's my own unique way of finding solace."
He leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the floor. "And what do you do with those messages after you write them?" he asked quietly. "Do you ever show them to anyone?"
I shook my head softly, a mix of emotions swirling within me. "No, they're for my eyes only. After I write them, I put them away, hiding them from the world. They remain my private reflections, meant only for me to revisit when I need solace."
He looked at me intently, his voice tinged with genuine concern. "You must feel incredibly lonely, keeping your thoughts trapped within those pages."
I mustered a small, forced smile, desperately trying to convince myself that I wasn't as lonely as I really felt. "I'm not very lonely," I repeated, my voice barely a whisper, like a mantra I desperately wanted to believe.
He paused, sensing the turmoil beneath my surface. With a tender gaze, he offered, "If you wish, you can talk to me. I will say only what you want me to say."
His words hung in the air like a lifeline, a silent invitation to unburden myself, to share my innermost thoughts without judgement.
But old wounds and past experiences tugged at my heart, whispering cautionary tales of vulnerability and rejection. I watched as he turned to leave, torn between the desire to reach out and the fear of being hurt yet again.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my mind grappling with conflicting emotions. Part of me craved the comfort and understanding that his offer promised, while the other part recoiled in self-preservation, too afraid to risk further heartache.
With a flutter of conflicted emotions, I surrendered to the weight of my exhaustion. My weary body sank into the comfort of the bed, and I closed my eyes, preparing to slip into the refuge of sleep. Yet, the words he had uttered lingered in my mind, an invitation that refused to be dismissed.
The quiet stillness of the room enveloped me, yet my thoughts remained restless, plagued by the mixture of hope and fear. I tossed and turned, the internal battle between self-preservation and the longing for connection waged silently within me.
I was on the verge of falling into a dreamless sleep when a sudden pain assaulted my stomach, wrenching me from the tranquility of slumber. I clutched my abdomen, a guttural moan escaped my lips, and with great effort, I stumbled out of bed, collapsing to the ground.
My breaths came in shallow gasps, and a string of curses spilled from my lips. "Ah...Damn you...," I muttered, my voice filled with pain and agony.
The intensity of the pain was unbearable, as if it had carved a gaping hole within me, tearing apart my insides and leaving me hollow.
The pain was all-consuming, a white-hot fire that seared through my core, leaving me gasping and trembling on the chilly floor. I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white, and I gritted my teeth, determined to endure the torment silently.