Round One (18)

A storm was brewing in Shen Huai’s eyes.

For the first time, he revealed such a terrifying expression to Si Jiu.

It wasn’t that he looked particularly fierce, but rather as if his entire being was trapped in an abyss—unable to break free, yet stubbornly determined to fight his way out, desperate to hold onto her.

“I can,” he said.

His words were laced with heavy obsession.

Those deep black eyes stared at her like a beast fixated on its prey, or a dragon guarding its most precious treasure, never once looking away as he repeated, “I can keep you with me.”

Si Jiu almost felt… a little sorry for him.

She exhaled and turned her head aside.

…

From that moment on, she truly couldn’t take a single step out of that room.

No matter how many times she tried, she was met with disappointment.

Another bed had been brought in—a wide, two-meter soft bed.

But Shen Huai could no longer hold Si Jiu as he used to. The moment he tried to join her on the bed, she would cast him a sidelong glance with those soul-piercing, black-and-white eyes.

Her gaze was not fierce, nor did her expression show anger—it was merely indifferent.

And it was precisely because of this that Shen Huai couldn’t go against her wishes.

So, he lay on the floor beside her bed… making a pallet for himself.

A dignified CEO, a leader in the supernatural world, now reduced to such humility—it was almost painful to witness.

He was clearly playing the pitiful card. Si Jiu saw through his tricks, sneered coldly, and had no interest in engaging with him.

Now, as a soul, Si Jiu didn’t need sleep at all.

Shen Huai was surely aware of this as well. So sometimes, even when Si Jiu closed her eyes and appeared to be asleep, he would continue talking to her, seemingly content just to have someone to converse with.

“I’ve buried Tang You now,” Shen Huai said, sitting on his makeshift bed with one hand resting on the edge of Si Jiu’s bed, his chin propped on his arm as he gazed at her, his eyes tracing her features over and over.

This was her true form—a spirit.

Si Jiu was often bored these days, and having someone to talk to was, in its way, not unwelcome.

But since Shen Huai was the very source of her boredom, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed. Yet, whether she responded or not, Shen Huai spoke on as if nothing could deter him.

“To be honest, I feel a bit sorry for her. I kept her body for so many years, unable to lay her properly to rest.”

“Heh…” Si Jiu scoffed. The soul had been gone for who knows how many years—what was the point of a proper burial now?

“Back then… I didn’t know it was you. Did I hurt you badly?” He reached out, as if to touch her face.

Si Jiu opened her eyes and looked at him, freezing his hand mid-air.

“I don’t remember if it hurt or not. What I do remember is being labeled a necrophile for so long—it was enough to scare a girl to death.”

Shen Huai’s face stiffened, torn between regret, embarrassment, and perhaps a touch of guilt.

“Tangtang, please don’t be angry with me.”

What was with that innocent expression? Wake up—he was no longer the easily flustered young master he once was. Now, he was a century-old monster himself; surely, he could show a little dignity.

“I know I was wrong.”

“If you know you were wrong, then remove the seal and let me go.”

“I can’t.”

Si Jiu sneered again.

“Anything else you want, I’ll agree to—just not that.”

“Anything else, I want nothing.”

Shen Huai’s lips pressed together, his sadness evident, his eyes shimmering as if on the verge of tears. “Tangtang, do you really hate being with me so much?”

Honestly…

She knew he was likely putting on an act, yet even so… Ah! Truly, beauty is my downfall!

“I never said I’d leave if you lifted the seal. I just hate the feeling of being confined.”

She hadn’t said she’d leave if the seal was broken, but she hadn’t said she’d stay forever, either. Shen Huai caught the hidden meaning in her words, lowered his gaze, and stayed silent.

Si Jiu tried to reason with him. “Before, when you didn’t know I was in the mirror, did I ever leave?”

She was being sly, of course—the way she said it made it sound as if she’d been in the mirror for many years.

“And when you nearly shattered my soul, did I leave?”

That was, indeed, the thing Shen Huai regretted most in his life—it had become a constant weapon in her arsenal, and all he could do was feel guilt and remorse.

“Try being locked in a room every day, unable even to open the door—and you’ll see…”

“I understand,” he interrupted softly.

Si Jiu raised her brows.

“I do understand,” he repeated, his voice gentle. “That’s how I spent my entire childhood—my early years were just like this.”

She had forgotten about his poor health and the constant misfortune that haunted him back then. Si Jiu felt a stab of regret for her careless words.

Should she comfort him?

Or was he just acting again?

“But I never wanted to imprison you. I’m just… afraid you’ll leave me.”

His lashes trembled like tiny fans, vulnerable and pitiful.

Si Jiu was speechless.

Go on, take the camera—give him Qi Yan’s Best Actor trophy while you’re at it!

What nonsense was he spouting? This wasn’t even a clever argument—it was pure sophistry.

Her head ached.