When Wen Querong first met Zhou Changjiu, he was a junior brother who had only recently arrived at Yunisha Manor.
In the eyes of their fellow disciples, he was gentle and courteous, grateful for kindness, and always smiled at her with crinkled eyes.
Everyone liked Zhou Changjiu, and Wen Querong was no exception.
Until the day Wen Querong sat before the dressing table, dead drunk.
She caught sight of someone faintly reflected in the mirror.
It was Zhou Changjiu.
His ink-black hair spilled down his back. His long lashes were lowered, half veiling the upturned corners of his eyes, which looked like peach blossoms forever smiling.
A few breaths later, the distant figure in the mirror was suddenly right beside her.
A pair of pale, slender hands with distinct knuckles, still cool and damp with dew, settled on her shoulder. Then, cautiously and slowly, he gathered up her loose hair and lifted it to his nose to smell.
His lips curled into an ever-deeper smile. His voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz, but he deliberately stressed certain words.
"Senior Sister, your hair is a mess. We mustn't lose our composure within the manor. Let Jiu'er tie up your hair, all right?"
**
Later, she accidentally came upon a man from a neighboring sect, who was betrothed to her, hanging upside down from a tree. His eyes had been gouged out, and his limbs and tongue had all been cut off.
Zhou Changjiu silently appeared in front of her, conveniently blocking the corpse from view.
His hair flowed like a waterfall, and his eyes were warm and gentle, with a faintly sticky look. His lips, which had been pressed into a straight line, curved upward. He reached out suddenly and gently stroked the top of her head with his broad palm.
His touch was tender, but the cold, clammy feeling from his palm was impossible to hide. Even the surrounding air seemed to carry a stronger stench of blood.
"Don't be afraid, Senior Sister. Jiu'er is here."
One day, she accidentally wandered into a hidden passage in Zhou Changjiu's room.
The walls were covered in portraits of her.
The jade hairpin on the table was the one she'd lost.
The tattered paper kite on the round stool was the one she'd thrown away.
The moment her gaze fell on the bloodstained sword in the corner, a chill rose from beneath her feet like an icy spring, spreading bit by bit through her whole body. Every hair on her back stood on end.
At that moment, her mind went nearly blank, leaving only one thought:
Run. She had to get out of here as fast as possible!
But as she climbed the steps, trying to escape, someone appeared out of nowhere with a candle in hand and blocked her way.
The next second, the candle-holder bent forward. The flickering light cast his face in shifting shadows. He brought the candle closer to her, as if carefully admiring her frightened expression.
After a long pause, the candle-holder tilted his head and stared straight at Wen Querong with dark eyes and a half-smile. His voice was slow and deliberately low:
"Where are you running off to, Senior Sister?"
Theme: May you find peace and happiness!
