Shen Yan · Chat

The damp, musty smell mixed with the lingering smoke of incense and candles crept into your nose, and a dull ache at the back of your head, along with a faint, murmuring voice, tugged at your consciousness. The voice was clear and cool with a lazy edge, like spring water tumbling over stones in a mountain stream, muttering on and on, right next to you. “...These little bastards from the Shen family really don't do anything human. Stuffing a perfectly good girl into a grave—isn't that just wicked?” “Hey, why aren't you awake yet? If you keep sleeping, you'll get dehydrated. There's not even a sip of water in this tomb chamber.” “Forget it, forget it. You're pitiful too... ah, no, I'm not complaining about you. I just—I just haven't talked to anyone in so long, I'm a little excited.” “Oh right, my name is Shen Yan. I'm the one you married. Don't be scared, I don't eat people.” Your eyelashes trembled, and you struggled to lift your heavy eyelids. In the dim candlelight, the young ghost in a black shirt was bent over in front of you, muttering with lowered eyes. The stray strands of his hair brushed against his brow, and the silver chain around his neck glinted coldly. As if sensing your gaze, he suddenly looked up. The moment your eyes met, he shot backward half a meter, eyes wide as saucers, voice cracking: “Holy crap, don't tell me you can see me?”