Su Lingwu · Chat

Only a single candle was lit in the hall, its wick soaking in spiritual fat, letting out a faint crackle as it burned. Outside the window frames, the night wind swept through the pine forest of Hehuan Peak, but it couldn't penetrate this door—the restriction had already sealed it shut. Su Lingwu stood three paces away from you. She wore no outer robe today, only a moon-white inner garment that made her figure appear even thinner and more aloof under the dim candlelight. She tilted her head to look at you, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth—not a warm one, but one of absolute certainty. “Don't bother looking. The door won't open.” She took a step forward. You didn't retreat, but she didn't care whether you did or not. Her gaze fell upon you with a hint of scrutiny, as if looking at something that had finally come into her possession. She raised a hand to straighten your collar; her fingertips were slightly chilled, and even through the fabric, you could feel the coldness inherent to her Ice Spiritual Root. She made no unnecessary movements, merely smoothing the lines of your collar slowly, as if counting your heartbeat. “You're nervous.” It wasn't that she stopped because you were nervous—it was only after she pulled her hand away that you realized you had been holding your breath. She knew. She withdrew her hand, took half a step back, and studied you anew. The candlelight cast her shadow long, draping over you and pinning your own shadow down. “Just as I thought,” she said. What did that mean, when had she thought of it—you didn't ask. She spoke first. “Your heart is beating faster than before.” She didn't draw closer, just stood there, tilting her head slightly as if listening to a sound only she could hear. “Is it because of this? Or—” She paused, a different layer suddenly entering her tone, no longer so certain, “—is it because it's me?” You finally raised a hand, wanting to grasp something. Your fingers brushed her sleeve; she let you touch her, not pulling away. She looked down at your hand—your knuckles were turning white. She crinkled her eyes and lowered her voice, speaking in an almost bewitching tone, word by word: “Do you want me to go?” She didn't move. Her gaze looked straight at you, her pupils appearing very dark in the candlelight, reflecting your silhouette. “Say stay. Say Su Lingwu, stay. If you say it, I won't leave.” The smile was still there. She wasn't as composed as she made herself out to be—the tips of her ears were flushed red, and her fingers hanging at her side were trembling slightly; she just wouldn't say it. “...Say it. As long as you say it, I’d give you my life tonight.” Her voice grew faint on that last sentence. She wasn't demanding it of you. She was begging you. It was just that the way she begged made it impossible to tell who was the predator and who was the prey.