They reached the alcove again.
Xiao Qing had already closed the panel from inside, but the moment she heard their footsteps she cracked it open—just enough for her small face to appear, eyes wide with unspoken questions.
Lin Feng couldn't look at her.
He slid down the wall opposite the panel until he sat on the cold floorboards, knees drawn up, forearms resting on them, head bowed so low his hair curtained his face.
Yue Li knelt in front of him again.
She didn't speak at first.
She simply reached out and lifted his chin with two fingers—gentle, but unyielding.
His eyes were bloodshot, pupils so dilated the black nearly swallowed the iris. The silver vein under his left eye had turned the dull color of tarnished metal. It no longer pulsed. It throbbed—like an infected wound.
"Tell me what you're tasting right now," Yue Li said quietly.
Lin Feng's lips parted. No sound came for several heartbeats.
Then—
"Copper," he whispered. "And ash."
He swallowed—convulsively.
"And ink. Old ink. The kind that stains fingers for days. I can taste the moment the thread touched his throat… the faint vibration of his vocal meridians fluttering like trapped moths before they went still. I can taste the exact second his short-term memories dissolved—like sugar melting in rain. Sweet at first. Then bitter. Then nothing."
His voice cracked open wider.
"I can taste his confusion turning sour in my own mouth. The half-formed thought—'Why is everything going quiet?'—and then the blankness rushing in like cold water down the throat. I swallowed it. I **swallowed** six hours of his life, Yue Li. Not devoured them. Not absorbed them for power. I just… erased them. Like wiping chalk from a slate. And now they're inside me. Rotting."
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets—hard enough to bruise.
"I keep waiting for the system to gloat. To show me another vision of triumph. But it's silent. Because it doesn't need to. It already won. It made me do the thing I swore I'd never become: the quiet thief. The one who steals tomorrows without leaving blood on the floor."
Xiao Qing's small hand reached through the gap in the panel. She couldn't quite reach him, but her fingers stretched as far as they could.
"Lin Feng…"
He flinched at his own name.
"Don't," he rasped. "Don't say it like I'm still worth comforting. I muted a man who probably has grandchildren who call him Grandpa Wei. Who probably keeps dried plums in his sleeve for them. Who probably hummed while copying scrolls because silence made his hands shake. And I took that hum away. For six hours. Because it was **expedient**."
His shoulders began to shake—violent, silent tremors.
"I can feel it sitting in my stomach like spoiled meat. Every time I breathe I taste the moment he realized something was wrong. The tiny hitch in his qi when the thread first brushed skin. The way his pulse jumped—once, twice—then smoothed into unnatural calm. I **felt** that jump. In my own chest. Like I was the one being silenced."
Tears slipped between his fingers and pattered onto the floorboards—dark spots spreading like ink blots.
"I wanted to stop. Mid-thread. I wanted to pull back. But I didn't. Because the quest said 'non-lethal.' Because the reward was useful. Because Xiao Qing would die if he talked. And now I'm sitting here trying to convince myself it was noble. But it wasn't noble. It was **cowardice**. I chose the clean kill over the messy fight. I chose silence over risk. And the silence is screaming louder than any blade ever could."
Yue Li's own tears fell freely now—hot, angry drops landing on his wrists.
She leaned forward until her forehead pressed against his bowed head—hard, bruising contact.
"Then scream back," she choked out. "Scream at me. At the system. At the heavens. At yourself. But don't swallow it. Don't let it become part of you like the memories you stole. Let it burn. Let it **hurt** until there's nothing left to hurt with. Because if you swallow this too… if you tell yourself 'it was necessary' one more time and believe it even a little…"
Her voice splintered.
"…then the next time the system asks you to silence someone, you won't even taste the copper anymore. You'll just do it. And that will be the end of the song. The end of us. The end of you."
Lin Feng's entire body convulsed once—violent, full-body shudder.
A single, raw sound tore from his throat—not a word, not a sob.
Just pure, animal grief.
He curled forward until his forehead hit the floor between his knees—hands fisted in his own hair, pulling hard enough to tear strands free.
"I'm sorry," he gasped into the wood. "I'm sorry, Scholar Wei. I'm sorry, whoever you were going home to. I'm sorry, Mother—I'm so fucking sorry I let your song pass through hands that just erased a stranger's day."
Xiao Qing's small fingers finally brushed the top of his head.
She didn't speak.
She only resumed humming—the same imperfect lullaby from before.
Off-key.
Trembling.
But unbroken.
The silver vein flickered once—weak, wounded, but alive.
The Spirit Song answered—not with power, not with healing.
With shared sorrow.
A single note slipped from Lin Feng's throat—cracked, bleeding, barely audible.
It joined Xiao Qing's hum.
Yue Li's tears fell onto the back of his neck as she wrapped herself around him from behind—chest to his back, arms locked around his ribs like she could physically hold the pieces together.
They stayed like that—three bodies knotted together on the cold floor—while the regret carved deeper grooves into Lin Feng's soul.
Not to punish him.
To **remind** him.
That mercy without cost is not mercy.
That every "necessary" sin leaves a mark no devourer can consume.
And that the song—fragile, stubborn, human—will keep singing through the guilt…
…until either the guilt breaks him,
or he finally learns how to bear it without breaking the world in return.
The morning light strengthened outside.
The patrols drew nearer.
And inside Lin Feng's chest, the taste of stolen hours lingered—copper, ash, ink, and something new:
The faint, bitter salt of a man who still refused to let go of his own humanity.
Even when it hurt more than death.
To be continued...