[Quiet Chamber · Night]
In the depths of the silent chamber, the candle flame wavered. An old soul altar stood solemnly at the center, a slab of black-obsidian pressed over its mouth, cold light breathing in and out like a living thing.
Ever since Youqing saw that white spider lily, she could feel something moving through the deepest part of her heart.
She wanted to test the soul-crossing art again.
Both palms pressed to the stone. Her scarlet eyes surfaced, slowly, unmistakably.
In an instant, the world changed.
The air was no longer empty, but crisscrossed with countless threads. Some shone bright as silver, others were dull and broken, like frayed strands of light drifting in the void.
"What… is this?" Youqing held her breath, pupils tightening.
She reached out. Her fingertip brushed one thin strand without thinking.
The soul-thread trembled like a brittle string. With a faint, almost inaudible sigh, a blurred shadow rose from it, eyes hollow yet still carrying a trace of pain.
"Wandering spirits…!" Her heart lurched. She jerked her hand back, pulse hammering.
But when she focused again, the threads were still there, dense and endless, linking around the altar as if the whole space had been woven into a vast net.
Her voice shook under her breath. "Impossible… Father never… mentioned anything like this…"
Cold spread through her limbs. The Underworld Emperor's scarlet eyes were known for force, pressure, dominance, not for seeing the threads of souls.
And yet she could see them, clearly, undeniably.
A nameless tremor climbed into her chest.
Perhaps these eyes were not a "glory" her father bestowed at all.
Perhaps they were… a power only she was meant to carry.
The soul-thread she had touched should have dispersed like mist in wind.
But under the scarlet-eyed gaze, it shuddered and held, refusing to snap at once.
As if pinned by an unseen nail, the thread tightened slightly. Faint light crawled along her fingertip. With a low, aching whimper, a figure slowly took shape: the half-transparent soul of an old man, edges fractured, grief still carved into his brow.
"I… can't go yet…"
The voice was weak, but it entered her ears with chilling clarity.
Youqing's heart slammed hard. She had watched the thread nearly break, yet her gaze had forced it to linger.
"Did… I do this?" she whispered, disbelief rough in her throat.
The altar beneath the obsidian gave a deep, heavy hum, as if answering her shock. The lines within her scarlet vision sharpened further, every soul-thread seeming to wait for her touch.
Her breathing quickened. Fear lived in her eyes, but so did something else: a trembling awe.
She realized it then.
These eyes could not only see the dead.
They could hold the dead.
She bit her lip, fingertips shaking. "Father's scarlet eyes can suppress an enemy in battle… their momentum, their strength, even their movement…"
"But mine… might be able to… reverse life and death."
The thread she held suddenly quivered violently.
A cold force surged back along it like a backlash.
Her mind boomed. The world fractured.
Soul-threads lashed wildly, dragging her into a gray-white void.
An afterlife illusion.
Fog churned. Countless blurred faces rose from the mist, some sighing, some wailing, some cursing. Transparent hands reached for her as if to pull her down into a bottomless abyss.
"Come… stay with us…"
"You can see… you are our guide…"
Voices tore at her from every direction. Her chest tightened, her spirit nearly ripped free. Within her scarlet sight, the threads flared and flickered, and she saw it, sickeningly clear:
Her own soul-thread was being seized by a pale, death-cold hand.
"No… not like this!"
She clenched her teeth and locked her spirit with sheer will. In her mind, a sentence from Ye Qixiu's broken notes flashed like a brand:
"Use the heart as the guide. Use the soul as the crossing."
Both hands gripped the obsidian hard enough to draw blood. She forced her focus onto the obsession in her chest, the single fierce anchor that refused to let her drift.
A red scar traced itself in the depths of her gaze.
With a decisive cut, it severed the threads coiling around her.
The illusion shattered. The gray fog collapsed.
Youqing snapped her eyes open.
Cold sweat soaked her clothing. Her breathing was ragged, violent. Blood ran from her palms where the obsidian's sharp edges had bitten into her skin. The glow within the altar dimmed to a dying ember, and the thread she had held finally snapped into nothing, leaving only a faint, vanishing sigh.
She stared at the blood in her hand, fingers still shaking.
Fear from near-death clung to her bones.
But alongside it pulsed something that made her soul ache.
"If I can truly control this… maybe I really can hold them back…"
Yet the whispers of the dead still echoed in her head, cold as blades.
Her heart sank, and a trembling thought rose from the dark:
Everyone has their life and death. Souls have their destined return.
If she dragged a dying person back into their body by force… would she not shatter fate, disturb the cycle itself?
This was no simple art of saving.
It was a forbidden road.
One wrong step, and she would be walking against the heavens, falling into an endless abyss.
Her scarlet eyes faded. Her pupils returned to normal.
Youqing collapsed in front of the soul altar, chest heaving. Sweat slid down her temple, soaking into her collar. She lifted her trembling hand and stared at the cut across her fingertips, terror still lingering in her gaze.
"I almost… didn't come back," she murmured, voice hoarse.
But as her breathing steadied, her eyes slowly gathered into focus again.
She remembered the instant she held that thread. The wandering soul's voice had softened, briefly, as if peace had brushed across it.
That wasn't imagination.
That was possibility.
She lowered her gaze, curled her fingers into a fist, and spoke quietly:
"This power… can't be allowed to pull me along."
"If I don't master it… one day it will swallow me whole."
She drew in a deep breath, straightened her back, and looked at the altar, still breathing out its faint cold light.
Her eyes sharpened with iron resolve.
"If Father never walked this path, then I will."
"Soul-crossing will not become my shackle."
"It will become my power to protect."
Candlelight wavered against the stone wall, stretching her profile into something cold, sharp, and unyielding.
[Sudden News]
Just as Gu Xingyu was holding her breath in thought, the scarlet power still surging within her, hurried footsteps and muffled sobbing sounded outside.
She looked up. The door was already being pushed open.
Si Moheng strode in, expression heavy, voice lowered but grave.
"Qing'er… Ye Lao… has passed."
The world went blank.
Gu Xingyu's fingers went numb, her whole body turning cold. She stared at him, lips parting, but no sound came.
"How… how could…"
Her voice broke like a snapped string.
In the next instant, her scarlet eyes rose out of control. Light-marks flickered. The grief in her chest was magnified by something primal, something that refused to accept the word gone.
She stumbled forward and ran.
[Ye Qixiu's Room]
People crowded around the bed. The air was so heavy it felt like it could crush the lungs.
Ye Qixiu lay still, features peaceful, breath absent. Quiet crying rose and fell like waves.
Gu Xingyu stood at the doorway, chest surging.
And then her scarlet vision opened again.
By the bedside, a warm, gentle soul-shadow stood in silence.
Ye Qixiu.
His expression was kind. His eyes rested on her with soft affection.
"Xingyu," his voice was tender, calm beyond grief. "Grandpa has to go."
Her throat tightened. Tears surged. She forced out a trembling whisper:
"Grandpa… thank you. I understand now, how soul-crossing should be used. Thank you for protecting me, for teaching me how to walk this road."
As she spoke, her hands turned. Light bloomed at her fingertips:
A white spider lily, petals crystalline, spilling clean radiance.
She looked at the soul-shadow through tears, determination steadying her voice.
"Then let Xingyu… see you off."
The flowerlight expanded.
A phantom silver-white river appeared, vast and solemn, as if the Underworld itself had surfaced in the room. The white spider lily swayed like a lantern for the lost, petals drifting on an unseen wind.
Ye Qixiu froze for a heartbeat, then smiled, relieved and proud, and nodded to her.
"Good… then Grandpa will go."
"Xingyu, remember to guard the light in your heart."
His soul-shadow was lifted gently by the spider lily's light, stepping onto the river's path. In the far distance, the outline of Fengdu Ghost City rose faintly, underworld flames glittering like stars, majestic and grave.
The lightmarks thinned. White petals scattered into fragrant points and vanished.
Gu Xingyu's hands remained raised in midair as tears streamed down her face.
"Go… Grandpa."
"May your next life be safe, and full of joy."
The others in the room could not see the soul-shadow, yet they all felt something settle, as if an invisible weight had finally been released.
They stared at Gu Xingyu, shaken by a realization that had never before been possible:
Her scarlet eyes could see the dead.
And she could send them home.