The silence after Yinan's question still rattled through the chamber like an aftershock.
Then why wasn't it you?
Liansheng's mouth opened, closed. No words came. Only blood, dark against the white of his collar, blooming slowly like a curse that refused to stop spreading.
Qiuyue tilted her head, her bare feet padding lightly against the stone as she approached. Her robe trailed behind her like mist, and the way she looked at them—two men on the floor, locked in a storm neither could escape—was far too serene.
"How strange," she murmured. "The lotus blooms, but instead of fragrance it gives us wounds. Tell me, Yinan… is that what you wanted?"
Yinan dragged in a breath, each inhale sharp as glass. His hands still trembled, empty now that the petals had burned away. He could not look at her. He could not even look at Liansheng.
"I wanted… him to hurt," Yinan rasped. His throat was dry, his voice like broken reeds. "Even for a moment. The way I do."
Qiuyue's eyes gleamed, and for the first time her smile was not childish—it was ancient. "Then congratulations. The system has accepted your offering."
The ground beneath them vibrated. Low at first, then rising, until the air itself thrummed like a plucked string. Cracks webbed across the polished floor of the chamber, glowing faintly with the same scarlet light that had flared from Yinan's chest. The Lotus system was not still. It was awake, restless, answering to his grief as though it were command.
Liansheng pushed himself upright, staggering slightly from the blood loss. His voice cut through the tremor.
"Qiuyue. Stop this."
Her laughter was like bells shattering. "Stop? No, no, no. You fed me to him, remember? You gave me his heart. And now it beats in rhythm with the petals. Do you want me to starve?"
Her sleeve flicked. At once, the cracks in the stone deepened, and from them spilled phantom lotuses—petals black as ink, blooming and withering in seconds, only to bloom again.
Yinan jerked back, his body reacting before thought. The sight of them made his chest ache; they looked like his, but twisted, tainted, as though his grief had been rewritten into mockery.
"Qiuyue—enough." This time, Liansheng's voice was sharp, commanding. It carried the weight of someone who had once controlled this system, who had bound it to his will.
But Qiuyue only laughed louder. "You still think you command me? Poor Liansheng. Poor shadow. You were just the hand that lit the spark. The lotus was always his. You were only… a caretaker."
Her gaze flicked to Yinan, and for a moment her expression softened, eerily tender. "But now? Now he can choose."
The phantom lotuses writhed around Yinan, petals brushing his arms like whispers. His vision swam—each black bloom felt like a reflection of his heartache, offered back to him in poisonous form.
Liansheng stepped forward despite his wounds. "Yinan. Listen to me." His voice was hoarse but steady, a tether in the storm. "She's using what you feel. If you answer her—if you give in—it won't be your power anymore. It will be hers."
Yinan's breath hitched. The phantom petals leaned closer, urging, coaxing, promising release.
His eyes met Liansheng's across the storm. Blood still marked Liansheng's cheek, his shoulder, his throat. Yet the man stood bare, defenses down, gaze steady, as though willing Yinan to strike again if he needed to.
And that steadiness broke something inside him.
Yinan's hand curled into a fist, nails biting his palm. The black blooms quivered, waiting for his command.
"I don't…" His voice cracked. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I don't want her. I don't want this."
A pulse of rejection surged from him, scattering the phantom lotuses into dust. The cracks in the stone sealed with a hiss. For the first time, Qiuyue's smile faltered.
Her eyes flashed cold. "So you choose him."
Yinan opened his eyes, staring at her through the remnants of ash. His voice was low, ragged, but unflinching. "No. I choose myself."
Qiuyue's laughter rang once more, but it was thinner this time, edged with something sharp. "Then you will learn how heavy that choice is."
And with a swirl of white sleeves, she dissolved into mist—vanishing into the lotus system's depths.
The silence that followed was heavier than any storm.
Yinan sagged forward, his forehead nearly touching the stone. His whole body trembled from the exertion.
Liansheng knelt beside him, ignoring the pain in his own wounds. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out again—this time letting his hand rest lightly against Yinan's back. Not claiming, not binding. Just steady, human warmth.
For the first time since the storm began, Yinan didn't pull away.