The night was dark and quiet as Zhuang and her group approached the heavily guarded estate. The mission was clear: infiltrate the clan’s stronghold, steal the grimoire, and escape unnoticed.

The plan was carefully constructed. Her team was skilled, and the grimoire was within reach. As they crept through the estate’s shadows, the anticipation of success was strong. But as they reached the vault containing the grimoire, their luck took a turn for the worse.

An unexpected patrol caught sight of them, and within moments, the estate’s alarms blared. Zhuang and her team fought fiercely, but the clan’s defenses were stronger. They were outnumbered and overpowered, their efforts to escape blocked by the sheer force of their enemies.

The capture was swift and brutal. Bound and gagged, Zhuang and her companions were thrown into a dark dungeon. The walls were cold and unforgiving, and the flicker of lamplight cast eerie shadows that seemed to dance with malice.

As the hours ticked by, the clan interrogators arrived. They were merciless, their eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure as they began their work. Zhuang’s team was torture, their screams echoing through the dungeon. Despite the pain, she forced herself to remain silent, her mind racing to find a way out.

Her turn came eventually. The torturers were experts, skilled in inflicting pain without causing fatal harm. Zhuang endured the torment, determined not to betray her mission or her comrades. The pain was excruciating, but her mind remained sharp, focused on finding a way to escape.

The torture sessions seemed endless, each one more grueling than the last. The clan’s leader, a cold and calculating figure, watched from the shadows, his presence a constant reminder of their situation. Zhuang could feel his gaze, and it only fueled her determination to survive.

Days passed, and the torture took its toll. Her body was battered, her spirit strained. Yet, even in this dark moment, she clung to the hope that a chance to escape would come. Her thoughts were a jumble of pain and strategy, her willpower the only thing keeping her from succumbing to despair.

*

Chains clanged softly as Zhuang’s weakened body hung against the wall, her spirit almost as battered as her physical form. The pain was a constant companion, and her consciousness was slipping in and out as the darkness threatened to claim her.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention. Zhuang’s vision was blurry, but she could make out the silhouette of a figure approaching her. Her mind was muddled with delirium and exhaustion, she struggled to understand the sight.

At first, she thought it was a cruel trick of her mind—a hallucination brought on by her suffering. But as the figure drew closer, the familiar features became unmistakable. Zhuang’s heart fluttered with a mixture of disbelief and hope. The face before her was Xiuying, the one she thought she’d have as a lover, her nemesis, the woman who captivated and tormented her.

Xiuying’s expression was of genuine concern, a look that she had rarely seen from her. It was a contradicting moment, where the woman who had once been a source of both pleasure and pain now seemed like a beacon of salvation.

Caught between the wall of life and death, she allowed herself to believe that the impossible was real. Her cracked lips parted, and she whispered, “If this is a dream, then I don’t mind it ending like this.”

As Xiuying’s lips brushed against hers, a tear slipped down Zhuang’s cheek. The kiss was tender, almost surreal, against the harshness of her surroundings. The warmth of Xiuying’s touch was a stark contrast to the cold chains binding her, and for a fleeting moment, Zhuang felt a pang of longing for the connection they once shared.

“I don’t regret anything,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Being with you... would have broken me. But the brief moments we had... I wouldn’t trade them.”

Xiuying remained silent, her gaze locked onto Zhuang with an unreadable expression. There was no response, no words of comfort or cruelty—just an intense stare that seemed to pierce through her suffering.

Zhuang’s vision was fading again, the darkness closing in around her. Just as she felt herself slipping away, Xiuying gently touched her head. A wave of drowsiness caught her, and slipped into nothingness.