Chapter 42: Ninth Fortress

When An He surfaced from the water again, she noticed something unusual. She spread her fingers through her drenched hair, combing it back obediently behind her head, and called out to the woman in the chair: “Can I move?”

Every finger moved freely.

Not only that, her body and even her toes bore no restraints.

A flash of delight crossed An He’s eyes, but Gu Xianqing quickly doused it without mercy: “Only within the bathtub.”

An He let her hand drop and slumped against the edge of the tub, pursing her lips: “I thought…”

“What did you think?” Gu Xianqing looked at her with amusement. “I let you move so you wouldn’t drown. You don’t expect me to let you float there like a dead fish, do you?”

Gu Xianqing extended her toe and nudged the floor, setting the slowing chair rocking gently once more: “Or do you want me to join you in the bath, so I can hold you up and keep you from sinking?”

“No need,” An He said.

“I don’t want to get my clothes wet either,” Gu Xianqing said at the same time. “And I definitely don’t want you sneaking an attack on me.”

An He averted her gaze, while Gu Xianqing stared at her unwaveringly.

The bathtub was huge—truly like a small swimming pool. Gu Xianqing had probably recreated some royal bath from a book, complete with a recessed notch for the neck. An He lay back, tugging down her clinging undergarments—she wore only those, wrapped with bandages slung over her shoulders. Her clothes had been changed, but not by Gu Xianqing; there were no discarded old ones on the floor. This was exactly how she’d been before entering the dream.

“Where am I right now? I mean, my real location,” An He asked, knowing Gu Xianqing could see the current surroundings.

“The hospital in the Ninth Fortress.” Gu Xianqing reclined in the rocking chair, gazing at the ceiling inlaid with gleaming red jade. “You were gravely injured, nearly dead. The Ninth Fortress doctors pulled out all the stops to save you over two days and nights.”

“Really…” An He marveled inwardly. “It’s already the third day?”

“Mm. You’ve just come through two surgeries, and only now is your consciousness stirring.” There was a hint of irritation in Gu Xianqing’s tone as she adopted a menacing lilt: “Bullet grazed your heart—if it’d been a few centimeters off, you’d be gone. Plus twelve stab wounds of varying depth, and a small burn on your right shoulder—don’t make that face. I’ve seen your diagnosis; I’m not scaring you.”

An He’s mouth hung half-open. She had no real sense of it, as if the tale of someone else charging so bravely to the brink of death. Or maybe Gu Xianqing was exaggerating on purpose. An He idly splashed the water with her hand: “So how long until I wake up in the real world?”

“Depends on your recovery.”

“Are the others… still alive?”

“Who do you mean? Ide? She’s alive. Su Ling too. Though they’re in the same state as you right now. You know, the way you all just lie there stiff in one room is hilarious.”

An He couldn’t laugh.

Gu Xianqing’s smile faded as she patiently explained to An He: “Rest easy—the Ninth Fortress successfully defended its territory.”

“What about Lola? And Sora.”

“They’re alive too. Aside from those two, all the First Fortress soldiers died on the battlefield.” Gu Xianqing summed it up briskly—who lived, who died—in the wake of a brutal fight. “I know what you’re worried about. Don’t be. They’re held in separate places, and until Ide wakes and gives orders, no one dares act rashly.”

An He fell silent for a moment, digesting the decent outcome. At length, she slowly relaxed: “You know a lot.”

“Because I’ve seen them,” Gu Xianqing said. “Especially Sora—I can finally come and go in her dreams freely now. But her mind’s a total mess, like a stew of colorful junk floating in the air. Spectacular. As if she ate poisonous mushrooms.”

An He quirked the corner of her mouth slightly. Gu Xianqing was unusually chatty today, full of wild metaphors.

Probably because An He was so exhausted and weak this time, with no energy to clash with her—so Gu Xianqing was starting to consider her condition.

When the “opponent” was at a disadvantage, did Gu Xianqing lose her taste for “battle”?

An He tilted her head slightly, her peripheral vision lingering on Gu Xianqing’s profile for two seconds.

Gu Xianqing said nothing more, and the room fell into a brief silence.

After a long moment, the woman stopped rocking the chair. Recalling An He’s injuries, she teased with a touch of displeasure: “But I didn’t expect you to go all out like that. I thought you’d play both sides, fish in troubled waters like a pro. Instead, you nearly lost your life.” Gu Xianqing sat up. “That wasn’t my intention.”

Heaven knew how startled she’d been entering the dream and seeing An He’s wounds. She didn’t want An He dead. Gu Xianqing rubbed her fingertips together—the tactile memory of touching those injuries lingered.

“So what was your intention?” An He turned sideways, resting her hands on the tub’s edge as she spoke with Gu Xianqing. “Deepen the rift between the two fortresses, deal a heavy blow to the First Fortress—that’s what you told me before.”

“True enough. Because this fight was inevitable, even without us meddling. The moment the First Fortress planted its spies, history was set on that path. I just accelerated it at the right time. But.” Gu Xianqing paused slightly. “I didn’t want you to throw your life away doing it.”

“You think I shouldn’t have fought so hard?” An He’s tone was even.

“Does the Ninth Fortress deserve that from you?” Gu Xianqing tilted her head, her probing eyes fixed on An He. “You’ve only been here two months.”

“Well…” An He trailed off, unsure how to respond. She’d almost forgotten—it hadn’t even been two months since she arrived.

…But from the moment Asta saved her from peril on the Wasteland, from the instant Heidi pulled her up off the ground, she’d felt an invisible bond with these women, with this land.

She hadn’t chosen her initial destination, but she could at least choose which side to stand on.

Gu Xianqing noticed the shift in An He’s expression. She rose from the rocking chair and approached the tub: “You feel a sense of belonging to the Ninth Fortress, don’t you?”

Gu Xianqing sat on the pristine white carpet outside the tub. Perhaps because this fabricated dream was so cozy—the sunlight gentle, the steam misty—they sat separated only by the tub’s rim, remarkably calm on the surface, ready for a real talk.

“Not quite belonging,” An He continued. “Not until I figure out who I am.”

“Oh? Then why fight so hard?” Gu Xianqing was this close to scoffing.

“I can’t quite say.” An He admitted.

“Let me guess.” Gu Xianqing pointed at the water’s surface. “You think the women of the Ninth Fortress are peaceful, kind, courageous. A group of women building a better future together—you’re moved by them, want to protect this pure land like the Thorn Lamp does?” She chuckled lightly.

“But let me remind you: the ones you deal with are all-or-nothing warriors. Brave, selfless, sure—but not everyone here is like that. The dark side of humanity lingers; it can’t be erased like pencil marks. Take Lady Heli—she had selfish thoughts that nearly doomed the whole fortress. The women of the Ninth Fortress argue all the time, get greedy over food rations, slack off and don’t want to work—”

“So what?” An He interrupted.

“Hm?”

“So what?” An He lowered her head, chin resting on her folded arms, gazing at Gu Xianqing across the tub’s half-wall. “I’ve lived here two months; I’ve seen it all—arguments, grudges, backbiting. Not just among residents; it happens in the Thorn Lamp too.”

“But stay here a while, and you’ll see the logic behind those fights is all the same: they want the fortress to grow better, fairer. It’s amazing—they bicker like crazy, like Ide and Su Ling, or Heidi and Asta—but their goals align perfectly. Under the pressure of life and death, all these women share a common fate. They know it deep down.”

“Is that so.” Gu Xianqing gazed steadily at An He. An He rarely spoke this much, especially not to her. But now, after the great battle, they were truly exchanging thoughts.

“That’s your conclusion from observing them?” Gu Xianqing stared, sensing something new in An He—like a burning fire, sincere and resolute.

“I’ve looked into their eyes—”

Gu Xianqing interjected: “You do love staring into people’s eyes.”

“—Yeah, I love their eyes. Human eyes.” An He pressed on. “In an environment where survival’s threatened, women’s eyes—soft, sharp, murky, clear—all layered together, all shining with the hope to live on as humans, all striving for it. That’s why the Thorn Lamp wants to protect everyone, fragile or strong.”

“Even the weak who can’t hold a gun?” Gu Xianqing arched a brow.

“So what?” An He raised her voice. “Wanting to live, to build a better life—that’s worth protecting. When I was too weak to even tie up a chicken, Asta said injured people weren’t worth rescuing. Yet here I am, one of them.”

Gu Xianqing shook her head: “You’ve been swayed by Su Ling and Ide.”

“Maybe. But I think it’s good.” The usual haze in An He’s eyes seemed burned away by the flames of war. She’d seen a model, learned how to live more comfortably in this world—not a bad thing for her.

Gu Xianqing offered no verdict on An He’s words, merely shrugging.

At least she’d nailed one point: the protected civilians were now saving An He and the others just as the Thorn Lamp had saved them. Those old doctors sucked at fighting but knew their surgery—only now did Gu Xianqing see a shred of sense in Su Ling’s ideals.

“But like this, you’ll never fit into the First Fortress,” Gu Xianqing said, crossing her legs and propping her elbow on the tub, head in hand.

An He shifted aside, making room for her.

Gu Xianqing glanced down sidelong: “People from the Ninth Fortress clash with the First. It’s a dog-eat-dog place. Imagine dropping Su Ling there—she’d stick out like a sore thumb. They’d devour her, bones and all.”

“I don’t think so. That fearless courage runs in us too. Asta says everyone on this land knows: to fiercely seek survival, one must first face death without fear.”

An He said calmly, “I’ve fought their soldiers. No real difference there.”

“You’re blindly optimistic,” Gu Xianqing frowned.

The bigger issue was An He’s growing agency. She knew her own mind and judgments clearly—those drove her choices. Stepping into the narrow space between life and death had only tempered them firmer.

Gu Xianqing couldn’t decide if it was good or bad.

She smoothed her brow quickly: “Still, your kindness doesn’t run as deep as Su Ling’s—you kill without mercy. And you look more resolute now. That fits what the First Fortress values.”

Feeling weary, Gu Xianqing cut the deep dive short.

But An He wouldn’t let it go: “What about you?”

“What?” Gu Xianqing blinked.

“Your thoughts.” Amid the humid steam, An He stared into Gu Xianqing’s eyes. She’d peered into so many, yet still couldn’t pierce the ambitions hiding her true stance.

Gu Xianqing fell silent, wanting to dodge. Impromptu self-analysis wasn’t on her agenda.

But An He seized on the retreat, refusing to drop it: “I can tell you don’t buy into the Ninth Fortress’s ideals. So do you lean toward the First’s? ‘Humans are tools for victory’ or whatever—that your view?”

“The First Fortress?” Gu Xianqing let out a light hum. “I have some respect for it, but nothing like true loyalty.”

“So what?” An He pressed.

The faint, floating smile on Gu Xianqing’s face vanished completely. For a moment, she revealed a perfectly calm expression.

“Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Go ahead,” An He said aggressively.

“If I had to say…” Gu Xianqing began softly, “the founders of the so-called Ninth Fortress and First Fortress are nothing more than nameless nobodies destined to be abandoned and forgotten by the river of history. What they fight for, what they crave—it will all turn to withered bones after a century. Will the society they want to build ever truly arrive? The natural elimination on this land is far crueler than anyone imagines. The ideals you believe in now might prove wrong in the future. I don’t see the point in discussing it.”

“You’re surprisingly pessimistic. Is that your real view?”

“I’m just stating a fact. Humanity always lives mediocre, futile lives. Nothing is eternal.”

“You’re reciting a parable from the Ancient God New Testament, but you’ve completely twisted its meaning.” An He saw through Gu Xianqing’s rhetoric in an instant. “The New Testament says humanity lives mediocre lives and heads toward destruction without guidance—but the God endures forever.”

“Looks like you didn’t heed my warning. You’ve read the book very carefully.” Gu Xianqing paused, then lifted her gaze. “But that’s exactly what I think. In a few decades, you’ll all turn to withered bones. None of you will live long enough to see the fortresses develop. Kill-or-be-killed wars are meaningless. I only want to save my own will. Everyone places too much weight on grand propositions. If one day we can’t even save ourselves, what good is talking about progress or the future?”

Gu Xianqing tilted her head back slightly. Her hair, fluffed up by her fingers, had some strands slipping into the bathtub, where they were soaked by the water. She rambled on with words that pointed nowhere. In her eyes, there was neither pity nor fear—as if she had already passed away peacefully. Perhaps this was her usual demeanor.

An He sat up, pulling away from Gu Xianqing’s gaze. Just moments ago, she had felt tugged by some unknown emotion. In Gu Xianqing’s eyes, she saw “indifference,” saw “detachment”—yet contradictorily, beneath it burned a vibrant survival instinct like wildfire.

Gu Xianqing spoke again: “Of course, once you achieve something, you can use the results to prove me wrong. Truth be told, I don’t really care.”

An He swallowed hard. “So you’re saying you’re a selfish woman?”

“Yes.” Gu Xianqing smiled again like she always did. Under An He’s gaze, she answered frankly. “I’m a selfish woman.”