She could not fathom where Wang Ya drew such perseverance and drive to dig such a long tunnel. Survival instinct, probably. She knew Wang Ya viewed her Zhang Family as the Feng Family’s exterminators. That night’s events had forged enmity between them, yet Wang Ya neither abandoned her nor finished her off. She could not grasp why Wang Ya let her live.
Wang Ya returned to the cave, saw Zhang Qingshui sitting in the tent, and ignored her. She ate a simple meal, drank some water, and crawled into her sleeping bag. Just as she settled, Zhang Qingshui’s voice rang out: “Wang Ya, why didn’t you kill me?” Wang Ya ignored her, zipped up the bag, closed her eyes, and slept.
Zhang Qingshui emerged from the tent and squatted beside the sleeping bag-bound Wang Ya. She said, “I tried to kill you, harmed you. Our Zhang Family bears a vendetta of extermination against the Feng Family. Why did you still save me?”
Wang Ya opened her eyes and gazed steadily at Zhang Qingshui. She countered, “Did you want me to kill you?”
Zhang Qingshui asked, “Why didn’t you kill me?”
Wang Ya asked, “What would killing you change?”
Zhang Qingshui knelt with bent knees beside the sleeping bag and said, “At least it would avenge the harm, wouldn’t it?”
Wang Ya let out a “heh,” a rippling smile blooming across her stunning visage like water waves. She said, “Zhang Qingshui, I don’t care.”
Zhang Qingshui asked, “You don’t care? You don’t care that I tried to kill you? Don’t care that I harmed you?”
Wang Ya said, “In this world, who hasn’t been hurt, who hasn’t suffered pain? Why dwell on unhappy things and torment myself? The one who can’t let go is you, not me. The one harboring wicked thoughts is you, not me. Zhang Qingshui, your Heart Demon runs deep. Do you expect me to join you in its torment? You’ve harmed me, we have enmity—do you expect me to resolve your Heart Demon for you? If you feel guilt and obsession over that incident, you’ll bear an eternal, unrepayable debt. If you pretend your evils and wrongs never happened, ignoring right and wrong, justice and morality, your Dao Heart will shatter completely. One misstep, and you’ll be doomed eternally.”
Zhang Qingshui murmured, “So this is your revenge—living well yourself while watching me writhe in agony.” That night, she had harmed Wang Ya but destroyed herself. She would rather Wang Ya hated and retaliated against her; at least that offered closure. She asked, “Wang Ya, don’t you care about the harm and pain inflicted on you? Can you truly pretend it never happened?” She stared unblinkingly at Wang Ya in the sleeping bag, searching her face and eyes for true emotions.
Wang Ya’s face showed no sorrow, no joy, not even a hint of struggle—only faint disappointment. She said, “I often thought of that night too, but more so of my soul leaving my body, of dying. For someone who’s died once, what pain outweighs the importance of ‘staying alive’? For someone facing endless pursuit, bearing a family’s Inheritance and the blood debt of their extermination, Zhang Qingshui, what does your little matter count for?” She once hated Wang Chengzhi because her own flesh-and-blood father had tried to drown her in a chamber pot—a memory not told by others but seared into her mind from personal experience. She hated him as her protector and kin, not an enemy. Later, she stopped hating even him, for such a man did not deserve her resentment or a place in her heart. Zhang Qingshui, no kin to her, deserved it even less.
Zhang Qingshui asked, “Do you want the entire Zhang Family to bury with the Feng Family?”
Wang Ya said, “I targeted your Zhang Family because you sought to eradicate me and the Feng Family utterly.” Exhausted and sleepy, she ignored Zhang Qingshui further, rolled over with her back to her, closed her eyes, and fell deeply asleep.
Zhang Qingshui knelt limply beside Wang Ya, her watery gaze fixed on the sleeping form, unable to look away. If possible, she would rather die by Wang Ya’s hand, at her side. She knew if she died, Wang Ya would merely smile faintly at her corpse and move on without a ripple. Like one possessed, she obsessed madly over Wang Ya, yearning to approach, to possess. Now, she only wanted to stay by her side, nowhere else. Heartache clogged her chest, choking her throat. She would rather Wang Ya hated, resented, raged—instead of this indifference, uncaring who harmed her or whether she suffered. Wang Ya’s apathy pierced her deeply; behind those three words lay not detachment, but utter coldness—toward others and herself.
The intense labor left Wang Ya utterly spent; she slept soundly, oblivious to Zhang Qingshui kneeling beside her, silently weeping.
Zhang Qingshui did not know how long she knelt there. When she came to, her legs were numb, but her mood had calmed. She pondered much about the Zhang Family, herself, and Wang Ya. The family was her burden; as long as she held sway, she must scheme for them. As for her feelings toward Wang Ya, she could not control them—let herself fall to madness. Life or death was heaven’s will.
