Upon seeing Xiaoyu, Xiao Shu’s legs trembled so violently she stumbled toward him. Xiaoyu was a picture of utter desolation, his hands, face, and neck spattered with crimson drops of blood. His sickle lay discarded nearby, its blade coated in dark, sticky gore.

“Xiaoyu, I’m here. What happened?” Seeing him like this sent a pang of sorrow through Xiao Shu; the spirited, buoyant Xiaoyu she remembered seemed to have vanished in an instant.

“I… I… I’m dead!” Xiaoyu looked at Xiao Shu, taking a long while to finally utter the words he had held captive in his heart for so long.

“Yes, I know!” Xiao Shu nodded to him, then turned and gestured toward Bingyu standing behind her. “She is the same as you!”

“The same?” Xiaoyu repeated her words in a voice bordering on a dreamlike murmur. Slowly, he pushed himself up from the ground and walked in a circle around Bingyu. Their eyes met for just a fleeting moment, yet in that instant, they understood each other’s inner turmoil with perfect clarity.

“How many people did you kill?” Xiaoyu asked dully.

“Thirty-two!” Bingyu replied coldly, without the slightest hesitation. Perhaps the horrific ordeal she had just endured had bred a deep loathing for humanity within her. Every soul who had fallen by her blade deserved their fate in her world; no one, save perhaps the woman in red, could stir the ice that had encased her heart. Her guilt toward the woman in red stemmed only from Xiao Shu’s recent reprimand.

“And you?” Bingyu’s tone remained chillingly detached. The fragile soul of the young man who had wept while crawling out of the heap of corpses was utterly gone from her now. Perhaps the old man’s attack had shattered any remaining faith she held in the unpredictable nature of humanity. Since pity was impossible, she chose to discard emotion entirely.

Hearing Bingyu’s question startled Xiaoyu back into his former state of anxiety. “I… I didn’t kill him!” He then pointed toward the corner behind the door. When everyone turned to look, they saw a prison guard still seated there, eyes tightly shut, one hand pressed against a wound. The rise and fall of his chest suggested he was grievously injured.

“He injured one of our officers with the sickle, then lost his composure and started crying on the floor,” the guard who had been crouching beside Xiaoyu comforting him earlier explained to the group. Although he did not know the full extent of what had transpired, the bloody carnage on the training ground was still vivid in his mind. Juxtaposed against the backdrop of the female devil who had slaughtered so many, Xiaoyu’s remorse stirred the guard’s compassion. Instead of treating him as a criminal, the guard stayed by his side, ceaselessly soothing his agitated spirit.

“It’s alright, Xiaoyu!” Xiao Shu stepped forward, gently taking hold of Xiaoyu’s blood-soaked hands. “If you truly could have fulfilled that promise, you wouldn't have chosen to sacrifice yourself to save Ali and Xing’er. Your soul will never truly leave; harming Aunt Hua earlier was just being bewitched, and she won’t blame you.” As she spoke, she shot a sharp glance toward Li Taiming. Li Taiming, acting as if nothing were amiss, strolled out the door whistling a jaunty tune.

“But… I’m about to die…” Mentioning the life-and-death contract agitated Xiao Shu further. Her hands shook ceaselessly, her lips trembled, and two streams of scalding tears erupted from her eyes, as if bidding farewell, or perhaps crying out for help.

Yet, life is singular, and who possesses the power to detain a soul poised for ascension to paradise? Not Jesus, not Siddhartha, and certainly not Qin Shi Huang. No one can defy the call of birth and death, unless they have bartered their soul to the devil.