A woman prone to actual weeping and wailing is often more formidable than one who only knows how to pout. Although Li Bingyu was abandoned by her companions in Qinxin Park because of Li Xiaoshu, Zhang Yuqiu had just been bested by her move. The well-rehearsed excuses she had prepared not only failed to deceive Li Bingyu, but the true motive behind her visit was exposed on the spot. She was a living dead, and Zhang Yuqiu herself was a specter; where to go from here, Zhang Yuqiu had no clue. She could only let out a light sigh, glancing at Wang Jue under the candlelight, her eyes pleading for help.

Wang Jue understood Zhang Yuqiu’s unspoken plea and stepped forward proactively, sitting down near the candlestick to face Li Bingyu directly. He spoke gently, “What we came for isn’t really important. What matters is why you are here crying alone. Shouldn’t you be with them?” The ‘them’ in Wang Jue’s words naturally referred to the other living dead. But Li Bingyu suddenly acted as if stunned, pretending not to understand Wang Jue. She looked around and asked, “Who are you referring to?” All traces of the sorrowful and pitiable demeanor she had shown upon first meeting Zhang Yuqiu were gone, as was any desire to vent her grievances to them. She acted as if her earlier tears had been due to confusion, and now that she was sober, she drew a clear boundary between them, unequivocally aligning herself with the ranks of the living dead.

“Alas!” Wang Jue sighed, sparing a glance for Zhang Yuqiu, completely at a loss. Just then, Hou Dayong walked up from behind them, muttering like a mantra, “If one day you could be a little gentler, putting down those ghostly things—be they scythes or daggers—perhaps we could be friends. Just like when we first met, speaking cordially, chatting happily, strolling through the square bathed in the sunset. That would certainly be a hundred times better than now.”

Upon hearing this, Li Bingyu suddenly snapped her head toward Hou Dayong, her eyes fixed on him without blinking. Her eyes, catching the candlelight, held a joy that wasn't joy and a sorrow that wasn't sorrow. She stated firmly to Hou Dayong, “You didn’t say that.”

“Xiaoshu said it,” Hou Dayong replied very calmly. He turned his head away, stepped back out of the cave, and was no longer seen.

Yet Li Bingyu couldn't help but follow him. She bypassed Wang Jue and Zhang Yuqiu, standing beside Hou Dayong, trying to speak several times, but ultimately stopping mid-sentence. Hou Dayong was the sole witness to those words; only he knew the depths of Li Bingyu’s heart and understood why she was weeping softly there. The anguish of a severed puppet is profound: unable to serve its master like a normal puppet, yet unable to cross the threshold of puppetry to raise a blade against its own master. All it can do is watch the one it cherishes remain bound, while it secretly hides away to lick the wound upon its own spirit.

“You understand?” After a long pause, Li Bingyu finally managed to sob out the question to Hou Dayong.

Hou Dayong, being a man, dreaded hearing a woman address him in that tone. He turned his body away from her, saying, “I merely repeated a sentence, and now I must go save the person who said it. As for what you feel inside, I do not know. Regardless, we will bring both of them back unharmed.”

With that, Hou Dayong sprinted off toward the other end of the tunnel. Wang Jue and Zhang Yuqiu, seeing Li Bingyu’s constantly shifting and utterly unclear attitude, had already abandoned any hope of gaining her assistance. They hurried after Hou Dayong, taking two steps for every one of his.