As soon as Lu Phong left, the room plunged back into a terrifying silence, save for the rhythmic drumming of rain against the corrugated iron roof—a sound like the ticking of a death clock. Shen Zhe remained motionless by the door, his breath ragged, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the gap in the door as if he could peer through the wood to strangle the man who had just departed.
Lin Yan was in no rush to comfort or soothe his rage. Instead, she sat nonchalantly on an old chair, slowly producing a miniature listening device she had covertly slipped into Lu Phong's pocket during their brief, feigned intimacy earlier. A cryptic smile played across her elegant, yet frigid features.
"Do you want to hear... what your best friend—your brother-in-arms in the business world—really thinks about your death?"
Lin Yan switched on the speaker. A faint static crackled, and then Lu Phong's voice emerged, unrecognizable from the warm, polite tone he had used moments ago. Now, his voice was triumphant, dripping with contempt as he spoke to someone on the phone:
"...Yeah, I just left her place. Shen Zhe being dead is a blessing for all of us. Stocks are soaring after the news, and I'm certain his parents will soon be begging on their knees for me to take over the 'Centerpoint' project. As for that little Lin Yan girl?... She looks decent enough, a bit of an exotic flavor. I'll play along for a while to gain her trust, then I'll seize that prime piece of land she's sitting on. Shen Zhe? He was nothing more than a love-struck fool. He's probably rotting in some godforsaken hole by now. No one even remembers that crippled architect anymore."
SNAP!
The pencil in Shen Zhe's hand snapped in two. Splinters bit deep into his palm, but he felt no pain. His entire body trembled violently, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. This betrayal was the final blade driven into a heart already riddled with scars. The man he had trusted most, the man who had just uttered hypocritical words of mourning, was the very person waiting for his death to scavenge his legacy and the project that was his life's work.
Lin Yan stepped softly behind him, winding her arms around his waist and pressing her cool face against his back, which was rigid with fury. She whispered, her voice like wind through dead leaves—haunting and laden with venom:
"Do you see it now, my Zhe? When you fell, the brilliant world outside was only waiting to pick your corpse clean. There is no friendship, no loyalty, and certainly no grief. Only I cried for you. Only I am the one who wants to keep you warm in this room."
Shen Zhe spun around. His eyes no longer held a shred of pathetic despair; they were consumed by a dark, manic frenzy. He no longer hated Lin Yan for imprisoning him; instead, he hated the cruel world that had betrayed and discarded him while he was still breathing.
"Yan... I want him to pay. He isn't allowed to touch anything that belongs to me... that project, my name... or you!"
Lin Yan smiled—a radiant grin that held the toxicity of a poisonous flower. "I have a way. But you must trust me completely. You must surrender your soul to me. Tonight, we shall 'marry.' So that you truly belong to me, and so you never long for those traitors out there again."
She produced two simple silver rings and a length of rope, crimson as fresh blood. In the flickering, ethereal candlelight, she made him kneel. But this time, Shen Zhe knelt with an entirely different resolve. He did not kneel because he was forced; he knelt because he wanted to offer his entire existence to the "demon" Lin Yan in exchange for the power to avenge himself against the world.
Lin Yan used the red rope to bind his hand and hers together, the coils tightening until it was painful, yet agonizingly intimate.
"This is our Red Thread ceremony. From this day forward, you are mine—a 'ghost' who lives only for me and belongs solely to me. In return, I will be your legs to punish your enemies, your voice to demand justice, and the executioner for every death sentence you desire."
Shen Zhe stared at the cold silver ring sliding onto his finger. A morbid euphoria blossomed in his chest. He suddenly realized a terrifying yet sweet truth: only in this dark, damp room was he truly a "king." Only beside this madwoman was he loved to the point of extremity—a love willing to wage war against the entire world.
"I do," Shen Zhe whispered, his voice a dark, solemn vow.
He pulled her into a kiss, heavy with the metallic tang of blood from his bitten lips. In the darkness, two souls forsaken by the world began to build a mad empire of their own.