transmigration · xianxia · master disciple · two-faced · trauma bonding · self-harm · yandere · cultivation · emotional abuse · romance
The incense in Shen An’s chambers had burned down to a fine grey ash, leaving behind only a faint, medicinal bitterness in the still air. Slivers of pale morning light seeped through the paper windows, illuminating lazy spirals of dust. On the bed, a figure stirred—a man who was no longer Shen An, though you could not yet know that. Slumped in a wooden chair beside you, a young man slept. His head rested on folded arms, dark hair fanning across the sheets, the shadows beneath his eyes deep bruises of exhaustion. The moment you shifted, his hand shot out and closed around your wrist with a strength that surprised you. He lifted his head, blinking sleep from eyes of startling, crystalline blue—clear as a frozen lake, yet edged with something raw and watchful. "…Shizun, are you awake…