Black Magic Rose Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Sleeping Arch-Enemy

The sound of trickling water from the bathroom broke the deathly silence in the room. Wen Jingheng’s bedroom included a rather spacious bathroom, and Shu Yijin was currently standing at the sink, meticulously washing the glaring rose-red stain from his fingertips.

The cold water washed over his skin, carrying away the flower juice, and also carrying away the momentary, almost instinctive urge for destruction that had leaked out. He looked up at his reflection in the mirror. Amidst the swirling steam, the face belonging to “Shu Yijin” appeared increasingly soft and fragile. His damp black hair clung to his cheeks, adding to the sense of vulnerability. Only his crimson eyes, like gems submerged in ice water, calmly reflected the non-human essence deep within his soul.

“My emotions… are still fluctuating a bit,” he murmured to the mirror, his voice audible only to himself. Was it because he had finally met his arch-enemy, or was it due to some residual instinct from this human body? He wasn’t entirely sure, but he disliked the feeling of losing absolute control.

However, the slight loosening of the Seal when his fingertips touched Wen Jingheng just now was a genuine surprise. This was more direct and effective than any method of breaking the Seal he had anticipated. Wen Jingheng, the former sealer, whose very existence was somehow a part of the key.

The sound of water stopped. Shu Yijin used a soft towel to meticulously dry his hands, not missing a single space between his fingers. He returned to the bedroom, but instead of immediately approaching the large bed, he began to carefully “tour” the space that was about to become his primary area of activity, like a newly arrived guest.

The room was large, but the furnishings were minimalist, even stark. Aside from necessary medical equipment and furniture, there were almost no personal items visible. The walls were a cool gray, the floor was smooth and cold, and the massive floor-to-ceiling windows were tightly covered by heavy dark curtains, blocking out both external light and prying eyes. Only the warm yellow lamp beside the bed barely managed to dispel the gloom in a small area, yet it also cast more dense, distorted shadows.

This didn’t look like a home; it looked more like a fully equipped… monitoring room. Or perhaps, a meticulously crafted high tower, imprisoning a sleeping prince.

A faint curve appeared at the corner of Shu Yijin’s lips. A high tower? Imprisonment? An interesting metaphor. Except, the one who had broken into the tower now was no pure Savior, but a wicked dragon coveting the prince’s life—or rather, something far more important than his life.

His gaze fell back onto Wen Jingheng. This time, he observed him more closely, with the calm scrutiny one might apply to an anatomical specimen.

Wen Jingheng lay peacefully, his breathing steady and shallow, monitored by the nearby instruments. His face was pale from the lack of blood color due to prolonged coma, but his features were still deep-set and handsome. His brow bone was high, his nose straight, and his jawline sharp and clean. Even in sleep, there seemed to be an unyielding coldness and detachment in his expression. This was the posture memory retained by a man accustomed to high status and control, even when unconscious.

Shu Yijin walked slowly closer and sat down in the armchair beside the bed. This chair was clearly prepared for long-term bedside care; it was soft and comfortable, and positioned perfectly to allow a clear view of every detail of the person on the bed.

He did not touch him rashly again, choosing instead to watch quietly. Watching the human who had once gathered forces and, with a mortal body, ultimately Sealed him, an Ancient Existence. How spirited and brilliant must Wen Jingheng have been back then? His body burning with Holy Energy, which Shu Yijin found repulsive, his eyes as firm as bedrock, as if nothing in the world could shake his will.

And now, he lay here like a perfect, soulless sculpture, fragile, his life and death controlled by others. Fate was truly ironic and marvelous.

“Wen Jingheng,” Shu Yijin spoke softly, his voice exceptionally clear in the silent room, carrying the gentle tone he deliberately feigned, “They told me that this will be my ‘home’ from now on. And you, are my nominal ‘husband’.”

He leaned slightly forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his chin in his palms, adopting a posture of listening. His eyes showed just the right amount of confusion and sorrow, like a new bride filled with anxiety about the future.

“Do you think this counts as a strange kind of destiny? We were originally… meant to be people from two different worlds.” He chuckled softly, the sound light and tinged with self-mockery. “However, for me, perhaps this place is much better than that so-called ‘home.’ At least, you won’t look at me like a monster, and you won’t be thinking about how to squeeze out my last bit of value before discarding me, right?”

His words were half-truths. The Shu Family’s attitude of genuine disgust and exploitation was real, but it didn’t cause him the slightest injury; it only made him feel amused and… worth noting. These human negative emotions were merely insignificant embellishments in his long life. But speaking them now in this fragile tone was the best disguise.

“They all say you won’t wake up,” Shu Yijin’s gaze rested on Wen Jingheng’s tightly closed eyes. How sharp and compelling would those eyes be once opened? He felt a flicker of curiosity. “But I don’t believe it. Wen Family’s Young Master, the former… man of the hour, how could he be content to sleep forever?”

He reached out, this time not targeting Wen Jingheng’s body, but gently resting his hand on the thin blanket covering his chest. Through the soft fabric, he could feel the steady rise and fall of the chest beneath and the warm body temperature. The temperature of life.

Shu Yijin’s fingertips tapped lightly and unconsciously on the blanket surface. He was sensing, sensing the energy barrier deep within Wen Jingheng’s body, the one connected to his own Essence Seal. The brief touch earlier was like testing the waters; now, he needed a more patient and detailed investigation.

However, just as he focused all his attention on energy perception, an extremely faint, almost imperceptible fluctuation, like a speck of dust dropped into an ancient well, gently brushed the edge of his consciousness.

It wasn’t an energy fluctuation; it was more like… an emotion? A highly vague… anxiety, buried deep within the silent sea of consciousness?

Shu Yijin’s tapping fingers abruptly stopped. A flicker of genuine astonishment crossed his crimson eyes.

Wen Jingheng’s consciousness… was not completely dormant?

This was impossible. According to the information he had received and his own perception, Wen Jingheng’s soul should be doubly confined by powerful curses and the Seal, sinking into the deepest darkness, incapable of any external reaction. What was that feeling just now? A hallucination? Or interference from the sensory input of this human body?

He frowned slightly, suppressing all outward emotion, and focused his perception again, scanning every inch of Wen Jingheng’s body and every trace of energy, like the most precise radar.

The chains of the curse were still firm, and the Holy Energy was silent, like a frozen volcano. The subtle fluctuation from before vanished without a trace, as if it had never occurred.

Was it a mistake?

Shu Yijin gazed at Wen Jingheng’s peaceful sleeping face. After a long moment, a meaningful curve slowly appeared at the corner of his lips.

Interesting.

If Wen Jingheng’s consciousness was not completely dead, but merely trapped in boundless darkness, then… things just got much more interesting.

This meant that his “care,” his seemingly self-addressed whispers, might not be a play performed for a deaf audience. In the darkness, there might always be a silent listener.

A lonely prisoner, yearning for light.

And what could be more pleasurable than giving a desperate person a sliver of false hope, only to personally extinguish it? Especially when that desperate person was his dear arch-enemy.

“It seems our method of ‘getting along’ needs a slight adjustment, Wen Jingheng.” Shu Yijin’s voice returned to its previous softness, even carrying a subtle, almost tender quality, but deep within those red eyes, a cold and cunning light flickered.

He was no longer in a hurry to test the Seal; instead, he seemed to have found a new toy. He began to speak in a gentler tone, rambling about trivial matters. Complaining about the Wen Family servants’ seemingly respectful yet distant attitude, lamenting the scenery he couldn’t see outside the window, and even… asking Wen Jingheng what he liked to eat and what books he enjoyed, with a hint of innocent naivety, as if genuinely expecting a response from the sleeping man.

His performance was flawless, perfectly portraying the image of a slightly pitiful yet charming young wife trying to communicate with her “husband” while having to face reality.

Time slowly passed during this one-sided “conversation.” The sky outside seemed to have brightened slightly, but the heavy curtains still blocked most of the light, maintaining the dim, ambiguous atmosphere in the room.

Shu Yijin felt he had done enough. He stood up, pretending to smooth his not-at-all-rumpled clothes, and said softly, “You should rest, and I am a little tired too. Tomorrow… I will come see you again.”

He walked to the door, his hand on the doorknob, but then paused and looked back at Wen Jingheng, who remained motionless on the bed. The dim yellow light cast soft shadows on his exquisite profile. His gaze was complex and hard to decipher, containing concern, curiosity, and a trace of… the patient waiting of a hunter after setting a trap, hidden in the deepest part of his eyes.

“Good night, Jingheng.” He softly uttered the name, his tone intimate and natural, as if he had called it a thousand times before.

Then, he gently closed the door.

Absolute silence returned to the bedroom, broken only by the regular, faint ticking of the medical instruments.

In the darkness, Wen Jingheng’s finger twitched, almost imperceptibly, like a spasm. The movement was so small that even the most precise instrument might not have caught it.

And the shadow under the lampshade of the single bedside lamp seemed… heavier than before. Like a quietly opened, watchful eye.