The declaration of the wedding ceremony echoed in Jianyu's mind, a chilling pronouncement that solidified his resolve. Back in his room within the Courtyard of Blooming Shadows, the pulsing, organic walls seemed to mock his forced serenity. The scent of sweet musk, once merely cloying, now felt suffocating. He had seven days. Seven days to plot.
He stood before a polished bronze mirror, its surface reflecting Niánmei's perfect, ethereal beauty. This face, this body, was a cage and a weapon. It was admired, coveted, and now, claimed. But it was not him. Not entirely. The System, a cold, calculating presence within his spirit, offered a solution, a path to autonomy: the Mask Function.
He focused, drawing upon the deepest reserves of his Absolute Body Control. He felt the subtle shifts in his bone structure, the rearrangement of muscle and tissue beneath the skin. It was a painstaking, agonizing process, a silent, internal scream as his very essence was reshaped. He molded a new face, a new form, one that was undeniably male, yet carried a subtle echo of Niánmei's delicate features, a familial resemblance. He named this persona Xu Jianyu, claiming him to be a silent spirit-guardian, bound to Niánmei's soul. A loyal shadow.
The transformation complete, he tested the voice, a low, resonant hum, distinct from Niánmei's melodic tones. He practiced the posture, the subtle shifts in qi that would differentiate the two. The System hummed with satisfaction, confirming the successful creation of a new, distinct identity.
Later, he sought out Mei Ling'er. She was still wide-eyed and a little fearful, but her gratitude for his earlier intervention had blossomed into a fragile loyalty. He spoke to her, his voice as Niánmei, calm and reassuring, yet with an underlying current of urgency. He explained that a pilgrimage to Yuegu Zong was imminent, under Empress Yuelian's "protection." He needed a companion, a trusted shadow. He convinced Ling'er to accompany him, emphasizing the opportunity to escape the cruelties of Qianci Yuan, to perhaps even learn. Her naive hope, though a risk, was a tool he could use. She readily agreed, her eyes shining with a desperate longing for freedom.
That night, a soft knock came at his door. Gong Xuelan. She entered without waiting, her veiled presence filling the room with a cold, analytical aura. She moved towards him, her movements silent, her gaze piercing. Her hand, cool and slender, reached out, her fingertips brushing along Niánmei's jawline, tracing the delicate curve.
"Perfection," she murmured, her voice a low, almost mournful whisper. There was no lust in her touch, only a chilling reverence, a sculptor admiring her finest work. "To think… such a thing could be born from chaos." She lingered, her qi probing, searching, but Jianyu's mask held. She could not find the male essence beneath. After a long moment, she withdrew her hand. "You will go to Yuegu Zong. For now." Her words were a concession, not a release. She let him go, but the unspoken threat in her veiled eyes promised a future reckoning.
As the moon climbed high, a small, dead bird landed silently on his windowsill. It was a common messenger for the lower sects, usually carrying trivial notes. But this one was different. Tucked beneath its wing, carved into a sliver of bone, was a message: "You are not the only ghost in a girl's skin." The inscription was crude, but the spiritual signature was distinct, powerful, and male. Ren Kaifeng. The leader of the Hidden Shrine.
Jianyu crushed the bone shard in his hand, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. Another player. Another ghost. The game was becoming more complex, more dangerous. And he, Xu Jianyu, now had a second mask to wear.