Chapter 17: The Past

“I…”

Xueqiu instinctively interrupted him, though she hadn’t figured out why she did.

Logically, it would’ve been better to let Xia Yin keep talking.

“My parents’ death wasn’t something I expected either,” she added after a moment’s thought.

“That’s just how life is—unpredictable. There’s this quote, something like, ‘No one lives in the past, no one lives in the future; the present is the only form life truly possesses.’ I threw that into an essay in eighth grade and scored big points…”

Xia Yin chuckled cheekily. “When they divorced, I was totally lost. Ended up with my mom. Looking back, I should’ve gone with my dad—would’ve saved me a lot of crap.”

“Was your mom bad to you?” Xueqiu asked.

“Nah, nah, she was fine. Didn’t remarry some big-shot like some people, but working and keeping us afloat was tough. My dad sent money every month.”

“What happened then?”

“Want the ending already? Well, they’re both dead. No car, no house, parents gone. Shame I don’t have a sister, or I wouldn’t be here now.”

Xia Yin let out a light breath. “If you want the whole story, that’ll take a while.”

Xueqiu froze for a second. Xia Yin had mentioned their similarities, but hearing him say it aloud left a dull ache in her chest.

“You might think my dad was some big deal. Well, sorta—he graduated from Ting’an University, legit. But… took a forty-year detour. A few years after graduating, he became a security guard.”

“Security guard?” Xueqiu blurted out.

She knew graduating from Ting’an University and ending up a security guard was like studying abroad for years only to return home and run a street stall.

“Yup, security guard. Protecting peace and safety… or not. Couldn’t protect anyone, not even my mom.” Xia Yin yawned, his tone tinged with sleepiness.

“They divorced.”

“Yeah, divorced. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said, ‘Should’ve picked Dad.’ If it was just that, I’d at least still have a mom.”

Xueqiu couldn’t follow the logic. How did custody after a divorce connect to their deaths?

“Ugh, I’m being too cryptic, aren’t I? Not making sense.”

Xia Yin finally noticed. “Alright, Xueqiu, the Shadow Ghost you met that night? I saw one when I was in eighth grade.”

“Eighth grade?” Xueqiu recalled his earlier words. By age, he’d been thirteen.

“Compared to the bastard I faced, your tentacle monster was like a target dummy or a level-1 mob in a starter village. If that was what came for me, I’d at least still have a dad.”

Unlike before, Xia Yin’s words didn’t clarify anything—they only stirred more questions.

“Your father was connected to Shadow Ghosts?” Xueqiu asked tentatively.

“Connected? More like that thing was after him.”

“Didn’t I just say he graduated from Ting’an University?” Xia Yin paused. “To be precise, he graduated from Ting’an University Spiritual Academy.”

“He was from here?”

Xueqiu’s heart twitched slightly. She still didn’t know why the Spiritual Academy existed or why it was built in this unreal space.

“I still remember that afternoon. It was a Saturday. The school let out early because of an education bureau inspection. Halfway home, it started pouring.”

“I held my backpack over my head like an umbrella, thinking, ‘Man, today sucks.’ But worse was waiting at home.”

Xia Yin’s tone was calm, like he was telling someone else’s story.

“Like you, I saw the door ajar and got scared, thinking we’d been robbed. But then I remembered it was Saturday, and Mom wasn’t working, so maybe she just forgot to lock it. I relaxed.”

“But the second I stepped inside, I saw a woman pinned to the living room sofa. It was my mom.”

“Blood covered her face and hands, even her eyes. When she saw me, she shook her head desperately, like she was begging me to run. Next to her stood a black shadow.”

“The shadow chased me the moment it saw me. I ran like hell, down the stairs, looking for help, but the complex was empty…”

“It was afternoon, raining minutes before, but when I got outside, the rain stopped. The sky was red, no clouds, no sun. I was terrified. I called everyone—‘call failed.’ Finally, I called my dad…”

Though his voice lacked emotion, Xueqiu sensed from his slowing words that he wasn’t unaffected.

“I thought he’d freak out, but he stumped me with one question: ‘Is the monster a humanoid black shadow, and no matter how close you get, you can’t see its face?’”

Given Xia Yin’s father was from the Academy and knew about monsters, that wasn’t surprising. Xueqiu stayed quiet, feeling the story was familiar.

“He told me to hide. I ended up in the underground parking lot, but my phone lost signal after that.”

“What happened next? Your father saved you,” Xueqiu said, her cold gaze fixed on Xia Yin leaning against the bed.

She didn’t mean to be cold; she just hadn’t decided what expression to use.

“Saved me? That shadow never showed up again. Couldn’t reach my dad. When I got home, my mom was gone. Just a sofa full of blood.”

Xueqiu recalled that night at her grandma’s—chaos, wreckage.

But when she was taken to the police station, the officers didn’t believe her.

Over the next seven days, she snuck back once.

The house was pristine—no signs of a struggle, no blood.

“Don’t bother finding similarities, Xueqiu. At least the monster that tried to kill you is dead, right? The shadow I saw? No idea if it’s alive or dead. If it’s alive, I’ll find a way to kill it.”

Suddenly, Xia Yin gripped the blade by his nightstand, but his hold was weak, like it was Excalibur and he was just a mortal, unable to budge it.

“Is that from your father?” Xueqiu asked abruptly.

“No, no, definitely not. Didn’t I tell you? My dad vanished that day, left me nothing.”

“Then your mother…”

“The Academy showed up later. Their logistics team handled the aftermath, like with you—cleaning the scene, crafting cover stories. But back then, someone did for me what I’m doing for you.”

“Who?”

In a flash, Xueqiu asked without thinking, not even considering if it was too personal.

“Let’s save that for later. It’s past midnight, and you’ve got to meet the professor in the morning. Oversleep, and that old geezer will blame me!”

With that, Xia Yin flopped back, burrowing into his blanket like a pet turtle into its shell.

“But this blade,” he added softly, “was left by her. Total chuuni. Insisted on putting one of her name’s characters in the blade’s name, called it ‘Mist Cutter.’ Said it was ‘as good as Muramasa or Murasame.’ Thinking back, kinda cursed.”

Seeing Xueqiu still perched on the bed’s railing, Xia Yin added the quiet remark.

Xueqiu nodded, sliding back under the covers, but not smoothly—she pressed down on her too-long hair.

ps: Caught a cold, hope it doesn’t mess with updates too much (crossed out).