I don't talk about love with my Martial Sister

Chapter 105

After spending some time, Shang Can gradually began to understand her current situation.

The feeling of exhaustion around her had not fully dissipated, and the person who had rushed out moments ago showed no intention of returning. Shang Can listened intently for a while but heard no sounds, so she attempted to stand from the bed and walked to the table, where she sat down. The iron chain on her ankle clinked with her movements, a sound impossible to ignore.

"..."

Deliberately ignoring the chain, she glanced down at the table. A few simple dishes were neatly arranged, but she had no appetite and merely poured herself a cup of tea.

To her surprise, the tea was still piping hot, likely brewed just before she woke. Having gone so long without food or drink, she wasn't prepared for the burn when it touched her tongue. The pain was sharp, but she soon realized it felt muted, distant—like it was coming through an indistinct haze.

Setting the teacup down, she stood in silence for a moment before moving to the copper mirror in the room, holding her breath as she looked in.

The reflection showed a striking face with long, flowing black hair resting lazily on her shoulders. She was dressed in a white robe with faint bamboo patterns, a style reminiscent of the garments worn in the clouds.

The person in the mirror appeared unwell. In the dim light, her skin looked pallid, and the eyes that usually sparkled with charm now held a trace of confusion. Their gaze trembled, making her dark pupils appear like stars.

It was indeed Shang Can—her true self, not a half-demon form.

Relief washed over her, though it was a secret she kept to herself. She looked down at her hands, hesitantly tracing her forearms and torso, her confusion only deepening.

Despite not understanding the reason, she had undoubtedly regained her physical form, leaving the realm of the otherworld and returning to the present.

Yet something felt off. Although her senses seemed intact, pain and discomfort felt dulled and distant. This body, of unknown origin, was puzzling. She knew her original body had been reduced to ash on that mountain by heavenly fire, yet here she was, clearly reflected in the mirror as if she had somehow defied fate.

But it was impossible to revive a soul. Shang Can could feel a strange energy coursing beneath her skin—something she couldn't control, unlike her true self.

No matter how hard she tried to avoid thinking about it, that name came back to her. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and returned to the table, picking up the now lukewarm tea and cautiously finishing it.

There was no point in speculating; it was clear that she had been pulled from the otherworld by some means unknown to her. And then...

The iron ring clasped around her ankle, against her bare skin, was made of a mysterious material. Unlike the cold exterior, the inside felt oddly warm, but she couldn't ignore its presence.

She shouldn't be lost in thoughts here. Questions swarmed her mind—about how long she had stayed in the otherworld, what the clouds had done, and she knew exactly who to ask for answers. Yet, she felt paralyzed, unable to move.

It didn't matter; she was indeed locked away by the clouds.

Just a few hours ago, she had been anxious to see the clouds again after such a long absence. But now that she had seen them, thoughts of whether their meeting could be termed a "reunion" made her fingers tremble.

She struggled to hold the teacup steady, eventually placing it back on the table, staring blankly at the surface.

The clouds had said they hated her.