The young prisoner slept for a long time. After hardship, they say, comes reward. But is a bed of rusted iron and a stained blanket a reward? Perhaps not. Not everything in this life needs to be rewarded. Sometimes you suffer for no reason at all. And sometimes, when a reward comes, it is nothing more than the bare minimum — a few hours of sleep in the least human thing you can offer a prisoner. That was not a reward. That was simply the absence of torture.
He woke slowly. His eyelids parted like heavy curtains, and the grey light of the small window washed over his face. He looked around. The room was the same — stone walls, four beds, the dripping bag near the door. Then he looked down at himself.
His wounds had been covered. Medical compresses, clean and white, pressed against the open sores on his arms and legs. He could smell the medicine — sharp, bitter, the scent of healing. Someone had tended to him while he slept. He was wearing new clothes: a long white robe, simple and clean, the same fabric that Wing wore.
He sat up. His body ached, but less than before. He stood on trembling legs and walked to the tap — a small spigot in the wall where water trickled slowly. He cupped his hands, let the cold water run over his face, and washed away the dust of two years. Then he straightened his back and let out a long, slow breath — a breath that carried the weight of everything he had endured. It was not joy. It was relief. The small, quiet relief of a man who is still alive and does not yet know why.
He turned to the young girl. She sat in the same spot, her knees drawn to her chest, watching him with those sad, fearful eyes.
"Thank you," he said. His voice was still rough, unused to speaking.
She shook her head. Her long dark hair swayed with the motion. "No need to thank me. I didn't do it because I am kind or something like that." She paused, her lips pressing together. "It is my task here. I have to take care of anyone who comes."
She said the words with a look of disgust — not at him, but at the role she had been forced to play. He saw it in the slight curl of her upper lip, the way her eyes dropped to the floor.
He watched her with pity. He knew she had gone through much — perhaps worse than his own suffering. He did not ask. Some stories are too heavy to carry for another person.
"I am going to lie down," he said. "Wake me if the smiling man comes."
"You mean Gu?" she said. "Do not worry. He will not come today. The old man just left."
His heart stirred. "Do you mean Jeffrey?"
She nodded. "Yes. The general. He is a good man. Wise."
"Did he tell you about the child?" Qingren asked, his voice eager despite himself. He wanted to know what had happened in the two years he had been alone.
She opened her mouth to answer. "Yes, but do you really want to know? The old man told me that the third task they asked him to do was—"
She could not finish the word.
The door slammed open. *Boom.* The sound echoed off the stone walls like a thunderclap.
Qingren did not turn around. He knew who was coming. How could he not? The devil himself had come to pay him a visit. How honored he should be.
"It has been two years, young man. How have you been? Hahahaha. I do not want to know, anyway." Gu's voice slithered through the room, cheerful and mocking. "All of that happened because you made the wrong choice."
Qingren turned slowly. He faced the smiling man. The devil's smile was as wide as ever, stretching almost to his ears, his ice-blue eyes glittering in the dim light.
Qingren did not speak. He simply looked at Gu. He looked at him the way a dragon might look at a fly — not with anger, not with fear, but with a cold, ancient stillness. He was not a dragon, of course. He was not a lion. He was a young man with most of his chains broken — though a few still remained. And Gu? Gu was an old man with no freedom at all. A slave to his own games.
"Since you are both awake," Gu said, clapping his hands together, "I will tell you your new task. By the way, young sir, this is the fourth task. You should have only one left — maybe two. The third you skipped. You should thank your mother for that."
The moment the word *mother* left Gu's lips, a cold feeling grew in Qingren's feet. It climbed up his legs, his stomach, his chest, reaching his brain. Fear, No something else.
Gu continued, his voice dripping with mockery. He stepped closer to Qingren, leaned in, and whispered into his ear.
"Your task is to completely unleash your desire on this girl. And if you do not do it every night, you will pay the consequences. In three months, your task will be done. I hope you succeed — and do not die. Hahahahahaha."
He laughed, a high, hollow sound that bounced off the walls and seemed to multiply, filling the room with echoes of his cruelty. Then he turned and walked toward the door, his silhouette swallowed by the light.
The only thing Qingren had truly heard from all of that was *three months*. He said to himself, *Oh no. I will stay here another three months.*
But then he thought: *It does not matter. I will continue my meditation. I will think about myself. I will try to change myself into something better.*
He looked at the door, now closed. He looked at Wing, who sat frozen, her face pale, her hands trembling.
"What an animal," he whispered. "Is there any difference between him and an animal? He wants us to completely fall into our desire. What a shame. Shame of a man."
---
What Is Desire?
Tell me. What is desire?
What is it for you? For everyone? Is there a reason behind it, or is it simply letting yourself become the animal you have always suppressed? We claim that we are above the beasts. We claim that we have souls, consciences, the ability to choose. But if we let ourselves fall into desire without thought, without restraint — what difference remains between us and a dog in heat?
Desire is a chain. The heaviest chain. The chain that drags you down when you think you are free. It whispers in your ear: *Take. Consume. Possess.* And if you listen, you become a puppet. Your hands are no longer your own. Your eyes see only what they crave. Your mind becomes a servant to your hunger.
I have broken many chains in that dark room. The chain of hope. The chain of fear. The chain of loneliness. But desire? Desire still lingers somewhere deep in my chest, coiled like a snake. I do not know if I can break it. I do not know if anyone can.
But I know this: Gu wants me to become an animal. He wants me to prove that I am no better than the sewn-mouth man, no better than the murderers and rapists he has brought before me. He wants me to fall.
And perhaps that is the real test. Not whether I can resist desire — but whether I can look at it, name it, and choose to be something else.
I looked at Wing. She was beautiful. Her sadness made her more beautiful, in a way that hurt to see. But I did not reach for her. I did not move.
I sat down on the floor, crossed my legs, and closed my eyes.
Three months, I thought. I have survived two years. I can survive three months.
And I began to meditate.