When Zhou Fuxue cut off the spiritual connection, Ming Zhu was crouching beneath a tree, his back to Zhou Fuxue as he whispered to something.
Unsure of what was happening, Zhou Fuxue walked forward slowly, only to see Ming Zhu quickly release whatever was in his hand into the dense forest. A rustling sound followed. Zhou Fuxue caught a casual glimpse and happened to see a green snake’s tail slithering into the undergrowth, vanishing instantly.
Ming Zhu turned around and gave a soft smile. "Are you finished with your business?"
Zhou Fuxue felt there was something strange about that snake’s tail, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He simply frowned and replied, "Yes."
Ming Zhu had likely grown bored of playing. He brushed the grass clippings from his hem and said, "Then let us head back."
Na Lian had seemingly not expected Ming Zhu to return so soon. He ran into them just as he was heading out and immediately subjected Ming Zhu to a bout of cold mockery and burning satire.
Ming Zhu didn't stoop to his level, merely asking, "Where are you going?"
"To kill someone," Na Lian said. "I’ll be back in a bit. Remember to save some dinner for me."
Ming Zhu replied, "Oh, alright. Come back early."
Zhou Fuxue: "..."
*How can you two speak of murder with such nonchalance?*
After finishing his instructions to Ming Zhu, Na Lian gave Zhou Fuxue a look that was half-smile and half-smirk, said nothing more, and turned to leave with Nan Qinghe.
Zhou Fuxue was left bewildered by that parting glance.
Returning to the room where the charcoal braziers burned continuously, Ming Zhu unfastened his cloak and tossed it casually to Zhou Fuxue. His movements were incredibly familiar, the mark of someone long accustomed to ordering others around.
Zhou Fuxue’s lips twitched. However, with his weakness held in the other’s hands, he couldn't easily lose his temper. He could only swallow his resentment, catch the cloak, and turn to step aside.
Clad only in a thin white robe, Ming Zhu appeared even more frail. He walked to the table and looked at Xi Chu, who was sitting upright upon it next to a bowl of steaming medicinal soup. His brows shot up instantly. "I’m not drinking it."
Xi Chu immediately extended a paw and pointed at the bowl, let out a flurry of "ji-ji" sounds, and nearly jumped off the table in agitation.
Ming Zhu strolled over and sat in a chair, giving the creature a languid look. "Don't pull that stunt with me. I said I’m not drinking it, so I’m not. Since these herbs are so precious, why don't you drink it for me instead?"
Xi Chu was so frustrated that tears nearly welled up in his eyes. He slammed his paw heavily against the table. "Ji-ji!"
Ming Zhu clicked his tongue and muttered, "What a nuisance."
Nevertheless, he obediently drank the medicine.
Zhou Fuxue had already retreated outside with the cloak to wait, hoping to avoid being tormented by that ancestor. However, as he was closing the door, something seemed to fall from the cloak in his arms, drifting lightly to the ground. It was so subtle that it would have gone unnoticed without careful attention.
Zhou Fuxue paused for a moment before kneeling to pick it up. A casual look revealed it to be nothing more than an unremarkable weed. It had likely caught on the hem of the cloak and been carried back.
He didn't think much of it at first, but after waiting outside for a long while, a sudden realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. With a tense expression, he spread the magnificent cloak out and inspected both sides. Sure enough, he found another blade of the same grass tucked within the folds.
Zhou Fuxue held the grass, his expression unreadable.
Na Lian had brought several powerful demon cultivators from the Buhui Woods to guard the room and protect Ming Zhu. Most of them knew their Lord Buhui had a human cultivator serving him, and over the past few days, they had all become acquainted with Zhou Fuxue.
A demon cultivator dressed in blue approached with more medicine. Seeing the grass in Zhou Fuxue’s hand, he gave a light chuckle. "Young Master Zhou, it is freezing cold out. Why are you waiting out here?"
It was already early spring, so it wasn't truly cold. Zhou Fuxue shook his head and held up the grass. "What is this?"
The man smiled. "To you human cultivators, this might just be a common weed called 'Spring-Knowing Grass.' It doesn't bloom for decoration, nor can it be used in medicine; it has little use. But for demon cultivators, it is a wonder that can mask our demon cores and auras. We usually call it 'Obscuring Grass.'"
Zhou Fuxue murmured, "Masking... demon aura..."
In an instant, the scenes of Ming Zhu absentmindedly swallowing the Obscuring Grass and the green snake with the scarred tail flooded into Zhou Fuxue’s mind. A bizarre and terrifying realization made it difficult for him to breathe.
Though the green snake in Buhui’s hands today had fled quickly, Zhou Fuxue had caught sight of a very distinctive scar on the tip of its tail. He hadn't thought much of it then, but thinking back now, that scar was identical to the one on the green snake Ming Zhu had saved at the Evernight Villa.
And then there was Ming Zhu’s phrase: "Go on."
It wasn't "Leave," but "Go on."
Zhou Fuxue suddenly shuddered.
All the strange instances of intimacy and oddities Buhui had shown them during this period seemed to find an answer within this hypothesis.
At that moment, Ming Zhu’s voice drifted from the room. "Zhou Fuxue, kick that person outside out for me. Don't let him in."
The demon cultivator wore a helpless smile upon hearing this. "Lord Buhui, Lord Na Lian instructed us that you must drink this medicine."
Ming Zhu said, "I won't. Get out."
Zhou Fuxue stood frozen for a long time before finally saying with difficulty, "Give the medicine to me."
The demon cultivator looked as if he had been granted a divine reprieve. He handed over the medicine and fled in a hurry.
Zhou Fuxue’s legs felt weak, and his eyes were filled with profound disbelief. He stared blankly at the medicine for a moment until the steam began to dissipate, then he pushed the door open and walked in.
By now, Ming Zhu had withdrawn his spiritual energy. He lay listlessly on the soft couch by the window, his ankle-length hair partially draped over the couch and spilling onto the floor.
His peripheral vision caught the steaming bowl in Zhou Fuxue’s hand, and his expression immediately soured. He turned his head away, his refusal blatant.
Zhou Fuxue’s gaze as he looked at him was extremely complicated. He took a deep breath, stepped forward slowly, placed the medicine on the table, and stood to the side without leaving.
Ming Zhu waited for a long time, but when the other didn't leave, he found it strange.
Ever since the first night when Ming Zhu had tormented Zhou Fuxue using the Summoning Stone, Zhou Fuxue had acted as if he wanted to stay as far away as possible whenever they met. He had never once stayed before him voluntarily.
Ming Zhu hesitated for a long while before turning his head. Seeing Zhou Fuxue’s expressionless face, he asked with a hint of cautious testing, "Wh-what are you still doing here?"
Zhou Fuxue couldn't even tell himself why he was rooted there, but his feet instinctively refused to move. He could only remain stiffly in place, staring at Ming Zhu without blinking.
Ming Zhu felt a bit intimidated. He propped himself up on his elbow and muttered softly, "I get it. Na Lian must be using Shang Yanfeng to threaten you again. I’ll drink it, alright?"
As he spoke, he picked up the bowl and drank the medicine with a frown.
Zhou Fuxue’s expression grew even more complex. He finally understood why Ming Zhu was so anxious even though it was Zhou Fuxue who was being threatened.
After drinking, Ming Zhu covered his mouth with his hand to keep himself from vomiting. His sickly complexion grew even paler.
Soon, the medicinal effects took hold. Ming Zhu felt a wave of grogginess. Though it wasn't even noon, he was deathly tired. Before long, he leaned against the couch and fell asleep, heedless of his surroundings.
Even a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator would never sleep so unguardedly in front of a stranger. Zhou Fuxue looked down at Ming Zhu’s plain, unremarkable face. After a moment, his hand trembled as he reached out, lightly brushing against the side of Ming Zhu’s face.
As expected, he felt a slight protrusion.
Ming Zhu remained in a deep sleep, completely unaware that his disguise was about to be pierced.
Zhou Fuxue stared fixedly at his sleeping face. His trembling hand pressed against that thin "skin." With just a light tug, he could see the true face beneath the mask, yet he recoiled at the final moment.
For a time, Zhou Fuxue couldn't tell if he was feeling cowardice or terror. It was a simple movement of the hand, yet he found himself unable to go through with it.
His hand shook more and more violently. Zhou Fuxue looked at his own trembling hand as if it were a monster and quickly pulled it away from the mask.
"What am I afraid of?" he murmured. "If he is Senior Brother..."
*If he is Senior Brother...*
Because this hypothesis was too horrifying, no matter how strange Buhui’s actions had been before, Zhou Fuxue had never dared to think in that direction. But now...
The mere assumption made his entire body go cold. He recalled the suffering at Sun-Blocking Cliff that Buhui and Na Lian had mentioned in their conversations. He thought of the demon cultivator Buhui’s quiet, cold, timid, yet cruel and detached nature. He thought of how Buhui had wept and wanted to die over a mere scratch...
Zhou Fuxue suddenly shuddered. He could not imagine that the wretched, half-human, half-ghost demon cultivator before him could be his Senior Brother—the one who was always smiling and joking, as bright and radiant as candlelight.
If Buhui really was Ming Zhu...
Zhou Fuxue’s eyes suddenly felt hot. He pressed his forehead against the back of his hand, only to realize a moment later that a drop of water had fallen onto his skin.
...Then just how much suffering had his precious Senior Brother endured during these fifty years?
How did he survive? Why did he become a demon cultivator, and of all things, a snake—the creature he feared most?
When he turned into the thing he feared most, how terrified must he have been?
Was there anyone by his side to comfort him? Was there anyone... to even just give him a hug?
Why did he hide his identity and refuse to see them after returning to the world? Was he afraid they would fear him and cast him aside?
Too many questions filled Zhou Fuxue’s aching heart, each one making his breath tremble with pain.
After an unknown amount of time, Zhou Fuxue took a deep breath, placed his hand on Ming Zhu’s face, and applied a slight pressure.
The mask peeled away from the skin. That unremarkable face quickly distorted and shifted into a skeletal mask. Zhou Fuxue moved the mask aside.
Though he had prepared himself mentally, the sight of Ming Zhu’s exquisite face still caused Zhou Fuxue’s breath to hitch.
Ming Zhu’s features were as peerlessly handsome as they had been fifty years ago, but his long, fan-like eyelashes had turned entirely white. His face was terrifyingly pale, and even his lips were a sickly, faint pinkish-white.
Only the red mark coiled between his brows seemed like a living thing. It crawled across his face like a slithering snake before settling beneath his eye, coiling into the shape of a single tear.
By the time Zhou Fuxue regained his senses, he was startled to find that his own face was already covered in tears.
***
