Before the hour of Chen, Zhou Fuxue jolted awake from his dream, drenched in sweat.
He sat on his couch in a daze for a full quarter-hour before a bashful whimper finally escaped his throat, and he buried his face deep into his pillow.
He had just experienced a vivid, heart-pounding dream. Even though he had been awake for several minutes, his heart continued to thrum violently against his ribs, and the dry heat flushing his body refused to subside.
In the dream, he had been in a state of muddled delirium, pressing himself against a figure wearing a ghost mask. His fingers had been locked tightly with the other’s slender hands against a brocade quilt, their ten fingers intertwined. He had watched that person tremble uncontrollably beneath his movements and heard the blood-pumping whimpers born of suppressed endurance. Even within the dream, Zhou Fuxue had felt a bizarre sense of satisfaction—a feeling that even if he were to die at that very moment, his life would have been worth it.
Perhaps because the movements had been too frantic, the person had turned their head slightly. The ghost mask slipped to the side, revealing half a face covered in tear stains. Beneath an eye misty with moisture, a red, tear-shaped mark struck Zhou Fuxue’s vision like a bolt of lightning.
Zhou Fuxue had been startled awake instantly.
He huddled on the couch, thumping his head against the pillow for a long time before he finally had to face the state of his ruined clothes.
With a flushed face and a stoic expression, Zhou Fuxue squatted by the running water of the pool in the back courtyard to wash his undergarments. It took a long time for him to calm down and suppress the untimely—and perhaps even unethical—thoughts in his heart.
He didn’t know how other youths reacted to their first time, but he felt as though his three souls and seven po-spirits were about to take flight from sheer terror.
As he hung his clothes to dry, Zhou Fuxue thought with burning ears, *If Eldest Senior Brother found out, he would definitely kill me.*
He reached this conclusion privately, thought for a moment, and then added another: *If the other senior brothers found out, they would definitely kill me too.*
These two thoughts of being "killed" acted like stabilizing anchors, forcibly pinning his wandering soul back into his body. He didn't dare let his mind wander again.
He changed his clothes, still feeling somewhat out of sorts. Just as he was about to head to the Cold Pond, someone suddenly rushed over and draped an arm affectionately around his shoulder.
Zhou Fuxue turned his head to see Shen Di’an smiling brightly at him. "Fuxue, you’re back! How was your trial?"
Feeling uncomfortable, Zhou Fuxue subtly moved Shen Di’an’s hand away and said tonelessly, "It was fine. Is Tenth Senior Brother’s illness cured?"
Shen Di’an had been seriously ill a few days ago, confined to his bed for several days before finally being able to get up. His face still bore a sickly, ghostly pallor. Being used to illness, he waved it off dismissively. "It’s nothing. We’re skipping morning lessons today to go find Eldest Senior Brother at the Cold Pond. I heard Master punished him with a year and a half of seclusion. Hahaha, I’m going there specifically to kick him while he’s down."
Over the years, every time Ming Zhu was punished, Shen Di’an would unfailingly jump at the chance to offer cold mockery and heated satire. This time, despite still being ill, he had dutifully dragged himself out of bed to gloat—a testament to a bond that, in its own way, transcended life and death.
Zhou Fuxue was used to this and gave a quiet "mm" in response. The two walked side-by-side toward the Cold Pond in the back mountains.
Though it was called "seclusion," Ming Zhu, who held utter contempt for cultivation, treated the Cold Pond merely as a place to stay. He didn't practice; he simply curled up by the water to sleep through the night.
Ming Zhu was accustomed to Zhou Fuxue reading scrolls to him in a gentle voice every day. Without that daily hypnotic drone, he had tossed and turned until dawn before finally managing to drift off.
When he woke again, Shang Yanfeng had already left. Daoist Master Guining stood by the pond at some unknown point, staring thoughtfully at the rippling water.
Ming Zhu remained slumped on the ground, too lazy to stand. He simply shifted into a kneeling position and lowered his head slightly. "Master."
Daoist Master Guining looked at Ming Zhu with an indifferent expression. His gaze fell upon Ming Zhu's left hand, and he seemed to breathe a subtle sigh of relief.
"You certainly have a lot of nerve. To think you would actually dare to flee Rizhao in secret?"
As expected, Guining’s first words were an interrogation.
Ming Zhu practiced a familiar routine, kowtowing without blinking an eye. "Master, your disciple knows his mistake."
He had always been of a temperament that readily admitted fault but never intended to change.
Guining stared at him coldly, eventually defeated by Ming Zhu’s thick skin. He walked over slowly, gathered his robes, and sat beside Ming Zhu. Frowning, he asked, "When will you ever listen to me? Is staying in Rizhao truly so unbearable for you?"
"Master," Ming Zhu called softly, blinking his eyes. "I already know my heavenly fate. How much longer do you intend to hide it from me?"
Guining seemed to have expected this. There was no surprise, only a flicker of sorrow slowly surfacing in his usually tranquil eyes. He reached out and gently patted Ming Zhu’s head. "Do you know that heavenly fate cannot be defied?"
Ming Zhu chuckled softly. "Since Master knows that fate cannot be defied, why do you insist on trapping me here in the Rizhao Mountains, attempting to change my destiny?"
Guining withdrew his hand. "I am doing this for your own good."
Ming Zhu lowered his long lashes, veiling his eyes, and said nothing more.
Since childhood, this was how he acted when he was angry: no crying, no shouting, just lowered eyes and silence, his expression a mix of stubbornness and grievance.
"Your mother, Su Yan, and I were old acquaintances," Guining said. "Before she died, she entrusted you to me, asking me to keep you safe for a lifetime. Therefore, I would rather raise you as a useless person who knows only pleasure—letting you spend the rest of your life in ignorance—than see you risk your life for some damned 'heavenly fate.' Do you understand?"
Ming Zhu countered, "Am I not in danger even here in Rizhao?"
Guining replied, "Not while I am here."
Ming Zhu froze for a moment. He suddenly recalled the scene from the previous night when that Nascent Soul cultivator had addressed the "Junior Uncle," and the Longevity Lamp in the Hall of Longevity that had been extinguished yet never fell. Sensing something, he asked tangentially, "Master, did Junior Uncle Guihe die and his lamp go out, only to remain in this world as a ghost, because you also defied heavenly fate?"
Daoist Master Guining was stunned. The hand hidden in his sleeve trembled slightly, but he regained his composure in an instant. He stood up and looked down at Ming Zhu, the warmth on his face vanishing. His voice turned cold. "Zhu’er, extreme intelligence leads to sorrow. Sometimes, I prefer the foolish act you usually put on."
Having been raised by Guining, Ming Zhu knew the Master was truly angry. He held his tongue and didn't press further, muttering, "Your disciple knows his mistake."
"Your Red Lotus meridians were severely damaged this time. You will likely have to stay in the Cold Pond for a longer period," Guining instructed calmly before leaving. "Do not think of leaving again. If I find out you have fled a second time, you shall spend the rest of your life in this pond."
If Ming Zhu didn't think it too sacrilegious, he would have rolled his eyes at Guining’s back. One moment he was a gentle elder, the next he was a strict master, his words and actions as harsh as ever.
Ming Zhu said irritably, "Yes, Master. Your disciple understands. Respectfully seeing Master off."
Only then did Daoist Master Guining depart.
A moment later, Zhou Fuxue and Shen Di’an entered the Cold Pond together.
Shen Di’an was the same as ever. Seeing Ming Zhu sitting listlessly by the pond, he stepped forward with a beaming smile to deliver his practiced mockery. "Senior Brother, how long are you 'secluded' for this time? Will you make it in time for the Sect Competition?"
Ming Zhu greeted them casually. His long hair was already dusted with crystalline frost, but he didn't seem to feel the cold, maintaining a lazy posture.
Ever since entering the Cold Pond, Zhou Fuxue had kept his head down, staring at the ice, not daring to look Ming Zhu in the eye. It took several calls from Ming Zhu before he finally looked up and said haltingly, "Senior Brother."
Ming Zhu tugged at the hem of the boy's robe, pulling him closer. "I'm talking to you. Why do you look so out of sorts? Is it too cold?"
Zhou Fuxue sat stiffly beside Ming Zhu, forgetting even how to breathe. He nodded haphazardly, not even hearing what Ming Zhu had asked.
Ming Zhu sighed. "So delicate."
As he spoke, he reached for an iron candlestick on a small table carved from ice and snow. With a flick of his finger, he lit a cluster of crimson flame within it and handed it to Zhou Fuxue. "Here, hold this."
With burning ears, Zhou Fuxue took it. When his hands touched the hard candlestick, a wave of warmth enveloped his body, completely sealing out the surrounding chill.
Shen Di’an crowded in to share the warmth, but Zhou Fuxue pushed him back, whispering, "This is for me."
Shen Di’an: "..."
Shen Di’an’s constitution was poor to begin with; after being frozen for a while, his lips were turning pale. Having finished his gloating, he didn't want to suffer the cold any longer. After a few random remarks, he hopped away.
Soon, only the two of them remained in the Cold Pond.
Zhou Fuxue gripped the candlestick tightly. Ming Zhu’s breathing echoed in his ears, bringing back memories of that traceless spring dream—that half-face of endurance and exquisite beauty. His entire face felt like it was on fire.
Ming Zhu assumed he was simply struggling to adjust to the Cold Pond and didn't pay it much mind. He leaned lazily against the small table and stifled a yawn, his peach-blossom eyes misty with fatigue.
Zhou Fuxue didn't dare look at him, stammering to find a topic. "Did Senior Brother... not sleep well last night?"
Ming Zhu’s lashes were wet with tears of exhaustion. "Indeed. Kua Yu read to me until midnight, but the more I listened, the more awake I became. I finally fell asleep this morning, only to be woken up shortly after."
He had tossed and turned last night, unable to sleep, so he had dragged Kua Yu out to mimic Zhou Fuxue by reading the *Scripture of Purity and Tranquility*. Kua Yu’s personality was the polar opposite of "purity and tranquility," but for the sake of spirit stones, he had held the book and read in a cheerful tone.
His voice was crisp and pleasant, and his milky tone wasn't too noisy, but Kua Yu was largely illiterate. Out of every ten words, he would misread nine. Ming Zhu, accustomed to Zhou Fuxue’s clear and precise pronunciation, couldn't bear it. Almost every time Kua Yu read a sentence, Ming Zhu would lose his patience, open his eyes, and correct him.
In the end, Ming Zhu couldn't take it anymore. He snatched the book away and taught Kua Yu word by word until he literally bored the spirit to sleep.
By the time the fifth watch arrived, Ming Zhu had very little sleepiness left.
Zhou Fuxue looked at the fatigue on Ming Zhu’s face. He hesitated for a long time before suddenly saying, out of some inexplicable impulse, "Then... how about I come every night to read to Senior Brother?"
Ming Zhu opened his eyes lazily and waved a hand. "No need. Master will seal the Cold Pond shortly. I won't be let out until next autumn. Even if you wanted to come, you wouldn't be able to get in."
Zhou Fuxue murmured, "Next... autumn..."
The Red Lotus spiritual meridians in Ming Zhu’s body were still unstable. Every so often, Guining would find an excuse to send him to the Cold Pond for several months of seclusion to suppress the scorching flames within his meridians. This time, because the Red Lotus Sword had been unsheathed, the spiritual meridians in his body were no longer suppressed, so he had to stay much longer than before.
Ming Zhu didn't find it convenient to tell Zhou Fuxue about these messy details. He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair, saying with a smile, "A cultivator’s life is extremely long. A year or so passes in the blink of an eye. Don't worry. When I come out, you can read to me then, alright?"
Zhou Fuxue stared at him blankly for a long time before nodding. "Mm."
Ming Zhu looked at him with a smile, thinking to himself, *Little Thirteen is so well-behaved. Of all my junior brothers, he is the most reassuring.*
Zhou Fuxue left the Cold Pond in a daze. After walking a long distance, he turned back to look at the frost-covered cave for a long time before finally gritting his teeth and departing.
Inside the Cold Pond, the restrictions set by Daoist Master Guining slowly rose, sealing out all sound.
When no one else was around, Ming Zhu’s expression was always hollow and cold. He stood up and unfastened his black outer robe. The garment trailed on the ground, leaving him in only a thin white inner robe that clearly outlined his slender frame.
He walked barefoot to the edge of the pond, his eyes lowered to look at his clear reflection in the water.
Almost all the chill in the Cold Pond emanated from this water that never froze. Ming Zhu stepped expressionlessly into the bone-chilling depths. His long hair spread out, gradually becoming soaked. The cold seeped through his skin and into those meridians that were scorching hot, almost to the point of boiling.
Only when the water closed over his head did he slowly close his eyes, allowing his body to drift and sink toward the bottom of the pond.
A moment later, he was like an exquisite ice sculpture, eyes lightly closed, devoid of any sound or breath.
***
