Buzuoya had been uninhabited for over a year, yet its layout remained unchanged and the premises were spotless. While a Dust-Averting Tree planted in the center of the courtyard could keep the grime at bay, Zhou Fuxue had nonetheless returned at regular intervals to clean the place.
As Ming Zhu ushered the others inside, he pushed open the half-closed door. A faint, elegant scent of lotus wafted toward him. Startled, he looked up and saw several vibrant, dew-kissed lotus flowers arranged on the table.
Ming Zhu could guess whose handiwork it was. With a slight curl of his lips, he held the door open and said to the group, "Go wait in the matted sitting room. Fuxue, come with me to fetch the wine."
After Buzuoya’s recent renovations, the large outer chamber had been converted into a sitting room with floor mats. The carved wooden doors stood open, facing the lake in the backyard. It was the height of summer, and a cool breeze drifted in over the shimmering green ripples.
Zhou Fuxue followed Ming Zhu to Wenxianju to move the wine in silence, his head bowed. Ming Zhu found it rather amusing. While counting the jars, he reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. "Who bullied my little Thirteen? Why the long face?"
His palm was warm and soft, yet it carried a lingering chill that hadn't quite dissipated, causing Zhou Fuxue to shiver involuntarily.
Ever since that absurd dream he’d had the previous year, Zhou Fuxue had tried desperately to cast Ming Zhu out of his mind. But the more he forced himself to forget, the more his thoughts drifted back to him.
He had originally thought that time would dull the memory. Yet the moment he saw Ming Zhu again after more than a year, that intoxicating dream resurfaced. His heart, which had been dormant for a year, was suddenly flooded with an unknown emotion.
Zhou Fuxue tilted his head slightly, avoiding Ming Zhu’s hand. He kept his face stiff and said coldly, "It’s nothing."
Ming Zhu’s hand met empty air, and he felt a flash of awkwardness. He rubbed his nose, thinking to himself, *The boy has grown up, but why has he become so distant? Is it because we haven't seen each other in so long?*
The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. He brushed off Zhou Fuxue’s abnormal behavior and returned to Buzuoya carrying several jars of wine.
His junior brothers didn't stand on ceremony. They were already seated in the sitting room waiting—even when gathered for a drink, they maintained their cold expressions, barely speaking to one another.
Perhaps growing impatient, Yi Fuju sat to the side with his eyes downcast, plucking his zither. The notes rang out clear and resonant, like music from the heavens.
Ming Zhu walked over, kicked off his shoes, and joined Zhou Fuxue in placing the wine jars on the small central table. "Come on, don't be shy. Today, we drink until we drop."
Each person was given two or three jars, and they began to drink in silence. The atmosphere didn't feel like a gathering of fellow disciples; it felt more like a tense standoff between enemies.
Ming Zhu opened a jar for Zhou Fuxue and poured a small amount into a cup. "You’re still young, so don't drink too much," he cautioned. "Just have a taste. If you can't handle it, don't force yourself."
Zhou Fuxue gave a soft "mm" and took a sip, remaining as taciturn as ever.
Ming Zhu was genuinely curious. Before his seclusion, Zhou Fuxue hadn't been this silent—or rather, he was only silent toward others. With Ming Zhu, he had always been an open book. Being treated with such coldness all of a sudden made Ming Zhu feel out of sorts, so he decided to try and coax his little junior brother out of his shell.
Ming Zhu scooted over to Zhou Fuxue and draped an arm over his shoulder. "Fuxue, tell your Senior Brother how you've spent this past year. Has your cultivation progressed?"
Unlike Ming Zhu, Zhou Fuxue was neither lazy nor unmotivated. The feeling of helplessness he’d felt on the flying kite that day had haunted him, driving him to cultivate with extreme diligence over the past year.
As Ming Zhu leaned in, a cold, crisp fragrance enveloped Zhou Fuxue, making him tremble. After a long pause, he stammered, "I... I have already formed my Core."
Ming Zhu looked even more gratified. "Oh? Fuxue truly is gifted. Forming a Golden Core at such a young age—your future is limitless."
Zhou Fuxue pursed his lips, showing no sign of arrogance. "I still have a long way to go," he said softly.
Ming Zhu continued his rambling. "Our Rizhao Mountain has never been big on rules. As long as your cultivation doesn't embarrass the sect when you're out, it's fine. That's why your other senior brothers are so unmotivated. Oh, except for your Fifth Senior Brother—he’s a bit too motivated, bordering on obsessed. Don't follow his example."
Beside them, Yan Xueyu set down his wine jar with an elegant grace. "Eldest Brother," he said tonelessly, "just because you are unmotivated doesn't mean everyone else is content to stagnate. Aside from Old Nine with his wasted spiritual veins, you are now at the bottom of the rankings."
Lu Qingkong, who was drinking nearby, already had a flushed face. His tolerance was poor; he hadn't even finished half a jar before he started acting out. "What's... what's wrong with wasted spiritual veins? Does my being a waste bother you? Mas... Master never looked down on me... *Ugh*... Master didn't mind... Master is the best..."
As he spoke, he suddenly felt aggrieved and slumped against Yan Xueyu, whimpering softly. It was hard to tell if he was actually crying or just faking it.
Yan Xueyu didn't bother arguing with a drunkard. He reached out and gently stroked Lu Qingkong’s head while calmly draining the rest of his jar. He wiped the wine from his lips with his sleeve, his eyes perfectly clear. His refined posture stood in stark contrast to the bumbling Lu Qingkong.
Ignoring them, Ming Zhu continued to speak to Zhou Fuxue. "The upcoming Sect Competition is really just an exchange between the inner disciples of the West and North Mountains. Just treat it as a bit of fun; don't put too much pressure on yourself."
Zhou Fuxue nodded again, still silent.
Ming Zhu seemed to remember something and rubbed his chin. "I recall that the top rankers in this competition get to go out for experience with Mister Dao. *Sigh*, that last trip to Shuoyu City didn't really count. If you want to go out again, I can talk to Master and see if he'll let you tag along this time too."
Zhou Fuxue shook his head. "There is no need to trouble yourself," he whispered.
Ming Zhu: "Er..."
He had said all the nice things he could think of, but Zhou Fuxue remained as stubborn as a mule. It was becoming quite awkward.
Seeing Ming Zhu like this, Zhou Fuxue suddenly felt he was being ungrateful. He hesitated, wanting to say something, but Ming Zhu suddenly stood up and shouted at Shen Dian, "Hey! Old Ten! Don't take advantage of your Third Senior Brother's blindness! What are you stuffing into his wine jar?"
He dashed over, grabbed Shen Dian, and began a long-winded lecture.
Shang Yanfeng and Yi Fuju sat together, silently competing in their drinking. After three jars, neither showed any change in expression. They glanced at each other.
"Zhou Fuxue," Shang Yanfeng said, "bring more wine."
Zhou Fuxue blinked, nodded, and hurried out to fetch more.
Lu Qingkong was already wasted after half a jar and was mumbling nonsense against Yan Xueyu. Shang Yanfeng took the two unopened jars nearby and gave one to Yi Fuju.
The two clinked their jars and drained them in one go, a display of great bravado.
By the time Zhou Fuxue returned with the wine, Ming Zhu and Shen Dian were already scuffling on the floor. Seeing him return, Shang Yanfeng frowned. "Too slow."
Zhou Fuxue handed them the wine, and the two resumed their duel, looking as though they wouldn't stop until one of them dropped dead from alcohol poisoning.
Shen Dian had his legs locked around Ming Zhu’s waist and was pushing Ming Zhu’s chin up with his hand, shouting, "I didn't... I didn't drug him... That was just Bright-Eye Leaf powder! *Hiss*, you dare pull my hair? I’m telling you, Ming Zhu, you’re dead!"
Shen Dian’s tolerance was about the same as Lu Qingkong’s. A rare flush appeared on his habitually pale face. He leaned forward and bit Ming Zhu’s arm. The two of them rolled around on the floor, clutching each other's necks, nearly tumbling out onto the long corridor.
Watching this chaotic mess, Zhou Fuxue rubbed his aching temples.
It wasn't until nightfall that everyone finally collapsed. Ming Zhu had drunk quite a bit, but he didn't look particularly intoxicated. He found several quilts and spread them out in the sitting room, hauling the drunkards onto them and covering them one by one with thin silk duvets.
Zhou Fuxue had listened to Ming Zhu and hadn't drunk much, so he helped him with the chores.
Once finished, Ming Zhu suddenly remembered that Shen Dian had only recently recovered from a serious illness and might not be able to handle the cold. After a moment's thought, he bent down, picked up the dead-drunk Shen Dian in a bridal carry, and placed him on his own bed.
Watching this, Zhou Fuxue felt a strange sense of displeasure. He didn't know where this flash of anger came from, so he simply turned his head away—out of sight, out of mind.
Ming Zhu spent a long time settling these "ancestors." Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sighed helplessly. "I told you, I’m the only one who serves these high-and-mighty lords. If they ever remembered my kindness enough to bring their Senior Brother a cup of tea, I could die without regrets."
Zhou Fuxue said nothing.
Ming Zhu reached out to pat his head but remembered Zhou Fuxue’s earlier resistance. He awkwardly lowered his hand. "Let's go back and rest then. It's late."
Zhou Fuxue gave a soft "mm" and left with hurried, unsteady steps.
Ming Zhu didn't understand why, but his head was starting to feel heavy, and he didn't have the energy to think further. He tidied up a bit and returned to his room in Wenxianju to sleep.
Back in his own room, Zhou Fuxue’s heart wouldn't stop racing. He sat in meditation for a long time with a blank expression, but his mind only grew more chaotic. Whether his eyes were open or closed, all he could see was Ming Zhu’s devastatingly beautiful face.
After a long while, he climbed off the bed dejectedly. He grabbed a random book from the table and cautiously entered Ming Zhu’s room next door.
Perhaps because of the wine, Ming Zhu had fallen asleep quickly tonight. He didn't even wake when Zhou Fuxue pushed the door open.
A small lamp, no larger than a bean, flickered on the table. In the lamplight, the sleeping Ming Zhu looked even more ethereal and illusory, as if he might vanish from the world at any moment.
Zhou Fuxue walked to the bedside and whispered, "Senior Brother?"
Ming Zhu didn't react.
Only then was Zhou Fuxue certain he wasn't faking sleep. Feeling a sense of loss, he placed the book on the table. Just as he was about to turn and leave, Ming Zhu let out a soft, heavy breath, which then immediately leveled out.
Zhou Fuxue stood frozen, staring at Ming Zhu, unable to move his feet.
Ming Zhu had been drinking all day and hadn't had time to change. He was still wearing that thin white robe. Disliking restriction, he had undone the top two cloth buttons, revealing his straight collarbones and slender neck. The corners of his eyes were tinged with a vivid red. Perhaps he was having a nightmare, for his brow was slightly furrowed, and his pale lips were parted slightly as he breathed weakly.
Zhou Fuxue stared at him blankly. By the time he realized what he was doing, he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, his cold hand resting on Ming Zhu’s chin.
Zhou Fuxue was terrified. This action was a grave violation of their relationship. His instinct was to let go, but his body felt possessed, completely unable to move.
His heart hammered like a drum. As if bewitched, he slowly leaned down. Like an out-of-body experience, he watched himself almost frantically press his lips against Ming Zhu’s pale, cold mouth.
In an instant, a numbing sensation like an electric shock surged through Zhou Fuxue’s entire body. Before he could process the feeling, the back of his neck was suddenly seized. Then, he was violently shoved away by a suddenly wide-awake Ming Zhu. He stumbled back, crashing into a small bookshelf, sending scrolls and bamboo slips scattering across the floor.
Zhou Fuxue looked up into Ming Zhu’s perfectly clear, sharp eyes, and his face turned as pale as a ghost.
***
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Is Everyone Else's Eldest Disciple Like This? | Chapter 51 | A Drunken Lapse of Reason | Novela.app | Novela.app
