Ming Zhu sat on the couch, his face as dark as still water. Having likely been jolted awake from a nightmare, he breathed shallowly, his hand gripping the edge of the bed so tightly that his knuckles turned a ghostly white.
Zhou Fuxue’s face was deathly pale. He stood frozen in place, not even daring to breathe.
For a moment, the room fell into a tomb-like silence, broken only by the faint sound of Ming Zhu’s ragged breaths.
Zhou Fuxue gritted his teeth. It took a long while before he summoned the courage to speak. "Se—Senior Brother..."
Ming Zhu seemed dizzy with rage. He pressed a hand to his brow and closed his eyes wearily, his voice rasping, "Get out."
Zhou Fuxue knew that anything he said now would be wrong. Yet, meeting Ming Zhu’s eyes—which were filled with nothing but distance and loathing—he took a sharp breath and said tremulously, "Senior Brother, I..."
"I said," Ming Zhu interrupted him, enunciating every word as his dark eyes flashed with a cold, piercing light, "...scram."
Zhou Fuxue’s breath hitched. He fled the room in what could only be described as a panicked retreat.
Ming Zhu sat motionless on the bed for a long time before finally pressing his palm against his forehead, feeling a splitting headache coming on.
Just then, a soft knock sounded at the door. Ming Zhu looked up to see Yi Fuju standing there, draped in a white crane-feather cloak and cradling a zither. He was looking at Ming Zhu with a faint, gentle smile.
Ming Zhu forced a weak smile. "Weren't you drunk? How did you wake up so quickly?"
Yi Fuju was born with an aura that naturally instilled peace in others. He walked slowly to Ming Zhu’s side, leaned down, and lightly tapped Ming Zhu’s brow with his finger before shaking his head gently.
The forced smile on Ming Zhu’s face faded. After a long pause, he asked, "You saw?"
Yi Fuju set down his ever-present Scorched-tail Zither and took Ming Zhu’s hand, tracing several characters into his palm.
*He is still young.*
Ming Zhu pursed his lips, his long lashes drooping. "I know."
Yi Fuju lightly plucked a string. A deep, resonant note spilled forth, acting like an invisible hand that softly smoothed over Ming Zhu’s agitated emotions.
The second disciple of Rizhao Mountain, Yi Fuju, was peaceful by nature. Because his abilities were uncanny, he had practiced Silent Zen since childhood. Aside from Daoist Master Guining, who had taken him in as a child, no one had ever heard him speak.
He had spent over a decade cultivating on Rizhao Mountain, living a life as disciplined as an ascetic monk. Over time, he had developed a compassionate, merciful temperament reminiscent of a high-ranking monk who had attained the Dao.
For cultivators, nothing was more dangerous than heart-demons. Whenever the inner disciples of Rizhao Mountain encountered such a tribulation, their first instinct wasn't to seek out Daoist Master Guining, but to frantically cry out for their Second Senior Brother to save their lives. Spending just a few days in Yi Fuju’s presence was guaranteed to settle one's state of mind.
Ming Zhu rarely cultivated and had never encountered a heart-demon. This was his first time witnessing Yi Fuju’s spectral ability—it felt as though as long as the man sat nearby, even if he did nothing at all, one's frantic, chaotic heart would involuntarily quiet down, leaving no room for other thoughts.
A moment later, Ming Zhu exhaled softly, the agitation on his face having fully receded. He reached out to press his hand against the zither strings, stopping the music. "Don't waste your spiritual energy. Why have you come to see me in the middle of the night?"
Yi Fuju lowered his hands smoothly. His wide sleeves fluttered as he performed a series of hand signs. Whatever he communicated, Ming Zhu’s newly calmed face instantly turned a shade of green. He collapsed back onto his pillow, pulling the quilt over his head, and said weakly, "No... I'm not going. If you want to go, go by yourself!"
Yi Fuju was about to sign again, but remembering Ming Zhu couldn't see him, he used his long, slender fingers to tap a rhythmic pattern on the small side table.
Ming Zhu threw back the quilt and glared at him gloomily. "I think you just want me dead. She hasn't even settled the score with me for leaving Rizhao Mountain without permission last year. Now she’s been in seclusion for over a year with no news. If I go to West Mountain, she’ll swallow me whole. Second Brother, have some mercy. Spare my miserable life."
Yi Fuju smiled and signed: *Better a short pain than a long one. She is your younger sister; she won't truly be cruel to you.*
Ming Zhu countered, "Right, not 'cruel.' She'll just dunk my head in water over and over, forcing me to admit my wrongs and promise never to do it again."
Yi Fuju: "..."
Yi Fuju chuckled and signed: *Can't you just apologize properly for once?*
Ming Zhu asked, "Is my apology not sincere enough every time?"
Yi Fuju thought to himself: *So sincere it makes one want to give you a beating.*
Ming Zhu buried his face in the pillow again, his voice muffled. "Can I really not go? Fuhua will definitely kill me."
Yi Fuju flicked his forehead with a light laugh: *No.*
Ming Zhu looked up at him. An idea seemed to strike him, and he suddenly gave Yi Fuju an ingratiating smile. "Then come with me tomorrow. With you there, Fuhua definitely won't make me lose face in public."
Yi Fuju: *Fine.*
Only then did Ming Zhu breathe a sigh of relief. He ran a hand through his messy long hair and asked, "Aren't you going back to rest?"
Yi Fuju: *Instead of asking me, you should go check on Fuxue.*
At the mention of Zhou Fuxue, the expression Ming Zhu had managed to soften turned sour again. "Him? What about him?"
Yi Fuju: *This is his courtyard. Where did you expect him to go when you told him to scram?*
Ming Zhu’s expression darkened further. "He didn't go back to his room?"
Yi Fuju shook his head: *I saw him heading toward the Cold Pond.*
Ming Zhu froze for a long while before muttering a low curse. He threw off the covers and got out of bed, hastily throwing on his outer robe. "Don't go back yet either. Just make do and sleep here for the night."
He only had time to toss out those few words before he dashed out like a gust of wind.
Yi Fuju watched Ming Zhu’s silhouette vanish into the darkness and sighed silently. Just as he was about to leave, the Red Lotus Sword resting on the table suddenly began to tremble slightly, its blade glowing with the faint red light of its lotus patterns.
Yi Fuju picked up his zither and stepped forward, intending to touch the Red Lotus Sword, but he sensed the blade trembling even more violently, as if it were terrified of something.
Yi Fuju possessed a handsome, serene countenance. Whether it was humans, animals, or sword spirits, anyone who came near him felt an involuntary urge to seek refuge in the Buddhist faith. This was the first time he had seen something recoil from him in such absolute dread.
*Is it afraid of me?* Yi Fuju wondered.
Even when facing the demon cultivator Ming Zhao, the Red Lotus Sword had never trembled this severely. Its current state suggested that if it could take human form, it would surely be a pitiful, shivering figure with eyes full of terror.
Yi Fuju withdrew his hand. As expected, the sword's trembling subsided significantly.
"It really is afraid of me." Yi Fuju didn't understand why, but since he couldn't communicate with a sword, he simply ignored it and turned to leave.
***
Ming Zhu rushed to the Cold Pond with a frigid expression. Sure enough, he saw Zhou Fuxue sitting by the water’s edge, covered in frost, his body shivering uncontrollably.
Hearing footsteps, Zhou Fuxue slowly turned his head. His face was tinged blue from the cold as he looked at Ming Zhu. His lips quivered, but he couldn't force out a single word.
Ming Zhu walked up without a word, grabbed Zhou Fuxue’s wrist, and dragged him away. Zhou Fuxue stumbled, following him clumsily while biting his lip in silence.
Only after pulling him away from the Cold Pond did Ming Zhu let go. He said coldly, "Your cultivation isn't high enough to stay by the Cold Pond, yet you dare to sit there. What, trying to play the martyr? Did you think I would definitely go soft on you?"
Zhou Fuxue had never heard Ming Zhu speak to him with such coldness. He stared blankly for a long time, his eyes suddenly reddening.
Seeing his red-rimmed eyes and the way he gritted his teeth in silent endurance, Ming Zhu felt a sharp pang in his heart, both painful and bitter. He could never stay harsh with his own people for more than three sentences. He sighed helplessly, rubbing his brow as he forced his voice to soften. "You were clearly the one in the wrong. If others saw you like this, they'd think I was the one bullying you."
Zhou Fuxue’s voice trembled. "I—I'm sorry, Senior Brother..."
Zhou Fuxue was actually slightly taller than Ming Zhu, yet standing there with his head bowed, he looked like a child timidly admitting a mistake. His voice was low and aggrieved, but not in a way that invited annoyance. Ming Zhu’s heart softened instantly.
"I... I will stay far away from Senior Brother..." Zhou Fuxue murmured, his eyes growing even redder.
Ming Zhu watched his helpless, miserable apology and finally let out a long sigh. He said softly, "Stop crying. Are you a child? I didn't even say much. I just told you to leave; I didn't hit you or curse you. Why are you acting so wronged?"
Zhou Fuxue suddenly buried his head in Ming Zhu’s chest.
Ming Zhu’s clothes were thin to begin with, and he soon felt a patch of warmth soaking through. He felt even more helpless.
Zhou Fuxue’s voice shook. "You... you told me to scram..."
Ming Zhu hurried to apologize. "Alright, alright, I was wrong. I shouldn't have told you to scram. If anyone should scram, it's me."
Zhou Fuxue wrapped his arms tightly around Ming Zhu’s shoulders, thinking with a heart full of desolation: *This is the last time.*
He could not bear to see Ming Zhu look at him with such cold indifference again. Having it happen once was enough to cause a lifetime of pain.
Zhou Fuxue vented all the lonely indignation and frustration he had built up over the past year. Finally, he allowed Ming Zhu to take his hand and lead him back to Wenxian Residence in a daze.
Seeing his soul-shaken state, Ming Zhu sighed for the umpteenth time. He resigned himself to his fate, looking after his youngest junior brother by helping him wash up before pushing him onto the bed. He tossed a thin quilt over him and said, "Don't overthink things. Just go to sleep."
Zhou Fuxue’s eyes were still red as he stared blankly at him.
Ming Zhu reached out to cover his eyes, commanding, "Close your eyes. Sleep."
Zhou Fuxue obediently closed his eyes, forcing himself to drift off. But after a moment, he couldn't help but peek, only to find that Ming Zhu was still sitting on a nearby stool.
Zhou Fuxue murmured, "Senior Brother..."
Knowing he couldn't sleep, Ming Zhu picked up a random book and said casually, "Can't sleep? Shall I read to you?"
In the past, it was always Zhou Fuxue who read to coax Ming Zhu to sleep. Now that the roles were suddenly reversed, Zhou Fuxue was stunned for a moment before nodding.
"Let's see what kind of book this is." Ming Zhu flipped through a few pages and suddenly clicked his tongue. "Why do you have so many strange books here? The *Classic of the Hidden Accordance*... well, fine. As long as you're not picky."
Zhou Fuxue watched him, mesmerized.
Ming Zhu’s voice was naturally clear and pleasant. When he spoke with a teasing smile, it was like a gentle breeze against the ear. Even when reading such obscure and difficult scriptures, he maintained a casual, lazy tone. By the time he reached the second half of the text, Zhou Fuxue could no longer resist his exhaustion and fell asleep.
"...Sinking into water, entering fire..." Ming Zhu glanced at a line in the scripture and suddenly gave a soft laugh, whispering to himself, "...seeking one's own destruction."
He set the book down and quietly left Zhou Fuxue’s room.
This whole ordeal had lasted until the middle of the night. Ming Zhu was exhausted. He wanted to lie down and rest, but since his bed was occupied, he had to settle for sitting cross-legged on the long corridor by the courtyard, staring blankly at the surface of the lake.
His mind was a muddled mess, filled with the memory of Zhou Fuxue’s cold kiss that carried the faint scent of pear blossoms. He felt both agitated and worried. Although he usually carried himself like a worldly, flirtatious gentleman, he actually understood nothing of romance. A single kiss had been enough to shatter his usual mountain-like composure into pieces.
"Kuayu."
the Kuayu Sword shot out from his sleeve, instantly transforming into human form. He sat beside Ming Zhu on the corridor, his short legs dangling off the wooden edge as he kicked them. Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he asked, "Why aren't you sleeping yet?"
Ming Zhu absentmindedly stuffed a spirit crystal into his hand. "I can't sleep. Talk to me."
With a crystal in hand, Kuayu woke up instantly. He hugged the crystal and munched on it happily, mumbling, "Sure, talk, talk. What do you want to talk about?"
Ming Zhu was silent for a long time before he finally said, "Zhou Fuxue."
Kuayu asked blankly, "Why talk about him? He's just a brat."
Ming Zhu thought to himself: *Yes. A brat bold enough to steal a kiss while I was sleeping.*
***
