Chapter 12: The Demon Saint, Lord Jun Yewu

They arrived just as dusk was falling. Lin Shijin stepped out of the inn and spotted Jing Qiuhong. The two of them headed into the streets together.

It wasn’t late yet, so they still had time to wander and neither of them hurried. They strolled along at an easy pace, drifting wherever the noise and crowds seemed liveliest.

“This city hasn’t been peaceful lately. We shouldn’t stay out too long. They say we were sent here because of demonic disturbances.”

Lin Shijin was already aware of that. The streets were lively, especially around a notice board up ahead where a knot of people had gathered, whispering amongst themselves.

“What’s over there? A city notice?”

Jing Qiuhong followed his gaze. “Looks like it. Let’s go and have a look.”

Lin Shijin had still been eyeing the pastries along the street, but when Jing Qiuhong went to join the crowd, he trailed after him.

They squeezed their way in. The notice board was covered in writing, with two large portraits pasted to it. Lin Shijin couldn’t read much of it, but anyone could tell that being posted up there meant nothing good.

“Those on it are wanted criminals. They’ve put bounties on them.”

Lin Shijin’s gaze fell on one of the portraits and he was taken aback… mainly by how the fugitive looked.

Perhaps the artist had been far too generous, but the man in the portrait wore snow-white robes, his brows and eyes soft and affectionate, a tiny mole at the corner of his eye making his already fine features even more arresting. A faint air of nobility clung to him, and the slight curve of his lips made the ink wash seem dull by comparison.

Change the background and anyone would believe he was a missing prince or noble scion.

Below were the numbers of the bounty. Lin Shijin counted under his breath. One, two, three, four, five… a full two hundred thousand spirit stones.

At the top there was a name, but it had been smudged over with ink. Instinctively, Lin Shijin remembered a description from the original novel. It was one of the so-called “stock-investor gongs”: the demonic Jun Yewu, whose bounty was set at two hundred thousand.

Could this really be Jun Yewu? If Jun Yewu was in this city, he could already imagine the incoming wave of melodramatic dog-blood.

Noticing him staring so intently, Jing Qiuhong explained, “That notice has been up for ages. Every city has one for Jun Yewu. They posted it years ago, but no one’s ever managed to catch him.”

So it’s really Jun Yewu?

Hearing that every city had the same notice, Lin Shijin relaxed a little. Then his gaze drifted to the other portrait… and his eyes nearly flew out of their sockets.

“This is…” He pointed at the second wanted poster. The young man depicted had sharp brows and bright eyes, carrying a trace of wickedness. A streak of blood ran across his cheek as he held his sword, his expression dark and violent.

“That’s Xue-shixiong,” Jing Qiuhong said. He had already received the news. He was astonished that Lin Shijin didn’t know, though thinking about it, Lin Shijin didn’t mingle much with the disciples on Disciples’ Peak, and Sheng Rufei likely hadn’t told him.

“Ten days ago, Xue-shixiong escaped from Forbidden Mountain. Escaping counts as betraying Fuguang Sect, so they issued a bounty.”

Capture Xue Ning alive, and one could claim one hundred thousand spirit stones.

“I reckon Xue-shixiong couldn’t stay in Forbidden Mountain any longer,” Jing Qiuhong went on. “He’s never liked being confined. Forbidden Mountain is practically a prison. Nothing grows there. Of course he couldn’t bear it.”

“Where is Xue Ning now?” Lin Shijin belatedly felt a chill. If Xue Ning came for revenge, both he and Sheng Rufei would be finished.

Sure enough, as a “stock-investor gong”, he wasn’t going to die off easily.

“How would I know? I heard he went over to the demonic cultivators. The sect leader was so furious he smashed up a hall on Luoyun Peak.”

Lin Shijin: “…”

Still… the sect leader was having a miserable time. After all, it was a disciple he’d raised personally. Lin Shijin eased a little. It’s fine long as Xue Ning wasn’t in Rakshasa City. He didn’t want his training trip to become a one-way journey.

“Good thing those two aren’t womanisers. Otherwise, even if some young lady had been harassed, she’d probably be too smitten to report it.”

People nearby were gossiping. Having seen enough, Lin Shijin and Jing Qiuhong moved on. They still needed to visit the bookshop, and Lin Shijin planned to stop by the teahouse to gather information.

Passing a pastry stall, he noticed that mortal pastries were far more distinctive. Rakshasa City was famed for its black peonies, so the pastries were shaped like peonies, some printed with images of various beauties.

Beautiful faces were always pleasing to look at. Lin Shijin bought a box. Inside, the pastries were still steaming. He usually only bought one box.

But an image flashed through his mind: Sheng Rufei standing alone on the inn’s second floor. He hesitated, then picked up a second box.

The pastries were piping hot, their scents fragrant and sweet. Who wouldn’t like them?

Jing Qiuhong, who didn’t care for pastries, had already wandered into the nearby bookshop. With so many bookshops in the city, they probably wouldn’t manage to visit them all.

“Young master, careful not to burn your hands. Let them cool a bit before eating,” the pastry-seller warned as she wrapped them up.

He thanked her with a smile and turned to leave, boxes in hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lin Shijin caught a flash of white. He almost bumped straight into someone. His gaze landed on white robes patterned with silver wave-motifs. Then he caught a faint scent of blood.

A prickle ran up his spine and he tensed immediately. But before he could step back, a long, pale hand closed around his arm, and a gentle male voice sounded at his ear.

“Young master, my apologies. Are you alright?”

The man wore a veiled hat that hid his face. His grip was firm. Too firm. Lin Shijin felt a twinge of pain. 

The man must have noticed the change in his expression, for he slowly let go, though his voice remained gentle, soothing enough to quiet one’s every anxious thought.

“Did I hurt you?”

Lin Shijin’s instincts screamed danger. Alone as he was, he stayed on guard, clutching his pastries as he replied, “It’s nothing.”

“Lin Shijin!”

Jing Qiuhong called from a short distance away. Lin Shijin hurried over. As he passed the veiled man, he glanced back. And just at that moment, a gust of wind lifted the veil.

He caught a glimpse of remarkably beautiful eyes. And at the corner of one, a tiny vermilion mole.

The man’s brows curved, his gaze warm, and he smiled at him.

Lin Shijin instinctively compared him with the wanted portrait earlier. The brows were different. The mole was in a different place. He quietly exhaled.

He was just imagining things.

Jing Qiuhong waved excitedly, arms full of little picture-books. “I found loads! Come and see!”

Lin Shijin perked up. It was reassuring to have company, though he’d already spent most of his spirit stones on two boxes of pastries. He only had enough left for one book.

He’d meant to gather information at the teahouse, but being out of money, he decided to head back instead. The warm pastries were heating his hands; he took one bite.

Forgetting entirely the pastry-seller’s “let them cool a bit before eating”.

The hot filling scalded his throat. It was sweeter than candied fruit but blisteringly hot. Lin Shijin coughed twice, startling Jing Qiuhong.

“What happened? Choked on a pastry?” Jing Qiuhong thrust a handkerchief at him.

Lin Shijin’s face was red from coughing. His throat burned, swollen, and his speech came out garbled.

“The pastries… are… hot.”

He stayed miserable the whole way back, unable to speak properly. His throat felt raw, probably badly burnt. He didn’t eat the rest.

Back at the inn, he saw Sheng Rufei at the entrance… but he couldn’t get out the usual “Sixteenth shixiong”.

Sheng Rufei’s gaze settled on him. Lin Shijin could tell he’d been waiting. It took him a long moment to manage a hoarse:

“You were looking for me?”

Sheng Rufei had seen him choke earlier and more or less knew what happened, but still asked:

“What’s wrong with your throat?”

“The… pastries… were hot.”

Lin Shijin remembered the extra box and handed it over to him.

He pointed at it, slurring, “Cool… first… before eating.”

Sheng Rufei took the hot pastries. His eyes flickered with faint surprise, though his expression stayed cool. “For me?”

His fingers tightened slightly as he looked at the youth.

Lin Shijin nodded. He unlocked his room and went in, not bothering with whether Sheng Rufei followed. He poured out two cups of cold tea. The cool liquid eased the pain a little, though not completely.

Only after drinking did he recall Sheng Rufei standing nearby, watching him.

Lin Shijin didn’t want to talk; he waited for Sheng Rufei to say something.

“We’re heading to the city lord’s manor tonight. Su-shixiong and the others have already gone ahead.”

No doubt Sheng Rufei had been waiting specifically for him. Lin Shijin nodded and rummaged in his storage pouch for medicine, but then a shadow fell over him.

Sheng Rufei stepped closer, lowered his gaze, and lightly touched Lin Shijin’s chin. “Open your mouth.”

Lin Shijin realised that Sheng Rufei wanted to check his throat, then remembered the medicine Sheng Rufei had used previously. It was some kind of demon-beast saliva. Was he going to make him swallow that again?

He struggled and protested, “No… no saliva.”

Sheng Rufei’s fingers paused, then he gave a quiet “mm”, understanding. “Not using the previous medicine.”

Lin Shijin relaxed… until he felt his chin being held firmly, the calluses brushing against his skin. It was uncomfortable. He looked up, noticing Sheng Rufei’s brown eyes seemed darker than usual.

“Don’t move,” the youth said coolly.

Lin Shijin stilled. He had no idea what Sheng Rufei intended.

The next moment, Sheng Rufei’s fingertips slipped between his lips and teeth.