Chapter 21: Diving Into Shixiong’s Arms

Lin Shijin was on tenterhooks, his heart all over the place. He was terribly anxious. He’d already been caught trying to run off once that afternoon, dragged back by the collar by Jun Yewu, who had even threatened to break his legs if he tried it again. And now he’d been caught a second time.

Worrying about whether his legs were about to be snapped, he kept a furtive eye on Jun Yewu, a little unsure whether Jun Yewu was deliberately baiting him.

How could it be such rotten luck? He had just been about to slip away when Jun Yewu woke up.

Lin Shijin waited for quite some time, but Jun Yewu gave no reaction. The latter slowly shut his eyes again, no longer deigning to look at him.

This time, all thought of escape left him. He retreated to his corner, hugging his blanket, huddled up alone against the wall, shivering from the cold.

Cultivators were usually not much bothered by the cold; years of daily sword practice strengthened the body, and they rarely fell ill.

He, however, had been cultivating for two or three months and it seemed to have done absolutely nothing. He was still as sensitive to the cold as ever, unable to endure it at all.

He was freezing, miserable, and too frightened to sleep.

As dawn drew near, drowsiness crept over him, yet every time he was about to doze off, he would remember that Jun Yewu was still in the room, jerking awake at once. He didn’t sleep for even a moment that night.

At first light, Jun Yewu rose and found the boy crouched in the corner, curled into a little ball, as though he felt he was taking up too much space and longed to shrink into something soft and round.

Lin Shijin had a faint smudge of bluish-grey beneath his lashes. He had stayed in one position too long; his shoulders and legs ached, and his head was swimming.

“Up you get. We’re going to the city lord’s manor today.”

Jun Yewu’s voice was gentle as he ruffled the boy’s hair, soothing him. “Sleeping on the floor isn’t comfortable at first. You’ll get used to it.”

Lin Shijin pushed himself upright. He hadn’t the strength to argue with Jun Yewu any more. All he could think was that if he ever got back to Fuguang, he would sleep until the skies turned upside down.

“What are we going to the city lord’s manor for?”

Jun Yewu had found him rather obedient these last couple of days. Now that he had confirmed the city was under strict lockdown, his worries eased, and he planned to act today.

“I left a magical artefact in the city lord’s manor. The demon couldn’t take it away. You’re going to slip inside and bring it out.”

Lin Shijin listened, his mind sluggish. He slowly recalled that their mission had been to search for the Manor’s missing artefact.

Any artefact Jun Yewu valued would naturally be exceptional; otherwise the Manor wouldn’t have summoned disciples from so many immortal sects. He hadn’t expected the artefact to still be inside. It must have been hidden by Jun Yewu himself.

“I can’t get in either.”

Jun Yewu merely smiled, patting his head again, his fingertips brushing Lin Shijin’s cheek with an indistinct meaning.

“Last night, were you trying to run away?”

Lin Shijin, still half-asleep, jolted awake at once. He shook his head furiously. He would never admit it, no matter what.

Jun Yewu’s gaze lingered on his face, his voice soft. “If you can bring the artefact out, I might consider letting you return to the sect for a while.”

Lin Shijin did not believe a single word. He simply muttered an “Oh,” knowing full well that under Jun Yewu’s control, he had no say in anything.

They left the inn together. Upon going out, they changed their faces again, donning the robes of sect disciples. Clearly, Jun Yewu intended to blend into the Manor.

The Manor was heavily guarded by disciples, with barriers set up all around.

Lin Shijin, still controlled, was not wearing his own face. Jun Yewu had given him the visage of a guard disciple and taken another for himself. The two entered the Manor side by side.

Such barriers had no effect on Jun Yewu. Lin Shijin could feel Jun Yewu following at just the right distance. He glanced at the guards around them; there were a few disciples of Fuguang, but not many.

His back went rigid. The Manor compound stretched deep. Jun Yewu’s voice sounded in his ear.

“Go into the remote side hall.”

Before Lin Shijin lay a side courtyard. It was quiet and sparsely guarded. Maple leaves drifted down in the autumn wind; the steps before the vermilion doors were thick with fallen leaves.

Lin Shijin felt a sudden sense of unease. He stood before the courtyard; there were disciples posted here too. Gripping his sword, he approached.

He hesitated over how to begin speaking, when the expressions of the two disciples suddenly changed. A fine red line appeared at their throats; beads of blood welled up. Their faces drained of colour.

Lin Shijin stood before them, watching as life left their bodies. His eyes widened; his legs nearly gave way.

It was clearly Jun Yewu’s doing. A creeping chill seized him as he realised it. The two disciples still stood upright, clearly being manipulated. Jun Yewu’s voice brushed his ear again.

“Go on. Someone will be here shortly.” His voice was low, followed by two coughs. “Don’t try anything clever.”

Lin Shijin, ignorant though he was, could sense a baleful atmosphere in the courtyard. A cold wind brushed him; the whole place felt unsettlingly bleak.

Cold sweat slicked his back. His gaze remained fixed on the two slain disciples, his expression frozen.

The whole way here had been too smooth. Belatedly, he began to worry. Could Jun Yewu really be about to succeed?

He knew he mustn’t go. If he retrieved the artefact, he would be aiding Jun Yewu… helping a demon.

He didn’t even know what the artefact was for, but it was certainly nothing good. If Jun Yewu obtained it, countless people might die.

He remembered the heap of bones in the cave. The two disciples had been killed as a warning. Jun Yewu was clearly telling him: resist, and this will be your fate.

Standing before the courtyard, his instinct was to run, but he was under control. He was already inside the Manor. Where could he run?

Lin Shijin was forced to move forward. When he pushed open the courtyard door, a cutting chill met him. Branches of a massive locust tree covered much of the wall, like countless shadowed claws reaching out.

“It’s behind the statue.”

This courtyard was oddly constructed. There were no rooms, only the stone statues carved into the walls beneath the locust branches. The foremost statue was exquisitely made: a man holding a long sword, eyes lowered. Time had worn away some details, leaving a bleak, desolate air that silently deepened the stillness.

“There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

Jun Yewu’s voice drifted into his ear; a slow smile followed. “Do you know why your shizun took you in as a disciple?”

Naturally, because of his talent. Lin Shijin felt the statue was unnerving; the whole place felt wrong. He racked his brains for a way to stall.

Jun Yewu had just killed someone. The guards would discover it soon. Could he last until they arrived?

Obviously not. His cultivation couldn’t stand up to Jun Yewu at all. As anxiety flooded him, the red thread around his wrist suddenly twitched.

It tugged him forward, as though telling him to keep moving.

Lin Shijin thought he must have imagined it. But the next moment, the red thread tugged again. A rush of emotion overwhelmed him; his eyes grew wet as he stared at the thread.

Sheng Rufei hadn’t abandoned him. He must be nearby. He must have come to save him.

His excitement made his head swim. Understanding Sheng Rufei’s signal, he suddenly found the statue almost comforting. He studied it carefully, searching for a place where something might be hidden.

“Your shizun took you in because—” Jun Yewu had not finished speaking when Lin Shijin stepped forward again.

From afar, Jun Yewu watched. The youth had been resisting all along, as though committing some grave betrayal.

But now, he suddenly walked faster, even with a hint of joy. Jun Yewu’s gaze darkened. Something was wrong. He tried to pull the boy back.

He was too late.

The moment Lin Shijin touched the statue, a veil of light flooded the courtyard. Countless strands of sword intent converged from all directions.

An invisible barrier wrapped around Lin Shijin, and one by one, the figures of many disciples appeared around him. He turned and stared.

Sword intents tore through the air, interwoven with dense talismans. Jun Yewu’s true form was forced out, his pale face twisted with cold malice.

A loud bang thundered through the courtyard; a buzzing filled the air. It was the sound of a blade piercing flesh. Jun Yewu was skewered by a complete sword intent. Blood sprayed from his lips.

His snow-white robe was drenched crimson. Just looking at it made Lin Shijin wince with pain. His gaze met Jun Yewu’s across the air.

Disciples of Fuguang emerged fully, swords raised, surrounding Jun Yewu.

Jun Yewu looked at him, emotions surging and twisting in his eyes, and shaped a few silent words.

“Use the demon-locking spell! Don’t let him run!”

Lin Shijin understood at once. A jolt of tension rushed through him. He quickly looked away, not daring to meet Jun Yewu’s gaze again.

The other had mouthed only three words.

—Just you wait.

Outside the cluster of disciples, Lin Shijin spotted Sheng Rufei. Ignoring Jun Yewu entirely, he instinctively moved towards safety.

“Shixiong—!”

He rushed towards Sheng Rufei, filled with relief and grievance in equal measure. In his anxiety, he forgot where he was and threw himself straight into Sheng Rufei’s arms.

The golden seal on his wrist hadn’t been removed. He was still frightened. When he flung himself forward, Sheng Rufei froze for a heartbeat before reaching out and catching him.

Lin Shijin collided with a chest carrying the faint cool fragrance he knew well. He clung to Sheng Rufei, who now seemed more comforting than his own parents, and whispered a small, plaintive complaint:

“I thought you didn’t care about me any more. Why did you pretend you didn’t recognise me at the city gate?”

Even though he knew the answer, he wanted to hear Sheng Rufei say it. It wasn’t because he was a fool that he hadn’t cared.

The youth in his arms kept nuzzling against him, shifting like a small, restless creature. Thankfully, most of the disciples’ attention was fixed on Jun Yewu; even so, Sheng Rufei had no idea where to place his hands. His usually impassive face was beginning to crack. Such conduct was utterly improper out in public.

But then he saw the bright, slightly tearful eyes gazing up at him, brimming with grievance. If he pushed the boy away now, he would only wound him further.

Sheng Rufei’s body went rigid. At length, he lifted a hand and rested his fingertips atop the youth’s head, giving the lightest, almost tentative stroke.

His voice remained cool.

“It’s all right now.”