Chapter 24: “Shizun, it hurts.”

Sheng Rufei’s eyes were dark as ink as he said to Lin Shijin, “It’s not you who implicated me. This matter has nothing to do with you.”

The youth’s thoughts were even simpler than he had imagined. He couldn’t tell whether it was because the lad was simple-minded, or because he simply didn’t care about him in the first place.

“How could it not be my fault?” Lin Shijin murmured, a little embarrassed. But since Sheng Rufei said he didn’t blame him, he was secretly delighted. His shixiong wasn’t as fierce as Feng Rugao.

“Jun Yewu only bullies me because I’m easy to pick on. I’m the softest persimmon,” he muttered under his breath.

If he ever saw Jun Yewu again, he would definitely take revenge… though it seemed unlikely. Jun Yewu surely wouldn’t break out of confinement like Xue Ning.

He didn’t know whether Sheng Rufei heard his muttering; Sheng Rufei merely looked at him, his gaze lingering on his face for a moment, and didn’t respond.

Lin Shijin glanced at Sheng Rufei’s solemn expression. He touched the bow he had tied around Sheng Rufei’s neck. It was lightly knotted, and looking rather absurd.

“Shixiong, it’s done,” Lin Shijin said, tapping the bow with his fingertip. “Do you need help with the wound on your back?”

“No need.” Sheng Rufei withdrew his gaze, subtly avoiding his touch. His eyes fell to the spirit stones on the table. “Did Shizun give you these?”

Lin Shijin followed his gaze and nodded at once, distracted by the shift in topic.

“Shizun says my constitution is too poor. Starting tomorrow, he’ll refine my bones. He gave me lots of spirit stones and some pastries.”

Remembering this, Lin Shijin belatedly began to worry. Feng Rugao never changed his mind. Whether he faced it or ran, the outcome was the same.

Either way, he couldn’t escape.

His small face immediately fell. Sheng Rufei paused. “He’s personally refining your bones?”

Lin Shijin hummed in reply. “I begged him for ages. Shizun refused to budge and even said if I kept complaining he’d make me copy sect rules.”

He had thought of asking Sheng Rufei to plead for him, but Sheng Rufei had also been punished by Feng Rugao. He might still be in a foul mood. Approaching him now would only result in icy remarks and no help at all.

Sheng Rufei’s long lashes lowered, casting a faint shadow. After a moment, he said, “Bone-refining isn’t a bad thing.”

But doing it in such haste… the youth before him clearly wouldn’t be able to endure it. It would only do more harm than good.

Lin Shijin’s lips tightened at his words. He was different from Sheng Rufei. If it were Sheng Rufei, he would endure whatever pain was thrown at him.

“I know Shizun means well.”

Sheng Rufei looked at the young man. His emotions were always written plainly across his face. It was obvious that he didn’t want it at all. There were still faint marks on his neck from earlier; his body was so fragile that even the lightest touch left traces.

Sheng Rufei reached out. The youth, watching him, obediently held still, his eyes filled with confusion and curiosity. Sheng Rufei’s fingertips came to rest on the boy’s fluffy head. Lin Shijin blinked. Sheng Rufei awkwardly rubbed his head twice.

The movement was stiff. It was like awkwardly stroking a small animal.

“It won’t hurt too much.”

“If you really can’t stand it, Shizun won’t force you.”

Lin Shijin felt his hair being gently rubbed and found it unexpectedly comfortable. He leaned into Sheng Rufei’s hand, eyes bright, and let out a soft hum of agreement.

“If I behave well… do you think Shizun might stop the bone-refining?”

“Shixiong, if you practise swordplay in future, bring me along. I’ll go with you.”

When he had first arrived, he’d been fixated on escaping back home. But after everything that had happened, he couldn’t cling to unrealistic hopes. And besides, he hated pain. He truly didn’t want his bones refined.

Only by showing Feng Rugao he was trying hard could he hope to sway him.

Sheng Rufei knew better. Feng Rugao was a man of absolute principle. And he had already noticed how unusually controlling Feng Rugao was towards this particular shidi.

He simply hummed in agreement.

“Shixiong, your back’s still injured…” Lin Shijin realised belatedly, flushing with embarrassment. He really couldn’t help acting spoiled towards Sheng Rufei, even though they were the same age.

They were both seventeen. Sheng Rufei was even a few months younger.

“I’ll go back first.”

“Wait.”

Lin Shijin had taken only two steps when Sheng Rufei called him back. Sheng Rufei stood up.

His robes were still unchanged, the blood on them long dried. His face was still pale. He gathered the spirit stones on the table and then several more from who-knows-where before piling them into a small mound and pushing them towards him.

Sheng Rufei’s expression was faintly unnatural, his tone cool. “There’s no need to return these. I hardly use spirit stones. Take them.”

The pile consisted entirely of high-grade stones. Lin Shijin was stunned. Feng Rugao was generous because he was wealthy. Sheng Rufei was the narrative’s protagonist and shouldn’t be short of money, yet high-grade stones weren’t easy to come by.

He could accept Feng Rugao’s stones without guilt, but Sheng Rufei’s… Sheng Rufei had earned them with difficulty from tasks.

“Shixiong, keep them for yourself.”

“What Shizun gave me is enough. I won’t be able to spend so many.”

Sheng Rufei’s expression didn’t change, but Lin Shijin distinctly felt his aura grow a little colder.

Why was he upset because he refused them?

Lin Shijin found it baffling. Sheng Rufei wasn’t someone who would explain.

Either way, he couldn’t accept them.

He stuffed all the stones back into Sheng Rufei’s arms. “These were all from Shizun. You keep them first. Once I can take on missions myself, I’ll repay you.”

“And make sure you treat your wounds. Don’t soak in the cold spring these next few days.” Lin Shijin fussed awkwardly before hurrying out of the courtyard, still feeling a gaze following him.

Sheng Rufei stood holding the warm spirit stones, watching the youth disappear. He soon vanished entirely, and the red thread linking them faded around the corner.

The red thread at Sheng Rufei’s wrist shimmered, transforming into a tiny figure. As soon as he appeared, all of Sheng Rufei’s attention was drawn to him. The little figure walked crookedly, tugging up handfuls of immortal herbs his shizun had planted along the path.

They looked ordinary, but each herb was worth thousands of spirit stones. The little figure fretted over something, leaving a trail of uprooted herbs behind him.

He seemed troubled every day. But a moment later, spotting a fluttering butterfly, he forgot everything and chased after it back into the courtyard.

No matter how many worries he had, he lost them just as quickly. He was always cheerful.

Sheng Rufei lowered his gaze and poked the tiny figure’s fluffy head. The little figure clutched his head, looking left and right, wide-eyed. After a long moment of seeing nothing, he peered behind himself.

His back stiffened, legs trembling faintly.

Only when he was certain nothing was there did he decide it must’ve been his imagination. He sat on the soft couch and pretended to meditate.

In the neighbouring courtyard, Lin Shijin felt as though someone had poked his head. It had been happening a lot recently, but there was never anyone in the room. He touched his head nervously, the hairs on his neck standing upright.

He looked left, then right, then abruptly over his shoulder.

Nothing.

He scanned the room for a long while, saw nothing, and finally relaxed.

He meditated for an hour and went to sleep. Their lesson the next day was usually torturous, yet it passed surprisingly quickly.

Perhaps because he didn’t want to see Feng Rugao that night, he lingered after class. When the Sword Pavilion elder was leaving, he even felt reluctant to see him go. The elder, assuming he was up to mischief, glared fiercely several times before storming off.

Lin Shijin felt wronged. His backside felt glued to the chair; he simply didn’t want to get up. Most disciples had already gone.

Jing Qiuhong was away, and Sheng Rufei had been summoned by the sect leader. With no acquaintances nearby, he sat there fretting endlessly.

Feng Rugao hadn’t sent a message. Did that imply something? Was he planning to let him off? If he waited long enough…perhaps after nightfall… maybe Feng Rugao would forget, and they could all pretend nothing had happened.

He imagined Feng Rugao forgetting. He would cultivate diligently, never mention bone-refining again, and they could all move on.

A sudden “Young Master” shattered the fantasy.

Feng Qing had arrived at some unknown point and stood at the doorway. “Young Master, class ended quite some time ago. Sword Master was worried and sent me to find you.”

Lin Shijin: “…”

He stiffly turned his neck to look at Feng Qing. Dressed in red as usual, Feng Qing looked for all the world like a spectre come to collect a soul.

“Young Master?”

Feng Qing called again. Lin Shijin wilted, rising slowly. He picked up his sword and followed him out.

“Is Shizun waiting for me?”

“Sword Master has been waiting for more than an hour without seeing you,” Feng Qing replied.

“Oh.” Lin Shijin clutched his sword tightly. So much for wishful thinking. Feng Rugao would never forget his own words.

Would he be angry at him for being late?

From afar, Changming Hall loomed. It was never lit; the entire Changgao Peak felt cold and deserted.

Even before stepping inside, he felt chilled to the bone. Ever since he had set foot on the main peak, he had felt eyes watching him from the shadows.

Feng Qing led him into the hall before returning to Feng Rugao’s side.

Lin Shijin knelt. Staring at the man seated above, he whispered:

“Disciple greets Shizun.”

His heart had been tight from the moment he entered the hall. A gaze lingered on him for a long moment before the man’s voice cut through the silence.

“Why have you only come now?”

Because I don’t want to refine bones.

He couldn’t say that. But he didn’t dare lie either. Staring at the dark-patterned carpet, he spoke softly.

“Disciple knows his mistake.”

Admit fault first. It’s always safer.

He kept his head bowed. He didn’t dare look at Feng Rugao’s face. The man’s sternness frightened him.

“Rise.” After a long silence, Feng Rugao spoke coldly.

Lin Shijin stood. He heard a door slide open, the entrance to the side hall. Feng Rugao, who usually sat by its window, had risen and gone inside.

The meaning was clear. He was to follow.

Lin Shijin had absolutely no interest in Changming Hall and trailed after Feng Rugao with obvious reluctance. He glanced around. The side hall resembled a secluded cultivation chamber, with the faint drip of water echoing through it.

Upon entering, he saw a medicinal spring.

The first step of bone refinement was to soak in the medicinal spring. The spring’s properties would seep through the skin and into the bone marrow, gradually altering one’s constitution.

The second step involved driving seventy-two Soul-Devouring Nails into the bones. Distributed throughout the body, these nails would strengthen one’s physique until the transformation was complete, upon which they could be removed.

Lin Shijin stared at the steaming spring, its vapour laced with a faint medicinal scent. He had heard that many disciples endured the medicinal spring only once in their entire lives. Thereafter, they refused to utter the words “medicinal spring” ever again.

Compared with the agony of the spring burning through one’s bones, the coldness of the cold spring was nothing. And that was to say nothing of the Soul-Devouring Nails to come.

Feng Rugao stood by the edge of the spring. “Take off your clothes and get in. Today is your first day; you need only soak for one shichen.”

Any other disciple would have started at two. Seeing how vehemently the boy resisted, he had already reduced it by one.

Lin Shijin watched the bubbling water, instinctively taking a half-step back, clinging to one last shred of hope.

“Shizun… could I not refine my bones? I’ll cultivate properly in future.”

His voice softened, a note of timid caution in his clear eyes.

Feng Rugao said nothing. He simply looked at him, expression cold as ice. He clearly intended to watch him enter the spring with his own eyes.

When no answer came for a long while, Lin Shijin’s final thread of hope snapped. He pressed his lips together and began to undress.

Feng Rugao watched from the side, making him all the more uneasy. He removed only his outer robe and inner coat, leaving on his thin under-layer.

Feng Rugao frowned. Soaking fully unclothed was naturally more effective, but he let it pass. He merely repeated two words:

“Go down.”

Dressed only in a snow-white undergarment, his dark hair spilling down his back, Lin Shijin’s skin appeared almost translucent, his lips even redder by contrast. Feeling slightly chilled, he removed his shoes and reluctantly approached the spring. He tested the water with a cautious tap of his toe.

He yanked his foot back at once. Feeling the weight of the gaze behind him, his spine stiffened. He glanced sideways at Feng Rugao and realised that hesitating was pointless.

Better to get it over with. Bite down and endure. It would pass sooner if he started sooner.

Easier said than done. Lin Shijin lingered beside the spring for ages, managing only to touch it with his toe. Wherever the water brushed him felt as though it were aflame. Yet also as though countless fine silver needles were stabbing into him. The pain nearly made him buckle.

“Shizun… it hurts.”

He didn’t dare say he refused to go in, but it truly did hurt. He looked down at his toes; the skin was flushed red.

“Could-could the time not be shortened?”

The man behind him grew visibly colder, as though he might freeze solid on the spot. Even without looking back, Lin Shijin felt icy dread crawl down his spine.

They remained locked in stalemate for who knew how long. Lin Shijin was beginning to freeze when a soft movement sounded behind him.

A hand gripped his waist.

He knew instantly whose it was. His mind blanked for a breath, and then Feng Rugao lifted him bodily and carried him straight into the spring.

“Shizun—!”

Feng Rugao held him tightly, fingers digging into his waist in a grip that was almost punitive. The moment they entered the spring, he released him.

A splash roared in Lin Shijin’s ears as he was plunged beneath the water. He barely had time to register being carried before the medicinal heat pierced through his clothes, engulfing him as though he had been thrown into a blazing inferno.

Flames seemed to swallow him whole, licking up his limbs, devouring him inch by inch. His face drained of colour at once. Agony crashed over him, seeping from skin to marrow.

Lin Shijin thrashed in the spring, scrambling towards the surface. He wanted to scream, but his voice rasped into broken, breathless whimpers. His fingertips trembled uncontrollably.

He truly felt he might die in the next moment.

He had to get out. If he stayed here, he would die.

He made a desperate sound, struggling upward. Every instinct screamed at him to flee. Escape this spring now, or he would not survive.

His steps were heavy, unsteady; he staggered towards the edge, choking on water. He coughed twice, the burning rushing up his throat, as though knives were gouging at his organs.

With another splash, before he could touch the side, a strong hand seized his waist.

The grip tightened suddenly. Weak as he already was, Lin Shijin was hauled backwards, colliding with a warm chest.

He choked again, coughing as his breath hitched. The pool was deep; struggling for air, he instinctively clung to the only support he had.

His trembling fingers curled around Feng Rugao’s arm. He raised his eyes to meet that cold, unyielding face.

Drops of spring water clung to Feng Rugao’s features. He held Lin Shijin fast in his arms, deep eyes lowered as he spoke in a voice like ice:

“What did I just say?”

Lin Shijin had no room left in his mind to recall anything. His whole body screamed with pain. He instinctively tried to pry the hand from his waist, but his insides felt aflame. He had no strength at all. He struggled for an age yet couldn’t free himself.

“Let go, let go, I want to get out.”

Only one thought echoed in his mind: he has to get out. The spring water soaked through him, as if countless silver needles were wedged into the seams of his bones. Even breathing was an effort, his voice thin and broken.

“I want to get out…”

“Let go…”

Lin Shijin clawed weakly at Feng Rugao’s hand again. Unable to free himself, he grew frantic, pupils unfocused, face turning whiter by the second.

“Look closely at who I am.” The cold voice sounded beside his ear. His chin was caught and forced upward until he was staring directly at Feng Rugao’s face.

Feng Rugao held his jaw between his fingers, the other hand restraining him completely, leaving him no hope of escape.

Forced to look up, his starkly pale face filled Feng Rugao’s gaze. Lin Shijin didn’t respond for a long time, nearly fainting from the pain. His eyes reddened, and only after a long struggle did he manage to swallow back his tears.

Still unwilling to release him, Feng Rugao’s grip on his jaw remained firm. The oppressive force of his cultivation made Lin Shijin instinctively fearful. He grasped Feng Rugao’s wrist with fragile fingertips, his voice dropping.

“It’s Shizun.

“Shizun… it hurts… it hurts so much…

“I want to go out…”

His voice was broken and uneven. When his body brushed against Feng Rugao, the pain eased slightly, and he instinctively leaned closer, torn between escaping the spring and clinging to the only comfort he felt.

“It hurts… I can’t bear it…”

His slender white fingers tugged weakly at Feng Rugao’s soaked robes, his voice trembling. “Shizun… I was wrong… I’ll cultivate properly in future…

“I don’t want to refine my bones.”

Lin Shijin could scarcely remain upright in the medicinal spring, relying entirely upon Feng Rugao to hold him. His pale knuckles clutched at Feng Rugao’s shoulder; his unsteady frame swayed for a moment, and the pool trembled with widening ripples.

“Shizun…”

His faint sway made Feng Rugao tighten the grip at his waist just slightly, his fingertips pressing exactly against the small of his back, supporting him only lightly. His lower back had been aching already; that one touch sent a sharper sting lancing through him.

As if needled with silver pins. His face drained of colour yet further.

Mist coiled about the medicinal spring. Feng Rugao held him in a loose arm, his voice a shade lower. “A shichen. Yet it hasn’t even been the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.”

“If you cannot endure bone refinement, you may as well forget about cultivation entirely.”

Cultivation was far easier than bone refinement. Hearing this, Lin Shijin understood perfectly that Feng Rugao had no intention of showing leniency. He was limp with exhaustion, his face chalk white; he grasped Feng Rugao’s shoulder, mustering what little strength he had, but all he managed was to wrinkle the man’s robes.

It accomplished nothing.

Feng Rugao would not release him just because he begged, nor would he reduce the duration. His robes remained immaculate, his expression unruffled… while Lin Shijin was suffering as though being flayed alive in the spring.

Just like last time, when he’d been caned with the ruler. Watching him suffer never earned a shred of mercy.

Lin Shijin came to understand fully that the man before him was cold, merciless, and unyielding. He didn’t want to be held like this by Feng Rugao. In truth, he was the one clinging on.

The medicinal essence seeped steadily from skin to bone. Lin Shijin pushed at Feng Rugao, but his throat was clogged with pain; he could not form a word. Enduring the blade-fine agony, he struggled to move to the other side of the spring.

“Shizun… you needn’t remain here with me.”

He released Feng Rugao and stepped back. The water splashed at the separation. Leaving Feng Rugao’s arms, he looked at him through the drifting mist.

It hurts… so much.

Feng Rugao stood where he was, his expression slowly cooling, but he did not leave the spring.

Lin Shijin was simply being stubborn; even if the pain killed him, he refused to draw near Feng Rugao again.

The water beside him rocked restlessly. Lin Shijin’s steps were unsteady. He almost wished he could simply faint. Then he wouldn’t have to endure this torment. Yet the pain was so intense that it sharpened his senses rather than dulling them, forcing him into a terrible clarity.

He felt every thread of medicinal heat burrow through skin into bone. Cold sweat broke across him; he felt as though he were dissolving into the pool.

The world wavered before him. His vision blurred; his fingers trembled. He had never known time to crawl so slowly.

A shichen… two full hours. He was expected to stay in here for two hours.

Feng Rugao, of course, remained utterly unaffected. Not far from him, the black-haired youth with temples dampened, face white as paper and who was usually delicate and terrified of pain, was now stiff with defiance. He was clearly sulking.

If he could really endure an entire shichen out of sheer spite, that would be a welcome outcome.

Lin Shijin’s mind remained clear, yet he had lost all sense of time. Without Feng Rugao’s say-so, he could not leave the pool.

He no longer had strength enough to climb out. Simply remaining upright drained him utterly; were someone to prod him lightly now, he might crumple straight into the water.

The spring gurgled around him. Lin Shijin felt as though he were teetering on the edge of a precipice. He didn’t know how much longer he could last.

Everything grew quiet, as if he were the only one left. The burning heat coursed through him; his vision doubled. He blinked slowly.

A long, hollow ringing filled his ears. His consciousness peeled away.

Just before he fainted, one thought drifted across his mind. He was going to die. Die of pain.

A heartbeat before he toppled into the water, Feng Rugao caught him. The youth in his arms was deathly pale, clearly pushed beyond his limit. He was willing to faint rather than draw near his shizun.

A soft sigh drifted from the side hall.

Feng Rugao lowered his gaze to the boy in his hold. He lifted Lin Shijin’s wrist. His palm bore several bluish crescent marks dug in by his own nails. Usually unwilling to endure even the slightest discomfort, today he had clearly been driven past toleration.

Feng Qing murmured, “My lord, why quarrel with him? This will only make him blame you more.”

Few outer disciples would willingly undergo bone refinement. What Feng Rugao dismissed as negligible agony was, to others, little short of skinning and drawing bones.

Noise stirred from outside the main hall. Feng Rugao did not respond to Feng Qing; instead, he carried the youth into the depths of the medicinal spring and vanished.

When Sheng Rufei arrived at Changming Hall, his shizun was not in the side hall. Kneeling, he listened to the faint sounds from within.

A moment later, the hem of a pristine white robe appeared before him. The door opened; Feng Rugao stepped out.

Sheng Rufei’s gaze travelled from that corner of white fabric to a slender, pale wrist hanging over the edge of the soft couch within the side hall.

The vermilion door blocked most of his view. He could only see the youth’s drooping wrist followed by thin, white fingers, a red thread circling the wrist, stretching from the side hall to his own.

He recognised him.

“Have you finished reflecting?” Feng Rugao asked from the main seat.

Sheng Rufei withdrew his gaze, bowing. “This disciple has accepted his punishment and understands his mistake.”

“I should not have placed my shidi in danger. Fuguang prioritises disciples’ safety. I committed a grave violation in Rakshasa City.”

When he finished, Feng Rugao asked coolly, “Since you understand, do you know what you must do henceforth?”

Sheng Rufei answered, “My shidi’s safety must come first. I must not allow him to be harmed, nor to fall into anyone else’s hands.”

He received no response for a long time. When he eventually raised his head, the main seat was empty.

The side hall door had been shut.

He was being dismissed.

Sheng Rufei rose slowly. He glanced down at the red thread on his wrist, then turned and left Changming Hall.

Outside, he paused and looked back. The hall loomed pitch black, like a deep, bottomless well.

*

Lin Shijin caught a faint cool fragrance at his nose. He clutched the small blanket, casting a furtive look across to the other side. Feng Rugao sat there, reading some ancient text.

Feng Qing had visited earlier, informing him that he had fainted in the spring for a full shichen. He was subtly implying that he had conveniently missed the time meant for bone refinement.

Lin Shijin thought bitterly that he hardly wanted to faint, still less to refine his bones. As he shifted slightly, the man across the room lifted his gaze and pressed him down through the blanket.

“You need at least three shichen to recover. Do not move.”

He truly had no strength left; the pain lingered, stinging under his skin. But he had no desire to remain in Feng Rugao’s hall for three shichen.

He had been bold enough in the spring. But now, sober and thinking clearly, all that earlier courage had evaporated.

Feng Rugao’s hand rested upon his ankle through the thin quilt. A quilt Feng Qing had brought. Instinctively, Lin Shijin struggled.

The moment he struggled, Feng Rugao released him.

He pulled his leg back and inched further into the soft couch, hiding from Feng Rugao’s touch.

“Shizun… may I return to my own courtyard?”

He could barely sit up; of course he could not walk back alone. It was a gentle hint for Feng Rugao to return him.

After he spoke, Feng Rugao regarded him quietly. ‘You are not permitted to move for three shichen. If you return to your own courtyard, no one will be watching you.’

Meaning that if he remained here, Feng Rugao would look after him. Lin Shijin clutched the edge of the quilt and whispered,

“I could ask my shixiong… he would take care of me.”

Sheng Rufei should have returned from sword practice by now. He would much rather impose on Sheng Rufei. He would rather hide in Sheng Rufei’s courtyard. Anything but remain with Feng Rugao.

He had a terrifying hierarchy in his mind at present: Feng Rugao ranked first, Jun Yewu second, Xue Ning third. Feng Rugao now sat firmly above both, casting a shadow deep and dark.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but the hall’s atmosphere seemed to chill after he spoke. Feng Rugao ignored him entirely, as if his suggestion were nothing but hot air.

Lin Shijin silently counted in his head. Three shichen in Feng Rugao’s hall. If he could sleep, it might be bearable. But having fainted earlier, he had not the slightest drowsiness now.

He could not move; he lacked the strength. He looked at the furnishings, then at the man reading nearby.

Feng Rugao was handsome. It wasn’t in Sheng Rufei’s almost flamboyant way, but in a deep, striking, solemn manner. Looking at his features, Lin Shijin recalled that ever since Feng Rugao had brought him back, he had never once seen him leave Changming Hall.

It was as though he spent all his days there, never stepping outside.

After a while, Feng Rugao lifted his eyelids and glanced at him. Whatever his looks, that icy, distant demeanour left Lin Shijin with only fear.

He could not sit still. His gaze flicked here and there; at last he spoke, hesitantly.

“Shizun… I’m thirsty.”

He looked at Feng Rugao. The hall was utterly quiet. His nerves tightened; the more nervous he grew, the thirstier he felt. Would Feng Rugao think him troublesome?

That wouldn’t be so bad. If the man grew irritated and threw him out, he would avoid all this torment.

For a moment, nothing stirred. Then Feng Rugao set his book aside, walked to the table, and poured a cup of tea. It was still warm, steam gently rising.

Lin Shijin lay on the couch, attempting to sit up. Feng Rugao reached him in two steps, supporting him upright, those deep eyes quietly observing him as he held the cup to his lips.

The warm steam brushed his face. Being so close to Feng Rugao made Lin Shijin’s scalp prickle. But his throat had been scorched in the spring; he truly was parched.

His lips touched the cup. He darted a glance at Feng Rugao… only to meet his eyes. Flustered, he looked away at once and drank the tea from Feng Rugao’s hand.

After he finished, Feng Rugao did not immediately withdraw. “Do you want more?”

Lin Shijin shook his head quickly. He lay back down. The soft couch belonged to Feng Rugao’s hall, steeped in that cool fragrance, leaving him uncomfortable.

He clutched and released the edge of the quilt. He couldn’t even muster proper strength. Feng Rugao returned to his seat, continuing to read.

Lin Shijin sneaked a look. The text appeared to be about bone refinement. Perhaps he was the first disciple to faint from the pain. He wondered whether Feng Rugao would make him return to the medicinal spring again.

After a while, he rolled over restlessly, his movements slow and feeble. He glanced at Feng Rugao, then again, fiddling with the quilt, torn by hesitation.

Perhaps he made too much noise, for Feng Rugao looked over. Lin Shijin froze mid-turn, clutching the quilt, and muttered, “Shizun… I’m hungry.”

Right on cue. His stomach growled twice, and quite loudly.

Some outer-sect disciples practised fasting, others did not. With their low cultivation, many could not sustain themselves on spiritual energy alone, and the elders were not strict about it at this stage. Naturally, Lin Shijin had chosen not to fast.

He felt terribly bashful. If it were him, he would certainly fling out anyone who lay on his bed complaining of hunger and thirst every few minutes.

He pulled the quilt up to his chin, revealing only his face, peeking nervously at Feng Rugao.

Feng Rugao did not question him. He merely put down his book and left the hall. It seemed he gave Feng Qing a few instructions; soon he returned.

Lin Shijin caught the rich fragrance before he saw Feng Qing re-enter. A pot of soup was brought in. He didn’t know what it was made from, but the aroma was heavenly.

His eyes lit up visibly. He glanced at Feng Rugao, brimming with anticipation.

Moments ago he’d been sulking; now, with Feng Rugao preparing soup for him, all his displeasure melted away.

Feng Qing set down the pot and withdrew. Feng Rugao ladled a bowl and brought it to the bedside.

He sat at the edge of the couch. As the spoon neared his lips, Lin Shijin murmured, “I can feed myself.”

He tried lifting his hand, but it was too feeble. After a few failed attempts, he surrendered.

“Thank you, Shizun,” he whispered. Feng Rugao’s fingers paused ever so slightly. The spoon cooled a little before he offered it. Lin Shijin tasted the soup.

Delicious.

Warmth spread through him; the pain seemed to ease. Feng Rugao remained silent, feeding him spoonful after spoonful until the bowl was empty.

Before Lin Shijin had time to wonder whether he should ask for another, Feng Rugao refilled it.

“Shizun… what is this made from?” he asked curiously.

“Spirit Crane,” Feng Rugao replied.

Spirit Crane… Lin Shijin recalled that Spirit Cranes were the mounts bred by Fuguang, cherished creatures the sect leader treasured dearly. Disciples were barely allowed to touch them.

Yet here one was, turned into soup. Turned into soup he had just drunk.

If the sect leader learnt of this, he might slap him straight up Forbidden Mountain.

He was still spiralling through that thought when he felt something brush the corner of his lips. Feng Rugao’s voice followed, pausing briefly as though considering.

“If you continue to persevere with bone refinement, you may have Spirit Crane soup every day.”

Lin Shijin: “…”