Lin Shijin hadn’t been paying attention when Ye Lang knelt before him again. He frowned, puzzled as to how the curse had been triggered.
“Why are you always kneeling? I didn’t move just now.”
Ye Lang had knelt of his own accord.
Ye Lang: “…” His fists tightened.
Lin Shijin watched as Ye Lang awkwardly sank back onto his knees, his whole figure swallowed by shadow, clearly in a foul mood.
Lin Shijin didn’t want to tempt fate. Besides, he had already hit the ground while dealing with the six-eyed demon beast, and he wasn’t unscathed.
Taking some medicine, he moved to the other side, carefully lifting his robe. A statue blocked the view, so they were in separate corners and Ye Lang wouldn’t see him.
His body bore several bruises, which he treated himself. The touch stung, and the wound on his cheek burned sharply as it bled. Luckily, it was shallow, and the herbal ointment for demonic poison soothed it after a while.
From the other corner came the occasional jingle of chains, Ye Lang apparently attempting to loosen them. Soon, though, it fell silent.
Sleepiness crept over Lin Shijin. He leaned against the temple’s broken statue and drifted off. Before sleep claimed him, he thought of the three-day festival in the city.
He should go. Ye Lang was in trouble. Better to leave him in Sheng Rufei’s care.
He wondered how Su Lian-shixiong was faring.
With that, he sank into deep sleep. The statue’s brows were lowered, sorrow etched into its features, and the temple fell silent.
When he woke the next morning, the first thing he did was touch his face. The wounds were gone.
Lin Shijin blinked in astonishment, conjured a mirror, and stared at himself for a long while, confirming that the injuries had vanished.
He got up and moved to the corner, finding Ye Lang in meditation. The demonic poison had subsided; his wounds had returned to their natural colour, and his complexion looked healthy.
This recovery… it was borderline unnatural.
“Today we go to the city,” Lin Shijin said. “The Ghost Exorcism Festival is on, and our mission isn’t complete.”
Ye Lang glanced at him and sneered. “With your cultivation, going to the city is just delivering vegetables to the Ghost Exorcists?”
“But I’m here,” Lin Shijin replied, jingling the chain around his wrist. “You’re supposed to protect me.”
“The city’s more lively,” he added, “and we’ll meet Su Lian-shixiong there.”
He tugged at the chain again. “Can you even stand?”
Ye Lang didn’t move, still seated in meditation, clearly ignoring him.
The chain around his neck restricted him, and his blood surged restlessly. Usually, he expended his pent-up energy to maintain balance in his cultivation. Today, though, the youth before him had his breath unstable, and every rattle of the chain sent blood boiling in his throat. He longed to tear Lin Shijin apart, but he couldn’t.
Lin Shijin could see Ye Lang’s anger. Their roles had reversed. Ye Lang used to torment him, pulling his ears at will. Now, it was Lin Shijin’s turn.
Still, he wasn’t one to bully indiscriminately.
“Get up if you can. Your injuries heal fast enough,” he said, tugging the chain. Ye Lang was forced to rise, his aura dark and intense, gaze penetrating.
Lin Shijin didn’t need to guess what Ye Lang was thinking. Revenge. The chill of it ran down his back, urging him to hand Ye Lang over to Sheng Rufei as soon as possible.
They left the temple. The city wasn’t far; they had to pass through the gates. Having been through the Spirit-Building Platform before, they moved with some ease and blended in.
Lin Shijin used an illusion technique; Ye Lang changed clothes to hide his aura, following behind him.
During the festival, the city bustled. Smoke from incense drifted upwards, cloaking the streets in a hazy mist.
Many wore masks. Ghosts, deities… and Lin Shijin tugged Ye Lang along, eager to explore.
“Let’s go see over there.”
Lin Shijin practically dragged Ye Lang. Ever since the chains, Ye Lang had been resistant and spoke less, often only to threaten or mock. The clatter of the chains was loud to them alone, unnoticed by the crowds.
“Don’t be upset. You attacked me first because you couldn’t control yourself,” Lin Shijin said, slowing his pace. “If I had done that to you, you’d tear me to pieces.”
Ye Lang sneered. “You’re weak. That’s your fault.”
“Even if I’m weak…” Lin Shijin muttered under his breath, tugging at Ye Lang. “You can’t say that…”
Ye Lang moved deliberately slowly, requiring constant urging.
“Come on, let’s look at those masks.”
Lin Shijin’s gaze was drawn to masks hanging from a red cord. Some were familiar from lessons like the Three Immortal Lords: Fuheng, Changming, and Shouque.
Fuheng’s mask was pure white, a gilded flower blooming at the eye’s corner, a vermilion mark between the brows, lips slightly upturned. It was like a celestial had descended.
Changming’s mask was black, intricate patterns at the brows, slightly drooping eyes, sword motifs on the cheeks. He was cold, solemn, lifelike.
Shouque’s mask was white with crane patterns at the eye corners, red marks between the brows, an unsettling, ambiguous smile.
Besides these, there were ghost masks, demon masks… dazzling in variety.
Lin Shijin pointed at one and tugged the chain. “I want that one.”
He meant Ye Lang should pay. Ye Lang glanced at him, dripping sarcasm, and refused.
“You want to spend my money?”
Before Ye Lang could protest, a subtle suppressive force pressed on him. Veins bulged, a golden mark flickered on his neck, nearly forcing him down to his knees. Outside, kneeling would be humiliating. Su Lian was probably watching somewhere, amused.
Lin Shijin tugged at Ye Lang’s sleeve. “Take two. I’ll give you one too. Look at your face. You look like you’re about to eat someone.”
He took two masks. Ye Lang, dark-faced, slowly produced spirit stones. Lin Shijin handed the stones to the seller and put on Fuheng’s mask himself, which covered his face entirely, revealing only bright, curved eyes. His youthful presence softened his usually striking features. The gilded flower at the eye corner shimmered in the light.
“How is it? Doesn’t it look good?”
Ye Lang looked briefly stunned. As the youth tilted his head, eyes lowered slightly, his aura was cool, otherworldly, unlike his usual self. The moment passed as the youth raised his eyes, joy shining innocently.
“Just a fool,” Ye Lang muttered sarcastically. “Even a mask can’t hide a fool.”
Lin Shijin smiled slightly and placed the other mask on Ye Lang. He’d deliberately chosen the ugliest, from a snow demon. In their form, even the best-looking had scarred faces; this mask was grotesque.
He had to stand on tiptoe to tie it, fingertips brushing Ye Lang’s cheek. Ye Lang glared at him, but he focused on the task, unaware of Ye Lang’s scrutiny.
With the chain secured, Lin Shijin patted Ye Lang’s shoulder, satisfied. “Much better. Doesn’t look so fierce.”
“Let’s see where Su Lian-shixiong is. City lord’s manor?”
Lin Shijin guessed correctly; the immortal sect disciples and Scourge-Slayer Envoys would gather there. Ye Lang said nothing, clearly reluctant.
“The demons will act today. You won’t be of much help.”
Ye Lang’s attention remained divided between the struggling youth and the chains, forced close to him.
“Even if I can’t help, I have to go,” Lin Shijin insisted, asking around. It was almost evening, the City Lord’s Manor and Scourge-Slayer Envoys would hold a banquet on a river boat.
Following the crowd, Lin Shijin bought many things… all paid for by Ye Lang. He was curious about the new items, tugging Ye Lang along. Ye Lang now carried the goods, his sword slung over his back.
“Look at that boat. Aren’t my shixiongs there?”
A long bridge spanned the river. On the other side, a huge vermilion boat gleamed, lights reflecting on the water. Lin Shijin pulled Ye Lang along.
“You can’t transform. Many immortal disciples are on that boat. You’ll be recognised,” Ye Lang warned.
Lin Shijin agreed. “Then let’s check the riverbank first. If we can’t cross, we’ll send Su Lian-shixiong a message.”
Finally, Ye Lang relented a little. Crowds thronged the bridge. The youth ahead nearly bumped into people; Ye Lang, incredulous, caught him just in time.
“Are your eyes just for venting?”
“I’m watching where I’m going,” Lin Shijin retorted.
Among the scourge-slayers, Lin Shijin’s eyes caught a familiar figure beneath the marriage tree. It was a tall, silver-haired young man, profile elegant and cold. He turned slowly, locking eyes with Lin Shijin, a hint of warmth in his gaze.
Their wrists were connected by red threads, the same colour as the ribbons on the tree. Among millions, only they were linked.
Lin Shijin, ignoring all else, tossed aside the dog leash and ran to Sheng Rufei.
Ye Lang remained behind, muttering, stunned. He watched the youth’s joyful figure, feeling blood surge in his throat.
Soon, he would be driven mad with anger.
