Once inside his room, Lin Shijin could no longer restrain himself. He closed the door and reached up for the silver lock around his neck, every fibre of his being filled with resistance.
The chain was cold beneath his fingertips, and a faint numbness tingled through his fingers. The silver lock clinked sharply against the chain, a crisp yet muffled sound. His fingers tensed, but no matter how hard he pulled, it wouldn’t budge.
His palms ached from the tightness, and he felt as if his entire body were being restrained. The sensation was unbearable. It was as if his very life wasn’t his own, but controlled by someone else.
Feng Rugao could command him completely, with ease.
He sat before the mirror. The fine chain around his neck reflected a cold gleam, and the characters “Changming” on the silver lock caught the light, sticking to his skin like an invisible shackle around his entire being.
Lin Shijin tugged again. A headache bloomed, perhaps a lingering effect of the earlier encounter. The world tilted slightly; his vision blurred.
Lost in thought, a knock sounded at the door. Through the paper screen, he could make out a shadow. Expecting Sheng Rufei, he opened it.
Instead, he came face to face with Feng Qing. A surge of suppressed anger rose in his chest, almost suffocating him. Seeing Feng Qing reminded him of Feng Rugao, filling him with resentment.
Feng Qing carried a bundle of things, regarding the young man carefully. Lin Shijin’s temper flared. He was usually quick to anger, though more often out of fear than genuine irritation. Today, however, his annoyance was real.
The young man’s eyes, clear and bright as always, betrayed his resistance and disgust.
Feng Qing hesitated. He had many things he couldn’t say. The youth had no idea how much his master had sacrificed in silence. Feng Rugao had waited a full thousand years, and now this youth had feelings so easily stirred.
“Young Master, do not blame Sword Master,” Feng Qing said awkwardly. He had repeated these words countless times, yet the boy’s disdain for his master only seemed to grow.
“Sword Master… acted for your own good. You and Sheng Sixteen are fellow disciples. He is naturally ruthless in sword cultivation. Sword Master was thinking of you… you two are not suited.”
Anyone else would be unsuitable; his master could not allow the youth to be swayed by another.
Lin Shijin listened in silence. He served under Feng Rugao, his shizun, who had said it was for his own good and had used cultivation to suppress him. What choice did he have but to obey?
“Lord Feng, you needn’t explain this to me,” Lin Shijin said, his voice low. “Whatever Shizun says, I will follow.”
Though he claimed indifference, it was clear he was sulking.
“You may treat it as a mere ornament. As long as you do not act on romantic feelings, this lock will remain inert,” Feng Qing said, his voice softening. “Sword Master was concerned for you; he returned only recently… he went out to procure the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart for you.”
The Snow Lotus Sacred Heart was a ninth-tier sacred artefact and could enhance one’s constitution. It grew atop the thousand-year-old Cold Mountain, guarded by ninth-tier beasts. A single journey was nearly fatal.
Lin Shijin knew its value. That Feng Rugao had undertaken such a perilous task on his behalf brought no joy, only a weighty sense of responsibility. How could he possibly repay so much?
He remained quiet for a moment before asking, “What if I were to fall in love?”
He himself did not know if he harboured other feelings for Sheng Rufei. He wanted to understand: if he did, could the lock still restrain him?
Feng Qing was silent a moment, then said, “Young Master… it is best not to try. You know Sword Master’s temper.”
This time, it was only a lock. Feng Rugao had restrained himself considerably. But next time… it might not be so simple.
“The Snow Lotus Sacred Heart was gathered for you, Young Master. Sword Master sent me to say that you must visit Changming Hall every two days. He will use the artefact to enhance your constitution.”
Feng Qing then put down the items he had been carrying… snacks, sugar figurines of little sheep and rabbits, all gifts from his master. He vanished from the room.
Lin Shijin closed the door behind him. He had no interest in the snacks, burying his face in the bed instead. Feng Qing had been right: as long as he did not act on feelings, the lock hardly mattered. He had never considered romance; it had little influence on him.
Yet no one likes being controlled, especially under punitive conditions.
Lin Shijin felt heavy with unease, burying his face deeper into the blankets. He decided it would be best not to tell Sheng Rufei about the lock. That blockhead might take the blame.
He had only a lock. If it were Sheng Rufei, he could easily end up in Shenxing Hall, whipped until his skin split. The thought alone made him wince. He would not allow that.
Still troubled, Lin Shijin gradually fell asleep, clutching a corner of the blanket, half his face buried.
After he slept, a figure silently entered the room.
A tall man in a moonlit white robe stood at the bedside, slightly translucent in the moonlight. His face was solemn and handsome as he watched the sleeping youth.
The youth clutched the blanket, still wearing the silver lock. Red marks marred his fair skin, his brow furrowed slightly, eyelashes trembling. It was a restless sleep.
Feng Rugao’s cold gaze softened as he watched him, the chill melting into something warmer.
He stood for a long while, brushing the youth’s cheek. The youth, half-asleep, became docile, pressing his cheek against Feng Rugao’s fingertip, mumbling,
“Shixiong…”
At the low murmur, Feng Rugao’s fingertips stiffened. His aura turned icy, and he vanished from the bedside.
*
After training, they still had classes. Lin Shijin awoke early. A crisp sound caught his attention, and he felt the silver lock. It was a cold reminder that immediately roused him. His neck ached slightly.
In the bronze mirror, the chain seemed tighter than the day before. Yesterday, it could be tucked into his clothes; now, it barely covered the lock.
After fussing with it, he finally concealed it and left his courtyard. Outside, in the dim pre-dawn light, he saw a familiar figure.
Sheng Rufei stood waiting, sword in hand.
“Shixiong?”
Lin Shijin approached. “Were you waiting for me?”
Sheng Rufei hummed, his gaze lingering. “I got up very early today.”
“I went to bed early yesterday,” Lin Shijin admitted, embarrassed. He had intended to avoid Sheng Rufei, yet here he was.
“How long have you been waiting? Does this interfere with your practice?” he asked softly.
“It won’t interfere,” Sheng Rufei replied tersely.
Together, they walked toward the Sword Pavilion. Sheng Rufei led, their red threads connected at the wrists.
Lin Shijin, lost in thought, almost stumbled on the path. Sheng Rufei caught his wrist instinctively, his cold gaze flickering.
“Are you troubled?” he asked.
“I… no,” Lin Shijin murmured, then remembered something. “Shixiong, what happened with Xue Ning?”
“He has left the sect. There is nothing to be done,” Sheng Rufei replied. “The elders found a mind-controlling talisman on Su Lian. It seems Xue Ning bewitched him in the secret realm.”
Lin Shijin frowned. “Did Su Lian receive punishment?”
Sheng Rufei nodded. “He must hang upside down on Enlightenment Cliff for three months, be whipped, and clean Forbidden Mountain daily. ‘Cleaning’ is mostly a euphemism for being beaten.”
Lin Shijin said nothing more. Sheng Rufei spoke again:
“Why did Shizun summon you?”
Lin Shijin recalled fainting in his shizun’s arms. He rubbed his sword sheath unconsciously.
“Because I failed my mission,” he admitted. The lock around his neck pressed against him more keenly. Blushing, he could not tell Sheng Rufei it was due to their closeness in the secret realm.
“You did well. Your ranking wasn’t low,” Sheng Rufei said coldly.
Lin Shijin breathed a small sigh of relief. The lock remained a constant presence, a visible mark on his neck, engraved with the words “Changming” and dense incantations.
A mark belonging to Feng Rugao.
