Lin Shijin felt faintly ill at ease. Having his wrist held from behind, with Sheng Rufei’s breath brushing the shell of his ear, made them burn uncomfortably hot.
But he truly couldn’t lift the sword. Sheng Rufei kept a measured distance between them while guiding him, correcting the posture he so often got wrong during practice.
“When practising the sword, you mustn’t let your mind wander. Your focus should remain on the blade. You’re always distracted.”
Sheng Rufei had long wanted to say so. The youth’s attention was easily caught by anything and everything… flowers, insects, drifting leaves.
“The direction of the tip must be true, not skewed.”
With every sentence Sheng Rufei uttered, a warm breath swept past his ear. His fingertips, calloused from years of sword practice, brushed against his skin; once tolerable, now the sensation was almost too much, leaving him strangely uncomfortable.
The rough touch at his wrist made Lin Shijin’s ears grow hotter still. Sheng Rufei led him through several forms, his hands guiding him. At first, Lin Shijin’s mind was on the sword. Later, it was entirely on Sheng Rufei.
Sheng Rufei’s sword-tip was precisely aligned; even the angle of their shared grip followed strict principles. As the sequence of movements built, the once ordinary blade began to gather a faint aura of sword energy.
The sword-energy swept into the bamboo grove nearby, slicing down a flurry of leaves.
Lin Shijin glanced over. Many disciples were taught in this same manner. It was entirely normal within their sect. He was the only one who found it uncomfortable.
And he was too shy to voice it. He endured… until Sheng Rufei’s hand brushed his waist by accident.
His entire body went soft at once, like a punctured balloon, and he collapsed bonelessly into Sheng Rufei’s arms.
He had only been holding himself upright through sheer will; with that one touch, his grip on the sword failed. His ears turned crimson, and Sheng Rufei caught him at once.
“Drowsy?” Sheng Rufei asked.
Lin Shijin nodded vaguely, struggling to remain upright. “I feel… a bit unsteady. My body feels all soft…”
Glancing at his own palm, he wondered if he was imagining things. It looked far too pale. Unnaturally so.
And the “softness” wasn’t merely weakness. It felt as though his body had lost all its bones, as though he were nothing but soft flesh. It was an indescribable sensation.
“Hold on a little longer. If it truly becomes unbearable, I’ll take you back.”
Lin Shijin murmured an obedient “Mm.” He always listened to Sheng Rufei. If Sheng Rufei said to endure, then he could endure… just a bit longer.
So he continued the practice. He had no idea how much time passed before he realised that even his fingertips had gone soft, almost as though they were merging into the hilt instead of gripping it.
“I read in the records that the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart has many side effects. Not only does it affect temperament, but possibly…”
Sheng Rufei’s words stopped abruptly. His gaze had caught on something.
A strange, utterly soft sensation pressed against his palm, as though he were touching something yielding to the extreme. The “wrist” he held was no longer a wrist, but a soft, white lump.
Snow-white with the faintest blush of pink, like a cluster of interwoven mycelium… or a strip of supple snow-silk.
Lin Shijin slowly released the sword. Looking down at his own hand, he tried to move it; it bent bonelessly in mid-air, curving at an impossible angle.
To bend like that normally, one’s bones would have had to shatter.
“Shixiong… what’s happening to me…” Lin Shijin asked faintly, dizzy, voice scratchy with alarm. “Have I… mutated?”
Sheng Rufei: “…”
Elder Song was still observing the disciples when two figures emerged from the bamboo grove. One was a youth cold and expressionless at the front, the other trailed behind him in a daze.
“Elder, my shidi is unwell. I’m taking him back.”
Elder Song looked over immediately. “Oh? Something went wrong during practice?”
Sheng Rufei didn’t wish to explain and offered a vague excuse before guiding Lin Shijin out of the Sword Pavilion.
The moment they stepped outside, Lin Shijin realised the change wasn’t confined to his hand. Both legs felt weak, every step a laborious shuffle. He felt, inexplicably, as though his body had turned into the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart itself.
“Shixiong… I can’t walk.”
He spoke softly, breath unsteady; sweat dotted his forehead.
Before he finished, the youth ahead paused. A touch to his shoulder, and Lin Shijin was lifted cleanly into Sheng Rufei’s arms.
He had no strength left to protest. Nestled against Sheng Rufei’s chest, he weakly hooked his arms around his neck.
“Shixiong… where are we going?”
“To Medicine Master Peak… unless you’d prefer to go to Shizun.”
Lin Shijin shook his head instantly. If Feng Rugao learnt of this, he would surely confine him to Changming Hall. In this state, he absolutely did not want that.
“I don’t want to go to Shizun.”
“Very well,” Sheng Rufei said softly.
Lin Shijin leaned into him, half-asleep, soothed by the steady voice.
Sheng Rufei used a teleportation technique. They arrived swiftly at Medicine Master Peak, where injured disciples were usually treated.
He sought out an elder familiar with the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart. With one glance at Lin Shijin’s condition, the elder understood.
“The effects vary by constitution. Ancient records note that sacred objects may initially assimilate the body if the soul is fragile. But it will ease in a few days.”
“Let him soak in the medicinal spring daily to lessen the discomfort. I’ll write the ingredients for you.”
Sheng Rufei looked down at the sleeping boy in his arms. His thin pale fingers lightly hooked on a corner of Sheng Rufei’s robe.
“A fragile soul… what does that mean?”
“There are many causes,” the elder said. “Some are born weak-souled. Some have suffered damage. Some had parts of the soul stolen during reincarnation.”
“A soul is difficult to examine, unless he permits it. Forcing it would cause harm.”
The elder glanced at him. “You’re Lord Changming’s disciples? If you’re truly worried, you may let him take a look.”
Sheng Rufei listened quietly, thanked the elder, then collected the herbs.
He carried Lin Shijin back to his own courtyard.
Lin Shijin woke soon after, learning he would need daily medicinal baths.
“You stay here. I’ll prepare it.”
The room was familiar: sparse, tidy, almost austere. Even the bed had only a thin mat over a hard wooden board.
Lin Shijin sat at the bedside, watching Sheng Rufei bustle about. Even tying a simple knot turned into a mess. He clearly wasn’t suited for fine, delicate tasks.
It took him a while to finish preparations, even going out once to fetch a cicada-wing garment.
From across the room, Lin Shijin watched him. They were the same age, but Sheng Rufei had grown taller and leaner at a startling pace. Lin Shijin had shot up himself in recent months, yet Sheng Rufei seemed to have grown even more.
When everything was ready, Sheng Rufei approached. “Try moving your wrist.”
Lin Shijin tried. After a long struggle, only his fingertips twitched. In such a safe, peaceful space, the assimilation made movement nearly impossible… unless danger forced it.
Sheng Rufei saw as much. After a pause, he said, “I’ll help you undress.”
Lin Shijin flushed. He was practically useless. Sheng Rufei had dressed him earlier; now Sheng Rufei had to undress him as well.
“Sorry to trouble you, Shixiong…” he murmured, mortified.
Sheng Rufei said nothing, lowering his gaze. This time, he didn’t ask whether he should remove everything; after so many repetitions, Lin Shijin almost felt as though it had all been predestined.
Once Sheng Rufei had removed his outer robe, he began untying the inner garment.
Lin Shijin grew increasingly self-conscious, especially with Sheng Rufei’s quiet demeanour and unblinking gaze. The youth’s slender body, pale and flawless, was soon exposed. Delicate collarbones, narrow waist, long limbs.
Sheng Rufei looked for only a moment, his expression taut with restraint, before gathering him into his arms again.
Without fabric between them, those calloused fingertips pressed directly against his skin. The sensation burned… sharp, overwhelming, magnified a hundredfold because of his current condition.
“Shixiong…” Lin Shijin tried to ignore the strange, tingling heat. The short distance between the room and the medicinal spring suddenly felt interminable.
He was completely bare, curled in the arms of a youth still dressed in immaculate black robes. Just looking at the contrast made his cheeks heat.
“You once said I mustn’t remove my undergarments whenever I like, yet now it’s you taking them off.” Even in this state, Lin Shijin couldn’t resist teasing the wooden-faced youth. “Shixiong, will you have to take responsibility for me now?”
“You want me to take responsibility?” Sheng Rufei asked, lowering his gaze, tone calm. Almost too calm.
“No,” Lin Shijin said at once; he had only meant to tease. Sheng Rufei fell silent.
But his fingertips pressed more firmly against Lin Shijin’s skin, the heat growing unbearable. Lin Shijin wanted to dodge, but couldn’t move at all; he could only bear it.
The sensation intensified until he involuntarily shifted… just slightly. But the small movement used up all his strength. Sheng Rufei adjusted his hold in response.
Lin Shijin gasped at the burning sensation against his skin. He couldn’t help it. A soft, breathy sound slipped out, his voice turning strangely limp and trembling at the end.
At that sound, the youth carrying him froze entirely. Sheng Rufei’s cold, elegant features cracked for a fraction of a second, his whole body going rigid in place.
