Sheng Rufei had only guessed. He could sense the youth’s hesitant gaze; a moment ago he had seemed tangled up about something. Remembering how clingy he had been in the secret realm, the pieces fell naturally into place.
“The ancient texts say the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart is very nest-loving.”
Lin Shijin understood. If it were turned into a person, it would simply mean being clingy. And he did, in fact, very much want to cling to Sheng Rufei.
Since Sheng Rufei had offered of his own accord, he certainly wasn’t about to refuse.
Even so, he still asked uncertainly, “Shixiong… is it really all right?”
Sheng Rufei’s lips tightened a fraction. He had seen enough just now to decide the youth was his. And besides, they were already bound by an engagement.
He’s mine. What wouldn’t be all right?
“Mn.”
Lin Shijin had no idea that this block of wood had already stamped him with a mental seal of ownership. Sheng Rufei’s very own private stamp. Hearing the answer, he felt both pleased and shy, fidgeting a little.
“Then… let’s just hug for a little while. I won’t be a bother, Shixiong.”
Sheng Rufei had barely sat on the edge of the bed before a soft, warm youth tumbled straight into his arms. Lin Shijin burrowed into him with clear delight, trying to restrain himself yet unable to hide the cheerful energy radiating off him.
“Shixiong, you smell so nice.”
Lin Shijin felt he had found the most comfortable spot in the world. He could live his whole life curled up here, rolled into a small ball in Sheng Rufei’s arms.
He remembered a passage from the original novel: Cui Haoxue, one of the stock-investor gongs, had been obsessed with Sheng Rufei’s scent, secretly gathering his worn clothes and used belongings.
Cui Haoxue had always seemed steady and honest, but beneath the surface he had been the most fanatical of the three. Once he loved Sheng Rufei, he refused to let go… even when Sheng Rufei did not agree. Devoted to the point of madness, he had been extremely popular with readers.
Lin Shijin recalled how, later in the book, Cui Haoxue descended into obsession, doing many unreasonable things to Sheng Rufei.
He would insist Sheng Rufei was his fated one, force him into marriage, even set up an illusion array to entrap him… only for it all to dissolve like a dream. Sheng Rufei had eventually shattered the formation, blinding Cui Haoxue in the process.
Thinking about it, Lin Shijin’s mind drifted. He couldn’t quite imagine Sheng Rufei dressed in a wedding robe.
He didn’t dare move in Sheng Rufei’s arms. His silver hair hung down, and he could feel Sheng Rufei’s breath brushing his cheek. Warm, scorching, and terribly distracting.
Lin Shijin could tell Sheng Rufei was also awkward. Every time he got too close, Sheng Rufei would stiffen like a stone, utterly at a loss with him.
Completely unable to deal with him.
When Sheng Rufei’s hand rested on his waist, Lin Shijin felt a little uneasy. The side-effects of the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart were kicking in, making him lazily clingy. He nestled in even further.
He was holding onto Sheng Rufei, drifting towards sleep, when a low, deep voice grazed his ear. Warm breath brushed his skin, making half his ear burn.
“In future, don’t do this with anyone else.”
Lin Shijin remembered all of Sheng Rufei’s many prohibitions. He hummed vaguely in response… half compliant, half perfunctory. He thought to himself that Sheng Rufei wasn’t like anyone else anyway. Under his breath, he murmured:
“Only like this with Shixiong.”
Only Sheng Rufei would indulge him. He liked Sheng Rufei very, very much.
The youth in his arms spoke softly, as though making a quiet promise. Sheng Rufei’s fingers twitched; if he lowered his head even slightly, his lips would brush the youth’s hair.
He had only intended to let the boy hug him for a moment. But little by little, the situation changed. The youth kept wriggling, using him entirely as a pillow.
Lin Shijin was oblivious. He slept restlessly, and now, half-drowsy, he dimly sensed Sheng Rufei pressing him down, stopping him from moving.
Naturally, he wriggled again. His fingertips brushed Sheng Rufei’s hair. The youth holding him froze solid. The next thing he knew, he was tucked tightly under the quilt.
Lin Shijin’s hand closed on empty air. He looked over in confusion. Sheng Rufei had vanished. His Shixiong was gone.
He was far too sleepy to think further. Curling up, mindful not to push his luck, he hugged the quilt and drifted off.
Sheng Rufei reappeared at the cold spring, expression severe. The lingering softness of that touch still clung to him; the youth had brushed against him while fidgeting. He began to chant a calming mantra.
The icy spring water couldn’t extinguish the fire burning in his chest. His body still felt as though the youth were tucked against him, whispering “Shixiong” in that honey-soft voice that pulled him in completely.
One “Shixiong,” and he would do anything for him.
And that faint little sound. The youth, touched even slightly, blushing crimson and going pliant in his arms.
The image rose before him: the youth’s delicate face flushed, hiding shyly in his chest, white teeth leaving the faintest marks on soft red lips, fingertips clutching the hem of his robe.
“Shixiong…”
The sweet voice seemed to echo again. Sheng Rufei’s eyes darkened, ink-deep. He had always been cool-tempered, rarely stirred.
Now, sitting in the cold spring, he didn’t dare approach the youth sleeping on the bed.
If he saw him, he feared he wouldn’t hold back.
—He wanted to claim him.
…
Lin Shijin, surrounded by Sheng Rufei’s lingering scent, slept until dawn. A sound woke him; Sheng Rufei emerged from the cold spring. They were heading to their lesson.
After two hours in the medicinal spring each morning, Lin Shijin could move again albeit slowly, like a snail.
With Sheng Rufei there, he had little to worry about. If he grew tired, Sheng Rufei would hold his hand. If he didn’t want to do something, Sheng Rufei would do it for him.
Being with Sheng Rufei, he nearly forgot Feng Rugao’s original instructions. When the two-day deadline arrived and Feng Rugao sent a transmission, he was still in the Sword Pavilion watching Sheng Rufei practise.
With him were the baby-faced youth and the spirited young woman from the Yixiu City secret realm.
The baby-faced youth was named Chunhe; the girl, Mu Wanqing, had been among the top three in the jade fragment plundering.
Their relationship had once been lukewarm, but since leaving the secret realm, Mu Wanqing and Chunhe had evidently warmed to Sheng Rufei, often following him around.
“Shixiong, Shizun is summoning me,” Lin Shijin said, just as Sheng Rufei was sparring with Mu Wanqing.
They had been evenly matched at first, but Sheng Rufei soon gained the upper hand, knocking aside her blade. Chunhe watched from the side.
“A bit rash,” Chunhe commented.
Because Lin Shijin had spoken, all three paused. Sheng Rufei sheathed his sword and said, “I’ll take you there.”
Lin Shijin was about to decline when a flash of red caught his eye. Feng Qing had already approached.
“Young master, the Sword Master wants you immediately,” Feng Qing said dutifully. He glanced at Sheng Rufei, his expression complicated. “Sixteen, you’re to come as well.”
Both of them had to go. Sheng Rufei said a few words to Chunhe and joined him. Normally only Lin Shijin was summoned. What was Sheng Rufei needed for?
“Lord Feng… I forgot to go to Changming Hall yesterday. Is Shizun angry?” Lin Shijin asked.
Feng Qing cast him a glance. The two youths walked one behind the other, appearing perfectly normal. Except that the Changming Lock could not be hidden.
“Young Master… you’d best pray for yourself.”
He said no more. A knot tightened in Lin Shijin’s chest; he already suspected they were going to be punished.
If it was truly because he’d forgotten to go to Changming Hall, the punishment ought to fall on him alone… not on Sheng Rufei.
Stepping into Changming Hall, he immediately felt the chill. Gooseflesh prickled along his arms; discomfort crept through him.
The hall was utterly quiet. The man seated on the dais resembled a silent statue. Feng Rugao spent almost all of his time here.
Sensing Feng Rugao’s gaze, Lin Shijin didn’t perform the disciple’s salute. He’d been told not to, and instead confessed immediately.
“Shizun, this disciple was negligent yesterday and forgot your instructions. I acknowledge my fault.”
Perhaps he had developed a shadow of fear towards Feng Rugao; unless Feng Rugao summoned him directly, some instinct in him resisted approaching.
He and Sheng Rufei kept a small distance between them, both waiting for Feng Rugao to speak.
The hall was glacially cold. Only after a long, oppressive silence did the man hidden in the shadows finally open his mouth.
“Feng Qing, bring the discipline whip.”
At the words “discipline whip”, Lin Shijin froze for a moment, then turned to look at Feng Rugao seated above, disbelief flickering in his eyes as his heart steadily dropped.
“Shizun—” Lin Shijin felt it couldn’t possibly come to this. His lips pressed tight, his face blanched; he opened his mouth but no sound emerged.
Feng Qing answered, “Yes,” and vanished in a flash. Moments later he returned, presenting a deep crimson whip, its entire length blackened and covered in rows upon rows of upward-curving barbs.
The barbs were viciously sharp. One lash would split skin open.
Lin Shijin felt dazed. He watched Feng Rugao lift the whip; the word “Shizun” caught in his throat. Feng Rugao turned, gaze cold and cutting, and looked at the youth beside him.
“Kneel.”
Sheng Rufei had not spoken a single word since entering. Now, as if having pieced together what was happening, he knelt as commanded with his back straight, eyes lowered, concealing every emotion beneath his lashes.
“Shizun…” Lin Shijin watched helplessly as Sheng Rufei knelt. At once, he understood. A layer of cold sweat beaded across his palms; instinct took over and he stepped forward, positioning himself in front of Sheng Rufei.
“Why punish my shixiong?” Lin Shijin asked, voice trembling with fear. He looked up at Feng Rugao, lips tightening unconsciously as he fought to keep from shaking.
Was it because Sheng Rufei had struck Feng Rugao’s statue? His heart had already tilted entirely towards Sheng Rufei; whether Sheng Rufei was in the wrong or not, Lin Shijin could not see him as wrong.
Sheng Rufei looked at the youth shielding him, a faint thaw softening the frost in his eyes.
Feng Rugao said nothing. Lin Shijin was about to press him further when Feng Qing pulled him aside, blocking his path. “Young master, you may watch from here.”
“Sword Master punishes him only because he has erred.”
“What mistake did my shixiong commit?” Lin Shijin demanded, his tone no longer pleasant. He glanced again at the whip in Feng Rugao’s hand; he couldn’t begin to imagine how much it would hurt, and he refused to imagine it.
“Even if he made a mistake…”
He shouldn’t be punished like this.
The rest of his words went unsaid. Feng Rugao shot him a single look so dark, unfathomable, so heavy with warning that Lin Shijin instantly understood.
If he continued speaking, the consequences might be far worse.
Feng Rugao lifted the discipline whip. Looking at the kneeling youth, one whose temperament echoed three parts of his own. His gaze was unreadable, his voice turning frigid.
“Say it yourself. What mistake have you committed?”
