Lin Shijin’s gaze stilled for a moment. He instinctively looked in that direction again, only for the sight to vanish once more.
He stared for quite some time. Feng Rugao, noticing his odd expression, followed his line of sight.
There was nothing there apart from a single burst of fireworks. Assuming the youth wanted it, Feng Rugao remarked,
“If you like it, you may take some back with you later.”
Lin Shijin blinked in mild surprise. He had not understood at first, but then realised Feng Rugao thought he’d been eyeing the fireworks.
“Shizun, that wasn’t what I was looking at,” Lin Shijin said, slightly exasperated. “There’s no need to bring any back.”
Feng Rugao paused, said nothing further, and led him to a seat tucked in a corner.
It seemed the performance had not yet begun. Lin Shijin recalled the Feathered Crane Pattern he had glimpsed earlier; he had seen the same motif in Yixiu City. He looked around the great hall, hoping to find the figure he had glimpsed.
Many of the guests wore masks. It was understandable since this was a trading venue, practically an underground market, and most preferred not to reveal their identities.
His eyes began to swim from the sight of masks everywhere, the scene becoming hazy and indistinct. He could no longer find that corner of a robe embroidered with the feathered crane motif.
It was a peculiar symbol that resembled a crane, yet also like a silhouette murmuring a chant… strange and faintly eerie.
“You’ve never been here before?” Feng Rugao asked.
Lin Shijin pulled himself from his thoughts and nodded. Soon, a servant arrived with refreshments and tea. The pastries glistened, as if dusted with fine icing.
He prodded one with a fingertip; it was still warm, softening slightly against his skin.
“Shizun, what play are we watching?”
Feng Rugao didn’t answer. The fireworks had all dimmed, leaving only luminous pearls glowing along the walls. Two figures stepped onto the stage.
He would know soon enough.
“Today’s performance tells a tale from a thousand years past. After sealing countless demons, Immortal Lord Fuheng fell, leaving behind the famed sword Qiushui. The whereabouts of the Qiushui Sword will be revealed in the finale of today’s auction…”
The masked narrator gave his speech. Lin Shijin, idly holding his soft pastry, barely listened. His fingers paused at the name “Fuheng”, but he had no interest in the Qiushui Sword. He merely gathered that the man on stage was advertising his own auction.
A depiction of Fuheng rose in his mind. When he looked back up, the narrator had vanished, replaced by another man.
This man wore a robe of pale radiance, handsome and elegant. A brocade mask concealed his face. A sword lay across his back… a long blade, pitch-black, gleaming with a muted, deathly sheen.
Lin Shijin recognised it at once: this was the actor playing Immortal Lord Fuheng, retelling his tale of sacrifice.
He watched for a while, then yawned. The hall was quiet. After two pastries, drowsiness crept in.
Everyone else seemed engrossed. Lin Shijin fought sleep, blinking hard, watching the actor’s sword dance while silently criticising it.
His swordplay was nowhere near as lovely as Sheng Rufei’s. His figure was less graceful, and his looks certainly could not compare.
In Lin Shijin’s mind, Sheng Rufei was the finest. He had no choice but to compare; he had never actually seen Immortal Lord Fuheng.
Thinking thus, he propped his chin on his hand, noticing that Feng Rugao was watching intently, a shade of deep, almost sorrowful emotion in his gaze.
Lin Shijin’s eyelids drooped. He had no idea what Feng Rugao was sad about. If he was sad, he was sad. Men’s hearts were fathomless things, and Lin Shijin could not guess.
Slowly he drifted into sleep, his half-dreaming state tugging him into a brief vision.
He was still in the hall. All the guests had vanished. Only one person remained. It was a lone figure upon the stage.
The man wore the same luminous robe, a long jet-black sword strapped to his back. His presence was far more formidable than the actor’s… cold, austere, aristocratic.
The man turned. Lin Shijin could not see his face, but the stranger looked in his direction. In the next instant, he stood before him.
A cold, sinister voice rang in his ear:
“Idiot. Read more books. Stop seducing men.”
Lin Shijin snapped awake at once. His ear stung faintly, as if lightly twisted. He sat bolt upright, eyes wide, hand flying to touch his ear.
His ear was still warm. Someone had indeed twisted it.
And called him an idiot.
For the second time.
“Shizun, someone just pulled my ear.”
A chill travelled down Lin Shijin’s spine. He edged closer to Feng Rugao, even nudging the plate of pastries further away from where he had been sitting.
Feng Rugao’s gaze fell on his ear, lingering a brief moment before he took the boy’s wrist.
He released him soon after, finding nothing amiss. To reassure him, he set a protective barrier around him.
After a moment’s pause, Feng Rugao asked, “How did you notice?”
Who wouldn’t notice their ear being yanked? Lin Shijin replied slowly, “Someone pulled my ear. Of course I could feel it.”
“And they kept calling me an idiot.”
His voice dropped. Had he attracted something troublesome?
Noticing Feng Rugao’s slight frown, his own heart tightened. But nothing happened for a long while. There was no sensation at all… as though nothing had occurred.
Truly uncanny.
The man on stage continued his sword dance, but Lin Shijin couldn’t concentrate. He poked his pastry repeatedly, wary of being tugged by invisible hands again.
Feng Rugao watched him quietly. He could see that the performance had not stirred the youth in the slightest; the boy even found it boring, nearly dozing off again.
He really remembered nothing.
Lin Shijin continued to poke at the pastry until it nearly disintegrated, so he ate it instead. It tasted rather good; he liked anything sweet, and the tea paired nicely.
While he ate, Feng Rugao watched him. The boy eventually realised and flushed with belated embarrassment.
He set the pastries down and pretended to pay attention to the performance. Even without turning, he could feel Feng Rugao’s gaze. It was distinct, heavy, carrying feelings he couldn’t decipher.
When the performance ended, they returned. On the way back, Lin Shijin bought some snacks and comic books, though he didn’t dare buy too much in front of Feng Rugao. They arrived at Changming Hall before nightfall.
Lin Shijin had been torn about whether to give anything to Sheng Rufei. After some thought, he simply placed a bundle of snacks on Sheng Rufei’s windowsill, leaving behind a crooked note:
“This is for Shixiong.”
He left without knowing someone was watching from the other side of the window.
Sheng Rufei had seen the youth from afar, carrying his things in excitement. He lingered at the gate for a long while, placed the food on the windowsill, then left.
Sheng Rufei had been checking the talismans to undo the Love Lock. He had not slept for a full day and night.
When the youth was gone, he opened the window. The oil-paper package of snacks was still warm to the touch. Beside it lay the small note.
The handwriting was messy and earnest.
He held the note lightly, as though it still carried the warmth of the youth’s fingertips.
*
Lin Shijin had originally feared Feng Rugao would lock him up, but the man said nothing of the sort for several days. He remained in Changming Hall until the day of their departure.
He and the others were preparing to head to Wuxiang Mountain. It was a long journey, and they needed to pack. Feng Rugao packed for him, stuffing his bags with spirit stones, medicine, and all manner of things Lin Shijin felt he had little use for.
“When you’re outside, be cautious. Don’t trust people easily. Don’t be late at Wuxiang Mountain, and do not sleep. Once you arrive, focus on your cultivation.”
“Wuxiang Mountain is near Buye City. Your shixiong Shen Buyu is there. If you encounter trouble, seek him out.”
Lin Shijin nodded, pleasantly excited at the prospect of descending the mountain.
“I understand, Shizun. Please don’t worry.”
He accepted the storage bag and ring, took up his sword, when Feng Rugao reminded, “Don’t forget what you promised.”
Lin Shijin couldn’t recall for a moment, but it was probably the part about not approaching Sheng Rufei. He couldn’t think of anything else.
“I remember. Shizun, you don’t need to see me off. I’ll fly over myself from Luoyun Bridge.”
Carrying his sword, he left. At the threshold, he turned back. Feng Rugao sat by the window, looking in his direction, his gaze deep and distant.
He was leaving Changgao Peak.
Lin Shijin’s heart brimmed with excitement. The moment he stepped off the mountain, he felt a weight lift. With no Love Lock on him, he was free of Changgao Peak.
At Luoyun Bridge, he spotted a group waiting ahead. It comprised of Sheng Rufei, Chunhe, Mu Wanqing, the long-absent Su Lian, and a disciple from Medicine Master Peak.
Su Lian had spent the past month in Forbidden Mountain. He was a little thinner, but looked far more spirited.
Lin Shijin had endured for so many days; now, at last, he was free. He looked towards Sheng Rufei in the distance, his eyes brightening a little. With so many people present, for now he forced himself not to fling himself at Sheng Rufei.
“The six of you will divide into three groups, two to a group. There will be trials on the way to Wuxiang Mountain. Take these tokens; they will give you instructions when the time comes.”
“Countless disciples from various immortal sects are heading towards Wuxiang Mountain. Some of you may be eliminated along the way. Be prepared. Don’t lose face for Fuguang before you’ve even arrived at Wuxiang Mountain.”
The elders handed each of them a token. The grouping was voluntary; naturally, Lin Shijin wanted to partner with Sheng Rufei.
Chunhe and Mu Wanqing were also on friendly terms and paired up at once, leaving Su Lian and the disciple from the Medicine Peak to form the last group.
Once divided, the six of them rode paper cranes out of Fuguang, then travelled to Yunzhong City at the foot of the mountain to change to carriages.
Inside the carriage, only he and Sheng Rufei remained. Lin Shijin now had nothing left to restrain him. The carriage rolled steadily across the road; Sheng Rufei was speaking to the driver about the route, only half his profile visible.
When Sheng Rufei finished his explanation and stepped into the carriage, the youth in the corner promptly launched himself at him.
Sheng Rufei instinctively caught him. The youth crashed into his arms, his face reddening slightly… whether from excitement or nerves was unclear. His eyes reflected Sheng Rufei’s, and in a soft, pliant voice he called into his ear:
“Shixiong—”
*
In Changming Hall.
Before Feng Rugao lay a water mirror. He watched the youth depart from Fuguang, recalling the promises the youth had made.
No entanglement with others.
No acting spoiled with anyone.
No approaching his shixiong again.
Even if they shared a carriage, avoiding him was hardly difficult. This was the test he had set the youth.
Barely a quarter-hour had passed when he watched the youth throw himself into another person’s arms, brimming over with joy.
The entire Changming Hall seemed to chill. Feng Qing opened his mouth as though to speak, then fell silent.
He could not understand it. The young master was forever honey-tongued, and everyone knew his words were not to be taken at face value. Why did his lord still believe him?
