Lin Shijin could vaguely feel a chill of a gaze settle upon him. A cold shiver ran down his back, but thankfully the barrier kept the intruder out.
He felt it wasn’t quite proper to sit like this, yet he still didn’t wish to let go of Sheng Rufei. His fingertips brushed along Sheng Rufei’s cheek as he asked, “Shixiong, can you see him?”
Sheng Rufei shook his head, his gaze falling upon a point in the air. A sweep of sword-qi followed.
The sword-qi was razor-sharp; a blade of frost-white light split through the air, cleaving half of the mouldering offering table with a crisp bang. Nothing was there.
The air seemed to fall silent. Lin Shijin could no longer sense the presence. He slowly let go of Sheng Rufei, only for his wrist to be caught; the barrier receded into a white halo circling his wrist.
“With the barrier protecting you,” Sheng Rufei said, “he won’t be able to come near you again.”
Lin Shijin touched the white ring about his wrist. He was still loosely clutching Sheng Rufei’s sleeve, but now he felt marginally more at ease.
Only belatedly realising how improper it all looked, he shuffled aside a little, slipping out of Sheng Rufei’s embrace.
Sheng Rufei withdrew his gaze and asked quietly, “When did he appear?”
“Just now,” Lin Shijin said after thinking it over. It seemed to have been when he was about to bite Sheng Rufei’s ear. Last time had been after he’d fallen asleep.
The memory made him feel faintly guilty.
“What were you doing just now?”
“I was looking at Shixiong.” Lin Shijin didn’t want to confess it, but he knew he must be honest with Sheng Rufei. He mumbled, “I was very close, and he must have thought I meant to do something to Shixiong.”
“What did he say to you?”
“Nothing much,” said Lin Shijin. “Just tugged my ear, then told me to go to him.”
Sheng Rufei’s eyes dipped, as though shadowed by a faint gloom.
“Only tugged your ear? He didn’t do anything else?”
Lin Shijin shook his head. “No.”
A moment later, he felt a touch at his ear; the youth’s calloused fingertips brushed over the spot, rubbing lightly, making his ear warm.
Outside, the sky was black as ink, firelight flickering. Lin Shijin felt the restraint in Sheng Rufei’s movements as his ear was gently rubbed. Leaning on Sheng Rufei’s shoulder, he slowly drifted into sleep.
The next morning, they set off before dawn as always. Lin Shijin was exhausted, dozing in the carriage as the wheels splashed through muddy ruts.
A gust lifted the curtain. Lin Shijin caught sight of the city gate ahead. Outside stood a towering bronze statue of a sword immortal, fire burning in a bronze basin, and numerous scourge-slayers bearing black swords on guard.
The carriage rolled forwards and drew to a halt at the gate. He heard the clatter of sword-sheaths outside.
“Routine inspection by the Scourge-Slayer Envoys. Please present your token.”
Lin Shijin lifted the curtain… and found himself staring at a faintly familiar face.
The scourge-slayers wore long dark robes embroidered at the cuffs with a motif of moon-hooked swords. And the man before him… was he not the very scourge-slayers they had tried to avoid the previous day?
The one chewing a blade of grass outside the inn.
These scourge-slayers seemed to hold considerable rank; now they were stationed at the city gate. Lin Shijin could not shake the feeling they were waiting for them on purpose. The grass-chewing slayer was called Yue Han. Yue Han had certainly not expected to meet them again so soon; he’d lost track of them yesterday and assumed their paths wouldn’t cross for a while.
This place was near the Jinyue Temple. Clearly the two youths were heading the same way.
Yue Han chuckled to himself. His master had failed to catch up with them yesterday and had been in a foul mood because of it.
“What a coincidence. Wait here,” Yue Han said, patting the shoulder of the slayer beside him before going to fetch his master.
Sheng Rufei’s brow creased faintly. He glanced towards the distant mountains, where a golden temple loomed hazily in the light.
Many scourge-slayers passed before them. There were far more than in any previous city.
Lin Shijin felt uneasy. Watching Yue Han’s departing back, he lowered his voice. “Shixiong… did we run into them by accident?”
They had altered their route to reach Jinyue Temple, essentially taking a longer path. If the scourge-slayers were bound for Wuxiang Mountain, they should not be here. Two possibilities remained: first, they had business at Jinyue Temple; second, Lin Shijin thought as he glanced at the blurred sword immortal statue. Something may have happened in the city.
Sheng Rufei brushed his fingertips against his. Feeling that warmth, Lin Shijin relaxed.
Footsteps approached. Lin Shijin looked over… and recognised the man. Wasn’t this the one who had retrieved his token?
The man was without his hooded robe now, his features fully visible… striking and sharp, eyes dark as ink. A thin scar across the bridge of his nose lent him a touch of wildness.
For all his fierce looks, his gaze was gentle, like a restrained beast with its fangs sheathed.
That was how Lin Shijin felt. Yue Han, meanwhile, looked as though he’d swallowed a fly; he had never seen their deputy slayer like this. Even his aura had softened, as though he were an invisible peacock fanning his tail.
Lin Shijin blinked, wondering if he was imagining things, but the man’s gaze truly was… odd.
He felt bewildered, especially as Sheng Rufei’s aura chilled beside him. It was ice-cold, suffused with a suppressed, vicious edge.
The deputy slayer halted two steps away. Cui Haoxue looked only at the dazed, beautiful youth before him, ignoring the obstructive Sheng Rufei entirely.
His lips moved slightly, voice lowered, tentative. “…Mianmian?”
The tender murmur froze the air.
Yue Han’s eyelids twitched violently. The scourge-slayers behind him kept their faces straight, but their expressions were collectively indescribable.
“…”
Lin Shijin wasn’t entirely sure he was being addressed. That single nickname flushed his face at once. A little anger sparked within him. He was not called Mianmian.
Yet the man clearly meant him. Clearly.
He must have mistaken him for someone.
Sensing Sheng Rufei’s mood darken further, Lin Shijin edged closer, hiding behind him and gently pinching a fold of Sheng Rufei’s sleeve.
“Shixiong…”
Cui Haoxue stood still. The youth had not responded to him, but instead relied upon another with a soft, trusting voice. That had to be Mianmian.
Only then did he properly look at Sheng Rufei, whose beauty was almost excessive, his cold, cutting aura like that of a shattered, frost-edged blade. It made him faintly displeased.
Moreover, Mianmian was calling this youth “Shixiong,” and the youth was looking at him as though he were an intruder trespassing upon his territory. Those cold eyes brimmed with violent hostility.
Sheng Rufei shielded Lin Shijin behind him, Yinbing Sword drawn. His pupils were shadowed with dark ink, thick and oppressive, and only when he glanced back at the youth behind him did his aura draw back.
“His name is not Mianmian,” Sheng Rufei said icily.
Cui Haoxue was not the most perceptive when it came to emotion, or perhaps he simply didn’t care. At worst, they would fight. He could always beat up Mianmian’s shixiong, and once Mianmian could no longer protest, he would be his.
“I saw your token the other day.” Cui Haoxue’s gaze returned to Lin Shijin. He drew a crumpled scrap of paper from his robes, his voice low and steady. “This is my fiancée’s name and date of birth. It is definitely Lin Mianmian.”
At that, nearly every gaze turned to the scrap of paper.
The ink was smudged, but the characters were unmistakable—“Lin Shijin”—followed by the date and the words “Baiyang Village.”
The air went still again.
Yue Han very nearly covered his face. The humiliation this time was appalling. He distinctly remembered telling the deputy slayer the name was pronounced Jin. The man had sworn he’d remembered. And yet here they were again.
And right in front of the person concerned.
Sheng Rufei, however, grasped the important point. His eyes turned glacial. “Your fiancée?”
Lin Shijin felt as though reality had grown somewhat absurd. He stared at the note. It was indeed his name, his birth date… but a fiancée? What kind of nonsense was this?
They had only met once. How could a fiancée appear out of nowhere?
And… had he not also misread his name?
Noticing that Sheng Rufei was angered, Lin Shijin timidly peeked out and said to Cui Haoxue, “You must be mistaken… This is my name and my birth date, yes, but my shixiong and I already have a marriage contract. I’ve never been betrothed to anyone else.”
The words “my shixiong and I already have a marriage contract” struck Cui Haoxue like a bolt from the blue. His fingers twitched slightly as he held the note, disbelief flickering across his face.
Yue Han: “…” Perhaps he ought to congratulate his master on his failed marriage proposal.
His master had made the calculations. This was a proper engagement, real and binding, hardly comparable to Sheng Rufei’s. Cui Haoxue fell silent for a moment before saying, “You two are not suitable.”
Seeing the young man’s expression grow even colder, Yue Han cleared his throat lightly, hoping to ease the tension. “Master, perhaps we should first examine their tokens.”
“We’ve received news over the past few days that the Demon clan’s Saint Lord has been active in this area. His disguise techniques are extremely advanced; a thorough inspection at the city gates is essential.”
Lin Shijin’s ears twitched at the familiar title. The Demon clan’s Saint Lord… that wasn’t Jun Yewu? His injuries had healed so quickly? A little dazed, Lin Shijin recalled that months had passed since they had been in Rakshasa City.
Prompted by Cui Haoxue, he focused on the matter at hand. After presenting their tokens and passing through the layers of inspection by the Scourge-Slayer Envoys, they were finally allowed into the city.
Just as they stepped beyond the gates, a voice called from behind: “Mianmian.”
Lin Shijin felt a twinge of discomfort at the familiar nickname. He halted and glanced at the cold young man beside him. Sheng Rufei’s aura was clearly restrained; he seemed irked.
Lin Shijin turned, and Cui Haoxue was standing before him, asking, “Are you heading to Jinyue Temple?”
Lin Shijin did not answer directly. “My shixiong and I have business in the city,” he replied.
“You must have miscalculated your destiny,” Lin Shijin said tactfully. “Please, do not follow us.”
He spoke without looking at Cui Haoxue, then turned and strode towards Sheng Rufei, who was waiting at the alley entrance.
The young man’s silver-white hair was mostly hidden, his long legs slightly bent. His fingers gripped a long sword, and the usual shadow over his face had lifted. Hearing the sound, his eyes lifted, and his voice, low and laced with subtle meaning, called out:
“Mianmian?”
The same two words which, from anyone else, would have seemed harmless. But from Sheng Rufei’s deep, resonant voice, they struck Lin Shijin like lightning. His face flamed crimson in an instant.
