Lin Shijin thought he looked somewhat like Sheng Rufei, but the red thread at his wrist was not tied to the other man’s body, so he couldn’t be certain. He also had no idea what else this room might contain. Jun Yewu might be watching him even now, so he didn’t dare act rashly.
The chains around his wrist clinked softly. He had no way of confirming his suspicion himself, but there was a soul lingering beside him. One he could question.
With some effort, he raised his wrist and slowly wrote two characters on the ground behind him.
Lin Fuheng noticed the movement at once. He could see through disguises and had already recognised the so-called guard as this little good-for-nothing’s bargain-basement shixiong, but he didn’t expose it outright.
“Your shixiong is still locked in the water dungeon,” he said calmly. “Do you really think he has the ability to sneak in here?”
In fact, he had sneaked in. Lin Fuheng himself was somewhat surprised. His gaze flicked to Sheng Rufei, and he guessed it might be because the youth was born with a sword bone and his cultivation exceeded his apparent realm.
Given enough time, he would certainly grow into someone formidable.
But he doubted there would be such time.
Lin Shijin felt a little disappointed. He didn’t know what was happening outside at all. With Jun Yewu gone, this should have been a perfect chance to escape.
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” Lin Fuheng said. “There are guards everywhere outside, and inside this room the Snow Demon has set up Tongtian Stones. Every single move you make, he can see.”
Lin Fuheng noticed the youth in the Heavenly Demon–patterned robes stiffen slightly, fingers tightening around the halberd as if he had sensed something. A thought crossed Lin Fuheng’s mind, and he suddenly laughed.
“Do you remember what Bu Wen once said to you?” he murmured. “The karmic ties of past lives are hard to unravel…”
Lowering his gaze to the youth’s face, he added, “If you and your shixiong wish to walk the same path, it won’t be easy.”
Lin Shijin was still searching for the Tongtian Stones… and he did indeed find them. Several were embedded around the room, their glazed light flickering from all directions, like countless eyes crowded together and staring straight at him.
It made his stomach churn slightly.
He heard Lin Fuheng’s last remark but didn’t take it to heart. So what if he and Sheng Rufei were together? Was someone really capable of tearing them apart?
He recalled what Feng Rugao had once said. It wasn’t impossible.
His fingertips twitched. What he truly wanted to know was the other man’s identity.
So he wrote another character on the ground.
You.
“You want to ask who I am?” Lin Fuheng said evenly. “I told you before. I am you.”
He was a remnant from the past, now nothing more than a solitary soul, on the verge of dispersing at any moment, only barely stabilising himself by clinging to the youth.
“Don’t rush for answers. When the time comes, all truths will surface on their own.”
That was hardly an answer at all. Lin Shijin felt mildly exasperated. He looked over at the guard beside him. The more he stared, the more he felt the resemblance to Sheng Rufei.
The guard stood perfectly straight, one hand resting on the halberd, never once turning his head, like a silent statue frozen in place.
“When will the Saint Lord return?” Lin Shijin asked, still studying him.
The guard ignored him completely.
Jun Yewu had only ordered him to watch Lin Shijin, not to speak to him. So the silence was expected.
“I’m thirsty,” Lin Shijin went on. “Could you bring me a cup of tea?”
The guard didn’t move at first. After a long moment, as if receiving a soundless instruction, he went to the table, poured a cup of tea, and set it down on the floor in front of him.
Through the mask, Lin Shijin met a pair of pitch-black eyes and instantly knew. It was Sheng Rufei. His eyes widened briefly before he hastily composed himself, pretending he’d noticed nothing, only pursing his lips.
“Could you… feed it to me?”
The guard’s long fingers paused on the rim of the cup. Then, without comment, he set it firmly back on the floor, rose, and returned to his original position.
Lin Shijin was half-kneeling and restrained. There was no way he could reach the cup… not with shackles on his wrists. Short of crawling on the floor like a dog, he couldn’t drink it.
Jun Yewu was doing this deliberately. He wanted to humiliate him.
Lin Shijin didn’t touch the tea. His eyes kept drifting to the guard not far away. He had been worried, but with Sheng Rufei here, he inexplicably felt calmer, even finding the leisure to observe him.
No matter what he wore, Sheng Rufei always looked impeccably restrained. His collar was fastened without the slightest disorder, his bearing was aloof and pristine, tinged with that cold, ascetic restraint that came from deep within his bones.
Distant. Untouchable. Possessing a very clear sense of boundaries.
That was the old impression.
Now, Lin Shijin only felt that Sheng Rufei looked particularly good in black.
No matter how long he stared, Sheng Rufei never moved, never overstepped in the slightest.
Lin Fuheng, watching the little waste of space stare without blinking, sneered inwardly. His soul had practically flown away. He pinched the youth’s ear lightly. It was not quite gentle, not quite harsh.
“If you have time to gawk at him,” he said coldly, “you’d do better to work out how to open the chains.”
“There are spiritual apertures in the lock. Once you force the spiritual energy through, it’ll break.”
Lin Shijin didn’t actually know this; he’d only read it in books. His ear stung from the pinch, his face twisting slightly, but he didn’t dare cry out.
“Re-really…?”
At that sound, the guard’s halberd snapped up in an instant, its blade flashing cold silver. A single step closer and it would cut his skin.
Lin Shijin froze, heart leaping into his throat. Meeting the guard’s lowered gaze, his lips pressed together unconsciously, eyes faintly aggrieved.
What was that for? He hadn’t moved at all.
Knowing Sheng Rufei was only putting on an act, Lin Shijin remained perfectly still. After a long while, Sheng Rufei finally withdrew the halberd.
By chance, Lin Shijin brushed against the spiritual aperture. The lock required a single, uninterrupted flow of spiritual energy to open. It was something he’d never tried before, and wasn’t sure he could manage.
“Don’t worry about spiritual energy,” Lin Fuheng said flatly. “You’ve consumed the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart. Spiritual energy is the one thing you lack least.”
Encouraged, Lin Shijin felt that this unseen soul understood him far too well. Even without words, the other man always knew exactly what he was thinking.
He tried circulating his energy. To his surprise, it worked. The shackles were indeed ordinary. Jun Yewu clearly didn’t think him capable of escaping.
He tried again and again to send spiritual energy into the aperture, failing each time. His fingertips ached, especially at the wrist.
Lin Fuheng frowned deeply. Even something this simple… he was useless.
Then his brow slowly eased.
“Don’t rush. Try again.”
Lin Shijin’s control was awkward and clumsy. He struggled to circulate the energy at all, sweat beading on his forehead from anxiety.
“Ordinary disciples need no more than ten attempts to master a spiritual aperture,” Lin Fuheng said coolly. “Your shixiong could probably do it in one. You’ve already failed fifteen times.”
“You’re more than fifteen times worse than him.”
Lin Shijin’s expression darkened. This man knew exactly where to stab. He was fully aware of how much he cared about Sheng Rufei being stronger than him.
His lips tightened. This time, he forced himself to focus, carefully sensing the flow of energy within the chain. The spiritual energy gathered, forming an extremely fine stream, like a silver needle weaving through invisible channels.
He finally grasped the path. Then, in a moment of excitement, the energy scattered again.
He tried a second time. A third. A fourth.
On the fifth, there was an almost imperceptible click. His fingers twitched, and the lock gave way.
Twenty attempts.
Something Sheng Rufei could accomplish in one.
Lin Fuheng noticed the youth’s lowered spirits and cast a venomous glance at the culprit standing nearby, thinking grimly that this, too, was ultimately his own doing.
He restrained his voice, though a chill still seeped through. “Your foundation is flawed. If it weren’t for—”
If it weren’t for me, no one in this world could rival your talent.
Lin Shijin freed the shackles. He ignored Lin Fuheng’s whisper, glancing instead at the Tongtian Stones nearby. If he ran now, Jun Yewu would notice immediately.
The chains still hung around his wrists, seemingly intact. But in truth, they would shatter with the slightest pull.
“Stay put,” Lin Fuheng sneered. “He’s already back.”
He brushed a finger against the youth’s wrist, sealing the injury.
Warmth spread. The pain vanished.
Lin Shijin realised something, his heart stirring, but unable to speak, he remained silent, only his fingertips shifting slightly.
The hall doors opened once more. Jun Yewu entered, dressed in the familiar Demon Saint-patterned robes, his face pale and shadowed. His search for the sacred relic was clearly unsuccessful.
Across the space, Lin Shijin met his gaze. Jun Yewu’s dark eyes fell on him first. He instinctively stepped back, fingers scraping the wall as the chains clanged dully.
In doing so, he accidentally kicked the teacup.
It rolled away with a clatter, tea spilling across the floor.
The noise was loud. Lin Shijin felt acutely awkward.
Jun Yewu’s expression softened instead. He walked over, stopping in front of him, and looked down with a gentle smile.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“No,” Lin Shijin replied, forcing himself not to look toward Sheng Rufei.
Of course he was afraid.
Jun Yewu had already snapped his wrist once. If the man lost control again, there was no telling whether his arms or legs would survive.
Jun Yewu’s pupils were pale, reflecting his image. The sight sent a chill down Lin Shijin’s spine. He shuffled back another step, pressing himself into the corner against the wall.
After a long while, the sound of coughing echoed through the hall. Jun Yewu looked faintly gaunt, his figure slender, his complexion even paler than before.
Lin Shijin gave him a couple of glances. He looked like the sort who wouldn’t live long. He had the kind of complexion that suggested he might drop dead at any moment.
Ever since Jun Yewu entered, the guard had remained concealed in the shadows. Once the coughing subsided, Jun Yewu cast a sideways glance towards a corner and said, “Come out.”
A figure emerged from the darkness. Jun Yewu’s eyes narrowed slightly. The figure knelt on one knee, performing the formal salute of the demon clans.
“Remove your mask.”
The guard’s mask covered almost his entire face. Lin Shijin grew subtly tense. Afraid of being exposed, his heart jumped into his throat, but he dared not show anything amiss, carefully watching from the corner of his eye.
As soon as Jun Yewu finished speaking, the youth removed the mask at once, revealing an entirely unremarkable face. His features were plain, his expression nondescript. Only his dark brows and eyes bore the faintest hint of Sheng Rufei’s likeness.
Lin Shijin blinked.
That’s him.
He could recognise Sheng Rufei without the slightest doubt. Whether Jun Yewu could was another matter.
Perhaps because he had been around Sheng Rufei for so long, Lin Shijin could identify him even when the features didn’t match… by tiny movements, by the eyes.
Jun Yewu examined him with narrowed eyes. A trace of unease flashed through his mind. He soon noticed that the guard’s fingertips had gone faintly white. They were carefully concealed, but fear nonetheless. After a pause, he said calmly,
“You may leave.”
The guard vanished from the hall.
Lin Shijin let out a shallow breath, but his relief was short-lived. His fingers curled slightly. Jun Yewu had already turned away.
The Demon Saint–patterned outer robe was tossed aside on the floor. Jun Yewu was now dressed only in his inner garment.
“Come here,” he said casually.
The restraints on Lin Shijin loosened. He felt the pressure lift and knew the order was meant for him. Pushing himself upright, he glanced at his wrists, then braced against the wall and shuffled over, thoroughly unwilling.
His reluctance was written all over his face.
When he reached Jun Yewu, he realised the man had already removed his upper garments, exposing his torso. The wound at his waist had barely closed, while several new ones had appeared across his chest.
They looked fresh… vicious even. They were deep enough to make one flinch, as though they could pierce straight through his body, no more than a finger’s breadth from the heart.
Jun Yewu’s expression remained mild. Ointment and bandages had already been laid out beside him.
He wanted Lin Shijin to tend the wounds.
The shackles still circled Lin Shijin’s wrists, clinking with every step. Suddenly his jaw throbbed as Jun Yewu pinched his face between his fingers, his voice low and gentle.
“Control your hands. If you’re clumsy again and touch the wound this time, it won’t end with just a broken wrist.”
Pain shot through Lin Shijin’s jaw. He had always been clumsy to begin with. Being threatened only made it worse.
“I don’t know how,” he said quietly. “If you make me apply the medicine, I’m bound to touch it.”
He braced his hands against the side of the bed, forced closer until he barely managed to stay upright. Feeling Jun Yewu’s gaze on him made his heart pound; he didn’t dare look up.
“Don’t be afraid,” Jun Yewu said softly. “At worst, I’ll just break another hand.”
His fingertips brushed Lin Shijin’s chin, then withdrew.
Lin Shijin: “……”
He made it sound absurdly easy.
Lin Shijin pressed his lips together. Jun Yewu closed his eyes, and Lin Shijin strongly suspected the wounds hadn’t healed at all.
They were much like the previous ones… unable to mend on their own, liable to worsen if left untreated. The medicine merely stemmed the bleeding, nothing more.
He worked with extreme caution. His own wrists no longer hurt, though faint marks remained. The salve was black and viscous, carrying a strong scent of blood.
He’d treated Sheng Rufei’s wounds before. He was slightly more practised now.
Lin Shijin was the type who, when resistance was impossible, would submit for the time being. He lacked principles… or rather, he lacked the luxury of holding onto them.
Lin Fuheng took in the scene in silence.
Here the youth was, carefully tending an enemy’s wounds just to avoid being beaten, bearing no resentment at all. Or perhaps not caring in the slightest.
During the time Lin Fuheng had followed him, whether facing Feng Rugao or those other creatures of similar aura, the boy never displayed a temper. Fully aware of his low cultivation, he would avoid conflict if possible; if not, he would compromise. Boundaries simply didn’t exist for him.
The only time Lin Fuheng had ever seen him truly angry, truly affected… was because of that cheap shixiong surnamed Sheng.
The little waste of space cared more for his shixiong than for himself.
And Lin Fuheng hadn’t forgotten how Sheng Rufei had used Lin Shijin back in Rakshasa City.
Young. Ambitious. Cunning. Deep-thinking and adept at restraint.
Lin Fuheng could tell Sheng Rufei did harbour feelings for Lin Shijin. But so what?
He had never crossed a line.
Never made a promise.
All he left behind was empty hope.
Such a temperament… was not one to be trusted.
Perhaps Sheng Rufei had his own plans. But Lin Shijin, reborn with a simple nature, would be devoured whole in his hands, his future painfully easy to foresee.
Lin Shijin, entirely unaware that he’d once again been labelled “simple-minded”, focused solely on Jun Yewu’s wounds. The many old scars held no interest for him at all.
He only wanted to finish and get away from this great demon.
The more nervous he became, the easier it was to make mistakes.
His fingertip brushed the wound by accident.
Fresh blood bloomed instantly.
Lin Shijin’s eyelid twitched. He felt the weight of someone’s gaze from above.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said stiffly.
As he spoke, he hastily applied more medicine, trying to cover the bleeding, stubbornly refusing to look at Jun Yewu.
After a long moment, Jun Yewu looked away, seemingly unwilling to pursue the matter.
Lin Shijin finally exhaled.
He finished treating the wounds and wrapped them carefully, his movements surprisingly neat, tying an ugly little bow at the end.
Then a gloomy voice sounded above him.
“You’ve dressed other people’s wounds before?”
Lin Shijin thought it a pointless question. Unsure what Jun Yewu was really asking, he answered cautiously.
“Occasionally. When fellow disciples in the sect are injured, I help bandage them.”
The air abruptly turned cold.
Before Lin Shijin could even react, a powerful force struck him head-on. He was flung to the floor with a heavy thud, his forehead smashing into the edge of the table.
Warmth spilled down.
He let out a muffled groan, vision swimming. Caught completely unprepared… and vastly outmatched. He reached up and found his fingers slick with blood.
Sour panic rose in his throat. His eyes burned. The sight of blood frightened him instinctively, and his back throbbed where it had struck the floor, pain flaring hot and sharp.
Jun Yewu looked down coldly.
He’d held back.
He hadn’t expected the youth to be so weak. So fragile that he couldn’t withstand even that much.
A shadow crossed his brow. The gentleness vanished.
Watching Lin Shijin blankly touch the blood on his forehead, something unfamiliar stirred in Jun Yewu’s chest… and was immediately forced down.
Lin Shijin said nothing.
His back burned, but it wasn’t as though he could complain. He pushed himself upright using the table, staggering slightly, and retreated to the corner, where he sat down in silence.
He wiped the blood away with his sleeve.
A chill lingered against his skin. Then, a warm touch fell upon his forehead. The pain faded almost instantly.
“Why didn’t you dodge?” Jun Yewu asked.
Lin Shijin felt his ear being yanked.
The other man seemed angrier than he was. Despite being the one injured, having his ear tugged only made Lin Shijin feel more wronged. He held his breath and said nothing.
Jun Yewu wasn’t Sheng Rufei.
He didn’t owe him an explanation.
He curled up in the corner, hugging his knees. He didn’t know what Sheng Rufei planned to do. With Jun Yewu here, escape was impossible.
His thoughts drifted absurdly to whether he might ambush Jun Yewu someday and flee.
He glanced at the bed. Jun Yewu leaned against the wall, eyes closed, bare-skinned, no covers drawn.
Serves you right if you freeze unconscious.
Lin Shijin looked away again.
Whether it was imagination or not, he felt eyes on him. Again and again. Their gaze growing darker each time.
There were only the two of them in the hall.
He couldn’t understand it. He was doing nothing, sitting quietly. So why was Jun Yewu still angry?
Lin Shijin neither understood nor cared to. Jun Yewu had already treated him abominably. If anyone had reason to be angry, it wasn’t him.
Fatigue crept in.
Hugging his knees, he fell asleep.
It was cold.
This was the second time he’d slept on the floor in Jun Yewu’s presence.
He awoke to noise outside. It was loud, bustling. Cold air rushed in as he opened his eyes slightly. Someone outside the doors was reporting in.
“Saint Lord… it’s the Scourge-Slayer Envoys. They’re requesting an audience outside the temple.”
“They insist on entering. They say the matter is urgent.”
Jun Yewu stood to one side, silent. Then, sensing something, he looked towards Lin Shijin.
Lin Shijin instinctively shrank back.
Black mist coiled through the hall once more.
“Take him away,” Jun Yewu ordered. “Don’t let the scourge-slayers notice anything amiss.”
“Shall we lock him in the water dungeon as well?” the guard asked.
Jun Yewu noticed the faint flicker of anticipation in the youth’s eyes at the words water dungeon. His gaze paused.
“Separate them.”
The moment the words fell, Jun Yewu transformed back into the guise of a monk.
Lin Shijin was led away by the same guard as before, moving sluggishly, feeling Jun Yewu’s appraising gaze linger on his back.
His forehead and back still ached. As he turned a corner, a red thread suddenly reappeared on his wrist, stretching forward. It was tied to the guard ahead of him.
His heart leapt, pain forgotten.
“Shi—”
The final syllable never left his mouth.
The guard paused slightly.
Lin Shijin immediately fell silent, obediently following him through bamboo groves and winding corridors until they reached a small courtyard.
The room was cramped. Just as Lin Shijin opened his mouth again, the youth turned back, placed a finger against his lips, and glanced over Lin Shijin’s shoulder.
Lin Shijin understood.
They were being listened to.
Perhaps Jun Yewu still wasn’t at ease.
He closed his mouth at once.
The youth went to the table, poured a cup of tea, dipped his pale finger into it, and wrote on the tabletop.
Don’t make a sound. He can hear you.
Lin Shijin nodded, then copied Sheng Rufei’s method, dipping his finger in the water to write on the table: How did Shixiong manage to get in?
Only after he had finished did the youth slowly write in reply: I sensed something amiss the night before. The one held in the water dungeon isn’t me.
Lin Shijin finally relaxed a little. He was about to write again when his wrist was caught. He looked up and met Sheng Rufei’s pitch-dark gaze.
Those eyes were always cool and distant; now they were darkened further, as though veiled in shadow. Every emotion was hidden within them, impossible to read at a glance.
He didn’t feel afraid. Knowing that Sheng Rufei was worried about him, he gently shook his head, then traced a few words into Sheng Rufei’s palm with his fingertips: I’m fine. I just knocked it by accident.
Sheng Rufei lifted a hand and lightly touched his forehead. For a brief instant, a trace of chill severity flickered in his eyes, then vanished, leaving only his usual composure.
Still holding his wrist, Sheng Rufei said nothing. He quietly bandaged the wound on Lin Shijin’s forehead. In the stillness, with Sheng Rufei beside him, Lin Shijin felt far more at ease; his eyelids drooped, and sleep soon followed.
Half-asleep, he sensed someone touch his cheek. He paid it no mind, merely resting a little longer, planning to tell Sheng Rufei about the sacred object once he woke.
He had been frightened too many times. He needed sleep to steady himself.
Sheng Rufei lowered his gaze to the youth’s sleeping face. White gauze was wrapped around his forehead; his complexion remained faintly pale. He had fallen asleep again so quickly… perhaps from blood loss, perhaps from pain.
Sheng Rufei’s fingertips brushed the youth’s cheek, lashes lowering to cast a faint shadow. His pale fingers moved with exquisite care before withdrawing once more.
He stood there for a long while. Then, after a pause, he reached out again, gently brushing the wound through the gauze. Leaning down slightly, he pressed the corner of his lips to it.
The movement was careful to the extreme. It was filled with reverence, restraint, and a tenderness he never allowed himself to show.
