Lin Shijin’s fingertips trembled faintly. In that instant, he understood, and it felt as though he had fallen into an icy abyss.
The other person was still inhaling the scent at his neck, voice low and hoarse, murmuring “Xiao Jin” by his ear. Instinctively, Lin Shijin’s fingers groped towards the sword he had left beside the bed.
He could not see. It took him a long while to find the cold blade. There was scarcely any strength left in his body. He could feel the gaze resting upon him from behind. The room was deathly still. His fingers brushed the edge of the bed, then finally the chill of steel.
He raised the blade towards the person before him. Though blind, he could sense the other’s presence. He did not know what he himself looked like at this moment.
The youth on the bed wore only snow-white inner robes. His complexion was pale and finely drawn; his eyes had lost their former lustre, fixed quietly upon the void. The shadow of his nose lay along his cheek, red lips pressed thin. Slender, pallid fingers gripped the dagger, taut with vigilance and guarded suspicion.
All the warmth and trust from moments before had vanished without a trace.
Faint blue veins stood out at Lin Shijin’s wrist. His fingers shook slightly. He understood now that the person before him was not the shixiong he trusted. The thought of the past ten days made his scalp prickle with delayed horror.
Fear surged again from the base of his spine. A dreadful suspicion surfaced. If Sheng Rufei were to learn of this…
He forcibly scattered the thought. His fingers tightened slowly around the dagger, suppressing the unease and fear rising in his chest.
“You’re not my shixiong… Who are you?”
He could not see. Yet he sensed the subtle shift in the other’s expression. The man knew them far too well. He knew of the soul-bond connecting them, knew of so many things that had passed between them.
And he himself had noticed nothing.
Lin Shijin’s sightless gaze fixed upon empty space. His back pressed to the wall, palms damp with cold sweat. At the faintest sound, he thrust the dagger forward by two inches.
“Xiao Jin, what are you saying?” Sheng Rufei’s voice was cool. “You don’t trust me?”
Lin Shijin said nothing. His fingers still clutched the bedcover. That single question only confirmed it. Sheng Rufei would never have asked him such a thing.
“Who are you?” He closed his eyes. He had been wrong from the very beginning. The illusion array had laid its trap the moment he opened his eyes. The first person he saw had already been false.
Back then he had trusted utterly, without the slightest suspicion. Now, thinking back to the Enlightenment Hall, the sacred relic, tracing spiritual currents, crossing the barrier… every step had been led by Jun Yewu. Information easily obtained.
He understood now. Too late.
“What about my shixiong… Where is he?”
“Xiao Jin.” The name again. The two syllables seemed fused to his bones, as though someone had once called him that often, but he could remember nothing.
It should not be spoken from this man’s lips.
He sensed the other drawing nearer. Instinctively, he drove the dagger forward. It met resistance. A faint sound of steel grazing flesh. The thin scent of blood entered the air.
Silence fell.
Lin Shijin smelled the blood. His fingers trembled; dizziness crept into his mind. Then cool fingers touched his wrist.
“Xiao Jin, don’t make me angry.”
The words were murmured again. Cold fingers tightened slightly around his wrist.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Didn’t you want the simplest of days? An ordinary life. For me to remain by your side…”
“What are you talking about?” Lin Shijin’s lips parted, fingertips whitening. “I did want that life, but you are not him. You used this illusion array to deceive me. Who are you?”
“How do you know about the soul-bond?”
For a long while there was no reply. He felt the other’s gaze upon him, layered with something unreadable.
Then the man spoke again, voice rougher.
“How did you tell?”
A sudden crack of thunder split the air outside. The dagger clattered to the floor. Lin Shijin’s body locked in place.
“You have no heartbeat. No warmth. And the bow you tied was neater than his,” he forced out, voice distorted, as though split down the centre of his throat, each word dragged up from deep within.
“My shixiong is very stupid. He could never manage something so practised… I should have realised.” His voice shook. “What did you do to me?”
Damp wind swept through the window. Rain began to pour in sheets outside.
At last, the man answered.
“The medicine that I gave you each day eased the bone-devouring agony of the evil curse.”
A pause.
“It seems… you did not know.”
A soft sigh.
The words “evil curse” rang in Lin Shijin’s ears. A low hum filled his head, and pain long suppressed erupted all at once from the marrow of his bones. It struck so suddenly he could scarcely remain upright.
As though ten thousand ants gnawed at his flesh. As though his veins were torn apart and fused again. The agony was instantaneous, overwhelming.
Thunder rolled. His face drained of colour. A groan lodged in his throat but would not emerge. His shoulder blades felt as though they were being wrenched apart. He could no longer sit upright. Instead, he pitched forward and fell from the bed.
“Shi—” The final word died unborn.
His forehead struck the tea table at the bedside. Warmth spread across his skin.
Curled upon the floor, snow-pale skin smeared with blood, his body drawn tight with pain. There was a strange, cruel beauty to him, like a butterfly with broken wings sinking into a pool of blood.
“This pain is not even one ten-thousandth of what I endured… and already you cannot bear it?”
Darkness swallowed his vision. Fingers seized his jaw, nearly crushing bone. Tears blurred his sight; his own nails tore at the ground until they bled.
The man’s true voice emerged. It was low, hoarse, cold, as though once damaged beyond repair.
“Next time you see me, you may not be so fortunate. The other me is not so easily softened…”
Breath brushed his ear.
“Xiao Jin. We will meet again.”
His jaw was released. He coughed violently. The dagger slipped from his grasp once more. Slowly, bracing himself on trembling hands, his sight began to return.
At first, double images. Then his own palms became covered in dense black curse-marks, like melted mist that had congealed again. They spread across his entire body.
The scene before him began to dissolve. The city shrank, receding, swallowed by white light.
At last it became a vast crane-feather sigil, cold and sinister, which burned to ash before his eyes.
He lost consciousness.
…
When he woke again, it felt as though he had emerged from a nightmare.
His eyes flew open to the sight of a familiar longsword and moon-swept robes.
He was dazed, as if waking from an impossibly long dream. He lifted his gaze and met a face of cold, striking beauty.
“Deputy Envoy, he’s awake—”
Lin Shijin paid no attention to the others. The moment he saw Sheng Rufei, fear rose instinctively within him along with guilt, grievance, and something far more complicated.
The agony from the dream seemed to linger still. He reached out to embrace him. But before he could touch him, Sheng Rufei caught his wrist.
Their eyes met.
In Sheng Rufei’s gaze lay a suppressed, cutting coldness.
In that instant, Lin Shijin understood.
—Sheng Rufei already knew.
“Shixiong…” he began, only then noticing they were surrounded by Scourge-Slayer Envoys within a stone cavern.
Sheng Rufei’s aura was frigid to the extreme. Anyone could see he was restraining himself… perhaps only a breath away from eruption.
“Mianmian—” Cui Haoxue hurried forward, but before he could reach them…
“Deputy Envoy! Jun Yewu has been located—”
At once, everyone tensed.
Before them, a vast water mirror flickered into clarity. Jun Yewu appeared within it, standing in what seemed a similar cavern.
His complexion was poor. As though sensing something, he halted and turned to meet Lin Shijin’s gaze through the mirror.
For reasons he could not explain, Lin Shijin felt that look was meant solely for him.
It contained too many emotions to decipher.
Then Jun Yewu vanished.
…
Outside the temple, the bamboo forest stirred though no wind blew.
At the very moment Jun Yewu stepped towards the temple boundary, immense pressure descended from above. Thousands of formations linked together, silent and immense, brewing a suffocating force.
Jun Yewu pressed a hand to his chest. Realisation flickered across his face.
He coughed up blood.
Slowly, he turned. It was as though he could see, through the water mirror, the expressionless, cold youth watching from the other side.
By linking together every formation within Jinyue Temple, even a great cultivator of the Ninth Heaven Realm might struggle to withstand the strike. To suffer such a blow… if not dead, one would at least lose half one’s life.
“Sheng Rufei…?” Jun Yewu repeated the name, committing it to memory. A strange light flickered in his eyes. His figure gradually turned translucent, dissolving into a wisp of radiance before vanishing where he stood.
Silence filled the stone cavern.
All the Scourge-Slayer Envoys looked towards their Deputy Envoy, yet in truth they were waiting for the cold, indifferent youth to speak. It was he who had shattered the illusion array through the slightest manipulation of spiritual currents, and within a single day had linked together every formation in Jinyue Temple. The arrangement was meticulous, each layer interlocking with the next. It was a reversal of the entire situation accomplished by his own hand.
His strength was unfathomable. Not to be underestimated.
They were merely cooperating as a matter of convenience.
Sheng Rufei gazed at the water mirror. His eyelids lifted slightly. Only after a long pause did he speak.
“He won’t have gone far. Stealing the sacred relic is a capital crime. So long as the relic is recovered, the man need only be found as a corpse.”
Several of the Envoys exchanged glances.
Cui Haoxue pondered briefly. “Search Mount Hanhuan. Don’t let him escape. Capture him alive if possible.”
“Yes.”
At once, the Envoys vanished where they stood.
Lin Shijin remained in place. His body bore no lingering discomfort, yet his thoughts were in disarray. Watching from the side, he could roughly guess that Sheng Rufei had chosen to cooperate with the Scourge-Slayer Envoys.
When he saw Sheng Rufei turn to leave, he immediately followed. Cui Haoxue called after him, but he paid no heed, trailing Sheng Rufei all the way.
Sheng Rufei returned to the small courtyard where they had stayed before. The moment he entered, the door slammed shut with a sharp bang.
The sound struck like a blow to Lin Shijin’s chest.
Unease churned within him. He looked at Sheng Rufei, shoulders drooping, as though silently admitting fault.
“Shixiong.” Lin Shijin pressed his lips together. Inwardly he berated himself twice over. If their positions were reversed, he would be furious… perhaps furious enough never to speak again.
“I’m sorry.”
Sheng Rufei did not respond.
He seated himself at the table and poured a cup of tea. He did not drink it. Instead, he poured another as though steadying his temper.
His movements appeared composed, almost careless. His expression seemed calm. Cup after cup was poured.
Until—
Bang.
The porcelain teacup slipped from his hand and struck the ground, shattering into fragments in an instant.
