Xue Cuo froze, not moving for quite a while.
Yin Feixue hooked a finger into the silver chain at his waist and straightened. It was a gesture no woman could quite manage, and no man had ever made, yet he did it with effortless ease, as though it were second nature. “Idiot. Have you gone daft?”
Xue Cuo glared at him. “You’re the daft one.”
Yin Feixue gave an amused “oh?” and asked, “Then why didn’t you say anything just now?”
Xue Cuo shoved him away, folding his arms, clearly unwilling to let the moment pass. He gave a dismissive snort, then, finding it insufficiently emphatic, raised a brow as well. “I was thinking whether what you said was true. If you really missed me, why have you come empty-handed?”
Yin Feixue let out a soft laugh and produced a jar of fine wine from his storage ring, spinning it lightly in his hand. “Seems I’ve been casting pearls before swine.”
Xue Cuo loved his wine, yet did not rush to drink. Instead, he asked, “What are you muttering about now?”
Yin Feixue shot him a sidelong glance and tossed the jar over. “Just drink.”
Xue Cuo caught it without ceremony, took a mouthful, then stole a glance at him. Yin Feixue stood there quietly, expression calm, gaze turned out the window, his thoughts impossible to read.
A moment later, a hand lifted the wine jar and offered it back to him.
Yin Feixue lowered his lashes. Silver, like frost and snow, reflected faintly in the wine’s surface, strewn with fallen petals. The moonlight was cool, the stars brilliant, yet his eyes shone brighter still.
They sat side by side by the window.
“Qianyun is beautiful,” Yin Feixue said, “but it lacks the liveliness of the mortal world.”
“Give it time,” Xue Cuo replied. “Qianyun will grow lively too.”
After a pause, he added, “Your talisman… it’s broken?”
Yin Feixue narrowed his eyes slightly. “It is. I struck him once. Do you feel sorry for him?”
Xue Cuo rested his chin on his hand, idly turning the wine jar with his fingers. The smile faded from his eyes, leaving a trace of gloom. “Xiao Yun wants to kill you.”
Yin Feixue watched him for a long moment, then reached out and ruffled his hair. “Our conflict is one of the Dao. Life and death have nothing to do with you… but what I promised you, I will never go back on.”
“Trust me.”
He did not wish to make him sad. He cherished how little the other had in this world.
That small, fragile warmth, he had no desire to take it away. If anything, he wished to give him everything better. Whatever Xue Cuo desired, Yin Feixue would grant it.
Xue Cuo seemed to understand, yet not quite.
Being with Yin Feixue made him carefree, and he did not want to think too deeply. He drank down the rest of the wine and lay down beside him to rest.
By dawn, the sky had brightened.
Half-asleep, he glimpsed crimson clouds like fire and waters stretching to the horizon.
Xue Cuo lazily closed his eyes again, when suddenly a weight pressed down on him. He opened them and instinctively tried to move, only to have his hand caught and pinned above his head by a larger one.
Silver hair spilled down like silk, cool against his cheek. Their noses brushed, breaths mingling, the closeness almost unbearable.
“I’m leaving.”
“What would you like me to bring you next time?”
Xue Cuo’s mind went blank. He forgot even to struggle. After thinking for a moment, he still could not answer. “I don’t know.”
Yin Feixue smiled faintly and released him. “Then I shall bring you whatever I find. New Year’s Eve, Mid-Autumn, every festival and solar term, I’ll come to see you. Wait for me.”
With that, he turned into a streak of light and vanished.
Left alone on the couch, Xue Cuo rolled over, his face faintly flushed. “What is that tiger playing at?”
“What solar term?”
“Let’s see… the next one’s in two months.”
He rubbed his head, rolled off the couch, straightened his robes, and went out to offer incense to the goddess.
The goddess’s statue remained serene and distant. Of the three incense sticks before the altar, one burned noticeably faster than usual, leaving two of equal length.
Xue Cuo stared at them. “What sort of omen is this?”
The offerings on the table suddenly rolled down, settling neatly in pairs.
He shook his head at once. “Still don’t get it.”
The moment he finished speaking, objects in the temple stirred without wind. A lotus bloomed from within a jade vessel, twin blossoms growing side by side, perfectly matched.
Xue Cuo scratched his head. “Still no idea.”
Candlesticks, couplets, one thing after another revealed the same pattern. Looking closer, even the offerings came in pairs, not a single odd number among them.
Yet Xue Cuo looked up at the sky, then down at the ground, completely none the wiser. He even flipped through several books, only to come up empty.
The goddess lowered her gaze, watching her disciple.
He picked up an apple, wiped it on his sleeve, took a large bite, then tugged at Ren Shu. “Ren Shu-gege, have one?”
…
The two watched helplessly as the three incense sticks burned down to nothing, leaving only a faint, flickering ember struggling in the censer.
Ren Shu hissed softly and hurried to bow, but Xue Cuo, already heading out, shoved a piece of fruit into his hands and urged him to eat, praising how crisp and sweet it was.
It was rather odd. Why were Xue Cuo’s ears and face so red today? Had he fallen ill?
After that night, calamities descended like snow. Cultivators, mortals, awakened gods, newly born demons, all brought chaos for one reason or another. War ravaged the mortal realm, and suffering spread across the land.
Xue Cuo led the sect’s disciples in rescue efforts, opening the barrier of Qianyun Great Marsh to shelter refugees from all directions.
A violet haze gathered above Qianyun, lingering all year round.
During this time, he once more helped raise a statue for the Demon Clan’s Great Sage, a task that took a full three years.
When he emerged, it was the Mid-Autumn Festival.
Kong Yun and the demon elders had prepared generous gifts in thanks.
Xue Cuo could not refuse. This was no longer merely a matter between him and Kong Yun, but something that concerned the entire demon clan. So he accepted openly.
Kong Yun seemed to relax slightly, though his gaze remained cold and complicated, and personally escorted him back to Qianyun. On the way, they encountered another cloud.
The guards of Tiandu City stood armed and armoured, glaring fiercely. The young and striking Demon Sovereign, Yin Feixue, cast a frosty glance across them, his golden eyes devoid of warmth.
Between him and the Demon Court lay old grudges and new, now irreconcilable. The demons bristled behind the Peacock King, eager to act.
“Hold yourselves,” Kong Yun said coldly. “Today we celebrate the revival of our Great Sage. All demons under heaven are blameless.”
Reluctantly, the elders stepped aside, allowing Tiandu’s cloud to pass.
Xue Cuo’s gaze met Yin Feixue’s for a fleeting instant. Neither spoke. Then, quite suddenly, Yin Feixue turned his cloud and approached.
Weapons were raised at once, hostility brimming, yet he remained perfectly at ease, as though none of it concerned him.
He stepped onto the Demon Court’s cloud, walked past Kong Yun, and came to stand before Xue Cuo.
“Are we now as fire and water?”
Xue Cuo lowered his voice. “What do you intend?”
Yin Feixue smiled lightly, his long hair falling like silver snow over his shoulders. He leaned in close, glancing over the gathered demons with a half-smile. “Then let us be as fire and water. Xue Cuo, take care. Before I come for you, do try not to get yourself killed. I’ll be waiting to settle this between us. Hmm?”
Xue Cuo neither retreated nor flinched. He nodded, lifting his chin. “Very well. Come when you like.”
The demons were deeply moved.
For their sake, this human surnamed Xue had broken with Yin Feixue. A good man indeed. The demon clan would never fail Qianyun Great Marsh.
Kong Yun’s gaze was icy. “Yin Feixue.”
Yin Feixue gave a soft scoff, offered a courteous farewell, and leapt back onto his cloud. “Let’s go.”
The two clouds passed each other without acknowledgement. Behind them, the elders and lesser demons buzzed with discussion. No matter their allegiance, they all reached the same conclusion.
Xue-shixiong of Qianyun and the Demon Sovereign of Tiandu had fallen out completely, their relationship irreparable, their past friendship utterly severed.
The demon elders muttered among themselves:
“Yin is ruthless. All smiles to your face, a knife behind your back. We’ve suffered enough at his hands. That threat just now, he means to kill Xue-shixiong.”
“Exactly. Weren’t they once close? But Yin’s twisted ways obstructed the court, and Xue-shixiong saw through him. That’s why they parted.”
“Another enemy, then.”
“A mere Yin demon. Xue-shixiong’s talismans are unparalleled. He’ll subdue him and offer him up to the Dao.”
“Well said! Our Demon Court should contribute as well. Let’s send a few artefacts to counter tiger demons. Come, everyone, put something forward.”
…
The guards of Tiandu City:
“What was His Majesty doing just now?”
“That hairless human looked like one of our honoured guests, and now he’s thrown in with the Demon Court. Hmph. His Majesty must have gone to give him a proper dressing-down.”
“Exactly. I saw that human’s ears turn red with my own eyes.”
“Oh? Really? Go on, tell us.”
“I even heard His Majesty say he’d better watch himself, or there’d be consequences. He was clearly threatening him.”
“Good! Next time I see him, I’ll give him a telling-off on His Majesty’s behalf!”
…
That night.
Mid-Autumn Lantern Festival.
Qianyun Great Marsh was ablaze with lanterns and colour, lively and bustling. The disciples of the Goddess Temple did not shun the world, and those fond of merriment had long since paired off with their senior brothers and sisters and gone down the mountain to enjoy the festivities.
Xue Cuo, however, bore the weight of the entire region. As Eldest Shixiong, his name carried both prestige and authority. The younger disciples feared him, the older ones respected him, and so the courtyard lay empty. No one dared disturb him.
Xuan Zhao had dragged Ren Shu off to host a banquet for the instructors who had laboured for Qianyun all year, thanking them one by one. They were far too busy to spare a moment.
And so, for once, Xue Cuo found himself alone.
He shut himself in his room, stealing a little time to draw talismans. Then, with a sharp clang, the window frame rattled.
Xue Cuo was about to rise, but a thought struck him. Slowly, he set down his silver brush, straightened his sleeves, washed the ink from his hands, and strolled over to the window.
Moonlight lay across the world like gauze. The waters of the marsh shimmered, reflecting fireworks and candlelight.
Beneath the tree outside the window stood a tall figure in black armour over white robes, silver hair gleaming like frost. A green leaf rested at his lips, and he blew a low, lilting tune.
The music drifted on the wind, soft and unhurried, a melody Xue Cuo had never heard before.
“Come down.”
“What for?”
Yin Feixue flicked a small pebble at the window frame and tilted his head up. His handsome face was bathed in moonlight, his eyes smiling. “What are you waiting for me for?”
Xue Cuo stiffened for a moment, then lifted his brows, eyes bright, voice low with a hint of laughter. “Who says I’m waiting for you? The autumn moon is beautiful enough on its own. I’m absorbed in cultivation and talisman work, forgetting even the passing of time. Why would I think of demons?”
“Then I’ll go.”
Xue Cuo clasped his hands behind his back and looked away. “Farewell.”
He waited a moment, then glanced sideways. As expected, the figure beneath the tree had vanished.
He almost leaned out to check, then thought better of it, feeling it beneath his dignity. Hardening his resolve, he shut the window.
His fingers had just touched the frame when something long and strong coiled around him. He turned back, only to meet a pair of bright, golden, cat-like eyes at close range.
“You weren’t—”
“Idiot.”
Yin Feixue hooked the chain at his waist, evidently quite taken with it, and with a light tug drew him forward, half-lifting him down from the window.
Xue Cuo’s face darkened. Why go through the window when there was a perfectly good door? What sort of peculiar habit was this? Did demons all have such strange inclinations?
He landed, expression stern, shoved Yin Feixue away, and took two steps back. “Don’t do that again.”
“Yes, yes,” Yin Feixue said, nodding easily, laughter in his eyes, all careless ease. “Understood.”
He stepped close again, shoulder brushing Xue Cuo’s as they walked. After a few paces, he turned and walked backwards, facing him, gaze fixed on him. Soft ears rose from his silver hair, his tail hanging low, swaying lightly.
“I’ll take you to set river lanterns afloat.”
“There’s nothing special about river lanterns. I’ve seen plenty in the mortal world.”
“Has anyone ever set them with you?”
“…No.”
Yin Feixue led him to the marsh’s edge and flicked out the leaf he had been holding. It transformed into a small, black-canopied boat.
He pulled Xue Cuo aboard and sat cross-legged within. Before them lay prepared bamboo strips, rice paper, cinnabar, and coloured inks.
“What’s all this?” Xue Cuo asked.
Yin Feixue picked up a strip of bamboo, twirling it between his fingers like a blade. “Tell me. What would you like?”
Xue Cuo let out a laugh, finding the whole thing unexpectedly delightful. To think someone would come all this way simply to ask him that.
Very well, he thought. Just this once, he would humour him.
His long fingers brushed over the paper. “Then I want… a little silver fish.”
Yin Feixue inclined his head. His hands moved swiftly and deftly, weaving the frame in moments, pasting the paper with care. Before long, a pair of plump, lively little silver fish took shape.
Xue Cuo did not ask why there were two. He took the lantern, turning it over in his hands, then dipped his brush in coloured ink and painted in their eyes and scales.
“Well?” Yin Feixue asked.
Xue Cuo propped his chin in his hand. “Passable.”
Yin Feixue stretched lazily and picked up another strip. “Again. What next?”
Xue Cuo paused, then said, “A tiger.”
Yin Feixue’s grip slipped. The bamboo snapped back and struck him lightly in the face. He kept his expression composed, though a faint red mark was already forming. “You…”
At that moment, fireworks burst into the sky. The crackling drowned out whatever Xue Cuo might have said. Both of them looked up, falling silent.
The little boat drifted on.
One lantern after another floated upon the water: cats, birds, lotus blossoms, little bowls, and even a few small tigers, round-headed and endearingly clumsy. They shimmered like scattered stars, drifting deeper into the marsh.
Xue Cuo slept aboard the boat that night.
By the time it drifted back to shore, he still held the pair of silver fish lanterns, which he carefully stored away in his ring.
