Lin Shijin listened to Fuheng’s words and did not respond for quite some time. His mind kept replaying the details of Jinyue Temple, and he had the vague sense that he had overlooked something important.
His temples began to ache from thinking. He rubbed his forehead and decided not to dwell on it any further.
The carriage trundled on slowly before finally coming to a halt in front of a temple. Sheng Rufei made a few arrangements and stepped down. Lin Shijin was about to follow when he suddenly remembered the flowers Sheng Rufei had picked for him.
“Shixiong, wait for me a moment,” he called, then climbed back into the carriage.
Inside, it was quiet. The wooden maze tray Sheng Rufei had made for him lay on the table, beside a vivid bouquet of flowers.
The curtain lifted in the wind, and leaves rustled outside. Lin Shijin picked up the bouquet and the small wooden tray. As he bent slightly, the straw figure slipped from his arms and fell.
With a soft thud, his gaze froze.
The straw figure had clearly been modelled after Sheng Rufei, yet the once pristine little doll had changed completely. Its silver hair was stained with blood, a wound slashed across its face, and its chest had been pierced clean through. Dark crimson spread across its clothes.
It looked as though a hole had been gouged through its heart, blood running down, staining the entire figure.
Something seemed to stab into Lin Shijin’s chest. A formless sense of foreboding spread through him. Just as his fingertips were about to touch the straw figure, it dissolved into a wisp of black mist and vanished.
He remained in the carriage for a long while, the image of the silver-haired figure with a hole in its chest lingering in his mind, unable to shake it off.
Only when he heard a light tapping on the wooden panel outside did he come back to himself. Taking the remaining bouquet and the wooden tray, he stepped down.
They were resting at a dilapidated temple. When he approached Sheng Rufei, Sheng Rufei’s gaze paused briefly on the flowers in his arms.
Lin Shijin did not know how to explain, but before he could speak, Sheng Rufei spoke first. His voice carried a chill. “Where did that come from?”
“It wasn’t from you…” Lin Shijin began, then his voice faltered as his gaze caught something.
At first he had not noticed, but now the flowers appeared unnaturally vivid, almost as though soaked in blood. The clustered petals bulged strangely, resembling distorted human faces fused together.
At a glance, it was a dense mass of twisted faces, as if they were struggling to break free.
A chill ran down his spine. His grip loosened, and the bouquet slipped from his hands.
Only now did he realise that the flowers had never come from Sheng Rufei, and when he had seen them that morning, there had been no such faces.
“They were on the table this morning. I thought you’d left them for me,” he said quietly, fingers twitching. That meant the straw figure had not been from Sheng Rufei either.
Then who had placed them there? A demonic cultivator? When had they infiltrated the carriage, and how had they gone unnoticed?
He thought again of the hole in the straw figure’s chest. Was it a warning? Or a threat directed at Sheng Rufei?
“Not mine,” Sheng Rufei said.
He tapped the flowers lightly with his sword. In an instant, the vivid bouquet dissolved into black mist, accompanied by piercing, grief-stricken cries.
“Petty tricks.” Sheng Rufei’s fingers brushed the carriage, his voice low and cold. An invisible barrier spread outward, and with a dull burst, something in mid-air shattered and vanished.
“These flowers grow in Wuhui City. They are called wraith blossoms. They symbolise descent into purgatory and are used by demonic cultivators as tokens of affection.”
Lin Shijin was momentarily at a loss. Who would use something covered in human faces as a love token? The thought alone made his scalp prickle.
“When were they placed there? I didn’t notice anything.”
Sheng Rufei’s aura was icy. After a moment, he said, “When we exchanged the demon bones. There was a formation on them. Normally hidden, it only reveals itself when triggered.”
“Other than the flowers, did you find anything else?”
Lin Shijin thought of the straw figure but instinctively replied, “No.”
He stepped forward and tugged at Sheng Rufei’s sleeve, his gaze dropping to Sheng Rufei’s chest, which was intact.
He looked once, then again. The wound on the straw figure’s face had been in exactly the same place as the injury on Sheng Rufei’s cheek.
Sheng Rufei inspected the carriage once more. Lin Shijin watched from the side, and when he was done, the two of them entered the ruined temple together.
There were many such temples. It was said that a thousand years ago, the immortal sects had suffered a catastrophic calamity. Demons, mortals, and cultivators alike had been caught up in it. In that time of suffering, faith had taken root, and temples had been built everywhere to worship the divine.
Lin Shijin’s thoughts lingered on Sheng Rufei’s injury. Seeing him hurt felt like a thorn lodged in his chest. Once inside, he pulled Sheng Rufei down onto a prayer mat, intent on examining the wound.
“When I saw it earlier, it was black. Now it’s turned red. It’s not like when it’s tainted with demonic energy.”
Sheng Rufei had been unusually restrained since earlier, as though lost in thought. Lin Shijin suspected it had something to do with the flowers.
He leaned in, touching the wound lightly and examining it carefully. The blood was indeed bright red, without any trace of demonic corruption.
“Does it hurt? How did you get it?”
“I knocked into something,” Sheng Rufei replied simply. “I’ve already applied medicine.”
“Then I must have seen wrongly?” Lin Shijin took out his own medicine, one used for neutralising demonic poison, and applied another layer anyway.
“Better to be safe.”
He remained standing as he asked, “Anywhere else injured?”
Sheng Rufei shook his head, though his gaze lingered briefly on Lin Shijin’s shoulder.
Only then did Lin Shijin remember his own injury. Sheng Rufei had sealed it earlier with spiritual energy, dulling the pain. Now that he thought of it, the ache returned.
He sat down slowly. Sheng Rufei reset the fractured bone without causing him any pain, as though a fine thread of spiritual energy had numbed the area completely.
“Will the demonic cultivators catch up if we stay here?”
“They might.” Sheng Rufei brushed his shoulder lightly through the fabric, then withdrew his hand. “If you’re uncomfortable, rest. I’ll keep watch.”
“I can take the first watch,” Lin Shijin said, still uneasy as he looked at Sheng Rufei’s wound. “We can split it. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”
Sheng Rufei said nothing. He simply lit a lamp.
Light filled the temple, casting shifting shadows across half of the deity’s face. Its hands were clasped together, as if offering a brief refuge.
“Are you even listening?” Lin Shijin prodded his arm. “You’ve been busy all day. Aren’t you tired? I’ll take the first watch.”
“I can meditate. I don’t need sleep.”
“You sleep.” His tone was cool and final.
Lin Shijin gave a reluctant “Oh,” unable to argue further. His gaze drifted again to Sheng Rufei’s chest. He leaned in and rested against it, feeling the warmth through the fabric, hearing the steady heartbeat.
After a while, he shifted again, fingers tracing lightly across Sheng Rufei’s chest. “Does your chest feel uncomfortable at all?”
“No.”
“That’s good.”
He withdrew his hand, only to reach out again, touching Sheng Rufei’s palm, his fingers, his face, before finally pulling back.
Sheng Rufei looked at him in silent question.
“I’m just touching,” Lin Shijin said casually.
He wanted to memorise every detail, so he would not be deceived again.
The calluses on Sheng Rufei’s fingers, the faint scar on his right little finger, the small mole behind his ear, the shape of his lips, the brush of his lashes against his palm…
Other things he did not know. Only then did it occur to him that Sheng Rufei had seen him undressed more than once, yet he himself had never seen Sheng Rufei the same way.
Sheng Rufei was always impeccably covered.
The thought sent his mind wandering. Drowsiness crept in. His vision blurred, and before falling asleep, he still held onto a corner of Sheng Rufei’s robe.
“Does it really not hurt?” He mumbled the words, too sleepy to catch the reply. Sheng Rufei seemed to give a quiet hum, and reassured, Lin Shijin drifted off.
The night stretched long.
In his dream, the straw figure appeared again.
This time, he watched from a distance. He saw himself and Sheng Rufei outside, while someone else stood within the carriage.
That person wore a black robe embroidered with crane-feather patterns, a bamboo hat obscuring their face. After placing the blood-soaked straw figure and the wraith blossoms, they vanished.
The silver-haired doll lay alone, its chest hollowed out like a broken rag figure. The scene shifted.
The straw figure became Sheng Rufei. The silver-haired youth stood before him, a gaping wound in his chest, his face pale, streaked with vivid red.
Lin Shijin jolted awake, cold sweat beading on his forehead. His fingers still clutched Sheng Rufei’s sleeve as he leaned in instinctively to listen for his heartbeat. The steady rhythm eased his panic.
Sheng Rufei draped his outer robe over him. “Did you have a nightmare?”
Lin Shijin nodded. He pressed a hand to Sheng Rufei’s chest. It was still warm.
His shoulder twinged from the movement, but as he touched it, warmth spread through it and the pain faded.
He looked up. Sheng Rufei’s gaze was calm and focused. “Does it still hurt?”
“It doesn’t.”
His voice was soft. Leaning against Sheng Rufei’s shoulder, he drifted back to sleep, still clutching his robe. Only when he held on did he feel at ease.
Half-asleep, he felt a light touch at the tip of his nose. Recognising the familiar presence, he did not stir, slipping back into sleep.
In one corner of the temple, candlelight flickered. Beyond it lay endless darkness.
Within the darkness, black mist coiled and shifted. Crimson blossoms spread in clusters, thick and heavy as spilled blood, silently proclaiming the will of their unseen master.
