Xiao Tao blinked. All along the way, Pei Zizhuo’s gaze had been glued entirely to Shen Shu, and remembering the elaborate scene the man had dragged her into playing out earlier, she could not help feeling that he reeked of a knocked-over vinegar jar.
Having lived as a demon for many years, she knew the wisdom of walking softly and speaking prudently to avoid disaster, so she gave a brief acknowledgment through the wooden door and hurried out of the side chamber.
The long night was quiet and still.
Pei Zizhuo sat cross-legged on the couch, closing his eyes to regulate his breathing. Having neither consumed the Origin Yin Pill nor suffered any intrusion from the malevolent qi, tonight’s cold poison was uncharacteristically late in flaring up.
Shen Shu sat properly beside the candle, poking his head out from time to time to look at the man on the couch.
He knew Pei Zizhuo possessed extraordinary endurance, only showing vulnerability when his spiritual power failed to suppress the backlash and his blood vessels were on the verge of being sealed.
Yet as the red candle burned down to its last weeping wax tears, Shen Shu could no longer sit still. He approached the bed and extended his hand toward Pei Zizhuo’s side, gauging the temperature of his body from a short distance away.
He remembered that Pei Zizhuo disliked being touched, but fearing he might misjudge if he stayed too far, he hovered his hand as close to the man’s neck as possible.
Only after feeling the warmth beneath the man’s skin did he feel reassured, pull his hand back, and return to the Eight Immortals table.
The night was tranquil, with moonlight pouring in through the window. Guided by the moonlight, Shen Shu lowered his head to count the dripping tears of the red candle. Calculating that another half-hour had passed, he rose once more like a thief, approached the bed, and lifted a hand to touch Pei Zizhuo’s neck.
Just as before, the moment he felt the warmth, he retracted his hand and retreated to his original spot.
Seeing that the midnight hour was approaching, Shen Shu picked at the leg of his stool, feeling a growing trace of anxiety. Yet Pei Zizhuo remained as motionless as an old monk in meditation.
Had he not witnessed firsthand how terrifying the previous two flare-ups were, Shen Shu would certainly not have been on such tenterhooks.
Before he could even warm his seat this time, he repeated the exact same routine.
Shen Shu possessed the appearance of a youth, and his hands were as clean as a young man’s. Illuminated by the moonlight, his slender fingers looked like delicate white jade.
With utmost caution, he brought his hand silently close, fixing his gaze on Pei Zizhuo’s face and making sure not to cross any boundaries.
Perhaps the true fire he had left in the other man’s spiritual sea days prior had finally taken effect; Pei Zizhuo did not knit his brows, his thick eyelashes fell peacefully into place, and his stern features were softened by the moonlight, looking so tranquil that he hardly resembled himself.
This calmed-down visage was far too handsome, stirring up an idle wave of ripples in one’s heart. Holding his breath and losing his focus for a split second, Shen Shu accidentally poked his hand right against Pei Zizhuo’s neck.
As his fingertip brushed against the warmth, Shen Shu hurriedly tried to pull his hand away, but the next second, his wrist was seized and he was yanked forward.
Caught completely off guard, feeling as though he had been in the middle of a bad deed, he panicked so much he could not even resist as Pei Zizhuo pulled him straight into his embrace, pressing his palm directly against the man’s Adam’s apple.
His back stiffened into a board. He leaned over rigidly, and before he knew it, he occupied the higher vantage point, lowering his gaze right into Pei Zizhuo’s striking eyes.
For a moment, neither spoke, leaving only the faint, elusive fragrance of snow lotus lingering in the room.
Shen Shu clearly felt the movement of Pei Zizhuo’s throat rolling beneath his palm as the man rasped in a hoarse voice, “Why are you blushing?”
Feeling as though he had been scorched by fire, he yanked his hand back and stammered out repeated apologies, “I just wanted to check if your cold poison was acting up. I did not mean to disturb your cultivation.”
Although Pei Zizhuo had been closing his eyes to regulate his breathing, he had not shut off his five senses; he had intended to play the role of bait. Only the wait had stretched out far longer than expected, and it wasn’t until the red candle had burned down that he finally sensed Danxiao making a move.
The chilling blade in his palm was already prepared, waiting for someone to walk right into the trap, yet Danxiao had merely touched him from afar and pulled his hand back.
Pei Zizhuo had initially thought his cover was blown, but when Danxiao retreated his hand a second time, it finally dawned on him that the man was merely checking his body temperature to see if the cold poison had flared up.
A strange knot tightened in his chest, leaving him with an odd, hard-to-read taste in his mouth. What on earth was Danxiao plotting behind the scenes?
Even if Danxiao had not touched him just then, he was about to open his eyes and demand an answer anyway.
He had meant to make an issue of it, but perhaps putting too much force into the pull, he had hauled the youth straight into his arms and slammed right against him. By all rights, he should have been the one at a disadvantage, yet seeing Danxiao’s flushed and embarrassed expression made it look as though he was the one who had taken advantage instead.
Pei Zizhuo had always done as he pleased, casting his conscience aside for the briefest moment as he pressed down on the youth and deliberately made mischief. “You nearly frightened my true qi into running off course.”
“Ah?” Shen Shu bit his lower lip softly, his peach-blossom eyes swimming with helplessness as he stammered nervously, “Sorry, I will definitely be careful next time.”
Taking in that reaction without missing a beat and finding it thoroughly pleasing, Master Pei released him, half-lying on the couch while propping up his head, narrowing his eyes as he said, “We will talk about next time later. Sleep.”
With that, he rolled over briskly with his back facing inward, leaving Shen Shu with a straight, emotionless, and utterly detached back.
The bed inside the side chamber was by no means small, easily capable of accommodating at least three people. Having temporarily fished his conscience back out, Pei Zizhuo claimed only half the domain.
Shen Shu lay properly on the couch, folding his hands over his lower abdomen while staring wide-eyed straight up at the bed curtains. Past the midnight hour now, Pei Zizhuo still showed no signs of illness; could it be that the cold poison was not going to act up tonight?
Outside the window, only the cawing of crows could be heard without a trace of sunrise, making the night feel all the more agonizingly long.
While one person lay filled with unease and unable to sleep, the other was faring no better.
Pei Zizhuo had fallen into a nightmare.
Much like countless times before, he found himself back on top of the Morning Bell Tower in the Sixteen Prefectures of Yanyun, completely alone, standing against a thousand sword-wielding cultivators filling the sky.
The sky was shrouded in thick, heavy fog, dark and oppressive, with heavy, gloomy clouds swallowing up the thunder across the heavens and crushing the breath right out of people’s lungs.
“He is the one who slaughtered the Sixteen Prefectures of Yanyun. He has fallen into the demonic path.”
Pei Zizhuo knelt halfway on the bell tower, leaning on a shattered sword. His blue outer robe was dyed crimson with blood, and several fatal sword wounds had torn open his flesh, exposing stark white bone.
This was a dream. He reminded himself of this over and over, desperately trying to smash through the shackles of the nightmare. Yet on the bell tower, scorched earth mingled with the smell of blood carried on the wind. An indescribably foul, putrid stench assailed his nostrils, vividly nauseating, while the stone floor was littered with countless severed limbs and headless corpses. It felt as though those lifeless hands were clutching him tightly, rendering him completely unable to move.
A single bead of blood dripped from the broken sword with a soft clink, rolling into the sea of red below and sending out crimson ripples.
Hearing the sound, Pei Zizhuo raised his head. His eyes were already stained blood-red by the carnage, and the overlapping phantom figures in the distance gradually magnified before him, launching unsparing, vicious verbal abuse: “This is thousands of lives. You are someone who came from Yanyun, have your conscience and humanity been eaten by dogs?”
“Is this the esteemed disciple of Shanhaigong? The sole Heavenly Spirit Root? Ha, what use is talent when you have lost your humanity and still dare to dream of ascension?”
“Today, let everyone here purge the cultivation world’s ranks. Execute Pei Zizhuo. Bring justice back to heaven and earth.”
“Execute Pei Zizhuo. Bring justice back to heaven and earth.”
Countless pairs of mouths spat out slogans of righteous indignation, righteous and furious enough to outrage both gods and men, weaving around Pei Zizhuo’s ears like a tight incantation that refused to be shaken off.
“Ha.” Pei Zizhuo let out a cold snort. How had he retorted back then? Had he flown into a rage, or argued fiercely? He had forgotten; perhaps he really had gone mad at that moment.
The dark clouds grew even thicker as those black shadows in the sky descended one by one, tearing off a hundred different faces right beside his ear and roaring with fury, mockery, and malicious glee.
The noise pounded agonizingly inside Pei Zizhuo’s head. Once more, he raised his sword, pointing it at those self-righteous hypocrites. He already knew how the story ended, yet still he refused to bow his head and admit defeat. Was it not just a hundred swords piercing his heart? No matter how much it hurt, having experienced it hundreds of times, he had long since grown numb to it.
A crisp snap rang out, standing out with startling clarity amid the din. A spark no larger than a bean ignited into a tiny flame, drifting softly down from the sky and enveloping him within its warmth.
This speck of light chased away the dark clouds, banished the nightmare, and proved both warm and searingly hot.
Light returned to his surroundings, the clamor at his ears faded away, and Pei Zizhuo lowered the hand covering his face to stare blankly at the fire.
He had seen plenty of fires in his past: candles, lamps, sparks struck from stone, yet he had never felt such an intense craving for warmth. Driven by an impulse he could not explain, he reached out to grab it, thinking that even if his skin were scorched and his flesh burned away, it would be a price worth paying.
Yet the fire seemed to possess a spiritual intelligence of its own; it drifted lightly into his palm, rubbing against him affectionately while radiating an endless wave of warmth.
Where had this fire come from? Dyed a brilliant crimson throughout, pulsing with a soft, gentle radiance, it was simply breathtaking.
Holding it protectively, raising it right before his eyes without daring to breathe a single heavy breath, Pei Zizhuo treasured it like a priceless gem.
Suddenly, snowflakes began to flutter down from the sky, carrying a biting, bone-chilling cold as they fell, so piercing that it nearly caused Pei Zizhuo to lose his grip on the flame.
In the blink of an eye, however, a heavy, goose-feather blizzard poured down in torrents, the freezing wind whipping ice crystals across his face as though plunging him straight into the depths of winter.
Cold. It was so cold that his limbs stiffened and frost coated his face. Yet Pei Zizhuo still clutched that tiny bean of fire for dear life, burying it deep against his chest and using his entire body to block the freezing gale, shielding it completely.
Until his consciousness drifted away, and he was on the verge of freezing to death within this bitter cold.
Suddenly, a wave of heat flared up from behind, and Pei Zizhuo was instantly enveloped by a scorching body. That person held him close in his arms, grasped his freezing hands tightly, and breathed hot, blazing air against his ear as he said in a soft, gentle voice:
“Do not be afraid, I am here.”