Rong Xuanhe had a subtle feeling that Su Wenchuan’s image had just turned a bit more green.
He quickly shook his head to banish the thought, but his mind still could not help turning things over and over in circles.
Could it really be that he looked so much like that Dao companion of Su Wenchuan’s?
Otherwise, how else could one explain this man spending a fortune at the Golden Pavilion, making him call him husband, and staring at him in the dead of night with that hair-raising gaze?
Yet if that really was the case, why did the man use a sword to press against his throat during their very first meeting?
The youth instinctively touched his neck, shifting the topic: “What kind of person was he?”
The attendant reminisced for a moment and said, “Not many people on the mountain have seen him, and I haven’t either. But I heard from the older generation of attendants that he was a very good person with a warm and gentle temperament, who never spoke in a loud voice and loved to smile at everyone. He was a prized disciple of a certain elder in the Taixu Sect, and many people liked him.”
The standard template for a white moonlight.
Rong Xuanhe mentally applied the label, nodded, and said, “I understand. Thank you for telling me all this.”
He leaned back against the carriage wall, feeling a complex mix of emotions that was hard to pin down, a bit of disappointment, yet also a bit of relief.
The disappointing part was that the substitute system had blindly hit the right mark on the first try, meaning he really did have to play the role of a substitute. The relieving part was that he had finally figured out his positioning, so he no longer had to guess back and forth and live in anxious suspense.
Wasn’t it just playing a substitute? Out of all the unimportant supporting roles, he was the absolute best at this one.
After letting his mind run wild for a while with his fingers unconsciously twisting his sash, Rong Xuanhe suddenly realized a serious problem.
The substitute system had not issued a single task ever since it was bound to him.
Rong Xuanhe opened the system interface, flipped back and forth through it multiple times, and even poked at the screen, but the system remained as quiet as a chicken without even a single notification sound, acting as if it had completely forgotten it was still bound to a host.
On the other hand, that reward pool was sparkling brilliantly, making his mouth water with envy.
For the very first time, Rong Xuanhe genuinely hoped the system would hurry up and issue a task.
He tentatively called out in his mind, “Are you there?”
The system ignored him.
“Can you hear me?”
Still no response.
Rong Xuanhe had no choice but to soften his tone: “Are you still holding a grudge because I wanted to unbind a few nights ago? Stop being mad, okay? I was just joking.”
Silence.
“Are you really angry?” he guiltily probed. “Say something, will you? Even if you want to curse me out twice, that’s fine, I promise I won’t talk back.”
Never would he have thought he would see the day when he had to beg the system to issue a task.
The system maintained its silent cold treatment.
“I’m begging you, please!”
Rong Xuanhe cast aside all his pride and pleaded eagerly, “You’ve been dangling rewards in front of me for days now. I’m begging System Lord to give me a task, please don’t ignore me, okay? Whatever you say goes, I promise I’ll complete it properly!”
Perhaps his sincere earnestness finally touched the system, as a crisp mechanical voice suddenly rang out.
[Quest Triggered: Reunion with My Love]
[Host, please say to Su Wenchuan before 12 tonight: “Little Immortal Lord, long time no see. Did you miss me?”]
Rong Xuanhe: “Ah?”
He stroked his chin and fell into deep thought: “Does this have anything to do with being a substitute?”
Based on his many years of industry experience with lines, the first half sounded like he was impersonating the other person’s white moonlight, while the second half felt like a sweet-pampering system wearing a skin-resurrection mask.
“You aren’t still plotting revenge against me, are you?” the youth could not help asking.
Having finished issuing the task, the system ignored him once more, not even leaving a countdown behind. Rong Xuanhe stared at the panel for a good while, wondering if there would be no punishment whatsoever if he refused to do it.
Even so, the moment he heard the commotion of Su Wenchuan’s return, he quickly shut his eyes and silently counted down three numbers.
Three, two, one.
A hand lifted the carriage curtain right on schedule.
Rong Xuanhe pretended to be startled awake by the movement, rubbed his eyes as he turned his head, and softly mumbled, “Little Immortal Lord, long time no see, did you miss me?”
The moment those words left his mouth, the air seemed to freeze over.
Su Wenchuan abruptly raised his head.
Time seemed dragged back to that night at the Golden Pavilion; the cold, aloof gaze cracked open, gushing forth with scorching heat and madness, surging so violently it nearly swallowed a person whole.
A cold, bone-deep hatred.
The man strode into the carriage, leaned down, clamped a hand around Rong Xuanhe’s arm, and hauled him straight up. His eyes were pitch-black and murky, as if churning with monstrous waves.
He rasped out, “You say that again.”
Rong Xuanhe almost screamed out in pain. Meeting Su Wenchuan’s eyes, a prickle of unease ran down his spine.
Could it be that he guessed wrong?
This wasn’t a white moonlight, but a black moonlight?
The youth tried to yank his wrist free, but to no avail, Su Wenchuan’s grip was far too strong, as if he meant to shatter his bones to pieces.
Su Wenchuan demanded harshly, “Say it again!”
“I will say it, why are you being so fierce?”
Rong Xuanhe panicked, his tongue failing to obey him as he stammered out words in a rush: “What I meant was, a day apart is like three autumns. Though we weren’t apart for a full day, but a quarter of an hour apart can still count as half an autumn. Right?”
Yet this remark only stoked the hostility radiating from the man before him, making it denser and sharper until it nearly condensed into physical form, as if he might draw his sword to kill at any second.
The pressure on his wrist kept increasing, while Su Wenchuan’s other hand had somehow found its way to his neck, his thumb resting against the side of his throat with a chilling touch, threatening to close shut at any moment.
Rong Xuanhe’s heart tightened in terror, causing him to shrink backward.
The more he retreated, the harder Su Wenchuan pressed forward, his expression terrifyingly gloomy until he backed him into a corner with nowhere left to run, his entire frame pinned tightly against the carriage wall and completely caged in by the other man’s imposing build, blocking out every shred of outside light.
“System save me, I don’t want to be killed by him!”
He cried out frantically in his mind, reaching out to grab the hand Su Wenchuan had clamped around his neck. Before he could even struggle, he tripped over himself and tumbled onto the seat cushion.
Where you fall is where you lie down, Rong Xuanhe immediately curled up into a ball, caving in and admitting defeat with crisp efficiency: “I promise I’ll never say that sentence again!”
He was on the verge of tears, but the anticipated pain never arrived.
The hand on his neck shifted upward, gripping his jaw tightly to force the youth to lift his face.
Su Wenchuan stared straight into his face, which was all thunder and no rain, his chest heaving violently a few times before he closed his eyes.
After howling in fake distress for a while, the youth belatedly realized he was actually still alive.
His voice hitched as he cautiously opened one eye. Catching the man’s knife-like glare, he lost his spine entirely and shrank back down.
The two of them remained locked in this stalemate, Rong Xuanhe pinned to the seat, Su Wenchuan half-kneeling beside him with one hand still clamped around his chin, a posture both ambiguous and dangerous.
The attendant asked from outside, “Honored Lord, shall we rest now?”
Su Wenchuan did not answer, his gaze nailed stubbornly to Rong Xuanhe’s face.
Like a rabbit whose neck was caught in a trap and seeing no hope of escape, the youth chose to play dead.
The attendant spoke up once more, “Honored Lord?”
Su Wenchuan finally made a move.
He loosened his grip, flicked two fingers, and instantly extinguished the campfire outside.
Accompanied by the attendant’s voice of confusion, the light plunged into sudden darkness, making it impossible to see anything except for the two heavy, ragged breaths inside the carriage intertwining together.
Rong Xuanhe’s heart pounded wildly, feeling as though he was about to be silenced to cover up a secret.
He scrambled up in a panic, wanting to flee, but ended up crashing right into the forehead of the person leaning over him. With a soft “ah,” he fell backward again.
The figure above did not dodge or evade, pressing straight down over him.
Su Wenchuan groped for Rong Xuanhe’s left hand, threading his fingers one by one through the gaps of his own to lock them tightly together, while his other hand propped against the cushion beside the youth’s ear, fencing him completely within a narrow inch of space.
The next instant, Rong Xuanhe’s wrist abruptly began to burn with heat.
This pain was far more pronounced than the earlier grip, feeling like a heavy blow from a dull club, and he could not help crying out.
“So painful!”
The youth tried to pull his hand back, only to be held down so firmly he could not budge, leaving him at the mercy of that iron-tight grip.
The agony suddenly subsided by half.
Faint moonlight leaked in through a gap, and in his dazed state, Rong Xuanhe seemed to see a faint reddish glow pulsing from both of their intertwined wrists. Before he could ponder the cause, physiological tears welled up at the corners of his eyes, streaming down his cheeks.
He whimpered with a soft, tearful begging tone: “Senior, My Lord, I was wrong, please don’t hurt me anymore.”
Instead of letting go, Su Wenchuan gripped his hand even tighter.
Looking down at Rong Xuanhe from on high, the man’s voice was heavy with suppressed anger: “An unfaithful and untrustworthy person, a person with a mind but no heart, a person who turns his back on morality for profit, which one of you are you?”
What unfaithful, untrustworthy, and turning his back on profit?
Rong Xuanhe thrashed about in his arms, unable to process a single word. Suspecting Su Wenchuan was dead set on slicing him to pieces tonight, he asked with aggrieved grievance: “Will it stop hurting if I choose one?”
“No.”
Su Wenchuan coldly shoved him back to his original spot. Rong Xuanhe weakly kicked his legs in protest, though this feeble struggle felt less than a tickle to the person pinning him down, making him look rather like a turtle flipped onto its back.
Panicking now, he whipped his head around and fiercely sank his teeth into the back of Su Wenchuan’s hand: “How can you be like this!”
He might as well just grant him a quick death.
He bit down hard on that section of the back of the hand, imagining he was gnawing on a bone, exerting so much force his jaw ached and his teeth sank deep into the flesh.
“You heartless bastard, I’ll bite you to death!”
Unexpectedly, Su Wenchuan did not budge an inch, simply letting him bite down as if that hand did not belong to him at all.
Rong Xuanhe figured he must have missed the vital spot, so he angrily shifted targets and lunged forward to bite down fiercely on the man’s chin, which was right within reach.
Su Wenchuan’s pupils contracted slightly.
In an instant, the pain vanished without a trace.
All sensation was completely stripped away, leaving behind only a blank, numb void.
The youth relaxed his jaw, falling back limp against the cushion as he trembled weakly, as though that phantom agony still lingered in his body and refused to leave easily.
After panting for a long while, he finally mustered a sliver of strength to turn his head and inspect his wrist.
His vision was blurred by tears so he could see nothing clearly. As he moved his fingers, he could no longer feel the presence of his left hand.
Rong Xuanhe panicked, a soft, sticky crying sound slipping from his nasal passages as large tears fell in droplets.
Su Wenchuan said coldly, “Didn’t you let go?”
“My hand…” The youth lifted his gaze, water droplets still pooled in his reddened eye rims, his voice laced with the utmost grievance: “Is it broken?”
The man wrapped his hand around Rong Xuanhe’s and pulled it up.
It wasn’t broken, it was completely fine. All five fingers were present, and even the red marks had vanished.
Rong Xuanhe hurriedly shoved his wrist back into his robes like a treasure newly recovered from loss, eyelashes clinging with teardrops, his nose bright red as he gave intermittent little sniffs.
He was truly terrified of Su Wenchuan now, and even began to regret why he had ever spoken that line.
If he hadn’t said it, he wouldn’t have been punished. For a brief moment just then, he genuinely thought he had lost a hand.
“This is a life-bond,” Su Wenchuan’s voice carried no discernible emotion. “It’s not an execution.”
Only then did Rong Xuanhe realize he had accidentally spoken his inner thoughts aloud.
He pressed his lips together and whispered, “But it hurt a lot, you know.”
He had no idea why Su Wenchuan had to use this method to punish him, he would have preferred a good scolding instead.
Su Wenchuan lowered his gaze and extended a hand. Rong Xuanhe’s body reacted faster than his brain, even with nowhere left to retreat, he instinctively flinched, pulling back to put up a defensive posture.