"Dear Hangiang, wake up, wake…"
"Dear Hangiang, wake up, wake up now."
Xia Ji stared at the bizarre chicken-wing-stuffed-rice in her dream and jolted awake.
Several palace lanterns were placed around the room, their dim moonlight-like glow spilling across the entire space.
Xia Ji lifted her head and met Bujing Nu's face directly. The youth knelt beside the bed, smiling faintly at her.
He was handsome, with large eyes. When he wasn't smiling, his gaze fixed on a person made their heart run cold, but when he smiled, he looked utterly innocent. Bujing Nu smiled and tugged at her arm.
"Hangiang, why are you crying? What's wrong?"
Tears?
Xia Ji touched her own face, her fingertips meeting the wetness streaming down.
Dreaming of regrets from reality, she felt an unbearable ache—so much so that she was actually crying in the waking world.
"I understand. Someone in your family died, and you're grieving, aren't you?" Bujing Nu's face still wore that smile. Hearing his words and seeing his expression, Xia Ji couldn't help but feel a lump in her throat. "I've been thinking lately—no wonder you fell ill. It had nothing to do with me. It was because someone in your family died, leaving you troubled and unsettled. It was those fools in your family who made you sick."
If the original body were still alive, hearing Bujing Nu's words would probably have angered her to death on the spot.
"Hangiang, everyone dies sooner or later."
He said this with a completely indifferent tone and expression, still gripping her arm to pull her up. "The people in your family were truly stupid. If they didn't die today, they'd die tomorrow. Fools always die young. Just think of it as them descending to the Underworld, gaining divine powers, and going off to enjoy their blessings. Cheer up, Hangiang."
He was actually comforting her.
What Xia Ji didn't know was that this was the first time Bujing Nu had ever comforted anyone in his life. The only words of comfort he could come up with were these, nothing more.
When Xia Ji had been ill, a physician had come and said her sickness was caused by emotional distress. Both Xia Ji and Bujing Nu had been listening at the time. Xia Ji knew the real reason for her illness—she cared about few things, mainly food, clothing, and sleep. Food had to be good, had to be what she loved. Clothing had to be comfortable. Sleep had to be sufficient. Staying with Bujing Nu, she hadn't eaten well, had worn dirty clothes all day, had been frightened by him, and couldn't even sleep soundly. It would have been strange if she hadn't fallen ill.
It had nothing to do with the original body's family. She'd only met them once, and the only impression they left was a desolate, terrifying feeling when she remembered that those faces were now dead.
Though the original body's family had sworn their loyalty even as they lay dying—not the smartest move, true—if the original body had heard Bujing Nu's words, she probably would have hanged herself the moment he left.
"Descending to the Underworld to enjoy blessings," indeed.
Even the dead would rise from their graves in anger at that.
Xia Ji was practically at a loss for words. Bujing Nu pulled her over to the bedside and put her shoes on for her. Her illness had only just improved, and now he was disturbing her sleep. She couldn't help but furrow her brows. "What are you doing in the middle of the night?"
"Taking you to listen to some opera."
"Opera? In the middle of the night?"
"Yes."
Bujing Nu picked up a palace lantern from the side, stood, and led Xia Ji outside. The season had clearly entered autumn proper, and this residence was extremely remote, backed against a mountain forest. The moment Xia Ji stepped out, a cold wind hit her square in the face, making her sneeze.
She wasn't even wearing pants under this pomegranate-red skirt.
Having been threatened with a knife by Bujing Nu just days before, Xia Ji had barely spoken to him during her recovery. A modern person facing a madman with no moral compass would genuinely feel afraid. Xia Ji sniffled, thinking she'd just endure it.
But the youth walking ahead turned back. He stopped in his tracks, reached up to touch her face, then leaned in, bending down to press his cheek against hers.
"Hangiang," the youth said, standing very close, his features bathed in the dim light, his phoenix eyes fixed steadily on her. "You're cold, yet you didn't tell me. Why?"
Xia Ji pressed her lips together slightly. Under his gaze, she found it hard to speak.
She didn't dare make any requests or say anything to him now. The feeling of a dagger against her throat was far too terrifying.
Xia Ji valued her life dearly now.
"Aren't we going to see the opera? Let's go."
Bujing Nu said nothing, then led her back inside. The wooden clogs he wore today also had little bells attached, jingling as he walked. Once inside, he shoved Xia Ji onto the bed.
Xia Ji hadn't even processed what was happening.
Bujing Nu's dagger was at her throat again, nearly touching her skin, as he pressed closer inch by inch. "How annoying. If Hangiang keeps hiding things from me and makes herself sick again from bottling it up, I'll kill you."
Xia Ji: …
She closed her eyes. Bujing Nu was actually threatening her. Seeing the obvious watery fear in the woman's apricot eyes, Bujing Nu sheathed his dagger and pulled several thick garments from the wardrobe, tossing them to her.
They were all winter clothes.
"…These are too thick. If I wear them, I'll get sick again. I'll get heatstroke."
Bujing Nu frowned, then simply dumped all the clothes from the wardrobe onto Xia Ji. She hurriedly shuffled to the edge of the bed, lowering her head to pick through the clothes to wear. Her soft face was framed by a few loose strands of hair, looking utterly pitiful.
But in her heart, she was nowhere near as pitiful and delicate as she appeared on her face.
Xia Ji rummaged through the clothes under Bujing Nu's watchful gaze, biting her lip. It was a long moment before she lifted her head, her heart pounding.
The beautiful young man was wearing a sapphire-blue brocade robe tonight, his ink-black hair still loose and unbound. The blue made his features seem even more stunningly lovely. Xia Ji's apricot-shaped eyes fixed on him. "Do I have to tell you every thought in my heart? But last time I did, you drew a blade on me."
"Last time your intentions were impure."
"You're not a worm in my belly—how would you know my intentions were impure? I truly hadn't thought of it that way at the time." He'd hit her weak spot again, but Xia Ji's voice was always soft and gentle; even when exposed, her tone didn't falter.
The woman curled up on the bed had a fair, delicate face full of a pitiable, endearing expression. Bujing Nu looked at her. He knew this expression well—many noble ladies from great families wore it. Hangiang was also born of a great clan, but her eyes were always different from the others.
She had always looked straight at him.
"Why should I bother with you?" Bujing Nu grew annoyed. He piled the clothes over toward Xia Ji's side, then smiled at her—shamelessly, yet the smile was extraordinarily handsome. "Good Hangiang, hurry and dress yourself, then come out with me."
"Why are you having me watch a play?" Xia Ji steeled herself. No matter what, she had to get this off her chest tonight, or she'd suffocate from keeping it in. "And hiring a cook for me, buying me clothes…"
"I want Hangiang to get better," Bujing Nu said without mincing words. "Once you're better, Hangiang won't die, and you can stay with me forever. Am I good or not?"
Who wanted to praise him?
Xia Ji's apricot eyes lowered slightly. She said, "Good."
"I am good!" Bujing Nu's brows curved with delight. Who knew why he was so happy? He leaned in, pressing his face against Xia Ji's.
"So you wanting me to tell you everything in my heart—that's also because you want me to get better?"
"Of course. Didn't the physician say so? Hangiang fell ill because of what's in her heart. Hangiang should tell me everything," he said, his mood improved, pressing even closer, speaking as if he were coaxing and cuddling, sweet and intimate. "Whoever wronged you, made you unhappy, or you can't stand the sight of—I'll go kill them for you. Whatever you want to eat, whatever you want to play with, whatever's on your mind—you can tell me all of it."
The words were far too moving. If she could, Xia Ji truly wanted to have him assassinate her unlucky boss from her past life who used to scold her for no reason.
"Then when I tell you what's in my heart—any of it—you can't easily draw a blade on me, good Bujing Nu." Xia Ji had used every trick she had in her arsenal. After speaking, she pressed her face firmly against his again.
"Deal?" Xia Ji asked him.
Bujing Nu lowered his gaze, looking at her hand resting on the bed. Hangiang's hand was fair and soft, without a single callus, pleasant to the touch.
"Mm."
Xia Ji rose and smiled at him.
"Then go out and wait for me a moment while I change." She gave him a push.
Xia Ji found a fox-fur neck scarf. Beneath a frost-white horse-face skirt she wore brocade trousers, and on top she put on a round-collar wide-sleeved robe in a pale pinkish hue. She simply pinned up her ink-black hair with a white jade hairpin—this was the first time since arriving here that she'd done her own hair, relying on her past experience wearing hanfu, though the result was quite sloppy.
When she came out, Bujing Nu circled around her, examining her for a long while.
The young man, wearing wooden clogs with little bells dangling from them, reached out to touch her clothes, then her hairpin, fidgeting with her, full of novelty, before taking her hand and leading her along.
Xia Ji had assumed they were going out somewhere, but they wound past the garden, the winding corridors beside the curved pond, and crossed two koi ponds before she realized—the troupe had been invited to the residence.
Ah…
She'd overthought it.
Xia Ji sat down and looked at the grand stage ahead. The stage was part of the residence itself, very large. Xia Ji had caught a glimpse of it when she'd gone to the back courtyard to bathe last time, but she'd only glanced at it then, thinking the ancient stage looked rather eerie, with rows of chairs set out below it, and hadn't dared go closer to inspect it.
There was even a second level above. Since it was just Xia Ji and Bujing Nu watching together, they stayed inside, seated in the front row.
"Miss, please select a play."
An old woman came around from behind the stage, smiling with great eagerness, her face painted with opera makeup, her accent somewhat strange. Xia Ji found it a bit unsettling, but then she remembered Bujing Nu was right beside her, and any gods or ghosts scattered far away.
Before this, Xia Ji had never properly looked at the writing of this era—she'd only seen Bujing Nu's handwriting, which looked like ghost scribbles. The old woman brought over a bamboo tube filled with bamboo slips inscribed with play titles. Xia Ji picked one up to look—she couldn't recognize a single character.
Though they were much neater than Bujing Nu's ghost scribbles, quite regular in form, Xia Ji frowned deeply. She couldn't read them well at all, and didn't want to expose herself. A flash of inspiration struck: "May I draw lots instead?"
"The young misses all love drawing lots. Just give the tube a shake with your noble hand."
Xia Ji breathed a sigh of relief. Before the silent, deep stage she shook the bamboo tube. No one spoke; only the slips clattering against the tube's walls broke the quiet—clack, clack—until one slip fell out.
"Excellent luck, miss. You've drawn The Romance of the Western Chamber."
The old woman smiled warmly, bowed to Xia Ji, and went behind the stage. Several musicians came up first to light the candles. Xia Ji was watching closely when her arm was poked.
It startled her.
The stage lights blazed one by one in succession. Bujing Nu's ink-black hair spilled over his white-robed shoulders, the hazy light and shadow casting his skin as pale as snow, his lips a deep red. His dark pupils fixed on her, veiled and indistinct, his phoenix eyes narrowing slightly as he gripped her hand. "You can't read."
Xia Ji's heart plummeted with fright.
She'd always felt Bujing Nu was frightening, as if he could see through everything. But she never imagined that from just that brief pause, how had he figured it out?
"I—"
Just then, the actors on stage made their grand entrance in full makeup, and the music began to play. A performance of The Romance of the Western Chamber unfolded on the night stage, truly captivating—but neither of the two below was watching. One couldn't understand a thing, and the other sat nailed to her chair in terror, her face even paler than the actors on stage.
When The Romance of the Western Chamber ended, the old woman brought out the fortune sticks to continue. Xia Ji was forced to pick up the bamboo tube. After shaking it only twice, she could no longer bear it. She turned her head and looked at Bujing Nu, trembling.
"I don't want to watch anymore."
"Oh."
The youth was clearly drowsy, his phoenix eyes drooping. "Not good to watch? I didn't think so either." He lifted his gaze, glancing at the old woman standing to the side. Caught by his look, she trembled, a stiff smile frozen on her face, her legs already shaking so badly she was about to collapse to her knees.
"What was that drivel." With one airy remark, the old woman dropped to her knees.
"Spare me, my lord! Spare me!"
"It's good! I think it's quite good!" Xia Ji couldn't stay seated any longer and hurriedly called out.
"What's good about it?"
"Everything's good, really! So interesting, so touching! Such a well-matched pair!"
Bujing Nu looked at her, let out a cold snort, and rose to his feet. "I knew you all loved this sort of thing, so I specially hired them for you. Am I good to you?"
"Good." Too good. So good Xia Ji was about to cry.
Bujing Nu glanced down at the kneeling old woman, then raised his eyes to Xia Ji's pale face. He smiled, his dark, eerily beautiful features turning strikingly radiant. "What's the matter? Did I say I was going to kill someone?"
"No, get up quickly!" Xia Ji hurriedly called to the old woman, terrified that if she lingered even a moment longer, Bujing Nu would chase her down with a blade. Not only would the old woman suffer a heavy loss, but Xia Ji's psychological trauma would climb another level.
"Yes… yes!" The old woman bowed repeatedly to Xia Ji in gratitude and withdrew, and even the musicians on stage scrambled to pack up and flee.
Everything returned to normal, leaving only Xia Ji and Bujing Nu standing beneath the softly glowing stage. Her heart was churning with what had just happened, restless and uneasy. She turned back, about to stammer out some excuse, when Bujing Nu yawned.
His large phoenix eyes were heavy with drowsiness, his dark pupils staring off somewhere for a moment before he took her hand and led her back the way they came.
He said not a single word.
It made Xia Ji's heart pound with unease, until she heard the youth's lazy voice from ahead: "Hangiang, your hand is warmer than usual."
Xia Ji: …Probably because she was so flustered, her whole body was burning hot.
She wasn't the type to keep things bottled up. What she hid in her heart would leak out on her face—the kind of person whose expression turned slightly cunning when she wanted to haggle, whose face showed all her slyness when she wanted to slack off. One roll of her eyes and even her colleagues who knew her well could tell what she was up to.
"B-Bujing Nu."
"Hm?"
Xia Ji decided to appeal to reason and emotion: "Just now you said I can't read, and you hit the mark. I'm an unfavored concubine's daughter at home—everyone treats me like I'm invisible. Invisible, meaning they all pretend not to see me. Mm… even the maids speak rudely to me. I never had the right to read books—"
I'm sorry, original body, I know you wrote beautifully, but I really can't recognize the characters of this era. I don't know them all!
"So, I can't even recognize all the characters. No one ever taught me."
As she spoke, Xia Ji put on a sorrowful expression, terrified of letting any crack show on her face. She lowered her head. In the cold autumn night, the woman stood alone and helpless, looking utterly pitiful.
The youth walking ahead of her had been about to continue on, but when Xia Ji stopped, he halted as well. The bells hanging from his wooden clogs rang twice with a crisp jingle.
"What's that to me? I'm tired. If you dawdle any longer, I'll kill you, Hangiang."
What the hell!
Xia Ji's scalp prickled. You've got the wrong script! She instantly lifted her pale face, full of panic, not daring to delay a moment. She hurried forward, pulling Bujing Nu along, the bells chiming behind her.
But from behind, she heard the youth's soft laughter drift out. His laugh was extremely pleasant—clear, lazy, and warm—utterly mismatched with the person he was.
Yet right now, Xia Ji felt everything about him carried an inexplicable air of menace.
She felt a bit angry inside, though her body showed fear. Her soft, fair face held both fear and barely concealed irritation as she frowned, pressed her lips together, and glared back at him. When Bujing Nu saw her face, he laughed even louder.
How could Xia Ji dare to stop? She pressed her lips together again and again, walking forward while glancing back, struggling with every step, terrified that this madman might suddenly slash her. She didn't dare walk slowly either, afraid that Bujing Nu would poke her bottom with the tip of his knife. Though he had never done such a thing, nothing he did would be surprising.
"Wh-What are you laughing at!"
"Hangiang is amusing," Bujing Nu's drowsy, laughing voice drifted into her ears. "Why do you tell me this? Do you want me to kill someone for you?"
"That's not what I meant!" Xia Ji nearly jumped at the mention of killing. "I'm telling you my troubles!"
"I take care of all of Hangiang's troubles," Bujing Nu's footsteps followed behind her. "But killing others for Hangiang is easy enough—I can't kill the dead. Aren't all the Xia family dead already? Hangiang, the dead deserve respect. You hold quite a grudge—you won't even let the dead go. I can't kill the dead."
Heavens above! You talk about respecting the dead! When did I hold a grudge? When did I refuse to let the dead go!
"I didn't ask you to kill anyone!" She felt her lifespan shortening—her lifespan!
"Then why did you tell me this?" Bujing Nu couldn't understand that someone might want to vent their grievances. In his view, this meant asking him to kill someone, and indeed, that was the truth—just kill whoever was troubling you. His mind seemed utterly incapable of understanding "venting," an emotion closely tied to empathy.
In that instant, Xia Ji also understood why Bujing Nu would think this way. She stopped walking: "Bujing Nu, I didn't want you to kill anyone. I just wanted to talk to you, to share my troubles."
Talking, chatting—that was often the beginning of empathy. And besides, he had just said that she could tell him her troubles without him drawing his knife on her.
"Hangiang, you're so wicked. I'm dying of sleepiness. If you don't keep walking, I'll kill you."
"I'm going, I'm going!" Xia Ji grabbed him and strode forward.
[Ding-dong, the Better-Looking System is online. Please accept the task, Host: kiss the cheek. Since the Host always selects Option One, the system has automatically accepted the task for you. Task difficulty: Low-Medium. Task time limit: Within three days. Required duration for the cheek kiss: The time it takes to drink a cup of tea.]
Xia Ji: …
Her footsteps faltered for a moment, but she didn't dare stop, and continued forward.
In the dead silence of the deep night, Bujing Nu suddenly sat up from the edge of the bed.
His eyes were wide open, his chest heaving violently as he stared at his own hands.
Another strange dream.
He dreamed he was lying in a pile of corpses, having become a corpse himself. The corpses around him gradually dissolved, turning into blood and water, and he dissolved along with them.
He couldn't find himself.
He couldn't find himself anywhere.
Beneath his sleeves, his wrists were covered in cuts, and the bare skin of his thighs bore the same scars. His mind was completely blank, leaving only the blood-red color of the dream. His breathing trembled slightly in the cold night air. The youth drew out his dagger and slashed at his arm, slashing again and again until the arm was covered in blood, dripping down onto his thigh. Only when the pain surged up did he feel relief.
He couldn't find himself—he could never find himself in this world. The world was full of living people, but he was not one of them.
Then was he a dog? A cat? A bird? No, none of those. None.
Only pain, and the hot blood of the living splashing onto his face, could jolt him back to awareness. The knife wounds split open, blood bursting forth. Bujing Nu lowered his head and stared at his wrist.
He was not a living person—he was a ghost who killed the living.
Yet he bled warm blood.
The bronze mirror wrapped in red cloth was always in his pocket. The youth's ink-black hair was disheveled as he sat dryly on the bed. His slender, blood-stained fingers trembled slightly as he unwrapped the red cloth. In the silent darkness of the night, he stared at the highly polished bronze mirror.
He could never see his own face.
His face was pitch black, as if hidden in a mass of black fog, a pit of blood. He could see the eyes, nose, mouth, tongue, and ears, but could never make out the whole.
Handsome…?
He lowered his head, touching his face, then his dark, deep pupils suddenly darted to the woman beside him.
The woman was sleeping soundly.
He had never seen anyone dare to sleep so soundly in his presence.
It was as if she treated him as one of her own kind—only beside one's own kind could one sleep so peacefully. Pigs, dogs, cattle, birds, cats—all were the same. And she, from the very first night, had slept this deeply.
How could Bujing Nu know that modern people were accustomed to comfort and found it hard to be vigilant? Xia Ji especially loved eating and sleeping, and would never sit if she could lie down. The blanket was too thick, and she had grown hot from sleep, kicking it off. Her pomegranate-red skirt was worn loosely, and her soft, fair, rounded chest rose and fell with each breath.
Bujing Nu stared at her, then buried his face in her chest, intending to listen to her heartbeat, but found something strange.
Bujing Nu: ?
These past few days, he had only held Hangiang in his arms, never lying on top of her to sleep. Hangiang was ill; when he pressed against her, she would often furrow her brow, letting out faint, feeble sounds from her lips, her face turning pale as if she were on the verge of death.
He lowered his head to look. Xia Ji was completely unaware, sleeping with her rosy lips slightly parted, each breath causing the softness of her chest to rise and fall in rhythm.
Bujing Nu watched, pressing a finger down, and it sank into the soft flesh. His pale, soft fingertip pressed against the bloodstain, and the sleeping woman furrowed her brows slightly, letting out a soft "mm."
Bujing Nu raised his hand to look at it, then looked at the blood mark on Xia Ji's softness. He lowered his head and licked it clean, the softness stirring something strange in his heart, his tongue sinking in.
This strangeness had no discernible cause.
The youth buried his face in Xia Ji's chest, his hands covered in blood. Unconsciously, he maintained an awkward posture to avoid smearing blood on her. On ordinary days, he would have followed his impulses—either embracing her despite being drenched in blood, or finding somewhere else to sleep.
But because of this strange softness, he only pressed his cheek against her, not wrapping his arms around her. Bujing Nu caught the warm fragrance emanating from her, rising and falling with each breath, deep and alluring.
He didn't know this was a woman's scent, drawing him to bury himself against her, until a crow slipped into the room and landed on Bujing Nu's slender back.
He opened his eyes. If Xia Ji had woken then and lit the lamp, she would have been somewhat surprised—the youth's usually pale face was tinged with a flush of red, his brows slightly furrowed, and he found himself reluctant to rise.
It was a long moment before he sat up, his hand still on Xia Ji's chest, fingertips sinking in, yet he made no further move with unfamiliar hesitation. With his other hand, he deftly took the note held in the crow's beak.