Xia Ji: …
She froze for a moment before shifting her knees, and it was only then that Xia Ji lowered her head.
She suddenly noticed that, since just a moment ago, the ribbon at her chest had come loose, revealing a large expanse of fair, soft skin, barely covering the necessary parts.
"Mm!"
She was startled. Her face was already burning hot, and at this point she couldn't even tell if it was from anger. She was about to tie the ribbon back up, but when Bujing Nu saw her move, he came over and pulled her into his arms.
He was still kneeling, his pale arms thin yet extremely strong, easily lifting her into his embrace.
Her clothes…!
The moment he embraced her, her garments slipped downward. Xia Ji's face burned as she hurriedly hugged him back to cover herself. Her unexpected initiative seemed to please Bujing Nu greatly. He lowered his head, holding her tightly.
He held her so tightly that Xia Ji's brows furrowed.
"Strangle you to death," he said softly and gently by her ear, his breath brushing against her earlobe, making Xia Ji shrink back. "Hangiang."
Xia Ji: …
"What do you mean, strangle me to death?" Xia Ji's face darkened. "From now on, don't say anything about me dying—killing me, strangling me, none of that is allowed."
"Alright."
He was very agreeable, and even now, holding her, he was still kneeling.
Though kneeling was an extremely humiliating act for men in any era, to Bujing Nu it was probably no different from sitting or lying down.
Xia Ji pursed her lips. "From now on, whenever you take me out for anything, you have to tell me first. Don't suddenly bring me to unfamiliar places. Don't separate from me without saying anything. Remember to look at me, and remember to come get me."
She glanced at Bujing Nu, feeling that his eerie aura was suffocating. "Can you do that?"
A great taboo.
This was a great taboo.
If he leaked information, he should be beheaded, he should die—betraying His Majesty, betraying his master, betraying the court.
The youth's dark, empty phoenix eyes stared intently at her, making Xia Ji afraid to even breathe. He held her tightly, then suddenly raised his hand, his fingertips pressing against her lips, tracing over her neat teeth, then slipping inside to press down on her tongue.
"Am I to betray my master for your sake—?"
He seemed to murmur, his voice so soft it was like sleep-talking, yet Xia Ji's scalp tingled. She had no idea how obedient Bujing Nu was. Even if the Son of Heaven issued an order at this very moment for him to cut off his own head and die, he would do it without hesitation.
He possessed an almost maddening blind loyalty, trained into him since birth, his very nature the complete opposite of a normal person.
But it was precisely because of this excessive blind loyalty.
Bujing Nu stared at the possession in his arms, his Hangiang, belonging only to him.
"Alright."
He said softly, his voice like the desolate cold rain of the night, dripping onto one's skin, sending a chilling dread creeping into the heart. Though Xia Ji hadn't been killed, her whole body went weak.
From fear.
His fingers withdrew from her mouth, and he extended only his pinky toward her.
"Hangiang, the reason I could become a Death Soldier is because I swore an oath in my youth. My master made me kowtow to heaven and earth, pledging lifelong loyalty to the Son of Heaven, my body and life devoted to the will of fate. Hangiang, swear it too."
His voice was calm, but Xia Ji's heart trembled. She looked at him, hesitated, and even felt a hint of regret.
But now, there seemed to be no way to take back what she'd said. Besides, Bujing Nu suddenly taking her out without telling her anything really did make her nervous.
In this unfamiliar world, she would always worry that Bujing Nu might abandon her somewhere.
"What oath…?"
"Swear that you are mine until death. If you dare to flee—"
He didn't finish, but his eyes locked onto hers.
For some reason, Xia Ji instinctively touched her own neck, a chill running down her back.
He would cut off her head.
No matter where she ran.
Xia Ji stiffened, and only after a long moment did she extend her pinky as well. She'd thought Bujing Nu would hook his pinky around hers, but instead he pulled her toward him. The youth bent down, and Xia Ji stared in shock and confusion.
"What are you doing?"
"Hm?" The youth looked back at her, equally confused. "Cutting off the pinky. Just a bit of flesh. Otherwise it's not good for missions. Don't worry."
Xia Ji: ?
"Don't worry my ass!" Xia Ji was about to explode. She hurriedly grabbed him, pulled him upright, and then tightly hooked her pinky with his.
"This is enough! Consider it sworn!"
She looked up, only to see Bujing Nu frowning, as if he didn't trust her at all. He stared at her for a moment, then smiled.
"Fine, I'll listen to Hangiang. Because Hangiang can't escape me. Everyone I'm meant to kill can't escape me."
Xia Ji: …
That was really terrifying to hear.
He was still kneeling. Xia Ji sat up. "Alright! I have nothing else to say."
She quickly covered her chest and tied the ribbon back up.
At the same time, she couldn't help thinking.
She could actually make another request.
—Have Bujing Nu lick her…
This unenlightened killer surely wouldn't understand what this meant. Probably if she told him, he'd just do it without thinking, lick for a while, and the task would be complete, and she'd get her Luck Value.
At the thought, Xia Ji's face flushed slightly. She turned her head, and Bujing Nu was laying out a soft cushion on the jade pillow. The moment her gaze shifted over, the youth also raised his head. He stared at her expressionlessly, his phoenix eyes large, lips faintly red, strikingly beautiful.
The moment Xia Ji looked at him, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. And she didn't know what he'd bathed with tonight, but his body even smelled fragrant.
Xia Ji: …
So she'd taught this lunatic something after all.
"Sleep!"
"Oh."
An autumn rain brings a chill; after the rain, the weather quickly turned cold. One night, she shared the bed with Bujing Nu and had a strange dream.
In the dream, her perspective was extremely clear, lucid, even slightly surprised—she was conscious that reality had already entered early winter.
Yet the scene in the dream was a scorching summer day.
Ancient summers were unbearably hard to endure. As the Plum in the Golden Vase says, three classes of people fear the heat: first, the farmers in the fields, who plow and rake daily, paying grain taxes, and when the dog days bring no rain, their hearts are more tormented than the summer itself; second, the common folk of the streets, who toil year-round, hungry and thirsty; third, the soldiers at the frontier, who don helmets and armor under the blazing sun, their bodies crawling with lice, skin covered in sores.
Three classes do not fear the heat: first, those in the imperial palaces, with water pavilions and wind-swept terraces, winding streams and flowing springs, cool all day long; second, princes and nobles, with shaded awnings and waterside pavilions, beauties waving fans; third, Daoist priests and monks, who dwell in high mountain towers, playing chess in the shade of trees, spared the torment of the scorching heat. [1]
In this mountain thatched cottage, cicadas shrilled piercingly, greenery flourished—yet a basin of cold ice was carried in. The vessel holding the ice was priceless, shimmering with iridescent light under the glaring sun, like something divine.
A man with a long beard and sharp, fierce brows glanced toward the courtyard opposite, occasionally nodding to the imperial guards who had come from the palace.
"By the Son of Heaven's oral decree: for your meritorious service in saving the emperor seven days ago, you are granted this summer's cold ice, and bestowed a name—Bujing Nu."
"Bujing Nu, come forward and give thanks."
"Mhm."
He looked even younger then, thin and scrawny. Seeing people, he raised his dark, murky eyes and stared for a moment, then knelt.
"Thank you, Your Majesty, for the bestowed name. Bujing Nu is deeply grateful."
With that, he went back into the courtyard and lay down again.
Once the ice had melted down a notch and the guards had left, the long-bearded master entered the courtyard. Standing over him, he kicked the boy on the ground, but when he spoke to him, he was smiling, appearing very kind: "Bujing Nu, what are you doing?"
Looking down, there was a dead white cat on the ground. The boy was holding the white cat, its blood seeping from its mouth smeared across the boy's face.
The master's smile did not waver: "You killed it."
"No. I don't know how, it just happened to die here."
The boy held the white cat in his arms. Its soft, supple body still radiated warmth—this was a corpse that had died not long ago.
Different from the corpses of the people the boy had killed.
Holding this white cat, he felt an overwhelming emotion enveloping him, yet he didn't know what this feeling was.
Perhaps because it was a dream, Xia Ji could sense this feeling.
She should have felt pity, or fear, yet at this moment, there was only one sensation in her heart.
—Warmth.
This seemed to be the first time he had ever embraced something.
Warmth, warmth—this unfamiliar emotion he did not understand made his hands, so accustomed to killing, gently stroke the white cat's back.
Such a bizarre dream, yet it made Xia Ji feel a strange warmth. She recognized the boy on the ground—that gloomy, beautiful face could belong to no one else. Even though he was too thin, dressed in rags, he was as beautiful as a little girl.
[Special target's personal storyline fully supplemented—dissolving dream…]
In the system's myriad worlds, every world is a novel. In the novel Xia Ji had transmigrated into, Bujing Nu was merely a Death Soldier never once mentioned.
He never appeared in the original book. Occasional mentions served only to shape the Son of Heaven's unfathomable, fearsome impression—to convey that the emperor had such a bloodthirsty Death Soldier at his side, instilling dread and pressure in both the male lead and the second male lead.
That was all.
So it was a special character's personal storyline supplement. That made perfect sense—otherwise, relying on a lunatic shrouded in mystery like Bujing Nu, Xia Ji would have found it very hard to understand him.
The beautiful boy gently holding the dead, pitiful white cat in the shade of green—this scene made Xia Ji crouch down and watch for a long time. Behind him was the priceless century-old cold ice sent by the court, yet the boy on the ground never even glanced at it. Sweat stains soaked through the dirty clothes on his back; he simply sat in the greenery, embracing the first warmth he had ever encountered in his life.
"Hangiang, wake up, wake up."
Xia Ji, dazed and groggy, was shaken awake.
The youth sat by her bedside. Seeing her awake, he hugged her, lifting her up like a doll. Xia Ji hadn't fully come to her senses yet, dragged out from the bedding—it was rather cold. She turned her head and stared at Bujing Nu's face for a while.
The youth's skin was fair and smooth, his hair like splashed thick ink, eyes dark and lips red, as gorgeous as a crabapple blossom—yet the beauty was shadowed with gloom.
She stared at the grown-up Bujing Nu for a while, then shrank from the cold, only realizing something was off when she turned her head and was startled.
"Aiya!"
Why was there still an outsider in the room?
It was a woman in neat attire, looking to be in her forties or fifties, holding a hard ruler and a soft tape measure. Xia Ji caught on and turned to ask Bujing Nu, "This… who is this?"
"A tailor. The clothes we bought didn't fit right, according to Hangiang, so I had them come to take your measurements for the best fit."
Impressive.
Xia Ji was held by Bujing Nu, who waved his hand, beckoning like calling a dog, "You come over. She's cold, so measure her on the bed. Don't lift the blanket."
Xia Ji: …
"I can get up myself!"
She threw off the blanket and hurried off the bed. She always felt Bujing Nu was too rude to the servants. The old tailor mistress worked diligently, measuring her in silence—waist, bust—and Xia Ji straightened up, sensing Bujing Nu's gaze. She looked back.
The youth sat at the edge of the bed, also wearing new clothes Xia Ji hadn't seen before: a silver-white brocade robe with white orchids embroidered on the chest, silver boots, and loose ink-black hair. He stood up.
He spun around in front of Xia Ji, beaming.
"Handsome?"
"Handsome." Handsome he was—truly handsome, the more unhinged, the more striking. Xia Ji nodded and asked him, "Why are you dressing up so fine? Where are you off to?"
"Someone died. I'm attending a funeral this afternoon, and you're coming too." He said with a smile.
Xia Ji: …?
No, I'm really begging you.
"I'm not going."
"You don't have to go inside. Hangiang is waiting in the carriage, and on the way I'll buy you books—those storybooks."
"Fine, I'll go," Xia Ji said, then remembered the most important thing, "Who passed away?"
For the sake of her Luck Value, Xia Ji now spoke with feigned piety, afraid that Bujing Nu's immorality might affect her. She added, "Amitabha."
That "Amitabha" made Bujing Nu laugh.
He sat to the side, laughing endlessly, shoulders trembling. He was already a sinister kind of beautiful, and in this dim room, his laughter sounded even more eerie.
He counted on his fingers lightly, "Lord Li, Lord Zhang, Lord Liu—they've passed away. Amitabha."
Who were they all?