She thought it was better to be alone. The two people in this big mansion were more troublesome than her brain-dead boss—at least her boss only yelled at her, but these two actually attacked people.
Having just arrived in Jinling, Bujing Nu had been quite busy these past few days.
The dagger that went unused during the day found its purpose at night. Among those in the Li family of Jinling connected to the Second Prince's rebellion, he killed six people before one finally talked. Old Master Li Chong was in his study, head bowed, writing a letter to be sent to the capital. Between the walls, a slender figure slipped into the study like a ghost—silent, unseen.
When the Li family's page boy carried tea into the study, what he saw was his master's severed head lying on the floor, his body still seated on the stool, blood drenching the desk, soaking through the papers, still dripping down.
"Ah… AHHHHH!"
Lights blazed throughout the Li household. By then, the seven corpses killed without a sound had been discovered. The household erupted—some vomiting, some screaming, some running to report to the authorities.
Bujing Nu knew nothing of this, nor did he care.
Not far from the Li residence was a stream. The early autumn water was cold, but he felt nothing as he washed the blood from his face beneath the current. Otherwise, once he fell asleep, the dried blood would be somewhat uncomfortable.
The water washed away the heavy stains of blood, revealing the young man's handsome, delicate face—fair-skinned with black hair. His phoenix eyes were not small like most men's, but rather large, with long lashes. His face was small, and his slightly red lips were delicate as well.
His forehead hair was damp now, and his expressionless face made him look like an excessively beautiful doll. He stared at his distorted reflection on the water's surface for a long while before stepping out of the stream. His tall, slender frame was cinched by his belt. He stood still and wiped his face.
He thought of nothing. As usual, he lay down among the corpses.
In this era, death was the norm. They had just fought a war, and there were so many dead there was nowhere to put them. Bujing Nu had seen more dead people than anything else. The bodies here still carried a faint warmth. He lay on them, feeling no drowsiness, nor the intense emotions ordinary people felt after killing. His placidity radiated from the corners of his eyes and brows. He lay there, idly playing with his dagger.
He casually stabbed the corpse beside him a few times, checking whether his blade had gone dull.
Utterly boring.
But why would he feel bored here? The dead here were rarely this warm.
Bujing Nu thought for a moment, sat up, touched his blood-soaked hair, and went back to the stream to rinse it.
Xia Ji slept soundly.
Since transmigrating to this place, this had been the happiest day. The madman was out, the food was delicious, and though she hadn't managed to take a proper bath, she had washed her face, neck, and arms. She had a whole bed to herself, and no ropes binding her.
Blissful, truly blissful.
Especially since after washing up, she had caught Shanu and asked again when that young man would return. Shanu had honestly said that once he went out, it would be many days before he came back.
Wonderful.
She just didn't know if Shanu would bring her food from the restaurant tomorrow.
Xia Ji slept without a care, deeply and sweetly.
She was too exhausted—her spirit had been running on empty these past few days. She slept until the light grew increasingly harsh.
Blindingly bright.
"Mmm…"
Xia Ji's lashes trembled as she struggled awake.
The glaring light forced her eyes tightly shut. Just waking, she groggily turned her head to avoid the brightness above her, and in that soft glow, she saw a beautiful figure in brocade robes sitting beside her bed.
The beauty wore luxurious silk of crabapple red embroidered with golden hibiscus. Fair-skinned and lovely, with ink-black hair and red lips, those phoenix eyes were utterly captivating—yet because they were large, with big pupils, they held a childlike innocence, like an excessively beautiful doll.
He smiled faintly. One pale hand held up a lantern to shine on her, while the other gently stroked her face. The thick calluses on his hand were actually not pleasant to touch.
And also.
It smelled terrible.
Xia Ji's thoughts slowly surfaced from her dreams. She frowned, looking at that face beautiful as a poppy before her.
—The stench of blood was overwhelming.
Too foul.
"Sister, why did you sleep alone without waiting for me?"
His voice, caught between youth and adulthood, was nearly impossible to distinguish by gender. But Xia Ji was instantly, completely awake.
She had always been somewhat afraid of this young man's voice.
Perhaps because of what he had said when she first met him—it had terrified her.
Gentle, tender words of horror, like something straight out of a horror film.
"You—!"
Xia Ji hurriedly tried to sit up, but as she began to rise, the lantern blocked her. Forced back down, she stammered, "Y-you… why are you dressed like that?"
And his lips were glistening, so red.
The madman—had he applied lip balm?
Bujing Nu had been licking his lips since a moment ago. Xia Ji stared at his strange behavior, remembering that in ancient times, lip balm was sweet.
He seemed to think it tasted quite good.
"My clothes are dirty. If I get into bed wearing dirty clothes, you'll throw up again."
Xia Ji had nothing to say. She didn't need to ask what had dirtied his clothes.
"Then why did you apply lip balm?"
"Didn't Sister say I was handsome?" Bujing Nu leaned closer to her, giving her a faint smile. "I wanted to be even more handsome."
Xia Ji: …
"Am I handsome? Sister?"
He raised the lantern to the side of his face, and the soft, hazy glow illuminated every detail of his features.
A beautiful face.
But some people's beauty brings comfort to those who behold it. This young man's beauty was the exact opposite. Xia Ji had never seen anyone like him—beautiful, yet deeply unsettling to look at. Perhaps it was because his skin was too pale, as if the sun had never once touched it, and his pupils were too dark, a gloomy, eerie kind of beauty. Now dressed in red, he was even more chilling to behold.
Xia Ji didn't dare look at him for too long. She averted her gaze. He licked the lip balm off his own lips. "Sister."
"I have a name." He was clearly much younger than her. Having received a modern education, Xia Ji simply couldn't accept a young man like this calling her "Sister" and being so intimate with her.
She felt like she was about to be arrested by the police at any moment. It weighed heavily on her conscience.
"My name is Xia Ji. The character 'Xia' has the grass radical on top, and below it is the character for autumn." Xia Ji noticed his eyes were still fixed on her. She couldn't tell if he was actually remembering. She was about to scoot back, to put some distance between them—the smell of blood was too strong.
But he grabbed her hand.
His fingertips were ice-cold. His hands were slender and bony, his skin pale, beautiful as if they belonged in a painting—except his palms were covered in calluses. He lowered his head and wrote the character for "autumn" in Xia Ji's palm.
The tip of his finger traced lightly across her palm.
Very light.
It almost didn't seem like his strength at all.
He kept his eyes lowered as he finished writing. "Is that right?"
"Mhm." Xia Ji savored the sensation for a moment, then nodded.
Bujing Nu curved his eyes at her in a smile. "Ji-niang."
Xia Ji looked at him, her heart giving a slight pause. She didn't know whether such an address was intimate in this era, but she didn't ask. Instead, she asked him, "What's your name?"
"I don't have a name."
Xia Ji: ?
Who exactly was he? How could he not even have a name, yet live in such a grand mansion?
"Really? You're not lying to me?"
"I'm not."
"Then… what about a nickname, or something like that?"
"Bujing Nu."
Wh—what?
Xia Ji didn't catch it. She held out her hand, wanting him to write it in her palm.
Bujing Nu played with the clothes he was wearing for a while before finally, under Xia Ji's gaze, taking her hand and hastily writing "Bujing Nu" in it.
He hadn't put nearly as much care into it as he had when writing the character for "autumn."
Bujing Nu…
Xia Ji furrowed her brows slightly, pondering this strange nickname. Bujing Nu sat beside her, looking at his own clothes. After a moment, something seemed to occur to him, and he suddenly reached out and tugged at Xia Ji's hair.
"Ow!"
"Ji-niang, have you ever been married?"
Her hair hurt from his tugging. Xia Ji's face scrunched up tightly as she grabbed at the hair he was pulling. Through the tangled strands, she glared at him. Bujing Nu simply stared back at her, expressionless.
She—she really wasn't sure if the original owner of this body had been married or not.
"I'm asking you." He pulled harder.
"Let go, let go!" Xia Ji didn't dare move, her voice trembling. "No! I've never been married!"
He released her.
Xia Ji rubbed her aching scalp, wanting to curse at him, but she only saw him curving his brows and eyes in a smile again, going back to playing with his own things.
Looking at his clothes again.
"Do you like these clothes? Why don't you wear them, Ji-niang?"
"Wh-why would I wear those?"
She had noticed these garments before. They were all too expensive. She was afraid that if she even touched them, Bujing Nu would ask her for money.
Earlier, she had thought Bujing Nu was a lustful beast, which was why there were so many women's items in the room. But now she had revised her theory.
He might be a cross-dresser.
"They're all for you."
Xia Ji: "Huh?"
"They're for you." Bujing Nu held the lantern in one hand and pulled her up with the other. The early autumn night was slightly chilly. He dragged her over to the vanity table and held up the clothes from the table against her body.
"See, Ji-niang? They all fit you perfectly."
"These clothes, the lip balm, the jewelry, the headpieces," he casually set the lantern down on the table piled with ornaments and picked up a white jade flower crown, extremely ornate, "they were all prepared for you, Ji-niang."
B—but…
Xia Ji didn't believe him at all. She stared at the crown without speaking. Bujing Nu seemed to read her thoughts. "Ji-niang, what's wrong?"
"Ji-niang?"
"How could these possibly be prepared for me?" As she spoke, Xia Ji felt a bit embarrassed at having exposed someone's lie. She hadn't expected a madman to lie too. "I smelled those clothes—they still have someone else's scent on them. Why are you lying?"
"I'm not lying. I'm not lying." The smile vanished from Bujing Nu's face. He took the crown in his hand and placed it on Xia Ji's head. Xia Ji's gentle, soft features didn't suit such an extravagant flower crown, but Bujing Nu didn't seem to notice at all.
"These are all clothes from dead people, so of course they have a smell."
"Ah!"
Xia Ji had been staring at the incongruous sight of herself wearing that ornate floral crown in the bronze mirror when his gentle, soft-spoken words startled her half to death, and she let out a sharp cry.
From the bronze mirror, she could still see the nearly roomful of precious garments, the lip balm and jewelry on the table, the faint play of light and shadow—everything bore traces of use.
"Get out…! Take these things and get out!"
Xia Ji trembled all over from fright. She tore the heavy floral crown from her head and threw it away, her entire body going cold as if she'd seen a ghost. Her sudden outburst startled Bujing Nu in turn.
"You scared me, Ji-niang."
He seemed almost frightened himself as he picked up the crown from the floor, his large phoenix eyes meeting her reflection in the bronze mirror.
"Angry again? Why? Isn't it pretty? I specially picked out things you could wear—is there nothing you like?"
The clothes he wore were also from the dead.
But these clothes suited him perfectly. Xia Ji finally understood why his beauty made people so uncomfortable.
Because there was no trace of the living in him.
Empty, eerie, like a gorgeous skeleton. Even before she'd known their origin, Xia Ji hadn't wanted to touch this roomful of luxurious garments—because looking at them gave her an ominous feeling.
An indescribable chill filled her heart. When she looked up again, Bujing Nu's face showed only confusion.
For someone accustomed to sleeping among piles of corpses, Xia Ji's fear was highly abnormal.
Xia Ji closed her eyes, the chill still clinging to her. When she opened her mouth, her voice trembled: "I can't accept things from the dead."
"They weren't stripped off corpses—I took them when I confiscated property," he said, tossing the white jade crown aside as well, then grasping her hand. "Ji-niang, have I treated you badly? Why do you have to scare me?"
The eerie feeling made her deeply uncomfortable. Xia Ji wanted to pull her hand away, but when she looked up, she only met the boy's downcast gaze.
"Then I can't accept them either."
She truly couldn't accept them.
No matter how fine the things were, if they came from the dead, she simply couldn't accept them—especially since these were all personal items. How terrifying.
"I'd advise you not to wear or touch them either. They're unlucky. They'll bring you harm."
"Unlucky?"
Xia Ji heard him repeat the word, and saw his dark pupils fixed on her while his lips curved upward.
He laughed. Laughed uncontrollably.
"Unlucky? Ji-niang, hahahaha…" He crouched down in front of her, tilting his head up to stare at her face. Xia Ji felt deeply uncomfortable under his gaze, with nowhere to dodge.
"Silly Ji-niang," he said, gripping both her hands. "What difference is there between the dead and the living? Do the dead possess divine powers? Or does Ji-niang also believe in that underworld nonsense, heheheh…"
Xia Ji had no idea what part of what she'd said had struck him as so funny.
To make him laugh like that.
He laughed for a while, then his expression grew drowsy. He stood up and, right in front of Xia Ji, began taking off his clothes.
"Hey! What are you doing—!"
"Wearing dirty clothes makes Ji-niang want to vomit; wearing dead people's clothes scares Ji-niang. I won't wear them anymore."
He hadn't been wearing anything underneath.
He stripped down to reveal his fair, lean upper body. Xia Ji caught a glimpse—clearly still a young man's build, tall and slender, pale and lithe. She didn't dare look at him. "Just find yourself a clean set of clothes! Hurry!"
Afraid he wouldn't bother looking, Xia Ji went to the wardrobe herself and rummaged through it. The clothes she found were clearly his—black garments. Bujing Nu took them lazily, went to the bedside to change, and only after dressing again did he return to Xia Ji, pulling her along to the bed.
"So sleepy."
The smell of blood on him was too strong. Once they were both on the bed, the scent became even more pronounced.
Xia Ji couldn't bear it. Lying on the bed, seeing him about to embrace her again, she hastily pushed him away.
"You smell terrible." Xia Ji was sleepy too, her face drained of color from everything that had happened recently. Her features were soft and gentle; now she scrunched up her face, her tender almond eyes looking at him, appearing quite pitiful.
Bujing Nu watched Xia Ji curled up in the quilt. In these chaotic times, he had seen many women—some poor and suffering, in ragged clothes with disheveled hair, others noble wives and daughters, beauties in palace attire. Bujing Nu had seen them all.
But one thing was the same: women were all terrified of him.
Screaming and fleeing, looking at him with contempt and fear.
Xia Ji curled up, her hair in disarray, her small, soft face clearly showing exhaustion. Bujing Nu stared at her for a while, then lowered his head to smell himself.
He couldn't smell anything.
"I washed."
"You definitely didn't wash properly." Xia Ji turned to face the wall, her soft hair scattered messily behind her head, still slightly damp, falling in strands down her back.
After saying that, she fell asleep not long after.
Bujing Nu smelled himself, then leaned over and smelled Xia Ji.
Having spent much time among corpses, he carried a strong, rank odor—a foul, fishy stench—though he himself was oblivious to it. The room was filled with fragrant balms, their intense scent overwhelming. He had never been with a woman and assumed they all favored such heavy perfumes.
But the fragrance on Xia Ji was different.
It was faint, only perceptible when one drew close.
It was the same scent he had caught when he first met Niang, when she had pressed herself atop him—a subtle fragrance, unlike the heavy incense that noble ladies often wore.
The youth's dark eyes fixed intently on the woman's slender, pale neck, his gaze slightly dazed.
At the same time, Bujing Nu, who had never experienced any intimate contact with another person, sensed it for the first time.
What he drew into his nostrils was the scent of Niang.
It was the fragrance of a person's body, hidden beneath the bloodstains last night; today, she had bathed.