The youth immediately understood what Shen Chunyi wanted to discuss. He smiled faintly and said, “Master.”
Shen Chunyi leaned back, feeling more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. He cut straight to the point:
“Take off your inner robe.”
Xuan Shuangxu was not surprised by the abrupt change in topic but sighed with a hint of resignation before beginning to undo his collar. As the robe fell away, it revealed a plain white undergarment, tailored perfectly to accentuate the youth’s slender figure, like a willow sprouting new branches.
Beneath the high collar, there were no terrifying scars or abnormalities. However, just below the Adam’s apple, near the collarbone, a dense circle of blood-red incantations was etched into his skin, resembling a crimson chain tightly clasped around his neck. The Blood Soul Lock.
Xuan Shuangxu casually tossed the inner robe to the ground and smiled.
“Why does Master need to confirm it again?”
The Blood Soul Lock was a rarely practiced spell. Unlike the infamous Rain Sound Curse, its scarcity was not due to its cruelty but its impracticality. As the name suggested, the formation and release of the Blood Soul Lock required a significant amount of the caster’s blood to bind the soul of the target and seal nearly half of their spiritual power. The cost of such a large amount of blood was already considerable, but there was an even more impractical condition: the target had to willingly consent to the spell at the moment of its formation.
To seal someone’s spiritual power, not only did it demand a heavy price, but the target also had to agree to it! Just hearing about it made it clear how impractical it was! Because almost no one used it, the Blood Soul Lock had long existed in obscurity, largely forgotten by the world.
However, it wasn’t entirely forgotten. After all, Shen Chunyi enjoyed tinkering with such peculiar things, and a few years ago, he had cast this very lock on his eldest disciple, Xuan Shuangxu. At the time, Xuan Shuangxu was seventeen, and his power was terrifyingly immense. He nearly turned a sect competition into a massacre. Although it didn’t escalate to that point, it still shocked the various sects, who demanded an explanation from his master, Shen Chunyi.
Reflecting on the incident, Shen Chunyi concluded that he had failed to properly teach his disciple. As a result, he offered his own blood as a sacrifice and placed the Blood Soul Lock on Xuan Shuangxu.
Xuan Shuangxu stroked his chin, half-jokingly and half-seriously remarking,
“I’ve noticed that Master doesn’t seem to recognize people by their faces.”
Shen Chunyi closed his folding fan and placed it on the table, letting out a long sigh.
A strange sense of calm washed over him. “Indeed. You’ve changed so much in stature that I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Xuan Shuangxu put his inner robe back on and lowered his gaze.
“Master has changed quite a bit as well.”
Shen Chunyi suddenly felt awkward and blurted out, “Why have you returned?”
Xuan Shuangxu raised an eyebrow. “Master’s words aren’t very pleasant these days.”
Shen Chunyi had other unpleasant things he hadn’t yet said:
“What about Jiang Ya and Hai Yue?”
Xuan Shuangxu stared at him for a long moment before suddenly breaking into a smile.
“Dead. Utterly dead, turned to dust. Remember?”
His words carried a heavy undercurrent of aggression, though it didn’t seem directed at Shen Chunyi. “I’m the only one who returned. Are you happy?”
Shen Chunyi didn’t want to continue this topic. He could feel a throbbing pain in his temples, making his head ache. He couldn’t help but ask,
“Do you know where I’m going?”
A stray thread of hemp lay on the rug, which Xuan Shuangxu gently blew away. He replied, “Why doesn’t Master guess whether I know or not?”
After a long pause, Shen Chunyi answered evasively, “I thought you might want to do something else.”
Xuan Shuangxu leaned slightly toward him, revealing his symmetrical canine teeth as he smiled.
“What did Master think I wanted to do?”
Shen Chunyi replied in a half-joking tone,
“The best outcome would be to simply stab me to death with a sword. The worst outcome would be to drag me out and subject me to a thousand cuts, or lock me up and torment me day and night until your anger subsides.”
Xuan Shuangxu listened quietly, then suddenly revealed an extremely peculiar smile.
“How did Master know I didn’t want to?”
Shen Chunyi also smiled faintly. “Do you want to do that?”
Xuan Shuangxu’s gaze shifted slightly, unable to meet Shen Chunyi’s eyes directly.
“That’s fine too,” Shen Chunyi paused, then said softly.
Xuan Shuangxu took a light breath and slowly exhaled. Just as he was about to speak, he heard two knocks—it was the waiter bringing up hot water. Without saying more, he stood up to open the door.
After taking the hot water, Xuan Shuangxu wasn’t sure whether to turn around or not. It was as if he had completely forgotten the tense exchange they’d just had, and he asked somewhat awkwardly, “Does Master want to bathe now?”
After their candid conversation, Shen Chunyi was now in a state of resignation, ready to accept whatever came his way. Hearing this, he simply nodded, dragged the water bucket over, and pulled the screen shut.
After all, they couldn’t just skip bathing because of their earlier confrontation, could they? Shen Chunyi couldn’t bear the thought of going to bed covered in blood and grime.
On the other side of the screen, there was first the rustling sound of clothes being removed, followed by the splashing of water. It was early morning, and though the sunlight wasn’t particularly strong, it was gentle and faintly outlined a silhouette on the screen.
Xuan Shuangxu rubbed his nose, casually picked up a book titled Commonplace Miscellany from the nearby shelf, and flipped through a few pages. At first, the sound of water was faint, but eventually it stopped completely. Only then did Xuan Shuangxu realize he had been holding the book upside down.
There was no further movement from behind the screen. After a while, Xuan Shuangxu estimated the water must have cooled and called out softly, “Master?”
No one answered. He closed the book and walked quietly forward, calling again,
“Master?”
Still no answer. Xuan Shuangxu understood what had happened. He reached out and pulled the screen aside—sure enough, Shen Chunyi had fallen asleep leaning against the edge of the bathtub.
This was a habit Shen Chunyi had stubbornly maintained since childhood: after exhausting himself, he would bathe, fall asleep in the tub, and then catch a cold from the cold water. When Xuan Shuangxu was still young, he would note the time after Shen Chunyi entered the tub, estimate when the water was about to cool, and then run inside, knock on the tub, and say,
“Master, wake up. If you keep sleeping, you’ll get sick.”
But he grew quickly, soon catching up to Shen Chunyi in height. Later, he would simply wait until the water was almost cold, go in, carry Shen Chunyi out, dry him off, and tuck him back into bed.
At first, Shen Chunyi was still somewhat embarrassed. Woken by Xuan Shuangxu’s actions, he would struggle and say,
“Let me down, I can do it myself. There’s no need to help with such a small thing, really.”
Then Xuan Shuangxu would hold him firmly in place, cleverly shifting the argument:
“What’s the big deal? When I was little, didn’t Master teach me how to bathe like this? Now that I’ve grown up, it’s only natural for me to do the same for Master.”
Shen Chunyi wanted to retort “nonsense,” but Xuan Shuangxu immediately launched into a string of lofty principles, saying that lambs kneel to nurse and crows feed their parents in return. The master picking him up was an immense kindness, and it was only right for him to treat the master this way.
He then wanted to argue that it was absurd, saying he had hands and feet and wasn’t at the age where, like crows feeding their parents, he couldn’t even eat without teeth. Having someone serve him even for a bath was going too far.
Xuan Shuangxu simply said, “Alright, then Master can walk by himself.”
But when one is without clothes, especially in front of others, their presence diminishes considerably. The mere thought of passing naked in front of his disciple struck Shen Chunyi as utterly bizarre. So, closing his eyes and steeling his heart, he said, “Let it be this time, but don’t do it again.”
Yet the next time, and the time after that, and the time after that—it was always the same. Once it starts, it never ends. Over time, Shen Chunyi grew completely accustomed to being carried out of the bath by Xuan Shuangxu, dried off, and tucked into bed, all without even waking up.
But this time, something was clearly different. Xuan Shuangxu stood frozen beside the bathtub, his gaze fixed with disbelief on Shen Chunyi’s seemingly fragile back.
Scars. Old scars. Many of them, stretching from the shoulders and neck all the way down, crossing the waist and abdomen, with more on the arms and legs. They were hideous and shocking, having scabbed over and peeled away, leaving behind unsightly marks.
Irregular, disordered, they looked like tearing wounds—as if something filled with malice had viciously bitten and gnawed at him, leaving these traces. The medical practitioners of Taiwu Mountain were not so incompetent as to be unable to remove mere scars. It could only be that Shen Chunyi himself was unwilling to have them removed.
Xuan Shuangxu stood there for a while but ultimately said nothing. He simply bent down, lifted Shen Chunyi from the bathtub, dried him with his own inner robe, dressed him in his undergarments, and tucked him back into bed. Throughout it all, Shen Chunyi didn’t even open his eyes.
He was sleeping deeply but was roused when Xuan Shuangxu dried his hair. Having dreamed too much, he couldn’t tell for a moment whether it was a good dream or a nightmare. In his dazed state, he caught a whiff of an extremely familiar scent and suddenly thought he was still in the Thousand Willow Hall.
Shen Chunyi gazed blearily at Xuan Shuangxu for a long while, and Xuan Shuangxu paused, watching him, unsure of what he intended to do. Suddenly, Shen Chunyi raised his hand and pinched Xuan Shuangxu’s cheek. Perhaps still muddled from sleep, he couldn’t distinguish past from present:
“You’re back?”
Xuan Shuangxu placed his palm over Shen Chunyi’s hand, guiding it to his lips, and murmured almost as if kissing it,
“Yes.”
Shen Chunyi seemed pleased with this answer and asked further,
“What about Jiangya and Haiyue?”
Xuan Shuangxu replied gently, “They’re outside. Master just sent them off to memorize texts.”
Shen Chunyi seemed to have finally received a satisfactory answer. He closed his eyes and drifted back into peaceful slumber. Xuan Shuangxu remained in that position for a long time, only straightening up when Shen Chunyi’s breathing steadied again. He returned to the window. Gazing into the distance where the sky pressed against the mountains, he saw a lone wild goose, solitary and desolate, sweeping across the horizon until it shrank into a black dot.