The Ice Cliff Cave
The cave walls, resembling interlocking ice crystals, emitted a faint, gloomy luminescence. In the center stood a stone bed radiating an intense, biting cold, upon which lay a nine-tailed fox missing one of its tails.
Originally, the nine-tailed lotus should have bloomed in full glory, but now only patchy bloodstains remained, silently testifying to the tail that once existed.
Guiyu stared blankly with wide-open eyes. Sensing the silent approach of footsteps, it was already too late to fake being asleep.
“Don’t pretend. I know you’re awake.” Over his cotton robe, Suyu was wrapped in a heavy fur cloak; the mere moment he stepped into the cave, his face had already turned deathly pale from the cold.
Guiyu stared blankly at a spot in the distance, before coldly asking after a long silence, “Why aren’t you dead yet?”
Suyu found a slightly warmer spot to sit cross-legged on the ground, his tone as flat and casual as discussing everyday household matters. “Because Father loves me, and my brother wouldn’t dare defy his wishes.”
In his youth, Suyu had courted disaster countless times, often risking his own life. Had Liuze not persisted time and time again, the Heavenly Dao would have long ago considered abandoning him.
Yet Guiyu was merely hurling a pure curse rather than seeking an explanation. “You won’t be feeling so smug for much longer.”
In all creation, nothing is eternal; even the Heavenly Dao has its eras of decline and cyclical collapse.
Such an argument was meaningless. Suyu sighed, “Guiyu, I have never treated you unfairly, and the Demon Realm owes you nothing. Why go this far?”
Guiyu fell silent, only to slowly spit out four words: “My hands are tied.”
Under the invasion of the bitter cold, his body began to tremble involuntarily. Sensing that time was running out, Suyu stood up to leave. “The Nine-Tailed Clan has already taken you under their protection—every single one of them is safe and sound, and you can visit them anytime.”
As he reached the entrance and the sudden wave of warmth washed over him, he relaxed his muscles. Guiyu’s belated voice echoed behind him, “Do not let the outside world know I am awake.”
The Journey to Chizhou
Chizhou was located in a remote region, far away from the imperial capital—a journey of over half a month for ordinary carriages and horses. Finding the trip too long and unwilling to waste his spiritual energy, Qingmo nagged and cajoled Suyu until he managed to procure two sturdy demonic beasts to do the hauling.
As for Qingmo himself, he comfortably sprawled inside the carriage, lounging bonelessly against Chanchao while kneading his shoulders and pounding his legs.
Chanchao occupied a special place in Qingmo’s heart. Holding a roll of official documents, Suyu found his mind entirely detached from his work; he kept lifting his eyes to gaze at the fish-like lump flattened into a pancake, feeling distinctly unsettled.
“If I remember correctly, Chanchao is also a Shadow Guard?”
Shadow Guards served the Heavenly Dao, primarily handling executions and suppressing turmoil. Possessing exceptional abilities, most held formal ranks and duties, making someone like Chanchao, who spent his days waiting on others hand and foot, a terrible waste of talent.
“Chanchao has no interest in anyone except me,” Qingmo replied, tightening his embrace upon hearing this. “Besides, I cannot live without him.”
Without a word, Chanchao picked up a freshly peeled segment of an orange and offered it to Qingmo’s lips.
This kind of routine had lasted between them for a very long time—shifting from colleagues in the beginning to master and servant later on. Even though Qingmo had never truly treated him as a mere servant, Chanchao felt from the bottom of his heart that Qingmo was well worth his devotion.
Suyu lowered his gaze to mask the emotions flickering in his eyes. His smoothly trimmed fingernails scratched a mark across the official document, though his expression remained as composed as ever.
“Speaking of which,” Qingmo said, completely oblivious to Suyu’s displeasure, and roundaboutly asked, “Did you really come out all by yourself?”
Suyu chuckled. “Then how many people do you think should be here?”
“Leaving Chenyin behind is one thing, but why did you not bring your beloved along with you? It would have been a great chance to deepen your bond.”
“He does not really like going out.”
Qingmo suspected nothing; after all, two certified homebodies had found each other—no wonder the two of them got along so well.
Even so, whenever he thought of Bai Yingfei, a headache began to brew. He wondered what kind of trouble that brat had gotten into this time, waiting for him to clean up.
At first, the beasts pulling the carriage stubbornly refused to stoop to such menial labor beneath their status. But the moment they heard it was for Suyu, their attitudes flipped instantly: not only were they willing, but they worked with immense enthusiasm without asking for any compensation. Consequently, the party arrived at their destination shortly after nightfall.
Bai Yingfei had already given advance notice to the city gate guards, granting them completely unobstructed passage right up until the carriage halted directly in front of the City Lord’s Mansion.
Despite the arrival of distinguished guests, the master of the estate did not come out to welcome them. Qingmo leaped off the carriage in a single bound, stormed right through the front gates, and unceremoniously bellowed, “Bai Yingfei! Get your ass out here right now and pay your respects!”
Suyu had not yet stepped down from the carriage when this unique greeting rang out; his foot slipped and he almost took a tumble, had Chanchao not caught him in the nick of time.
“Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it.” Chanchao nodded, turning away to stable the demonic beasts. His upright posture carried not a single trace of the breath of life.
Suyu did not know much about Chanchao, but through this brief physical contact, he had sensed absolutely no pulse whatsoever.
Having shouted until he was hoarse with no response after quite a while, Qingmo felt his eyebrows twitch in bafflement. Just as he cast a sideways glance, a sharp glint of light suddenly struck from behind.
Sidestepping to dodge, he whipped out a zither string to bind the blade’s edge, applying a slight flick of his wrist to instantly snatch the long sword away. With an arrogant and disdainful smirk, he mocked, “Still a bit lacking in technique.”
Bai Yingfei was unperturbed; he flicked his sleeves with a look of regret. “Ah, I actually thought I might catch you off guard this time!”
Qingmo tossed the sword back to him. “You have improved since last time.”
After finishing with the beasts, Chanchao walked over, prompting Bai Yingfei to finally notice the other figures standing nearby.
“Oh! Chanchao is here too! And this person is?”
“Demon Lord Suyu.” Qingmo slung an arm around Suyu’s shoulder and gave him a light pat. “Did you really think I came here just to play around? We are on official business.”
Under the dim night illumination, Suyu’s face was breathtakingly exquisite, especially his distinct heterochromatic eyes. Framed by the faint shadows of the night, they carried an infinite, captivating allure.
Having spent plenty of time around Qingmo—the most stunning person he had ever laid eyes on—Bai Yingfei was usually immune to good looks. Yet, meeting those dual-colored eyes directly for the first time, his breath hitched in his throat.
Suyu curled the corners of his lips; beneath the smile, his eyes shed much of their mysterious aura, softening visibly. “Your name is Bai Yingfei, then what relation are you to Bai Yining?”
Bai Yingfei paused for a moment. “She is my mother.”
“The last time I came to Chizhou, it was City Lord Bai who received me. I never imagined that in the blink of an eye, her child would have grown up so much.”
“Yeah…” Bai Yingfei looked somewhat crestfallen. “Everyone always said my mother was a wonderful person, but unfortunately, I never got to meet her.”
His mother had passed away shortly after giving birth to him. With countless predators eyeing the position of City Lord with covetous eyes, it was only thanks to Qingmo’s steadfast support from behind the scenes that he had managed to survive from childhood to the present day.
“My apologies, I did not realize City Lord Bai had already passed.”
Human lives were short and fragile, and coupled with the fact that Suyu had not left his residence for many years, he had unconsciously forgotten this reality.
“Let us not dwell on sad things,” Qingmo urged, pushing Suyu gently from behind. “Dragging myself all this way has exhausted me to death! Come on, let us hurry up and get some rest!”
Indeed, the hour was late. Mindful of their long and tiring journey, Bai Yingfei prepared a simple light meal, after which Qingmo bolted straight for his cherished courtyard and collapsed face-first onto the bed.
That is right—Qingmo maintained a private, exclusive courtyard within the City Lord’s Mansion. Even when he was not around to stay there frequently, the servants never neglected its upkeep.
The bedding had been freshly replaced, soft and warm. He rolled around comfortably across the mattress before suddenly remembering a crucial matter.
Meanwhile, Suyu was still fully clothed with no intention of sleeping yet, when his chamber door was suddenly kicked open with a loud bang.
Suyu: “……?”
Striding in like a whirlwind, Qingmo went straight to work with swift, efficient hands without a single word of greeting—stripping off Suyu’s outer layers and digging out a medicine pouch.
A flush spread across Suyu’s cheeks as he for a fleeting second suspected the fellow had suddenly seen the light, making a vague, half-hearted gesture of refusal. “Qingmo! You…”
“Quiet down, lie down!” Qingmo stripped him down to his inner tunic, tucked him beneath the blankets, and hurried back out with the medicinal jars, returning shortly after with a bowl of bitter herbal decoction.
Suyu was left speechless, watching as the bowl was pressed firmly against his lips under an unwavering gaze.
Qingmo watched with delighted satisfaction. “I had better take good care of you. If you fall sick again, your father will start worrying endlessly.”
“I am not that frail.” Suyu swallowed down the bitter medicine, pulling the quilt up to his waist while stubbornly defending himself. “Last time was just an accident.”
“Every single time is an accident.” Ignoring his excuses, Qingmo forcefully shoved him back down onto the bed.
This time, however, Suyu kept his guard up and did not fall prey to the sneak attack quite so easily; the moment Qingmo lunged forward, Suyu wrapped his arms securely around his waist.
Unable to check his momentum in time, Qingmo realized the situation had turned sour a split second too late, crashing with a dull thud squarely against Suyu’s firm chest and letting out a miserable wail.
“Ow!”
Clutching his reddened nose, he scrambled back up. “Why are you so hard? Thank goodness my nose is real! Otherwise, all that plastic surgery would have gone to waste!”
Without changing his expression, Suyu smoothed down his disheveled lapels. “You are always trying to ambush people. How else am I supposed to teach you a lesson?”
“You!” Knowing he was in the wrong, Qingmo resorted to unreasoning logic. “If you keep dragging people around like this, you are never going to win over your beloved!”
The other man let out a sudden chuckle. “Then how should I win them over? Care to teach me?”
“Obviously…” Qingmo began demonstrating by guiding Suyu’s hands to wrap around his own waist, before abruptly snapping back to reality midway. “Wait a minute, why on earth should I be teaching you?”
“People have to fight their own battles! Now go to sleep!” With solicitous care, he tucked the corners of the blanket around Suyu, patted him twice as if soothing a child, and finally took his leave.
As the residual warmth of Qingmo’s palm faded into the chill of the room, Suyu rested his hand against his cheek and let out a silent sigh.
Midnight on the Roof
In the dead of night, a full moon hung high in the sky.
Despite Qingmo’s belief that he had looked after Suyu with meticulous care, the heart-wrenching coughs echoing through the midnight hours jolted him awake from his slumber.
Pulling his blanket around him, Qingmo sat up in bed, helplessly reminiscing about how Suyu had contracted this incurable illness in the first place. It seemed that ever since they had first met, he had always been this way.
Finding it difficult to fall back asleep after being startled awake, Qingmo simply slipped out of the room and leaped lightly onto the roof.
There sat Chanchao, facing the midnight breeze, sleepless and tireless.
Deliberately making a bit of noise, Qingmo caused the other to turn his head. “Lord? Why are you awake?”
Qingmo came over to sit down right beside him, gesturing toward Suyu’s room. “I got woken up by that sickly weakling’s coughing fits. I really worry he is going to kick the bucket—if anything happens to him, I cannot afford the compensation.”
Master and servant sat together on the rooftop, letting the breeze brush past while gazing up at the stars. Tonight’s starlight was brilliant, though after counting for ages and losing patience, Qingmo simply gave up and flopped backward onto the tiles.
Reaching out to give Chanchao a casual tug, he asked, “Chanchao, do you regret following me?”
Chanchao turned his gaze back to him. His dark, pitch-black pupils seemed bottomless. After pondering for a long while, he finally spat out two words: “No regrets.”
This was already the best ending either of them could have hoped for.
With a self-deprecating chuckle, Qingmo muttered, “All the brothers are gone now. With my meager skills, I only managed to save you…”
Chanchao was not one for comforting others. After struggling internally for a moment, he simply reached out and gave the back of Qingmo’s hand a gentle pat.
Their former master had never been a man worthy of loyalty. In truth, his subordinates had harbored rebellious intentions years ago; but because the person they followed was Qingmo—and Qingmo valued his own loyalty far more than his life—it had ultimately led to that tragic, wretched end.
He had always blamed himself deeply, yet found no other recourse. Only occasionally, amidst midnight dreams and recurring memories, would he feel a wave of regret over his initial choice.
Brushing the melancholy from his eyes, he raised his gaze toward the distant horizon, where a vast patch of brilliant scarlet caught his eye, leaking out past the corner of an ornate, upturned eaves.
That spot was a flowerbed, densely planted with crimson blossoms, amidst which a figure in scarlet robes wove back and forth, almost blending into the sea of red.
“That person is weird,” Qingmo remarked. “Not sleeping in the middle of the night and running off to count flowers instead?”
Chanchao noticed it too, glancing up at the starry sky above. “Probably the same as the Lord counting stars, I suppose.”