Chen Hexuan was a man mastery in emotional control. Those who knew him described him as the epitome of the Donglin Chen family—gentle, refined, and poised.
This was the first time he had ever been this angry.
He didn’t fully understand the root of his rage; he only knew that the moment he heard the word “death” leave Qi Yu’s lips, his practiced restraint shattered. He felt a primal indignation: By what right does Qi Yu think he can come and go as he pleases? Every time, it was the same—Qi Yu presumptuously drew near, then presumptuously pulled away.
Qi Yu had never seen Chen Hexuan so emotionally exposed. Even during the years of imprisonment in the Demon Palace, his Senior Brother had never displayed such raw fury.
Qi Yu quickly suppressed a stray thought. Senior Brother couldn’t possibly care about me. He knew that even if Chen Hexuan did care, he would never defy his Master’s will for a demon. To remain the Young Master of the Chen family and the successor of Xingzhou, Chen Hexuan would eventually have to hand him over. The world would never tolerate a demon by his side.
“Do you really think that as long as you keep me with you, I won’t die?” Qi Yu asked. “You heard Mo Mingxu. It’s not just Xingzhou; every sect in the cultivation world will hunt us. Do you think you can outrun them all?”
And you’ll ruin your reputation in the process, Qi Yu thought but didn’t say.
Lately, Qi Yu had stopped addressing him as “Senior Brother” in every sentence. Hearing the omission made Chen Hexuan even more irritable.
“I have my own arrangements. As long as you don’t have my permission, don’t even think about dying,” Chen Hexuan said, his voice taut with awkwardness. “And don’t address me so familiarly. As long as you are alive, I am forever your Senior Brother.”
Qi Yu didn’t care about the honorific; he didn’t even notice what Chen Hexuan was truly obsessing over. He merely frowned. “Can you let go of me now?”
Chen Hexuan instinctively tightened his grip, terrified the other would vanish.
“Are you worried I’ll run?” Qi Yu continued. “The Tai’e Sword is bound to you by contract. You control it. As long as the sword is here, I cannot go anywhere.”
Realizing Qi Yu had ignored his previous command, Chen Hexuan corrected him immediately: “I’ll let go once you call me ‘Senior Brother’.”
Qi Yu found this incredibly childish. Why haggle over a title? He muttered begrudgingly, “Senior Brother.”
It wasn’t the sweet, lingering “Senior Brother” of the past. It was flat, devoid of emotion.
Is this what it feels like to force someone? Chen Hexuan felt a strange flicker of pleasure seeing Qi Yu’s frustrated yet helpless expression. Yet, he found himself unwilling to actually let go. He feared that the moment he did, this person would hide away and distance himself even further.
“Senior Brother, if you keep holding my hand like this, I’ll start to think you actually like me,” Qi Yu said, stepping right on Chen Hexuan’s sore spot.
Chen Hexuan let go instantly.
The moment he did, Qi Yu transformed back into the Tai’e Sword and fell to the ground. In the moonlight, the bloodstains on the blade were stark. Chen Hexuan picked up the sword, caught between anger and a wry laugh. Anger that Qi Yu was hiding again; amusement at how petty the behavior was.
All these emotions dissolved into a long sigh. He looked at the blade, thinking of Qi Yu’s accusations. Did I really look at him “with deep affection”? He had always been certain he hadn’t, but doubt was beginning to creep in.
He remembered back at the Xingzhou Sect, Qi Yu would often try to avoid him. Yet, Chen Hexuan always managed to spot him first in any crowd. If he stared a moment longer, he would meet those dull eyes and see them instantly ignite with joy.
He was so easy to please back then, Chen Hexuan thought. A single, casual glance from him was enough to make Qi Yu bloom with happiness. Surely it was just Qi Yu’s overactive imagination. How could he possibly look at a demon with love?
…
By the time Chen Hexuan reached the foot of Mount Wugou, several days had passed. Qi Yu remained in sword form, refusing to materialize no matter how much Chen Hexuan called.
The Lord of Mount Wugou was a white-haired elder whose beard reached his chest. “A rare guest… few come to Mount Wugou these days,” the elder said kindly. “Follow me.”
“I am from the Xingzhou Sect,” Chen Hexuan replied respectfully.
“Xingzhou… are you Pu Xuefeng’s disciple?” When Chen Hexuan confirmed it, the elder’s expression shifted slightly. “Why do you carry the aura of the Demon Race?”
Before Chen Hexuan could use his “Inner Demon” excuse, the elder gave him a meaningful look. “The entire cultivation world is searching for your Tai’e Sword…”
Chen Hexuan instinctively touched his storage ring.
“No need to be tense,” the elder said. “Mount Wugou is detached from the world. As long as you don’t take any books from the North Name Library, I don’t care who you bring with you.”
Chen Hexuan relaxed. He explained that his Master was currently recovering from injuries. The elder sighed, “The pupil outshines the master, it seems. Are you here to solve your Inner Demon?”
“No,” Chen Hexuan said, his voice filled with worry. “Senior, do you know of the Forget-Me-Not Grass ($Wu Wang Cao$)?”
“The herb that causes memory loss? I know it. Looking at your face, the ‘poison’ has settled deep. I do not know the cure myself, but you may search the library in five days. Rest here for now.”
…
In the quiet courtyard, Chen Hexuan sat on a stone stool and drew the Tai’e Sword.
“Qi Yu, come out.” No response.
He suddenly had an idea. He took the sharp edge of the blade and made a move to slice his own finger. The moment the steel touched his skin, the sword transformed into a translucent human figure.
“You finally came out,” Chen Hexuan smiled. Seeing Qi Yu in a translucent spirit state, he asked, “Why are you like this?”
Qi Yu felt uncomfortable under Chen Hexuan’s gaze. As he retreated, Chen Hexuan followed. “Are you hiding from me? I’ve been calling you for days. Do you not want to see me?”
“No,” Qi Yu lied. He just didn’t want his heart to get any more chaotic.
Chen Hexuan pressed him into a corner and gently hooked his finger under Qi Yu’s hand. Upon physical contact, Qi Yu’s spirit solidified into a physical form. Chen Hexuan pinned one of Qi Yu’s hands against the wall, leaning in so close that his warm breath brushed against Qi Yu’s ear, turning the pale skin a light pink.
“Qi Yu, tell me. Are you hiding from me?”
Qi Yu turned his head away. “I am indeed hiding from you.”
“Did you forget something?” Chen Hexuan teased. “How should you address me?”
Qi Yu glared at him. “Senior Brother.” He felt something was very wrong. The man who used to stay three feet away was now forcing his way into his personal space.
Chen Hexuan finally backed off two steps. “Listen, Qi Yu. Until I forgive you, you will do exactly as I say. Do not defy me.”
Qi Yu looked up at him. “I thought those forty-nine stabs you put into my body were enough to pay you back.”
Chen Hexuan froze. A flash of grief crossed his eyes before he masked it. “How could forty-nine stabs be enough?” He stared into Qi Yu’s eyes. “How could they ever equal two thousand six hundred days and nights?”
Qi Yu turned pale. He took Chen Hexuan’s hand and pressed it against his heart. “So… even forty-nine stabs weren’t enough to satisfy your hatred? Senior Brother, you really do hate me that much…”
Was it really about hatred? Chen Hexuan wondered. The nightmare of killing Qi Yu had replayed so many times that he remembered every single detail of those forty-nine strikes—the angle, the force, the blood—not with satisfaction, but with a haunting precision that refused to let him go.
…
The psychological tension between their past trauma and present proximity is reaching a breaking point. Chen Hexuan is confusing his obsession with hatred, while Qi Yu is losing his will to keep fighting.