Chapter 17

Qiao Qingshuang asked, “Little Li, are you going?”

Bai Chen nodded. Since they had already come out, of course he would go wherever Qiao Qingshuang went.

With that agreement in place, Bai Chen considered his business for the day finished. He dozed off right there beside Qiao Qingshuang, closing his eyes.

He returned to Jiang Yuanmu’s place to sleep, curling into a comfortable position in the young man’s arms. Bai Chen let out a soft purr. Being human was exhausting; it was much better to be a little cat.

The next morning, the moment Bai Chen stepped onto the set, he sensed that everyone’s gazes upon him burned with unusual fervor. Those who had already smiled warmly at him before were now grinning ear to ear, like chrysanthemums in full bloom—even the younger crew members.

The director and scriptwriters were even more over-the-top. The instant he approached, they all rose to offer him their seats.

Back when Bai Chen was on set before, he could clearly tell they had been playing it evenhanded between him and Ning Yuanshui. Now they were being so blatant—weren’t they worried about upsetting Ning Yuanshui?

He turned to glance at Ning Yuanshui. Sure enough, a faint trace of resentment flickered across that usually clear and bright face. Ning Yuanshui asked him, “You’ve known Celestial Master Qiao for ages, haven’t you? So you knew all along he likes chicken head rice? Yesterday when we were talking about it, you acted like you had no idea.”

Bai Chen said, “…No, I didn’t know.”

Ning Yuanshui was quick to pull himself together. “Whatever. Anyway, Celestial Master Qiao took the chicken head rice we prepared, so he must really like it. How did you two meet?”

Every ear on set perked up.

Bai Chen replied, “Actually, we’re not that close. It’s just that Celestial Master Qiao really likes me.”

“…”

Talk about humblebragging!

Word that Celestial Master Qiao was very fond of Bai Chen spread like wildfire soon after.

Dong Man excitedly shared the news in the System Group: 【Guys, get this—that celebrity Bai Chen, the one chased by the living dead? Turns out Qiao Qingshuang likes him a ton too! A guy both apocalypse bosses like has to be something special!】

Team One Captain Du Feili: 【Qiao Qingshuang likes a celebrity? Doesn’t sound like him at all. He’s got that personality where he hates everyone.】

Team Three Captain Lu Dong: 【He’s super fond of his little brother, though. That brother’s his Achilles’ heel, his reverse scale.】

Team Three Captain Lu Dong: 【We’re finally here. Sister Dong, what’s the situation? Wanna meet up?】

Team Two Captain Dong Man: 【I’d love to, but Qiao Qingshuang headed to another city this morning. Aren’t you going after him?】

Team Three Captain Lu Dong: 【…】

Team Three Lin Shiyu: 【…】

Team Three Sun Peng: 【…】

…

They met up anyway. In this novel world that might be even bigger than their own, managing to see each other even once was no small feat—it could be their last chance in this lifetime.

When Dong Man laid eyes on Team Three’s members, who looked like they’d been through hell, she finally understood the meaning behind that string of ellipses in the group chat.

Lu Dong clutched the side of his head where an ear was missing, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Sister Dong, we’ve gotta chase after him quick, but first we need money for tickets. Any jobs around here to make cash? Nothing that costs an arm or a leg.”

“…”

Qiao Qingshuang and the others had left that morning with Qi Ming.

Qi Ming had a lot on his plate and a head full of worries, so he’d only told his grandfather that Celestial Master Qiao had agreed to visit their home and urged the old man to come back from the hospital. He hadn’t breathed a word about Celestial Master Qiao bringing along some younger brother who had popped up out of nowhere.

That was why, when Qi Junfa got home, he froze in the doorway at the sight of two figures sitting in the courtyard, sipping tea and nibbling on snacks. They were dressed in padded jackets of mismatched sizes but the same style, and they bore a certain resemblance to each other.

The Qi Family Old Residence was an imposing structure of ancient grandeur, its courtyard dotted with green pines and winter plums. The pair sat encircled by this picturesque scene, brewing tea over a brazier.

Qiao Qingshuang cracked open a roasted chestnut, blew on it to cool it down, and—once it was just the right warmth, not too hot—held it to the young man’s lips. The young man tilted his head up slightly, took the chestnut into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and narrowed his eyes in bliss. “Delicious,” he mumbled indistinctly. “Thank you, brother.”

Flames danced gently in the brazier, the air thick with sweet aromas—a portrait of cozy warmth, as if happiness itself perfumed the breeze.

Qiao Qingshuang flipped the baking sweet potato, added an orange to the grill, then poured the young man a cup of hot milk. He was utterly absorbed in the moment.

Qi Junfa lingered at the door for a bit, and when no one acknowledged him, he rapped his cane against the ground and strode over. “Qingshuang, it’s been too long. And who’s this?”

“You’re finally back,” Qiao Qingshuang said without rising. Long ago in celestial master circles, they might have ranked by seniority, but ever since adulthood, it had been strength that commanded respect—not to mention that Qi Junfa needed his help this time.

“This is my little brother, Qiao Qingli,” Qiao Qingshuang replied from his seat as he peeled an orange. “Same mother. Blood brothers.”

“Impossible!” Qi Junfa boomed. “How could you have a blood brother?”

The blood brother in question piped up, “Grandpa, why are you so mad?”

When Grandpa offered no reply, the young man turned to his brother, who said, “He’s lost his composure.”

“…”

The young man didn’t have much of an appetite. After two chestnuts, a small chunk of sweet potato, and a handful of longans, Qiao Qingshuang offered him a roasted orange. He couldn’t finish it and broke it in half—one piece for himself, the other for his brother.

With his brother occupied, the young man shifted from sitting across from him to right beside, leaning in close. He fed spotless orange segments to his brother’s mouth.

Seeing his brother eat them, he broke into a delighted smile. Once they were gone, he hugged his brother’s arm and rested his cheek against it. Before long, his eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep, utterly at peace even in these unfamiliar surroundings.

No words were needed to convey the depth of their bond.

Anyone witnessing the scene would never call Qiao Qingshuang bereft of family ties.

“Impossible. Impossible.” Qi Junfa kept muttering the word as he sank into the seat opposite Qiao Qingshuang, staring in disbelief at the young man who depended on him so completely. “Back then, when I said you brought doom to all your blood kin, maybe I was too harsh. But you really do have shallow family bonds—a lifelong lone star, destined for solitude till the end. I wasn’t wrong.”

Qiao Qingshuang went on roasting chestnuts. He had noticed Little Li preferred them.

Other people were picky eaters because of flavor; Little Li’s pickiness felt different. He favored foods that took effort to prepare, like Old Liu’s chicken head rice or nuts that were a chore to crack—like today’s chestnuts.

Of course, he didn’t enjoy peeling them himself. Only when someone else did the work and fed them to him straight from their hand did he truly savor them.

Qiao Qingshuang figured it boiled down to a lack of love.

Who knew what hardships Little Li had endured during those years of wandering—who knew how many cold shoulders he’d faced? Food that took time and patience to make symbolized affection. It gave him a sense of security.

With that thought, Qiao Qingshuang tossed a handful of pine nuts onto the grill. His expression grew even gentler.

“You know it’s true,” Qi Junfa pressed, struggling to wrap his head around it. He looked utterly perplexed and pained. “They say Celestial Master Qiao can glimpse the secrets of heaven. You must have read your own fate and seen I wasn’t lying.”

“Indeed,” Qiao Qingshuang said calmly as he turned a chestnut. “My fate was meant to be one of lifelong loneliness.”

The first time Qiao Qingshuang heard he was a Heavenly Killing Lone Star had been from Qi Junfa’s own mouth—along with talk of him dooming his father, his mother, all his blood kin. His parents had pulled him into a tight embrace, telling him not to heed that nasty old man.

He had kept his head bowed the whole time. His parents fretted that he had taken the old man’s words to heart.

But that wasn’t it. Even as a child, Qiao Qingshuang placed no stock in so-called authorities. The truth was, after hearing Qi Junfa speak, he—not yet six years old—had divined his own fate right then and there.

He bore the mark of Yang Malevolence, slaying both anomalies and kin alike.

He was born to kill strangeness, and he was fated to be a lone star.

And so, at just six, he had left home with his master to train at the sect, putting distance between himself and his loved ones. Even then, his grandfather, grandmother, father, and mother had passed away one after another, his extended family scattering to the winds.

From that point on, he kept his master at arm’s length, grew distant from his senior brothers, and shunned all closeness. Even when hunting the mightiest anomalies, the teenage Qiao Qingshuang went alone, sword on his back.

Always by himself.

After driving Yin Bujie into the depths below, he felt his life’s purpose fulfilled. He claimed a courtyard on Frost Mountain and settled in to await death in solitude.

Then Little Li appeared.

When he first laid eyes on Little Li, a single thought had echoed in his mind: Impossible.

He couldn’t possibly have a blood brother.

Impossible—from the standpoint of fate or reality.

Yet he did.

This foolish little brother would cling to him whenever he tried to leave. “Brother, don’t go. Don’t abandon me.”

He would sit outside the study door, tears pattering down. “Brother, don’t you want me anymore?”

And when Qiao Qingshuang opened the door, those eyes would brim with starry tears. “Brother, brother—you’re my brother. We’ll be together forever.”

That day, when the sun’s halo graced Frost Mountain, he beheld his fate anew.

Tendrils of smoke curled around Qiao Qingshuang’s features as he spoke. “Heaven is merciful, so it granted me a brother.”

Qi Junfa could scarcely believe these words came from the Qiao Qingshuang who could rend the heavens themselves.

Tormented by this “brother” who had appeared from gods-knew-where, he pinched his index finger to his thumb, then touched it to his eyes. His gaze, now gleaming with uncanny light, fixed on the young man leaning against Qiao Qingshuang.

Those aged eyes flew wide in incredulity. They trembled. The gleam faded, drowned in a haze of bloody murk.

Qi Junfa’s vision went dark forever.

That evening, Qi Ming escorted Qiao Qingshuang to the Qi Family Tomb Garden. No one was more invested than him—he was the primary victim, after all. Along the way, he repeated how terrifying and deranged the corpses in the garden had been.

The tomb garden lay eerily still.

As the two stood at its gates, a gentle breeze stirred. Soft, brilliant moonlight bathed every pristine, orderly tombstone, lending the somber place an uncanny serenity. At that moment, it was clear this was a true feng shui treasure land; the Qi ancestors slumbered contentedly, in profound peace.

Qi Ming said, “…”

“This isn’t how it is,” Qi Ming insisted. “Celestial Master, why not stay a couple more days? It might happen tomorrow.”

“There’s still something I need to take care of here,” Qiao Qingshuang replied.

“Ah, perfect—what is it?” Qi Ming asked. “If I can help, I’ll handle it for you.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Qi Ming caught the faintest upward curl at the corner of Qiao Qingshuang’s lips. That tiny arc transformed his entire face, and even the moonlight turned sinister. “You didn’t seriously think I’d let you off the hook for hitting my brother, did you?”

In that instant, Qi Ming recalled certain rumors. Qiao Qingshuang, who had pinned the evil anomalies beneath the earth, was universally hailed as upright and just. Yet whispers of discord had surfaced too—veiled suggestions that he was no pristine celestial master.

The thoughts hadn’t fully formed when agony exploded through Qi Ming’s chest and abdomen, ribs snapping like dry twigs. Then his back slammed into a tombstone, shattering it. He crashed into the grave soil, burst open a coffin, and landed in the arms of his obediently laid-out great-grandfather inside.

Coffin and earth rained down in a smothering cascade.

“Tch, what a pain. Let your ancestor handle your education.”

After Qiao Qingshuang departed, Niu Jingyuan and the other corpses entered with familiar ease. They knocked on every tombstone. “Brothers, Qiao Qingshuang’s gone. You can come out and play now.”

Most of the corpses emerged, but one spot remained eerily silent.

The group pried open the dilapidated grave, then lifted the coffin lid, which bore a human-shaped hole. There lay Qi Ming, huddled in terror in the arms of an ancient corpse.

Silence descended as they contemplated the sight.

“Don’t disturb their grandfather-grandson bonding time,” one of them murmured.

“Mm-hmm!”

With polite consideration, they closed the door. Then, ever thoughtful, they patched it up, ensuring not a sliver of light could seep through.