Chapter 104: Soft-Eared Mama’s Boy 19

Jiang Rang slept through the night in his Shizun’s embrace until dawn broke.

Around the hour of Mao, the young man on the bed stirred, his long lashes fluttering lightly. He was wrapped only in a soft, thin white undergarment, his head buried in the warm, serene embrace beside him. His plump, supple back trembled faintly with each breath, like the flickering tip of a flame, while his strong arms and thighs draped dependently over the jade-like skin of the man at his side.

They resembled an ancient tree and vine, entwined and growing together through the years. The youthful vine was graceful and vibrant, full of vigor, always habitually nestling against the dense roots and branches of the tree. They coexisted, their breaths intermingling, witnessing spring after spring.

Shizun’s sleeping posture was always dignified and restrained.

He lay half on his side on the bed, his elegant, compassionate immortal eyes gently closed. His raven-black hair flowed like deep, still waters from the jade pillow, and his pale wrist naturally cradled the young man’s head resting against his abdomen.

The man’s sleeping face was serene, his lips curved in a faint smile, his posture stroking his disciple reminiscent of some mortal clansman swollen with child from medicinal arts.

Jiang Rang groggily scratched at his temple, instinctively nuzzling his head, already buried in Xie Lingfeng’s abdomen, even higher up.

The man’s light spring attire was thin, shifting open slightly with the gentle rub.

The youth let out a low hum, like a freshly woken, fluffed-up kitten. His eyes fluttered open in a daze, like a newborn babe craving milk, his hand naturally climbing to the gentle curves of Shizun’s chest.

Just upon waking, Jiang Rang was utterly like an oversized infant, acting on pure instinct without a thought for master-disciple propriety or father-son bounds.

The youth blinked in a hazy, sticky fog, the faint shadows under his eyes starkly prominent.

Last night had indeed gone a bit too far.

They had never actually gone all the way. Jiang Rang was a greedy child, but if one examined it closely, he truly understood nothing.

He didn’t even know that such things were forbidden between master and disciple.

Under Xie Lingfeng’s years of subtle, meticulous nurturing, the young one had never truly strayed from his spiritual senses.

In the Primordial Sect, or even the surrounding domains, whether Jiang Rang chatted, played, bantered, or acted up with anyone, Kunyu Immortal Venerable always knew all.

Yet the man’s actions were so quiet, so gentle, his flawless web woven so seamlessly that his obedient child never noticed.

Jiang Rang was naturally playful and free-spirited by nature; caging him deliberately would hinder his growth.

Thus, for the most part, Xie Lingfeng refrained from excessive control. The only things that stirred him were those scoundrels who dared tempt his child into the temptations of the mundane world.

If Jiang Rang had paid closer attention, he would have easily realized that his visits to Flower Street Willow Lane had never escaped Shizun’s watchful eyes.

Whenever he was about to glimpse something sordid, improper, or harmful, Shizun would always appear in the nick of time.

This included the erotic drawings, miniature books, and lewd tales secretly hoarded by his fellow disciples. Mingling among them with his good rapport, Jiang Rang naturally brushed against such things now and then, yet he never truly grasped their content.

Adolescent youths inevitably stirred with some budding desire or longing for such matters. Jiang Rang was clueless, and the Cultivation World prized restraint and conservatism. Those around him might blush and hint at it, but such hints always vanished from sight before he could notice.

Jiang Rang was protected too well—too well that he had no one to ask, no one to discuss it with, leaving him to flush and seek refuge in Shizun’s arms.

Xie Lingfeng was always gentle as water with his child. Of course, he was willing to teach the young one these secrets of growth. As a proper Shizun, he always guided his disciple to peaks of joy, pleasure, and hazy bliss.

Thus, the youth never suspected anything amiss, not even their increasingly warped intimacy.

Sated in hand and mouth, the youth finally awoke fully in the morning light.

And those ink-black eyes, washed clear as spring water, met a pair of gentle golden eyes flecked with shattered gold.

A soft, gentle palm caressed the child’s fluffy head, the clear voice husky from sleep, mild as it spoke: “Awake? Any discomfort? You clung to me without restraint last night—no more of that in the future.”

Jiang Rang lazily squinted, loosely gathering his robes. His handsome features brimmed with post-passion lethargy as he drawled hoarsely, “Shizun, I got it, I got it. No need to nag.”

Their exchange was natural yet laced with intimacy. Seeing Kunyu Immortal Venerable’s features now warm and pristine once more, the youth finally relaxed.

He knew it—as long as he took the initiative to atone, Shizun’s heartache would keep him from pursuing the matter further…

Ever since he had come of age, this trick had never failed him once.

Jiang Rang no longer lounged in the warm bed. He rose without a care for his bare lower body and dressed casually right in front of Shizun.

The young man’s half-open chest bore mottled vermilion marks. He might have noticed them, or perhaps dismissed them as nothing unusual.

Xie Lingfeng started to rise and help him, but Jiang Rang pressed his wrist and grinned. “Shizun, you’re tired too. Why not rest a little longer?”

A helpless smile slowly spread across Kunyu Immortal Venerable’s face. There was a faint, almost imperceptible note of grievance in his tone. “You child—if you’re so eager to find your beloved, just say the word. Do you really think Shizun would stop you?”

The man’s unbound crow-black hair draped like silk, half-obscuring one side of his brows and lending his features an even more composed, unhurried elegance. “I have always wanted only the best for you. If you like him, then even if the entire Primordial Sect fears him, I will accept him. But A-Rang, you must remember that the Primordial Sect and Yunze Peak are your home.”

At that moment, Jiang Rang still didn’t grasp why Shizun had said such things. The young man simply straightened his clothes, his expression relaxed and full of vigor. “Shizun, rest assured—this disciple understands perfectly.”

Xie Lingfeng gazed at him for a long moment before his smile finally bloomed. Softly, he said, “Then go on. Yesterday, you didn’t have a chance to talk things through with him. I’m afraid he’s been letting his thoughts run wild.”

Jiang Rang felt a surge of warmth at Shizun’s thoughtfulness. With a playful laugh, he cupped his hands in a haphazard bow. “This disciple obeys!”

The young man departed swiftly, leaving the once-lively Splendid Hall to fall into utter silence.

Xie Lingfeng slowly withdrew his gaze, the smile on his lips fading by degrees.

The child had grown up and found his beloved. He no longer revolved entirely around his Shizun. Inevitably, there was a touch of loss.

But… Xie Lingfeng’s eyes drifted to the lightning-scorched blackwood outside the window, to the barren soil where not a single blade of grass stirred. Slowly, he reflected: A-Rang could certainly have a beloved. But that person should never be the Disaster Star.

His child deserved nothing less than the very best the world had to offer.

Jiang Rang would come to understand in time. It was all for his own good.

~~~

Jiang Rang’s hands trembled as he pushed open the half-rusted, half-rotted door of the pavilion.

The young man’s complexion was far from healthy, tinged with an ashen pallor.

Ever since he had set out from home, Yunze Peak had lain in a state of near-total ruin. The spiritual flowers and herbs that once dotted the slopes, the adorable little creatures—all had been reduced to grim mounds of graves.

It was just like the heavenly calamities described in ancient texts.

No—not a heavenly calamity. Shizun hadn’t breathed a word of it that morning…

Jiang Rang was a clever young man. He quickly divined the deeper meaning behind Kunyu Immortal Venerable’s earlier words.

This disaster had likely been brought down by Zhu Miaojie.

But that made no sense. Hadn’t Ah Miao already been fitted with the Life-Sealing Appearance Lock?

Jiang Rang racked his brains but could find no answer. Unbidden, wild thoughts began to swirl in his mind.

Could the rumors circulating through the Primordial Sect lately actually hold some truth?

A bitter ache filled the young man’s heart, but his concern for his beloved ran deep. He worried that Zhu Miaojie might have been hurt.

He hurried into the pavilion and found the man, clad in jade robes, slumped beside the trashed bed.

His long white hair, beautiful as fine jade, flowed like congealed water. He looked utterly wretched—his bone-white cheeks drained of color, the corners of his eyes flushed an alarming red, like the vivid blush a poet might trace with vermilion ink.

Zhu Miaojie cradled a bedraggled, listless Purple Thorn Beast in his arms. The little Purple Thorn Beast was pitiable indeed, clearly desperate to escape the man’s imprisoning embrace. Its claws were not particularly sharp, but after a night of frantic struggling, it had left a web of red scratches across the white-haired man’s wrist.

At the sight of the youth, Zhu Miaojie loosened his hold. Instinct drove the Purple Thorn Beast cub to tumble crookedly toward Jiang Rang.

Jiang Rang’s heart softened. He scooped it up gently.

Stroking the creature’s quivering back, he drew closer to the man. The question lodged in his throat tumbled over itself but remained unspoken.

Ah Miao must be in pain right now. As his lover, he couldn’t possibly make things worse.

Even as Jiang Rang mulled this over, words still unformed on his lips, Zhu Miaojie lifted his gaze.

What eyes they were.

Pitch-black, like a stagnant pool of water—cold, chilling, mournfully gorgeous, steeped in agony… They wove together like a lattice of knife scars, oozing icy blood before all bleeding back into that silent void of black.

Zhu Miaojie slowly raised his pallid eyelids. He was still beautiful, like a white magnolia at the height of its bloom—destined only to wither into stark, chilling pallor.

His voice came out hoarse and shaking. “Jiang Rang… what were you doing with your Shizun last night?”

As he spoke, he fixed the young man with an intense stare, enunciating each word: “Last night, I went looking for you, only to see you with that beloved Shizun of yours…”

Though Zhu Miaojie had long lived in seclusion, he was no naive child ignorant of the world.

To think that such a violation of ethics and morality—such utter disregard for human decency—could happen with the person he loved.

A wave of nausea surged in Zhu Miaojie’s throat, making his pale white eyelashes tremble uncontrollably.

He wanted to vomit, but nothing came up. Truth be told, beyond the shock of witnessing that perverse master-disciple affair with his own eyes, what truly overwhelmed him was the endless hatred boiling in his chest. The hatred of a stolen love.

All this time—this long stretch of days—Jiang Rang had never laid a finger on him.

Zhu Miaojie had always assumed it was out of respect, out of affection… or perhaps some hesitation, a fear of his Innate Disaster Body.

Because of that, no matter how much he yearned for closeness, he had never dared cross that line.

He was too insecure, so insecure that he doubted himself, loathed himself.

He had never imagined that Jiang Rang’s restraint had another reason entirely.

So, he had merely been a convenient cover for his lover and Shizun’s illicit affair.

How could Zhu Miaojie not lose his mind?

His soul was scorched by the eternal flames of the underworld, his body withered and frail. In his agony, he almost wished for death right then and there.

The Life-Sealing Appearance Lock on his chest tightened relentlessly, as if chaining a monster within him. Endless resentment coiled around him, threatening to devour him whole.

Just last night, the man who had been barred from the hall had returned to this ridiculous Yunjian Pavilion in a daze. Every sweet memory with the young man had turned into a dagger, piercing him through.

In the depths of that excruciating pain, Zhu Miaojie noticed a horrifying change overtaking his body.

His elbows, his groin, his ankles, his cheeks—nearly every inch of him began sprouting clusters of dense white snake scales.

Like a body tainted by disease, those repulsive scales bloomed in patches. His sweat turned thick and viscous, like white tree sap, coating him in a translucent, nauseating sheath akin to a snake’s membrane.

Zhu Miaojie tried to scream, only to realize in horror that all he could produce were the hisses of a serpent.

He watched, helpless, as his tongue elongated into a thin, forked thing, a sickly crimson snake’s tongue split at the tip.

Thunder crashed louder and louder, as if begging to strike him down.

In the glare of pale lightning, Zhu Miaojie saw his legs slowly fusing together. His eyes bulged with rage and madness as he dragged himself to the wooden table nearby, snatching the Gem Dagger the young man had once given him.

He hacked at his merging legs again and again.

Blood gushed forth, crimson rivulets sliding down the grotesque bends of his limbs.

The snake tail never fully formed. In the end, Zhu Miaojie collapsed into a pool of his own blood.

When he awoke, everything around him was deathly still. The blood had vanished, and his body bore no scars.

Zhu Miaojie trembled all over, yet he knew it had all been real.

So, he truly was a monster through and through—a wretched creature denied salvation.

Jiang Rang’s hand paused on the Purple Thorn Beast’s wrist. He seemed utterly caught off guard by Zhu Miaojie’s question.

In an instant, the young man blinked in confusion, replying with mild bewilderment and indifference: “Ah Miao, what are you thinking? Shizun is the elder who raised me from childhood. Last night, I just made a mistake, and Shizun punished me for it.”

Punished? What kind of master punished their disciple in bed?

Yet Jiang Rang acted as if there was nothing amiss. His bold, handsome features even creased with genuine puzzlement.

He furrowed his brow deeply. After a long moment, as if finally seizing on a fitting excuse, he hurried to Zhu Miaojie’s side and sat down. Just like old times, he intimately clasped those beautiful fingers and cooed, “Ah Miao, I suppose you’ve heard about Luo Yunchun?”

Jiang Rang immediately held up four fingers, his dark eyes—slightly downturned—brimming with the fervor of a young man for his beloved. Earnestly, he declared: “I swear, I have nothing to do with that Luo Yunchun. It’s all slander on his part. I’ve never liked him—he’s the one forcing a marriage. I swear to the heavens: if I’m truly fickle-minded and betray you, Ah Miao, then let me be forever denied love, left to die without a burial—”

Scarce had the words left his mouth when a pair of pale hands clamped over the young man’s lips.

Zhu Miaojie’s beautiful black eyes quivered in abject panic, his white lashes like snowflakes melting from the eaves.

Swiftly, he bit his own middle finger and dabbed blood onto the young man’s forehead. A flash of golden light erupted, transferring the curse’s power.

They were so close their eyelashes nearly brushed each other’s cheeks, their lips separated only by that slender, pale wrist.

Jiang Rang nearly lost himself in that soft expanse of white. The intimate proximity to the one he loved sent his thoughts racing in forbidden directions.

A fierce blaze erupted in his mind, growing hotter by the second until it kindled a raw thirst within him.

He could feel the hand pressed over his lips and teeth softening, yielding further, like a spark catching dry tinder. In a daze, the youth tugged the man’s wrist aside.

Their lips collided.

Sweet. Fragrant.

Jiang Rang felt drunk all over again—but only his body reeled, while his mind remained startlingly clear, as if it had slipped free from its mortal shell.

He was like a child at a loss, unsure of his next move. He knew exactly what came next; he had done it countless times with Shizun, even toyed with Luo Yunchun before.

Yet here he was, nerves frayed to the breaking point.

Gasping for air as if drowning, Jiang Rang began to feel afraid. He wanted to pull back. But then he realized, to his shock, that he had no control over his own body.

It was as if he had gone mad, possessed. His young frame knew only one thing: to demand more, endlessly.

Zhu Miaojie’s body was nothing like Shizun’s.

The white-haired man’s frame was lithe and elongated, the chains etched into his skin icy cold where they dug in, sending jolts of discomfort through Jiang Rang.

But soon enough, even thought fled from him.

The ruins all around began to quiver faintly, like a low, mournful keen rising from the desolation and chill. Amid the bleak gray, the pair atop the white jade dais were the only splash of vivid life.

It was as if some cataclysmic rupture loomed—Yunze Peak itself shuddered violently beneath them.

For the first time, Kunyu Immortal Venerable could no longer sense the presence of the child he cherished.

Jiang Rang learned something new that day: acts like this could hurt.

But the pain was far from the whole story.

There was an endless itch, a slick wetness, waves of adoration, sighs of surrender.

Lust divinely bestowed, offered up willingly.

Zhu Miaojie trembled as he wrapped his damp arms around Jiang Rang. Fierce in his need, yet so heartbreakingly pitiable.

Tears streamed from his ashen cheeks in glistening trails, his sobbing voice laced with agony and abasement.

His voice quavered. “A-Rang… do you love me?”

It was a question in name only—like a wretched beast, tail thumping the ground in desperate supplication.

Please love me. Please love me. Please love me. Please love me.

Sweat plastered Jiang Rang’s hair to his brow. His cheeks burned crimson, his dark eyes glassy and unfocused, as if his mind were caged—or as if he were some hapless scholar ensnared by a cunning snake demon’s gu.

His scarlet lips parted softly, flashing glimpses of white teeth and a glimpse of red tongue. Just as the man desired, he whispered, “…I love you. I love you.”

Outside the window, lightning rent the pitch-black sky like the gaping maw of an abyss.

Xie Lingfeng’s eyes gleamed scarlet. He raised his hand slowly, staring at the Palace Guarding Sand in his left palm—the mark that belonged to the youth. It faded, then vanished entirely. Abruptly, the man hacked up a mouthful of vivid crimson blood.

A few drops splattered across his brow, making the cinnabar mole there seem punctured, trickles of blood welling forth.

Alarms blared across the Primordial Sect. Shouts rang out.

“Demon! It’s a demon!”

“The Demon Clan seal has loosened—a demon’s escaped!”