Chapter 17: Emotions Out of Control

The wolves, mindless, soon vanished into the dark.

Seeing Lu Qi’s dazed expression, Lin Zhuoyu feared the child had been frightened witless and stepped forward, raising a hand toward his forehead. “You—”

Smack.

White-faced, Lu Qi knocked his hand away almost on pure instinct, every muscle in his body drawn taut, like a startled beast—or one gathering itself to hunt.

Lin Zhuoyu jumped. “What’s wrong?”

The vertical pupils that had nearly emerged were instantly withdrawn. Realizing he had lost composure, Lu Qi’s expression twisted slightly, and he forced a smile. “Forgive me. I… am not used to being touched.”

“Oh,” Lin Zhuoyu said, entirely unbothered. “You don’t look well. Come, let’s go back.”

“Mm.”

The spirit-fire in the fire kettle faded, revealing a Night-Luminescent Pearl set within, spilling moon-white light over Lin Zhuoyu.

Lu Qi followed behind, watching the ground, but his gaze kept drifting, unbidden, toward that “moonlight”—then he quickly recovered and dropped his head.

Three times he did this, and his face grew terribly ugly.

As Lin Zhuoyu walked, a faint sound came from behind him.

He turned. Lu Qi was frowning, one hand pressed over half his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“A branch,” Lu Qi mumbled. “It scratched me.”

Lin Zhuoyu sighed silently, thinking, what a clumsy child.

He held out his sleeve. “Hold my sleeve. Walk slower.”

Lu Qi shook his head. “No need.”

Seeing the lodging courtyard just ahead, Lin Zhuoyu didn’t insist, only slowed his pace a little.

Back at their lodging, under the lamplight, Lin Zhuoyu finally noticed something wrong. Between the fingers Lu Qi pressed to his face, threads of red were showing—the scratches were bleeding.

Lin Zhuoyu’s brow knotted. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Lu Qi moved his hand, revealing two sharp, bleeding gashes across his pale cheek. From all his pressing, blood had smeared over half his face.

“You can injure yourself just walking. Truly impressive.” Lin Zhuoyu was nearly laughed stupid by it. “Wait here. I’ll get the medicine.”

“Mm.”

All of Lin Zhuoyu’s things were kept in Qingru. Standing at the table rummaging for a usable salve, from Lu Qi’s angle only the young man’s back was visible.

Lin Zhuoyu had only just come of age, his frame slenderer and taller than most his age, hair black as satin spilling down his back. The slight lean of his posture let black strands slip forward, revealing a taut waistline.

The sting in his cheek kept reminding Lu Qi of his lapse. Staring at the waist sash cinching Lin Zhuoyu’s waist, he lightly licked away a drop of blood sliding from the corner of his lips and smiled, dark and cold.

Once this man’s Exquisite Heart is destroyed, I will devour him from head to toe, leaving not an inch behind.

Lin Zhuoyu had too much clutter—poisons and antidotes jumbled together—and after much picking and choosing finally found a salve for external wounds. Reading the label, he turned around.

Lu Qi sat there meekly, waiting to be treated.

Lin Zhuoyu came over and handed the salve to him.

Lu Qi waited. Seeing no reaction, he asked, puzzled, “Elder Brother?”

“What is it?”

Lu Qi ventured, “You’re not going to apply it for me?”

Lin Zhuoyu said, astonished, “Don’t you dislike being touched?”

Lu Qi choked, then after a while said, “I… can’t see it.”

“No matter. Your Elder Brother has a mirror.”

Lu Qi: “…”

Seeing him frowning, Lin Zhuoyu burst out laughing. “Fine, fine. Since you’re begging so earnestly, your Elder Brother will deign to help.”

Lu Qi: “…”

Lu Qi laughed coldly inside—who’s begging him.

A dying man besides, and he makes such a production of applying salve…

Before the thought finished, Lu Qi’s whole body jerked and he nearly cried out.

He looked down: Lin Zhuoyu, fingers wrapped in white cloth, had gouged out a great lump of salve and was slathering it across his face like plastering a wall—and finding it wouldn’t spread, rubbed it in harder.

Lu Qi: “…”

Unable to tell whether from pain or fury, his face twisted slightly. “Elder Brother…”

Lin Zhuoyu was still slathering. “Hm? Oho—wait, that’s not right…”

Lu Qi’s expression eased slightly.

So he’s finally realized…

“You have to wash the face first, then apply the salve. Ah, forget it—this will do,” Lin Zhuoyu said, frowning.

Lu Qi: “…”

The veins at Lu Qi’s temples bulged violently.

Even the blindest man could sense something wrong with Lu Qi’s expression. Puzzled, Lin Zhuoyu asked, “Does it hurt?”

He had never done such delicate work. Last time his back was hurt, his senior brothers and Shizun had applied the salve—and he hadn’t been able to see their technique anyway.

“It doesn’t hurt.” Lu Qi lowered his eyes, suppressing the fury within. “Elder Brother, do I look very ugly?”

Lin Zhuoyu stroked his chin, studying him. “Mm.”

Ugly it wasn’t—but those gashes on his face… why did they look like the claw-marks of a wild beast?

“Elder Brother?”

“Oh.” Lin Zhuoyu said perfunctorily, “Not ugly. Quite handsome, really.”

Lu Qi froze.

Lin Zhuoyu hadn’t expected that a casual compliment would turn the child’s ears red. Smiling helplessly to himself, he dabbed the last of the salve on his chin.

Lu Qi rubbed his face uncomfortably. The faint sting of the wounds finally eased.

But it wasn’t over. “Lie face-down,” Lin Zhuoyu said. “Might as well redo your back while we’re at it—it’ll heal faster.”

Lu Qi: “…”

Lu Qi endured the torture to the end without confessing anything.

By the time Lin Zhuoyu finished, it was the third watch. Seeing Lu Qi dozing face-down, he laid the cloak gently over his shoulders.

Wary on his first night out, Lin Zhuoyu did not sleep, but sat again in meditation.

Qingru floated at his side guarding him, protective artifacts stacking up layer upon layer.

The moment he sensed Lin Zhuoyu fully sunk into meditation, Lu Qi silently opened a pair of vertical pupils, regarding the man shrouded in layers of flowing water with cold, uncanny stillness.

One who carries an Exquisite Heart is never ill-favored in face or conduct. Even Lu Qi, who had seen beauty beyond counting, had to admit this man stood at the very peak of allure.

Flesh like this, immortal in bone—how delicious it would be to eat.

Lu Qi’s body was wrapped in that peach-blossom-scented cloak, and for some reason his heart seethed with restlessness—that fragrance was like an invisible hand stirring his thoughts.

So irritating.

He should have eaten him long ago.

Lu Qi stared at that jade-like face. With no other way to vent the feather-tickling itch in his chest, he suddenly flung the cloak off and hurled it straight to the floor.

He stared coldly at the snow-white cloak on the ground, vertical pupils glinting with an icy smile.

As if he had finally cast away the source of his turmoil, the fragrance in his nose faded bit by bit until it was gone, able to disturb him no longer.

Satisfied, Lu Qi turned his back and fell asleep.

Dong, dong.

The morning bell tolled faintly through the mountains.

Lin Zhuoyu woke from meditation; the sky had just begun to pale.

Lu Qi lay on his side on the daybed, the salve on his cheek dried and mostly rubbed away, wrapped snug and seamless in Lin Zhuoyu’s cloak, sleeping soundly.

Not wanting to wake him, Lin Zhuoyu gathered his robes, left the bed, and pushed out the door.

This village that worshipped the Fox Immortal was actually quite large—not the remote wasteland of Lin Zhuoyu’s storybooks—and even at first light the streets were bustling.

Walking out, Lin Zhuoyu saw a dense crowd carrying a fox effigy woven of straw, respectfully welcoming the Fox Immortal.

At the sight of Lin Zhuoyu, bare-headed without his curtain hat, everyone froze for an instant.

Soon a girl carrying a flower basket came up smiling and wove exquisitely crafted silk flowers into Lin Zhuoyu’s ink-black hair.

Freshly risen, his hair unbound and uncrowned, Lin Zhuoyu bent his head and let her, following local custom. The silk flowers layered upon layer like peonies in full bloom; silver pins beneath gathered up his satin hair, leaving two strands of black hair hanging loose.

Smiling, the girl said, “Flowers offered in honor of the festival god. May the young master be blessed with deep fortune.”

Lin Zhuoyu’s eyes curved. “May I borrow your lucky words.”

In the girl’s hand was another iris-like purple flower. “Where is your younger brother?”

“Ah, him—children love to sleep. He’s still out.” Lin Zhuoyu smiled. “Just give it to me.”

The girl passed it over with a blessing and went off with the crowd.

With great interest, Lin Zhuoyu watched the procession welcoming the Fox Immortal.

Mountain mists at dawn. A line of people in plain robes, scattering petals into the air like funeral paper money—those who knew would say they were welcoming the Fox Immortal; those who didn’t would assume they were burying a pair of the dead.

The place was eerie and chill. Far more interesting than Linchuan City’s Big Dipper Festival.

Just then, a voice drifted up behind him. “I am not a child.”

Lin Zhuoyu turned. Lu Qi had woken at some point; he had washed his face, and only faint scars remained on his cheeks. Leaning on the doorframe, he looked at him with an unreadable expression.

Lin Zhuoyu coddled him. “Yes, yes. Then how old are you?”

Lu Qi’s gaze fell on his face—and he froze. It took him a moment to recover; he looked aside and said, “Twenty.”

Lin Zhuoyu: “?”

Lin Zhuoyu stared at him in disbelief. “You? Twenty? You’re joking.”

Offended by his tone, Lu Qi said, “I really have reached adulthood.”

Lin Zhuoyu held back his laughter and stuck the silk flower on the child’s head. “All right, all right. Twenty, twenty.”

Seeing the blatant disbelief on his face, Lu Qi gritted his teeth darkly.

Detestable humans. Three more days, and I will eat him down to the last crumb.

Today the Flower Festival procession was being welcomed, so Lin Zhuoyu took Lu Qi along to join the fun, and once the rites ended, announced their farewell.

The elder smiled warmly. “That honored guests should leave, we ought not detain you—only, these days the sky is overcast and the mist is thick. It may not clear for two or three days, and it is easy to lose your way. If you are not pressed for time, why not stay through the Flower Festival, and let this old man play host properly?”

Lin Zhuoyu deliberated with visible difficulty and asked Lu Qi, “Little brother, what do you say?”

Lu Qi’s ears twitched involuntarily. Keeping his face straight, he said, “Whatever Elder Brother decides.”

“Very well, then.” Lin Zhuoyu reluctantly agreed.

Everyone present silently, imperceptibly, breathed a sigh of relief.

Lin Zhuoyu was in no hurry. Like an ornamental vase innocent of the world, he waited for the Flower Festival with a smile on his lips.

By day he was warm and dazzling, socializing his way into everyone’s good graces until Lu Qi could only marvel; by night he sat in meditation in the little courtyard.

The medicines Lu Qi used were all salves worth a fortune; within two days his wounds had scabbed over and no longer hurt.

Lying on his side on the daybed, watching the moon approach fullness, he said softly, “Elder Brother, let’s run.”

Hand seals forming, eyes unopened, Lin Zhuoyu said, “Hm?”

“If what comes is a Great Demon, what will you do if you can’t beat it?” Lu Qi coaxed. “Tomorrow’s festival is clearly wrong. So many people are keeping watch outside, afraid we’ll flee. Nine times out of ten, they mean to take our lives.”

Lin Zhuoyu looked at him, astonished. “You could actually tell?”

Lu Qi: “?”

Lu Qi, back to him, expressionlessly staring at the wall, the fox claws inside the cloak all but sprouting out: “Just how stupid does Elder Brother think I am?”

Lin Zhuoyu burst out laughing. “All right, all right. Don’t worry. Sleep.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Shall I sing you a little tune, then?”

Lu Qi frowned. “Fine.”

Coaxed to sleep since childhood by Daoist Lord Tongxu and Yan Su, Lin Zhuoyu had heard every kind of lullaby. He began humming softly.

“Unknowing the years, the insects sing; even in dreams, carefree. Mm-mm-mm, joyful and skipping, smashing the morning light; drive back mm, drive back… the Great Demon scattering in the mist…”

Estimating he had forgotten the words, he just kept humming nonsense along, improvising freely.

Lu Qi went still. That bizarre, mismatched melody seemed to overlap, bit by bit, with a blurred memory in his mind.

Just as he was about to seize that flash of familiarity, Lin Zhuoyu finished and whispered, “Asleep?”

Lu Qi: “…”

Sung like that, only a ghost could sleep.

Lu Qi ignored him, feigning even breathing.

Lin Zhuoyu muttered, “Falling asleep that fast? My lullaby skills must be improving.”

Lu Qi: “…”

Having coaxed his charge to sleep, Lin Zhuoyu settled again into meditation.

Only when there was no further movement behind him did Lu Qi turn, expressionless, to look.

For some reason, in this man’s presence Lu Qi was always restless, his emotions forever slipping control—sometimes he wanted to pounce and devour him whole; other times his heart knew a peace it had never known before.

Lu Qi did not like the uncontrollable.

Fortunately, soon he would eat him…

Suddenly, Lu Qi’s body shot forward like an arrow released from the bowstring, landing before Lin Zhuoyu. His long hand closed on empty air, catching a feathered arrow with perfect precision, stopping it three inches short of Lin Zhuoyu’s brow.

Half an inch more, and it would have pierced the first layer of protective restrictions around him, waking him from meditation.

The arrow had been aimed at Lin Zhuoyu’s Life Gate. When Lu Qi’s slender hand caught it, he could barely check its tremendous momentum, veins standing out along his forearm, the arrow’s fletching trembling silently.

Having caught the arrow, Lu Qi’s fox pupils turned coldly toward the window.

The night before the full moon—one could see by moonlight without lamps.

Eight men held the four corners of the courtyard, fearing the two inside would flee. As they dozed, someone walked out.

The ink-painted boy guarding the gate snapped upright, and seeing it was that sickly younger brother, raised a hand to block him. “You can’t—”

Expressionless, his face full of gloom, Lu Qi suddenly looked up at him.

…Revealing a pair of fox pupils identical to those of the Fox Immortal Statue.

The boy stiffened. “You—”

The others heard the commotion and came running to help.

Lu Qi glanced away carelessly, flicked his hand—and a wisp of ghost-blue fox fire flashed through the air, drifting slowly across the cheeks of all eight men before arcing back to settle in his palm.

All eight went rigid, and then, as though possessed, hurled themselves at the person nearest them, faces twisted like beasts.

Thud.

Blood spattered instantly.

Lu Qi did not spare a glance. Unhurried, he stepped across the pool of blood that mirrored his thin silhouette, sending out ring after ring of ripples.

When the ripples stilled, the frail boy of moments before was nowhere to be seen. In his place stood an immensely tall man.

He wore robes of deep violet, a peach blossom jade pendant carved with the character “Zhuo” at his waist sash, an elegant little fan in hand as he strolled at leisure over the corpses.

One step of Shrinking Earth to Inches, and he stood ten li away.

Deep in the mountains, an effeminate man with a swaying fox tail sat on a high branch, toying with a feathered arrow.

Seeing Lu Qi approach, he chuckled and, chin propped on one hand, said tenderly, “You—”

He got out one word before Lu Qi, face cold as death, simply waved his hand.

The arrow shot back the way it came, straight for the man’s Life Gate.

The fox-tailed man roared with laughter; before him the arrow abruptly burned to powder in flame and drifted down. “My dear little brother. It has been so long—is this how you greet your Elder Brother?”

Lu Qi…

Qingshan Qi tapped his little fan idly against his palm. On that handsome, cold face was no expression at all; his tone was languid, yet laced with a sinister malice that turned the blood to ice.

“The last one who made me call him ‘Elder Brother’—I refined his Origin Core just recently. Would you like to be next?”