There was a pavilion at the entrance of Deer Jade Terrace.
As a child, Lin Zhuoyu had often read and practiced calligraphy in that pavilion while Yan Su practiced his sword on the training grounds nearby. Every spring, when his Sword Intent surged skyward, it would send peach blossoms swirling across the heavens.
Now the blossoms had withered; the wind could lift only scattered petals, and the peach leaves rustled as dappled sunlight fell over Lin Zhuoyu.
Gazing at that figure with his back turned, Yan Su felt, in a trance, that the distance between them was immense.
“Zhuoyu…”
For a moment Lin Zhuoyu didn’t know how to face Yan Su. His shoulders lifted slightly with a soundless breath, and he turned around, his expression complicated. “Eldest Senior Brother. Is something the matter?”
Yan Su said softly, “Do you still blame me?”
If Yan Su had argued with him cold-faced and direct, Lin Zhuoyu might have felt better. But soft words were the one thing he could never withstand, and for a moment he found himself at a disadvantage.
He lowered his eyes, not meeting Yan Su’s gaze. “No. I know Senior Brother lost control because your Dao Heart was unstable.”
After all, his Eldest Senior Brother’s turmoil had begun because of him in the first place—but the harm done to Lu Qi was real nonetheless.
Lin Zhuoyu had no one to blame but himself.
Yan Su knew Lin Zhuoyu well—knew he would gather all of it onto his own shoulders: the guilt toward Lu Qi, the self-reproach for Yan Su’s loss of control. That was what had drawn such heartaching gloom over so bright a person.
Yan Su stepped closer and looked down at him. “I’m sorry.”
Lin Zhuoyu came back to himself with a start, thinking he had been listening to his Eldest Senior Brother apologize nonstop lately.
Yan Su’s whole body carried the frost-and-snow scent of the Cold Pond at Deer Jade Terrace, with a faint undertone of blood. The pressure of the late Spirit Solidification stage hovered on the edge of a breakthrough, that oppressive might settling over them in intermittent waves, making Lin Zhuoyu unconsciously turn his face aside.
“You don’t need to apologize to me—” The words had barely left his mouth when Lin Zhuoyu abruptly choked, swallowing whatever came next.
But Yan Su understood the unspoken remainder, and stepped half a pace closer.
Lin Zhuoyu could nearly make out the faint water-pattern embroidery on his black robes. That tall body standing so near carried an inexplicably aggressive pressure that made his heart stutter.
Yan Su looked down at him. “…Or would you rather I apologize to your Dao Companion in person?”
Lin Zhuoyu went rigid and couldn’t help glaring up at him. “He is not my Dao Companion. You know perfectly well it’s just a pact to save him—”
Yan Su’s eyes held his, voice lowered. “If that is the only way you’ll forgive me, your Senior Brother will do it.”
Lin Zhuoyu would have given anything for the two of them to exchange not one more word—otherwise another clash might end in blows no one could undo. He said sulkily, “I already apologized on your behalf. Just stop targeting him, that’s all.”
Yan Su’s eyes stirred faintly, holding those words, repeating them softly. “You apologized for me?”
The words seemed to please him. He smiled without a sound and reached out, brushing a gentle finger beneath Lin Zhuoyu’s eye. “Haven’t been sleeping well? You have shadows under your eyes.”
Lin Zhuoyu shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Yan Su asked, “Still angry with me?”
“No.”
“Then why won’t you tell your Senior Brother the truth?”
Lin Zhuoyu held back, held back—and failed, lifting his eyes to glare at him, only to collide squarely with Yan Su’s gaze.
Lately Yan Su had rarely met his eyes directly. Catching his gaze now, and finding it no longer darted away as before, Lin Zhuoyu felt strangely ill at ease.
That gaze was calm and gentle instead, as if it meant to hold his entire being within it.
Lin Zhuoyu’s spark of anger promptly guttered out, and he muttered, “You… don’t push your luck.”
It was already a miracle the man was willing to talk to him at all—still yammering away.
Yan Su said nothing more, only: “Give me your hand.”
Before Lin Zhuoyu’s brain caught up, years of habit had already made him obediently hold out both hands, brow furrowed. “What for?”
Yan Su laid a brand-new spirit sword into Lin Zhuoyu’s palm, its edge drawn three inches from the sheath—just enough to reveal two characters carved across the blade in bold, flying strokes.
—”Linyuan.”
Daoist Lord Tongxu had already given him a new sword a few days prior, one he hadn’t even sharpened yet—and now here was another, engraved with Yan Su’s courtesy name no less. Lin Zhuoyu frowned and refused.
“I’m not a sword cultivator. I can’t use this many swords. Keep it for yourself.”
Yan Su said evenly, “You form your Dao Companion pact today. This is your Senior Brother’s gift.”
Lin Zhuoyu considered, found no grounds for refusal, and reluctantly—half pushed, half persuaded—accepted it.
Lin Zhuoyu was very easy to please; within a few sentences, the gloom had vanished from him entirely.
Seeing him hang little sword tassels from the hilt, Yan Su took one and tied it on for him, then asked, as if in passing, “Do you know about the Peach Blossom Calamity marked in your fate this year?”
Lin Zhuoyu nodded. “Shizun told me.”
“Then Lu Qi…” Yan Su took hold of the sword hilt and pulled it forward; Lin Zhuoyu nearly tumbled into his chest. “Do you like men like him?”
Lin Zhuoyu’s nose all but bumped against Yan Su’s sternum. That familiar scent wrapped around him, stirring not the slightest rejection, and he lolled lazily. “Dunno.”
Playing elder brother to a younger boy was novel—but Lin Zhuoyu was clearly not the sort who could keep it up for long.
Yan Su reached out and tucked Lin Zhuoyu’s stray hair behind his ear, saying absently, “Have you thought about what sort of person your fated true love might be?”
Lin Zhuoyu, well practiced, tipped his head back to let Yan Su tend his hair, and gave a small shake of his head.
He only felt he was still young. The places he’d been in all these years could be counted on one hand; the wide world remained unexplored—how could it already be time to go hunting for a destined love?
Yan Su glanced at him and said nothing more.
Qingshan Qi fought down the urge to drag Lin Zhuoyu back, pacing in circles the whole time. By the time he had nearly gnawed his nails to the quick, Lin Zhuoyu finally returned.
Qingshan Qi’s taut body loosened all at once. He hurried forward, and the moment he caught that peach-blossom scent that belonged to Lin Zhuoyu alone, the frenzy in his chest ebbed, bit by bit.
He twitched his nose lightly, took Lin Zhuoyu’s hand, and wrote, stroke by stroke.
“You smell like someone else.”
Lin Zhuoyu puzzled over his own sleeve and sniffed it. “Do I? I don’t, haha—what are you, a bloodhound?”
Qingshan Qi’s gaze landed on the spirit sword at Lin Zhuoyu’s waist.
“And this sword?”
“Oh, a Union gift from my Senior Brother.”
Qingshan Qi sneered inwardly.
Yan Linyuan?
Since when was he so kind?
Just then Yan Su walked over, a few steps behind. No trace of the previous hostility remained on that peerlessly handsome face; he was perfectly composed. “My mind was unsettled a few days ago. Forgive me, Fellow Daoist Lu.”
Qingshan Qi’s eyelid twitched.
Lin Zhuoyu stood to one side watching anxiously, apparently afraid they’d come to blows.
Qingshan Qi swallowed his displeasure and lightly took Lin Zhuoyu’s wrist, writing out several careful characters.
Lin Zhuoyu exhaled in silent relief. “He says, ‘Commander Yan is too kind.'”
Yan Su’s gaze had never left Lin Zhuoyu’s hands, his jaw tightening and loosening. His black robes snapped in the wind, making him look all the more severe, the Wuyou Sword hanging at his waist. His tone was cold. “Shizun is occupied today. I will oversee my junior brother’s pact.”
Lin Zhuoyu hurried to ask, “What happened? Is Shizun unwell? Is it serious?”
“Nothing serious. An ordinary retreat to rest.”
“Oh, oh, okay.”
Qingshan Qi wrote with a smile.
“However reluctant this all may be, it is still Wuyou’s first Union Ceremony. Without an elder presiding—is that not a breach of propriety?”
Yan Su said flatly, “Fellow Daoist Lu is no native of Floating Jade Mountain. How would you know our mountain’s rules?”
Qingshan Qi’s smile didn’t fade.
“So Wuyou is valued this little, that a matter as weighty as a lifetime Union needs only a Senior Brother to preside?”
Yan Su was not provoked. “It is no true union. What claim has it to a lifetime?”
Qingshan Qi’s eyes dimmed a shade.
Lin Zhuoyu dutifully relayed the messages, only belatedly realizing there were blades hidden inside both men’s words, needle against awl. He rushed to smooth things over. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Shishu Qingxiao will be here.”
At the Life Lamp Hall of Deer Jade Terrace, not only had Wei Qingxiao arrived—even He Xing had come to watch the spectacle, eyes still rimmed red.
Yan Su inclined his head in salute to Lord Qingxiao and stood to one side without another word.
A proper Union Ceremony was an elaborate affair, and Wei Qingxiao had once imagined presiding over Lin Zhuoyu’s Grand Union Ceremony someday—never under circumstances like these.
Everything was simplified, kept secret, without even tablets of ancestors to bow before.
It required only that the pact sigils be burned and sunk into the two men’s spirit platforms, and that a Life Lamp be made for Lu Qi.
The lamps of the Life Lamp Hall floated up toward the vaulted ceiling, several zhang high, lighting the vast hall bright as day.
Wei Qingxiao wore splendid robes, a festival lamp in hand, candlelight spilling from all directions into beautiful peach blossom patterns.
“By solemn decree—constant and unwavering devotion, to burn for half a month.”
At those words, Qingshan Qi’s brow creased faintly.
When the rite was done, Wei Qingxiao handed over two jade slips. “This is the ‘Two-Three Pact.’ It carries the same effect as a Dao Companion Pact—except it carries a one-month term.”
Qingshan Qi’s face dropped outright.
Curious, Lin Zhuoyu came up and fingered the jade slips. “There’s such a thing? How come I’ve never seen it in any book?”
“It’s a recent invention,” Wei Qingxiao said with a smile. “The Xiangdao Pavilion loves researching this sort of thing. The Two-Three Pact is also called the ‘lesser Dao Companion pact’—when the term expires, the pact dissolves automatically. Saves you both the awkwardness.”
Lin Zhuoyu hadn’t expected such a wonderful thing to exist. His eyes curved; the riddle that had plagued him for days dissolved on the spot. He said excitedly to Qingshan Qi, “Little Qi, look! Now you can rest easy—no one will wrong you.”
Qingshan Qi smiled gently and forced out a few hoarse syllables. “Mm. How… very… good.”
Two. Three. Pact.
Of two intentions and three hearts. This was a humiliation.
Qingshan Qi had prided himself on stringing the whole of Floating Jade Mountain around his finger—never imagining that at the final step, he would be slapped across the face by a Two-Three Pact.
Li Tongxu probably wasn’t in secluded cultivation at all. He simply couldn’t be bothered to come deal with so trivial a matter.
Foremost Cultivator Beneath Heavenly Dao, indeed. What a masterful hand.
Wei Qingxiao, all smiles, said kindly to Qingshan Qi, “You risked your life to save our Zhuoyu—all of Floating Jade Mountain is deeply grateful, young friend. When the month has passed and the Origin Core returns to its rightful owner, ask anything you wish of us, and Floating Jade Mountain will spare nothing to grant it.”
Qingshan Qi smiled. “You flatter me.”
Wei Qingxiao sighed with feeling. “Good child. Such a good child.”
Yan Su cast them a glance that was half smile, half not.
The moment He Xing heard of this “lesser Dao Companion pact,” he sprang back to life, and came bouncing over to hold the serving tray for his Shizun, grinning ear to ear. “Congratulations, congratulations! May the pact break soon!”
Qingshan Qi: “…”
The sharp claws hidden in Qingshan Qi’s sleeve nearly punched through his own palm before he suppressed the urge to butcher every person present, his molars nearly grinding to powder as he kept his surface composure.
The two jade slips of the Two-Three Pact rested in their joined palms. Wei Qingxiao channeled spiritual power to lift the pact sigils, which circled the Life Lamp Hall several times before finally tying themselves into a loose, sagging knot—then wove and tangled together and sank into the two men’s brows.
Seeing that faint red thread taking shape between the two of them, even knowing it would be severed in a month, Yan Su could not stop his eyes from reddening.
A flood of jealousy scorched through his chest, a searing, acrid hatred that even the agony of his shattered Origin Core could not smother.
In the instant the pact sealed, Qingshan Qi felt a stream of spiritual power like flowing water suddenly pass into his hollow organs, slowly soothing his battered dantian.
Even the life force that had been draining away without end finally stilled.
Seeing his color improve so markedly, Lin Zhuoyu instantly brightened.
Yan Su said lightly, “It seems this pact really does work. Zhuoyu—you should thank Perfected Zhou another day.”
“Mm-hm!”
Qingshan Qi’s teeth nearly shattered. If the last thread of reason hadn’t reminded him he stood on Floating Jade Mountain, he would long since have revealed his true form and fought this man to the death.
He would snap this man’s neck, flay him and pick his bones clean, cast him somewhere with no place left to bury him—throwing him to the wolves on some mass grave would be letting him off easy.
Damnable. Hateful.
He should die. He should die.
Die, die, die, die, DIE!
Yan Su raised a brow. “Fellow Daoist Lu seems dissatisfied?”
Qingshan Qi produced a impeccably courteous smile. “Not at all. It suits me perfectly. Commander Yan has been most attentive.”
Thinking: bastard.
