Considering that Murong He was willing to help him, Wenren Sheng decided not to hold it against him.
He shifted his chair forward and said, “Have you brought all the things needed for the Underworld? Take them out and let me see.”
He Mu did as told and produced a Yin-Yang Token and a stack of paper money, placing them on the table.
He said, “We still need a paper lantern. I’ll cast a spell to light the Everbright Fire on it, then we can take it inside.”
Wenren Sheng nodded. “Then I’ll look for one.”
With that, he rose and headed to the cabinet across the way, rummaging through it with clattering sounds in search of a paper lantern.
While he searched, He Mu stood, unstrapped the two swords from his back, and set them by the bed along with the conical hat.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the bed frame, his gaze settling on Wenren Sheng as he turned drawers upside down.
After a quiet moment, he took the initiative. “Everyone living here is snake demons, but I clearly saw lots of rabbits earlier.”
“Oh,” Wenren Sheng answered absentmindedly, “those are my former clan kin. I brought them when I moved here.”
“Your clan kin are rabbits?”
“Yeah, I was raised by Rabbit Spirits back then.”
“I see.”
“…”
They chatted in fits and starts. Wenren Sheng finished searching two cabinets but still hadn’t found a paper lantern.
He plopped dejectedly onto the floor, drew up his legs, and pondered what might substitute for one.
Nearby, He Mu fiddled with his fingers and asked casually, “That loose cultivator great power who ascended that you mentioned before—how close are you? Got time to introduce me sometime?”
At the question, Wenren Sheng shot him a complicated look.
He cupped his cheeks and replied glumly, “We’ve cut off contact.”
He Mu pressed, “Why? Did you fight?”
Wenren Sheng said, “No fight. Some really complicated stuff happened, and he had to leave me for a while.”
“But a lot went down during that time. Now I don’t want to see him again.”
He Mu asked, “Why not?”
Wenren Sheng puffed his cheeks. “He always protected me before. I depended on him totally, saw him as my closest family.”
“But… that one time, when it all happened, he wasn’t there for me.”
He Mu’s breath caught. He straightened up involuntarily, words on the tip of his tongue.
Wenren Sheng didn’t notice and kept going sullenly. “I know it’s not his fault, but my chest just feels stuffy and uncomfortable. Think it over, though, and I don’t even know what to blame him for.”
He Mu: “…………”
He started to speak but held back, leaning silently against the bed frame.
Wenren Sheng sat on the floor, chin propped, looking up at He Mu. “Brother, do you think I should blame him?”
He Mu’s lip twitched. He forced out, “Blame him. It was his fault anyway.”
Wenren Sheng let out a soft sigh.
“But deciding to blame him made me feel even worse.”
He said quietly,
“I know it’s that bad guy’s issue, but I’m dumping it all on my other family member. Makes me hate myself too—selfish and immature…”
“I can’t square it, so I just want to see him less and less.”
He Mu’s eyes darkened. He said nothing.
Wenren Sheng had always been an emotionally sensitive child, prone to overthinking himself into knots. This line of thought wasn’t surprising.
Many things were beyond his grasp, but the feelings hit first, leaving him at a loss—just like when he’d fled, emotions overwhelming his capacity.
But that wasn’t immature.
An immature kid wouldn’t overthink like this, wouldn’t burden their hatred with so much else.
Right now, He Mu wanted to cup his face and confess: back then, he’d failed to consider everything, letting Wenren Sheng suffer and flee home at sixteen.
Wenren Sheng could hate him freely, blame him—it was a naive kid’s right.
And as family, as the elder, He Mu owed him that much willfulness.
But not yet.
Wait until Wenren Sheng met that departed soul, untied his knot… then come clean.
Wenren Sheng rummaged through a few more cabinets and finally unearthed a crumpled paper lantern, handing it over.
“Only this one’s left,” he said. “What’s it for?”
He Mu took it, cast a spell to puff it back up, and explained, “Guides the way. Once we’re in the Underworld, it’ll lead us to the entrance.”
Wenren Sheng nodded, half-getting it. “So next, wait for the Zi hour, burn the paper money and Yin-Yang Token, and take the ashes?”
He Mu chuckled lightly. “I still need to test bringing you along to the Underworld.”
Wenren Sheng tilted his head. “How?”
“Hand out,” He Mu said. “Eyes closed. See if I can touch your soul.”
Unsure what he planned, Wenren Sheng obediently extended his hand and shut his eyes.
Sight gone, he soon felt a hand cover his palm—slow, threading intimately through his fingers.
Wenren Sheng startled and nearly opened his eyes, but He Mu clapped a hand over them.
“No peeking. Breathe steady,” he said deeply.
Wenren Sheng’s breaths came erratic, heart hammering wildly. The man before him pried his fingers none too gently, locking them tight—like he might do more any second.
The restraint chafed. Barely half a moment in, Wenren Sheng squirmed. “…Done?”
“Relax,” He Mu withdrew his hand with a light laugh. “All set.”
Wenren Sheng opened his eyes and glanced down: palms together, fingers laced—like lovers in some play.
Face heating, he yanked his hand back.
“Done means let go,” he grumbled. “Why hold on?”
He Mu grinned. “Never held hands with anyone?”
Wenren Sheng clutched his hem, mumbling denial. “As if…”
He Mu leaned in teasingly. “Then with me, and you’re this worked up?”
Wenren Sheng scooted aside, flushed silent.
He couldn’t say.
Their fingers meshed, he’d felt something cool on the knuckles—like a thumb ring.
Eyes shut, his mind filled with the Mountain God wearing the one he’d gifted, gripping his hand tight.
Too alike.
Over two years apart, those searing memories still sped his pulse.
He chided himself—why fixate on He Mu today? He’d gone ages without dwelling.
Seeing Wenren Sheng blush beet-red, He Mu eased back, hand on the table edge.
“No issues. I can reach your soul. Now just wait unti—”
A knock cut him off at the door.
Both tensed, eyes snapping to it. A tall silhouette showed through the paper window, fan in hand. Only one in Splendid Palace carried herself so.
“Wenren Sheng?” came the voice.
Wenren Sheng clocked Yi Jinxiang and clutched He Mu, hissing low, “Crap, my master’s here!”
“Huh?” He Mu blinked. “Your master…”
No time—Wenren Sheng shoved him onto the bed, yanking quilt over his head.
“Her minion must’ve snitched. Hide! I’ll shoo her!”
Too late he saw: quilt draped a glaring outline.
Idiot-proof!
He paced frantically, then bit the bullet—shed his robe and dove under.
On the bed, he shoved He Mu’s head lower, bared his torso, cheek to hand—picture of bedtime.
“Ow!” He Mu grunted, blindsided. “Hold on, this bed of yours…”
“Brother, quiet!” Wenren Sheng leg-hooked his shoulder, pawing to muffle him. “Master’s coming in!”
Yi Jinxiang called again.
“Wenren Sheng? Asleep?”
He wriggled, dropped half the bed curtain, and hollered, “Master, heading to bed now!”
She paused outside, hand to door—click, it swung open.
She stepped in to chaos: robes and boots strewn everywhere.
Bed nearby, curtain half-drawn; Wenren Sheng inside, one hand fisted in quilt.
“No tidying first?”
Yi Jinxiang frowned, scooped his floor clothes, shook them out, table-bound.
“Confinement tomorrow, so slacking ’cause I won’t check?”
Wenren Sheng tucked quilt meekly. “No, exhausted today. Morning cleanup.”
Yi Jinxiang perched opposite on the bed, fanning lightly. “Saw that friend you dragged in. Dumb snake, no smarts. You two hit it off?”
“Uh?” Wenren Sheng faltered. “No smarts…”
Under quilts, He Mu cursed inwardly—the snake must’ve crossed Yi Jinxiang returning.
He pinched Wenren Sheng’s leg: play it cool.
The touch startled Wenren Sheng; he hummed soft, fingers digging into He Mu’s shoulder on reflex.
Yi Jinxiang perked a brow at the noise. “What?”
Wenren Sheng shook head wild. “Sleepy yawn.”
She sighed, temple-rubbing headache. “Won’t linger. Few words.”
“Know you wanna bolt the city. Skills up these years, sure—but no Dao Heart means no true cultivator.”
“Outside’s brewing storm. Heavenly Court secret order: Night Touring Gods mass-hunting demons. Heavenly Spiritual Root like you? Spotted, you’re done…”
Wenren Sheng mumbled vague ums, squirming uneasy.
So heavy…
A body atop crushed like this? Nauseating; Yi Jinxiang’s words faded to drone.
He Mu, quilt-trapped low, tuned out worse—legs cramped nowhere, face mashed to Wenren Sheng’s belly, breaths labored.
Wenren Sheng wore only thin inner robe now.
He Mu clung tight; hot puffs slipped seams, ghosting skin—tiny shiver.
…!
Legs twitched instinctive, shooing He Mu off.
Scuffle rustled quilts faint.
Yi Jinxiang was sharp; exposure loomed.
He Mu snaked a hand under collar, clamped waist iron.
“Stay still,” he breathed.
It worked—Wenren Sheng froze cat-stiff, scruff-grabbed, motionless.
