Chapter 20: 20 Late-Stage Chuunibyou

By the time Shen Di’an came hurrying at the sound, Buzhiya had been reduced to rubble—old timber and wreckage strewn everywhere.

Another shrill cry pierced the air. Shen Di’an looked up: a skeletal long kite was beating its enormous wings, circling above the ruins, its cry shrill enough to curdle blood.

A crowd of Rizhao disciples had already gathered, too wary of the living skeleton to approach, huddling in clusters and muttering among themselves.

Something struck Shen Di’an; he jolted, seized the nearest disciple, and demanded, “What happened? Is Eldest Senior Brother out yet?”

Before the disciple could answer, Zhou Fuxue’s voice rang out beside them: “Eldest Senior Brother is over there—go save him!”

The instant the house collapsed, Zhou Fuxue had been sitting on the walkway railing waiting for Lu Qingkong to come out. In a daze he heard a shriek; before he could react, the Heartless Sword enshrined at Wenxian Residence instinctively sensed danger and shot through the air, hooking Zhou Fuxue by the collar and hauling him clear—dumping him into a puddle in the courtyard.

The next moment, the massive skeleton rose from the ground, wood shards flying, buildings collapsing—nearly burying Zhou Fuxue beneath them.

Concussed, Zhou Fuxue was out for a moment. When he came to, all of Buzhiya lay in ruins, broken walls and rubble crushing everything beneath.

He groped through the fog for a moment before it struck him—Mingzhu was still inside. Instinct drove him to scramble up and rush to the rescue, but the arriving disciples pinned him down bodily.

“That evil thing is still up there! Don’t go throwing your life away! The Sect Master will be here soon!”

Zhou Fuxue thrashed with all his strength, shouting, “Senior Brother is still in there! Eldest Senior Brother!”

Darkness swam before Shen Di’an’s eyes. He shook. “He… where is he?”

Zhou Fuxue, shoulders pinned, unable to move an inch, clung to the sight of Shen Di’an like a drowning man to a rope, pointing wildly at the pile of rubble. “Under there!”

Shen Di’an whirled to charge in—but a hoarse voice came from beside him: “No. He’s not under there.”

Everyone turned to look. There stood Lu Qingkong, covered in dust, clothes torn, one hand still trembling faintly around a small wooden box.

Shen Di’an blinked, then said, “He’s not under there? Then where is he?”

Lu Qingkong pressed his lips together, seemingly ashamed to say it. After a long moment, he still lifted a shaking finger toward the long kite circling overhead, and rasped, “Up there.”

At that very moment, a scream drifted down from atop the long kite: “AHHH—SAVE ME!”

Shen Di’an: “…”

Everyone: “…”

They looked up and, sure enough, spotted a flash of red clinging to the long kite’s wing bones.

The instant the long kite had reverted to true size, Mingzhu’s pupils had contracted violently; he’d shoved Lu Qingkong out of the way—and Mingzhu, standing closest, was caught full-on by the kite’s enormous wing bone, thrashed about for a breath, then flung into the sky. Hence the present situation.

Mingzhu was deathly afraid of heights and deathly afraid of dying. Now he spun through the air while that damnable long kite kept beating its wings, trying to fling him off. Frightened sick, his screams tore across the sky, actually drowning out the kite’s shrieks.

“S-s-save me!! Get me down from here!!”

“Whoever saves me, your senior brother will marry you on the spot! Ah! Eight-carrier palanquin! Mountains of dowry, ahhh!”

“Fuhua! Fuhua! Fifth Brother! Ah—Seventh Brother!”

Seeing that Mingzhu had clearly begun raving, Shen Di’an nearly lost his mind, screaming up at him, “Just let go! We’ll catch you down here!”

Mingzhu: “Can’t! I’m wedged in the gaps between its bones!”

Shen Di’an: “…”

The onlooking disciples knew it was hardly the moment, but still covered their mouths, snorting suppressed laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Shen Di’an roared at them. “Can’t you see your Eldest Senior Brother suffering up there? What kind of disciples are you? Hurry and fetch the Sect Master… pfft!”

Mid-berating, he couldn’t hold back a laugh of his own.

Zhou Fuxue’s face went black. “Senior Brother!”

Shen Di’an coughed. “Fine, fine, I know—hold on a little longer! Someone’s gone to fetch Master. He’ll be here to save you soon.”

Mingzhu: “Save my ass! Master went out this morning! Go get Fifth Brother! Have Fifth Brother save me!”

Shen Di’an: “Fifth Senior Brother is in secluded cultivation. How exactly is he supposed to save you?”

Another scream tore from Mingzhu—then his voice rapidly dwindled, until he seemed at his very last gasp.

Just as everyone wracked their brains over how to get their Eldest Senior Brother down, a White Silk Sash came slicing through the air, as if drawn by an unseen hand, shooting straight for the airborne long kite. The lithe, soft silk darted through the gaps in the skeleton and, in a few lightning passes, lashed the kite’s enormous wing bones tight.

Then the long kite gave one last, deeply reluctant cry and dropped—and Mingzhu, wedged in the bone gaps, won his freedom, screaming as he fell from the sky.

The disciples below burst into cries of alarm—and as Mingzhu flailed, weightless, a hand lightly caught his waist and drew him into an embrace, a faint orchid fragrance washing over his face.

Mingzhu looked up, stunned.

The long kite, bound fast, plummeted straight down, wrecking the ruins even further. Even with the pouring rain, dust swirled for a long while before settling.

Shen Di’an let out a long breath. “Third Senior Brother timed his entrance perfectly.”

Third Senior Brother Yan Xueyu wore white whiter than snow, descending with the airy grace of an exiled immortal upon a White Silk Sash swaying in the wind. His face was cold, dark hair streaming; gazing down at the junior brothers beneath him, his thin lips parted and he said frostily, “Useless trash.”

Mingzhu clung to his waist for dear life, shivering in his arms, voice near tears. “Hey, Third Brother, scold them later—can we get down first?”

Yan Xueyu spared him even less mercy. “You have the nerve to speak. You’re more useless than they are.”

Mingzhu: “Fine, fine, I’m trash, I’m the trashiest. Now get me down!”

Yan Xueyu gave a cold laugh, flicked his wide sleeve, and slowly descended to the ground with Mingzhu in tow.

Shen Di’an and Lu Qingkong hurried over. “Third Senior Brother.”

The moment Mingzhu touched ground, he shoved Yan Xueyu away and bent over, retching himself inside out; the bandage on his back seeped fresh blood from the ordeal.

Zhou Fuxue ran over, eyes red-rimmed, patting his back to ease his breathing. “Senior Brother? Senior Brother, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Not dying yet.” Mingzhu waved a listless hand; only after vomiting forever did it stop. He simply sat down in the rain-soaked ground, heedless of the filth, and called up at Yan Xueyu, “Don’t you never leave Snow-Seclusion Lodge? How come you made it here in time to save the day today?”

Yan Xueyu must have rushed over in a hurry; raindrops beaded him all over. Cold-faced, he extended a hand to the side. Shen Di’an caught on at once, yanked over an umbrella, and pressed it into his palm.

Yan Xueyu held the umbrella like some lofty recluse above the mundane world. With a tap of his fingers, the White Silk Sash that had just carried him through the air scattered into motes of white mist that sank into his brow. He said coldly, “You raised such a ruckus—if I hadn’t come, were you planning to tear all of Rizhao down?”

The chief culprit, Lu Qingkong, hung his head, not daring a sound.

Mingzhu, badly frightened and burning with fever all over again, leaned dizzily against Zhou Fuxue’s shoulder and said weakly, “My fault. When Master returns, I’ll take my punishment myself. This time, thanks to Third Junior Brother for saving my wretched life—next time I’ll have a plaque made and hang it in your courtyard.”

Yan Xueyu wanted nothing of Mingzhu’s disgraceful “Grace for a Thousand Autumns, Save My Wretched Life” plaque. “Shut up—what manner of thing is causing havoc here?”

The long kite lay amid the ruins, bound motionless by the ever-tightening White Silk Sash; only the bones of its throat emitted a spine-chilling “ka-ka” clatter.

Mingzhu instantly waved both hands frantically at the other disciples, signaling them to shut their mouths, while Shen Di’an cooperated smoothly with an outrageous lie: “Nothing, nothing. Ninth Senior Brother was showing Eldest Senior Brother his newest mechanical bird—the little thing suddenly went haywire and carried Eldest Senior Brother off into the sky.”

Yan Xueyu’s brow creased.

Zhou Fuxue had heard that Third Senior Brother Yan Xueyu had been born blind, but this was his first time seeing him. This legendary senior brother had a face like carved jade, a pair of beautiful phoenix eyes still as a deep, dark pool—truly handsome. No one would ever guess he was blind.

Zhou Fuxue fixed a burning glare on Lu Qingkong and was just about to speak when Mingzhu clapped a hand over his mouth, mouthing at him: Shut it, junior brother.

Though Yan Xueyu was aloof and haughty by nature, he had never once thought to doubt anything anyone told him. However many doubts stirred in his heart, he readily believed Shen Di’an’s words.

“If it’s a mechanism you cannot control, don’t drag it out to disgrace yourself.”

Lu Qingkong lowered his head and answered dully, “Yes.”

Seeing he’d been put off, Mingzhu hastened to say, “Old Ten, hurry and see your Third Senior Brother home. It’s raining and the paths are slick—mind he doesn’t take a fall.”

A flicker of mockery crossed Yan Xueyu’s snow-white face. “Nothing in this world has ever made me bow. If such a thing exists at all, it can only be myself.”

Mingzhu: “…”

Everyone: “…”

Yan Xueyu delivered this mortifying line without a flicker of blush or change of breath—while the listening disciples flushed crimson on his behalf.

“Ahem,” said Mingzhu. “Then… safe travels, Third Junior Brother?”

Yan Xueyu gave a slight nod and, umbrella in hand, swept away along the stone path through the Camphor Forest—showing no sign at all of blindness.

Shen Di’an surveyed the stretch of ruins with a troubled sigh. Still worried about Yan Xueyu, he said, “Rest at Fuxue’s place for now. Once I’ve seen Third Senior Brother home, I’ll fetch some medicine and re-bandage you. And you…”

Lu Qingkong, well aware of the trouble he’d caused, pressed his lips together and said nothing.

Shen Di’an said helplessly, “What are you looking aggrieved about? Clean up that long kite—if Master finds out, there’ll be another round of furious punishments.”

And upon whom those punishments would fall, everyone knew perfectly well.

Having given his instructions, Shen Di’an hurried off after Yan Xueyu without even an umbrella.

Mingzhu dismissed the other disciples with a few glib words. His whole body ached; he could barely stand, and had to be supported by Zhou Fuxue as he shuffled step by step to Wenxian Residence.

Soaked to the bone, with no dry clothes to be had—everything lay buried under that pile of rubble—Mingzhu could only wipe himself down bare, then burrow into Zhou Fuxue’s blankets and wrap himself up before finally letting out a sigh of comfort.

Zhou Fuxue’s brow hadn’t relaxed once. He pressed his palm to Mingzhu’s forehead to test it, face grim. “The fever’s back. Senior Brother, does it hurt?”

Mingzhu lay listless on the bed, nodded vaguely, then quickly shook his head, breath faint. “I’m fine.”

By then the drenched Lu Qingkong had subdued the long kite and come back over, cradling the nearly crushed box.

The sight of him reignited Zhou Fuxue’s anger—and on his own turf now, he had the confidence to match. He spread his arms before Mingzhu’s bed and said coldly, “Senior Brother needs rest. Out.”

Mingzhu managed to lift his head for a look and burst out laughing. “Thirteen, stop fooling around. Let your senior brother come over.”

Lu Qingkong pressed his lips together, wet hair clinging to the side of his face, looking painfully pitiable. He came to Mingzhu’s side, set the box on the edge of the bed, and mumbled in a hoarse voice, “All of it. It’s all yours now.”

Mingzhu: “…”