Chapter 17: Do Even Immortal Lords Get Tipsy?

Yet, surprisingly, Jiang Chen wasn’t as cutting as usual this time.

No mockery, no cold barbs—just a moment of lowered gaze in silence before he actually set the jade pot in his hand gently down on the nearby stone table, as instructed.

Zhao Lixuan even caught a faint, single syllable that dissipated into the wind.

“Mm.”

And for the entire day after that, Jiang Chen truly didn’t touch a drop of alcohol.

This compliant demeanor was something Zhao Lixuan had never seen from him before. Throughout the rest of the day’s training, he couldn’t help stealing frequent glances at him.

Perhaps it was because the weather that day was exceptionally clear.

The bright, pristine sunlight poured down, softly caressing that sharply angled face perpetually veiled in frost. Specks of light danced on his slightly lowered lashes, as if… quietly melting away the chill and malice that had lingered between his brows ever since their reunion.

Even the occasional glances he cast over carried a rare tranquility and gentleness.

Zhao Lixuan stared, entranced.

Such an expression—he had only ever seen it in his memories of Fu Xi Palace’s brightest days, on the faces of people like Senior Brother Xia and Senior Sister Lu.

Back then, with their eldest brother still around, Fu Xi Palace had always brimmed with vitality and laughter. Under his wings, everyone in their eyes sparkled with the unscarred, bright, and straightforward youthful spirit.

But Jiang Chen had always been different.

From their first meeting, he had been like the endless, humid plum rains of the Mortal Realm.

Zhao Lixuan had once secretly hoped that one day, he could personally brush away the perpetual gloom, silence, and loneliness from that youth.

That one day, he might glimpse a trace of pure clarity on his face.

It would surely be a sight more brilliant than the sunset glows of the Unstained Immortal Realm.

But in the end, it had been nothing but a pipe dream.

He never imagined that years later, under the shifting sunlight, he would finally brush against that once unattainable wish.

Of course.

As Jiang Immortal Lord had said, he had lived well these past twenty years.

The endless rainy season that he couldn’t dispel no matter how hard he tried back then—Jiang Immortal Lord must have walked out of it on his own.

…

That evening.

Zhao Lixuan dragged his nearly falling-apart body back to Pear Flower Water Pavilion, only to feel that the touching moment from earlier that day was purely his own overactive imagination!

He must be crazy to think there was a hint of calm gentleness on Jiang Chen’s face, or that Jiang Chen hadn’t been harsh today.

Like hell he wasn’t harsh?

Today’s training intensity had been downright murderous—he felt like he was falling apart!

“Ow, ow, ow…”

Truly, every movement brought aches all over. The moment he shut the door, he dropped the poised Immortal Lord facade he’d maintained on the road and flopped onto the bed in a heap.

The next day, he decisively “fell ill” again.

At this “illness,” Rumu Shixiong predictably showed up with a food box of nourishing congee, as always.

But this time, the junior brother wasn’t as easily fooled. As he ladled out the congee, he asked warmly:

“Li Xuan, have you… had another falling out with Jiang Immortal Venerable?”

Zhao Lixuan took the bowl and stuffed his cheeks full, shaking his head vigorously in denial.

This time, though it was still faking sick, it was different from before!

This was purely a matter of self-preservation. If the training went on like that, he might become the first Immortal Lord in the Immortal Realm to be trained to death by his own partner. At least let him recover for a couple of days!

Yu Rumu: “I see.”

“Then why…” He paused, looking out the window. “When I came just now, I saw Jiang Immortal Lord standing motionless under the red plum tree outside your courtyard, lost in a daze.”

Zhao Lixuan was blissfully slurping his congee when the words hit him like a thunderbolt, making him choke.

“I thought he was here to visit you too, so I invited him in.”

“But he refused no matter what and just turned and left.”

“…”

Yu Rumu looked helpless, a faint smile in his eyes. “You didn’t see it—Jiang Immortal Lord’s dark hair loosely pinned today, dressed in red again, with pear blossoms like snow falling on his shoulders. The sight was stunning, just like…”

Zhao Lixuan grumbled, “Like a red plum spirit that came alive in the snow?”

Yu Rumu blinked in slight surprise. “Exactly! Red plum against the snow—pure, isolated beauty. How did it seem like you’d seen it yourself?”

Zhao Lixuan: “…”

Yu Rumu had a dinner appointment with Chu Fusheng, so he didn’t stay long and soon left with his food box.

But not far from Pear Flower Water Pavilion, he was called to a stop.

Turning back, in the twilight dusk, that “red plum spirit” Jiang Immortal Venerable stood against the light in the glow of the setting sun. His red robes nearly blending into the fading sunset.

“He…”

“Mm?” It was rare for the usually taciturn man to take the initiative to speak to him. Yu Rumu responded warmly, waiting for him to continue.

The dusk deepened, evening breeze stirring the pear trees in the courtyard, scattering white petals like soft snow in the silent air.

Jiang Chen pressed his pale, bloodless lips together, as if wanting to say something but hesitating.

Fortunately, Yu Rumu had always been the most perceptive one in Fu Xi Palace. “Is Jiang Immortal Lord… asking after Li Xuan’s condition?”

Seeing no denial, he smiled. “Don’t worry, Jiang Immortal Lord. It’s just a common cold, plus exhaustion. A couple of days’ rest and he’ll be fine.”

Seeing the man still unmoving, Yu Rumu added with a smile, “Really, no need to worry.”

Pear blossoms drifted down.

Jiang Chen’s dark hair was tousled by the wind, his figure standing tall and solitary amid the swirling petals, showing no sign of leaving.

Yu Rumu was patient by nature, so he simply stood quietly with him. After a while, even the brocade carp under the nearby Pearl Moon Bridge grew bored and blew several bubbles, yet the other remained silent.

Yu Rumu had truly never seen anything like this.

Such ordinary concern from a colleague should be the most natural thing in the world—why was it so difficult? An Immortal Lord with such a temperament was rare indeed.

“Jiang Immortal Lord, is there… something else?”

“No,” Jiang Chen said hoarsely, his gaze fixed on the falling pear blossoms. “Does he often fall ill like this… whether…” His voice was so low it nearly scattered in the wind.

Yu Rumu: “What?”

“Does he still have any… unhealed chronic ailments or old injuries?”

Yu Rumu: “…”

Under the setting sun, realization dawned. “So Jiang Immortal Lord knows about that ill-fated romance Li Xuan had in the Mortal Realm back then?”

“It makes sense—you were both in the Mortal Realm together, classmates no less, so of course you’d know.”

“Indeed, when Li Xuan returned from the Mortal Realm… he was badly injured.”

“That demon immortal girl turned on him viciously. Li Xuan took a long time to recover from his wounds—not just physical ones, but… deeply heartbroken too. Even his personality changed quite a bit.”

“But it’s all ancient history now. With my careful care, those injuries have long healed without leaving any root problems. Li Xuan’s forgotten all about that person ages ago. Look at him usually—bouncing around full of energy, right?”

“So, Jiang Immortal Lord, rest assured.”

As he spoke, he smiled faintly again.

Against the backlight of the sunset, he didn’t notice the deathly pallor draining Jiang Chen’s face. Only when the other bid farewell in a daze did he vaguely sense something was off.

But what, exactly?

…

Soon after, meeting Chu Fusheng as planned, Yu Rumu was still unsettled. “Chu Immortal Lord, did I… say something wrong to Jiang Immortal Lord earlier?”

“…”

After a moment, Chu Immortal Lord—who had silently pieced it all together—subtly enlightened him. Yu Rumu’s whole demeanor crumbled; he clutched his head and shrank into a mushroom-like huddle. “I-I’m such an idiot!”

“I never once, from beginning to end, even considered that possibility!”

It was utterly ridiculous.

Because the person he’d fancied back then was a girl, he’d assumed—without question—that the object of Li Xuan’s infatuation in the Mortal Realm had also been a girl!

Plus, in all the letters they’d exchanged back then, whenever Li Xuan mentioned that person, it was always “sweetie” or “little sweet ginger.” Yu Rumu had naturally pictured in his mind a fiery, spicy girl whose name included “sweet.”

…Who would have thought that “little sweet ginger” was simply because the person was surnamed Jiang?

And yet, ever since this Jiang Immortal Lord arrived in the Unstained Immortal Realm, he’d watched Li Xuan act all flustered and chaotic around him.

Why had it never crossed his mind?

What on earth had he just said to Jiang Immortal Lord?!

…

Night fell like water, the dark fragrance of pear blossoms wafting in the evening breeze.

The door was pushed open ever so lightly, emitting a faint creak.

Moonlight slipped in, casting a narrow beam of pale glow across the floor. Jiang Chen stepped into the room, his body still carrying the slight chill of night dew.

He hadn’t meant to intrude.

Fu Xi Palace’s various places only had immortal attendants on night watch in the council hall, Scripture Pavilion, and pill rooms. The Immortal Lords’ private residences were serene havens, secured by intent alone.

He had meant to knock, but the door had only been ajar.

Entering the room, a night pearl in the corner cast a hazy glow over the bed. Zhao Lixuan was sunk into cloud-like quilts, breathing steadily, deep in slumber.

Jiang Chen stopped a few steps from the bed, his gaze drawn inescapably to that unguarded sleeping face.

Yu Rumu said Li Xuan had changed a lot.

But in his eyes, the current Zhao Lixuan was just a bit plainer in attire and more reserved in speech.

Nothing else had changed.

Still, like before, he’d grow drowsy after eating his fill and sleep without a shred of vigilance. His sleeping posture was as unruly as ever—one arm stubbornly sticking out from the brocade quilt, surrounded by a pile of soft pillows that left the bed a wrinkled mess, like a huge, fluffy nest.

He hadn’t changed.

Still the same as back then.

He must… still be the same as back then.

Jiang Chen lowered his eyes and sat gently on the edge of the bed. The person on the bed didn’t wake.

Lost in some pleasant dream, he unconsciously rolled over, clutching the quilt with a contented smile.

Jiang Chen didn’t move, his gaze still serene. But inside, it was like a poison-dipped ice pick had stabbed suddenly.

Who was he dreaming of, to look so happy…

So unlike his own laughable existence—these years, even peaceful sleep had become a luxury. Only by numbing his mind with strong liquor could he force himself into brief, oblivious darkness for a few hours’ respite.

Very occasionally, he’d dream of the past.

Dream of the training grounds behind Xiao Xue Tower Academy, where no matter dawn or dusk, whenever he finished sword practice, he’d see someone propping their chin on a stone step in the corner, beaming at him. Or the Flower Morning Festival lantern fair, streets bustling, someone dragging him to the river to set flower lanterns and make wishes, then sitting side by side watching the starry reflections in the water.

Or in the scorching midsummer heat, someone yanking him to the mountain stream for a swim, splashing cool water playfully on his face while shaking their head like a joyful puppy to fling off droplets. Or every time they came to talk, voice trembling with nerves, yet forcing a suave playboy act.

But those dreams never lasted.

They vanished in an instant, like sand slipping through fingers.

When he opened his eyes again, only pitch-black, icy emptiness remained, staring until the sky lightened at the horizon.

Forget it.

Jiang Chen lowered his eyes in self-mockery.

He should go. Visiting the sick should be done openly tomorrow in the light of day, not disturbing an Immortal Lord’s sweet dreams like this.

But the sleeping man grew restless again, this time kicking most of the brocade quilt off the bed.

Helpless, Jiang Chen stood, picked up the soft cloud quilt, and carefully tucked it back around the man. As he moved to cover the exposed arm too, his motion froze abruptly.

The night pearl’s light was too dim; earlier, he’d only seen a bed full of messy pillows.

Now, leaning closer, he realized with shock that all those hugging pillows were… various chubby, adorable, round-bellied white geese!

Zhao Lixuan always denied liking big geese.

He was brazenly frank about everything else, but stubbornly denied this one thing. Yet he couldn’t hide it—his mouth said no interest, but his eyes gave him away.

Back when helping him pack his meager belongings, someone had instantly zeroed in on that dusty gray goose cushion by the bed, gaze glued, unable to look away.

That ugly thing was just scraps of discarded fabric from a tailor’s shop that Jiang Chen had scavenged in his poor early days and clumsily sewn together with thread.

It was crooked and misshapen, hardly lifelike.

Yet when he’d casually said, “If you like it, take it,” Zhao Lixuan had been overjoyed, happily hugging the big goose home. After washing and sunning it fluffy, he’d clutched it to sleep every night.

Later, he’d collected all sorts of other goose-shaped pillows, calling them companions for “Goose Bro.” Jiang Chen had disliked it at first, but over time… he’d grown accustomed.

Why on earth did he like such ugly geese?

Later on, he discovered that even jade pendants and paintings—he would sneakily buy ones adorned with goose patterns. Even among the many gifts he’d sent, there were plenty secretly hiding all sorts of big geese.

But as time passed and twenty years flowed by…

He could no longer remember many events from the past, couldn’t even recognize the jade pendant from back then.

Yet at this moment, right beneath Jiang Chen’s fingertips, clutched tightly in Zhao Lixuan’s arms, was unmistakably the oldest and most unremarkable one from over twenty years ago—the ugly goose sewn haphazardly from scraps of ragged cloth.

Its edges’ fuzz had long been worn white by the years, yet it was still cherished and held close.

Jiang Chen’s breath hitched for a moment.

He stared in disbelief at the ugly goose, then dazedly shifted his gaze to that still lightly smiling sleeping face.

Thump. Thump.

His heart felt gripped viciously by an invisible hand, then abruptly released, blood surging wildly out of control within his chest.

His fingertips lifted gently of their own accord, trembling ever so faintly, and carefully brushed against that slightly warm cheek.

Thump. Thump.

The touch was unbelievably warm, brimming with vibrant life. Once made, it was like an entwining poison, impossible to tear away from.

He harbored no blasphemous intent, yet his fingertips lingered there almost greedily, as if meticulously verifying a long-lost dream that could never return.

He hasn’t changed.

That day during the Moon Hunt, in his arms, he still called me “Little Jiang.”

The thought unleashed a torrent of emotions, abruptly darkening his gaze. The pressure from Jiang Chen’s fingers unconsciously grew a fraction heavier, carrying some long-suppressed chaos as he lightly pinched that cheek.

“Mm…”

Zhao Lixuan’s eyelashes fluttered, and he hazily opened his eyes.