“I’m sorry… I… didn’t mean to…”
“No matter,” Jiang Chen’s voice came from above. “You gave me a new one—the Frost Jade Flute.”
“…”
“You have a cold constitution,” Zhao Lixuan murmured. “I shouldn’t have given you Frost Jade.”
Moonlight filtered through the lattice, casting faint shadows on Jiang Chen’s lowered lashes. His voice remained gentle: “No matter. I like it.”
He says no matter.
But his hands are still so cold every day.
Are there really no good healers in the Mortal Realm? Zhao Lixuan’s mind floated in feverish delirium, clear one moment, muddled the next. Jiang Chen’s throat ailment back then—it was almost cured after treatment.
How did it relapse like this?
Don’t know.
His awareness blurred further. His ears rang with the auction house’s clamor—”Three million taels!” “Three and a half million!”—before his eyes, a flawless, radiant White Jade Flute, and in the opposite box, several richly dressed young men dead set on claiming it.
He heard his own youthful, brash voice, laced with a flamboyant laugh, ring clearly through the entire venue:
“I’ll cover all offers!”
Covering all offers meant that no matter how high the final bids climbed, he would shoulder them alone.
In the end, he cradled that priceless jade flute, bounding back joyfully like he was presenting a treasure. “Little Sweet Cake, Little Sweet Cake! I bought you the most amazing flute—one of a kind, nowhere else on earth!”
He didn’t know much about craftsmanship, calling it exquisitely made.
He only knew Jiang Chen was skilled with the flute, so the most expensive one had to be the best.
When Jiang Chen silently accepted it later, what expression had he worn? In his memory, that cool, aloof face showed no great ripples, nor any obvious delight.
But really, was there none?
He still remembered, in the warm glow of the red candlelit bedchamber, how Jiang Chen’s usually serene black eyes sparkled with tiny, crystalline lights. He held the jade flute for a long time, his fingertips caressing its surface inch by inch, cherishing it immensely.
But when he turned to catch him staring, it was as if Jiang Chen grew annoyed. He tossed the flute onto the soft bedding, averted his face, and grumbled in a muffled voice: “Such a flashy, impractical thing… Don’t buy stuff like this again.”
But what he’d said was don’t buy it again, not I don’t want it.
…
Later, he heard Jiang Chen play that flute a few times.
The notes were clear and soaring, lingering in the air—the sound was truly beautiful.
Much later, when they parted, Jiang Chen left behind none of the many gifts he’d sent over the years. Every single one he’d eagerly delivered was returned intact.
Except for that White Jade Flute.
Jiang Chen took it with him, without returning it.
But Zhao Lixuan hadn’t known back then. He’d given so many gifts that he hadn’t noticed one missing. Even upon their reunion later, it hadn’t crossed his mind.
Not until this moment.
Unfortunately, by the time he remembered, the flute was already shattered.
In a haze, Zhao Lixuan opened his eyes again. His blurry vision took in Jiang Chen, who was silently bowed over, meticulously picking up the jade fragments from the floor, piece by piece.
He wanted to warn him not to cut his hand, but he had no strength.
When he woke next, it was already noon the next day. Jiang Chen placed a warm bowl of medicine by the bed and sat on the edge, naturally pressing the cool back of his hand to Zhao Lixuan’s fever-flushed cheek.
“Thirsty?”
Zhao Lixuan managed a sluggish “Mm.”
In the next moment, he was steadily scooped up and cradled securely in a solid arm.
Jiang Chen brought warm water to his lips. He hadn’t felt it before, but once the clear, moistening liquid touched his parched tongue, thirst surged fiercely.
He tilted his neck, swallowing eagerly. Some water overflowed from the corner of his mouth, only for Jiang Chen to gently wipe it away with his thumb.
Once finished, Zhao Lixuan’s eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped back into the pillows.
“More?”
Zhao Lixuan had no strength to reply and sank into deep sleep again.
When he woke once more, Jiang Chen was still seated by the bed, holding a translucent glass bowl.
Inside were pristine Golden Stamens Orange segments and Crimson Glow Peach chunks cut to perfect bites, steeped in warm honeyed floral syrup. A clear, sweet fragrance mingled with gentle spiritual energy, wafting up in tendrils of steam.
“Rumu, Immortal Lord said you need rest.”
“Eat more of these.”
Spiritual fruits nurtured in the Unstained Immortal Realm were naturally extraordinary—imbued with solar essence, they replenished exhaustion and harmonized meridians.
Jiang Chen scooped up an orange segment with a jade spoon, and Zhao Lixuan’s gaze slowly followed it.
The segment reached his lips, but he didn’t move. Jiang Chen switched to a piece of peach, offering it over, yet Zhao Lixuan still didn’t open his mouth.
Jiang Chen was patient: “At least a little.”
It wasn’t that Zhao Lixuan refused.
He was simply caught off guard by this meticulous gentleness, momentarily dazed.
Then his throat prickled unbearably again. Even immortals, when weakened, suffered symptoms much like mortals.
He’d barely coughed a few times when Jiang Chen’s hand settled on his back: “Li Xuan, gently.”
Zhao Lixuan tried to stop, but it was too uncomfortable. The violent coughing took over uncontrollably, reddening his eyes.
Jiang Chen held him tighter, placing a hand on his chest and channeling mild demon power from his palm.
The force was soothing, perfectly easing the itch inside. Though he enveloped the man entirely in his arms, Jiang Chen’s movements remained proper and restrained—as if solely to better comfort him.
After a while, the coughing subsided.
“Better?”
Zhao Lixuan nodded. The mild demon power seeped in threads, smoothing the discomfort in his throat. In a hoarse voice, he said: “I want… peach.”
A tart-sweet peach segment was carefully fed into his mouth. Zhao Lixuan chewed slowly and swallowed. Jiang Chen scooped another spoonful, patiently feeding him.
Spoon by spoon, they continued until the syrup at the bowl’s bottom was gone. Only then did Zhao Lixuan realize he was nestled so intimately in someone’s embrace, a belated wave of unease washing over him.
“Jiang Immortal Lord… I’m fine now. You should go rest soon.”
“Rumu already checked, right? He said it’s nothing serious—just fatigue from before. I’ll be better by tomorrow.”
Jiang Chen: “Mm.”
Zhao Lixuan waited intently for him to rise and leave.
He wouldn’t have… stayed up all night tending me, would he?
“Yu Immortal Lord said you’re exhausted.”
Jiang Chen paused: “But also, that you have something weighing on you.”
“…”
Zhao Lixuan did have something on his mind.
His gaze drifted slightly, landing on the Soul-Gathering Lamp in the room’s corner, emanating a warm, radiant glow, colors shimmering.
That was what Jiang Chen had found for him at Sunset Glow Ramparts.
He remembered when he first received it—the flame flickering uncertainly. Now it burned so brilliantly.
This light likely meant fragments of his long-sought brother, Lan Ze Immortal Lord’s soul, were nearby. Coincidentally, legends of Ancient Divine Traces circulated around Crimson Meteor Pass.
Jiang Chen understood his concern at once—
Li Xuan had sensed his brother’s soul so close, eager to retrieve it. Yet with the great battle against the demons looming, he felt he shouldn’t distract from duty over personal matters…
But delaying might mean losing the chance forever. Caught in a dilemma, his heart was heavy.
“There’s still time before the campaign,” Jiang Chen said softly.
“If you hurry… I’ll go with you to search.”
Zhao Lixuan’s breath hitched, something hot and uncontrollable surging in his chest.
But no… the battle’s imminent. How could he?
Jiang Chen: “But carrying all this worry into battle would be worse.”
“Better to recover some soul fragments first, for peace of mind.”
“Besides, the Demon Clan’s movements these days are elusive.”
“Perhaps in the Divine Miracles, we’ll find clues to unravel them.”
“…”
Sleepiness crashed over him again like a tide, carrying reassuring warmth. Zhao Lixuan instinctively nestled closer into Jiang Chen’s arms.
He wanted to go—really wanted to.
These days, the Soul-Gathering Lamp grew brighter by the day, its searing light constantly burning in his heart, telling him his brother’s soul waited nearby.
Yet duty loomed like a mountain, and he didn’t know how to broach it with his comrades.
Jiang Chen’s words filled him with gratitude.
So many pasts… karmic entanglements, recent barriers and pains—all dissolved in this moment.
Time seemed to flow backward to those days beneath the Ten Thousand Bones Demon Abyss, when they could only rely on each other, propping one another up.
Exhausted, consciousness fading, Zhao Lixuan’s body instinctively drew in the steady, soothing demon power. After a moment, he slowly raised a hand, lightly pushing Jiang Chen as he murmured in his sleep: “Then you should rest more…”
“Tomorrow, when I’m better… come with me to search…”
At those words, Jiang Chen’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly, his encircling arms suddenly tightening.
It was an embrace of restraint finally cracking, responding to a sliver of permission—cherishing, trembling with emotion.
Yet after burying his face contentedly in the crook of Zhao Lixuan’s shoulder for a moment, he jolted aware again: the greed in his heart was bottomless.
So long…
He was finally allowed this tentative step closer.
Even if this tiny allowance had nothing to do with romance.
He was still profoundly joyful for this scrap of indulgence.
But… human greed, once tasting a bit, instantly craved more.
He began wanting again.
Wanting to hold him like this forever, to feed him syrup from his own hands, for him to always voice his desires so he could fetch them by any means.
And more.
If only his gaze lingered on him more in the future.
If only…
If he could love him again.
The room was quiet; Zhao Lixuan slept deeply. Jiang Chen’s throat bobbed gently as he slowly leaned closer.
His lips nearly brushed that fever-warm forehead when Zhao Lixuan mumbled incoherently in his sleep, hugging his soft pillow and rolling over.
Jiang Chen snapped back to clarity.
He froze in place, watching him for a while.
He didn’t dare press further.
Even the urge to stealthily touch the black hair scattered on the pillow was restrained. He only carefully tucked in the thin blanket’s edges before quietly rising and softly closing the door.
The courtyard was in maple vine bloom, the twisting vines laden with fiery crimson clouds, blazing gloriously.
Jiang Chen returned to his quarters.
He carefully stowed the brocade pouch holding the Jade Flute Fragments, then meticulously tied the surviving White Jade Goose to the Frost Jade Flute Zhao Lixuan had recently given him.
“…”
He knew he was clumsy, only able to grope forward bit by bit.
It had taken so long to find even this slight closeness.
The window framed the same maple vines, ablaze. He gazed for a moment, and in a daze, saw his twenty-year-younger self—cold, aloof, unlikable.
Yet that version of him had made Zhao Lixuan’s eyes shine bright, filled with unreserved fervor and sincerity, truly spoiled for two whole years.
What love truly was, he still couldn’t fathom.
But he wanted to learn.
From all he’d observed, it seemed to be fulfilling the other’s wishes, doing what one could.
That much, he thought, he could manage.
Twenty years ago, he had nothing, while Li Xuan had the world; he could give him nothing.
Fortunately, twenty years later, he finally had much to offer.
Everything could be given to him.
