Chapter 96: Soft-Eared Mama’s Boy 11

The thick night resembled a bubbling swamp—heavy, ominous. Anyone who fell into it would be utterly devoured in an instant.

Fierce firelight blazed within the cave. The bonfire swayed and flickered, stirred by whispering winds. At times, the flames leaped to the slightly furrowed brows of the black-clad youth; at others, they danced across the cold, snow-pale gleam on the white-clad man’s cheek.

More often, the firelight bathed them both. Dark shadows and glows piled like summer’s rough-hewn logs, scorched by sparks until they could hold back no longer, crackling and burning with wild abandon.

They sat too close—so close that the faint breeze from fluttering lashes brushed against each other, so close that their soft breaths mingled and were wholly consumed, without restraint.

The youth’s throat bobbed slightly. Firelight flushed his handsome, boyish face a deep red. The knuckles of his left hand clenched tight around a delicate white porcelain medicine box, while his right thumb traced gentle circles, rubbing the bruise on the man’s pale, gaunt cheek.

Zhu Miaojie did not struggle. He lay quiet as ripe cotton plucked carelessly from an autumn branch.

His long white hair spilled messily over his shoulders. His sickly pale face looked so fragile it might shatter in the next gust of wind. Only the hairband tied at his wrist gleamed with an almost sinister scarlet hue.

And yet, even like this, he was beautiful.

A beauty beyond gender, forged in near-destructive pallor that wove an aura of eerie sickness and heart-stopping allure around him.

Jiang Rang’s gaze drifted uncontrollably to the man’s pale, thin lips. Zhu Miaojie’s lips were exquisite, their subtly curving edges flushed with a faint red, as if lightly traced by the dried husk of a rouge beetle.

The youth wrenched his eyes away. His heart pounded too fiercely, unnaturally so, stirring panic within him. It felt as if this man before him held some bewitching power—as if Jiang Rang’s will blurred whenever they drew near.

Chaotic thoughts swirled in his mind. At last, Jiang Rang withdrew his now-warm fingers from the bruise. He pulled back a fraction and licked his lips, forcing his mind elsewhere. “Ah Miao, today when they came to hassle you—why didn’t you fight back?”

They had traveled together for days now. When ferocious beasts proved too much for one alone, Zhu Miaojie would lend a hand. Yet Jiang Rang had seldom seen him channel spiritual energy. More often, the man simply hurled ordinary branches or stones—things found anywhere. At the critical moment, a casual wave of his hand would weave a mighty formation from thin air, joining the youth to crush the threat.

What was more, Zhu Miaojie seemed to possess a natural affinity for beasts. But their regard for him was no fondness; fear described it better.

Clearly, the man could protect himself just fine.

If anything, he chose to sink into the mud and let others trample him.

Zhu Miaojie said nothing. He merely pursed his lips, those pitch-black eyes fixed unblinkingly on the youth.

Only after a long silence did he speak. His lowered gaze was dull, lifeless. At length, with genuine, puzzled bewilderment, he murmured softly, “Why fight back?”

Jiang Rang froze. He rubbed his forehead, unable to bear it. A youth brimming with righteous fire could hardly stomach such words. Agitation crept into his voice. “They’re bullying you—acting like brutish tyrants! Ah Miao, if you don’t push back, they’ll think you’re an easy mark and keep coming after you!”

Zhu Miaojie blinked in faint surprise. His pale lips parted, then closed. After a moment, he lowered his lashes—white as the wings of a rain-soaked butterfly, quivering delicately.

In a small voice, laced with near-self-loathing humility, he whispered, “But what they said… isn’t wrong. Letting them vent on me… it’s only right.”

Jiang Rang had never heard such nonsense. He couldn’t comprehend it. Pity and frustration warred within him—sorrow for the man’s plight, anger at his resignation. But above all surged an aching, wordless compassion.

Rudely, the youth seized the man’s slender, chill fingers. His striking black eyes—fierce and clawing—bore into him, shadowed and inscrutable.

Word by deliberate word, Jiang Rang said, “Nothing is ‘only right.’ You don’t owe them a damn thing. You owe no one. They’re cowards—shifting blame is all cowards know.”

He sighed then, not expecting instant transformation. Without waiting for a reply, he strode to the bedding piled against one wall of the cave mouth and lay down to rest.

The wind howled louder there at the entrance, the night air bitingly cold. Yet Jiang Rang held his position, a steadfast barrier against the chill.

He tugged the thin quilt over himself with careless ease. The profile he turned to the fire was as finely sculpted as imperial jade. Without Shizun at his side, he had grown rougher in his ways.

“Get some rest early. You’ve taken the healing pill, and the ointment I just applied has calming ingredients. For now, don’t overthink anything—just rest well.”

The cave fell into a profound silence.

The campfire gradually died down, and the moon slowly emerged from behind the treetops, standing eternally vigilant as its silvery glow peered through the young man’s body like a sly intruder, slipping into the cave.

Jiang Rang’s steady breathing rose and fell gently as he slipped into a defenseless slumber.

In his sleep, the young man’s face was serene. The lively brows and eyes that were usually so vibrant now lay softly relaxed, like a crumpled sheet of paper smoothed out flat. The misty dew brought by the mountain moon subtly moistened it, softening and blunting its once sharp edges.

In the cool, water-like night under the moon, the fading campfire cast the silhouette of a slowly rising figure onto the jagged stone walls.

The dark shadow raised its wrist and gently stroked a strange white stone by the wall. In an instant, the stone transformed into a white snake as thick as a child’s arm.

The white snake twisted its body and slowly slithered down the stone wall, its rough white scales scraping against the rock with faint, eerie sounds.

It climbed onto the bedding of the sleeping youth, coiling its tail around him one loop after another, curling up beside his shoulder. A slender red snake tongue flicked out briefly before retracting swiftly into its mouth.

As the white snake moved, the grayish figure finally revealed itself fully under the bleak moonlight.

An endless white.

His thick white hair nearly trailed to the ground, and his white robes cascaded onto the floor as the man slowly knelt down halfway. The only splash of color on him was the red hair ribbon wrapped several times around his wrist.

But now, in the dim firelight and moonlight, he slowly untied the red hair ribbon that had been bound there for days.

The red silk ribbon fell inch by inch, piling up on the dusty, filthy rock floor.

The exposed wrist revealed one neat, razor-sharp, flesh-gaping wound after another—terrifying scars.

Perhaps overshadowed by the glaring crimson flesh and blood, Zhu Miaojie’s face grew even more ashen. He pressed the mangled wrist—nearly broken, with glimpses of stark white bone—against his lips and coughed weakly several times.

After a long moment, he lowered his hand, eyes downcast, and quietly drew the gem dagger from his sleeve.

A flash of silver light, and atop the layered wounds appeared a fresh, horrifying gash.

The scarlet blood flowed excruciatingly slowly, as if the body had long been drained dry and could produce no more.

Zhu Miaojie’s face was nearly transparent white, on the verge of collapse. He gasped for breath, his movements growing sluggish and hesitant, yet he persisted in bringing his ruined, bleeding wrist close to the young man’s lips.

One drop, two drops, three drops.

The black-clad youth’s lips gradually grew wet with the crimson blood, the vivid hue shimmering with a demonic mist under the eerie moonlight.

The formation’s power weakened due to its master’s frailty. Jiang Rang’s fingers twitched slightly, his closed eyes rolling beneath the lids a few times, but they never opened.

Zhu Miaojie forced himself to hold on with his last breath. One hand half-propped on the youth’s chest, he resembled a skinned snake, its raw flesh still writhing.

Yet he did not stop. The white-haired beauty’s deep black eyes, tinged faintly red with blood, darkened as he gazed at the white snake coiled by the youth’s shoulder.

After a long while, the white snake slowly lifted its flat, gleaming head. It moved with an uncanny elegance, full of spiritual awareness.

Finally, it came to rest before Zhu Miaojie.

Its sharp fangs parted, rows of teeth like terrifying curved blades.

A spine-chilling crack of bone followed, and Zhu Miaojie nearly collapsed, half-sprawled beside Jiang Rang, trembling and drenched in cold sweat. He struggled to bring his wrist—nearly severed by the white snake’s bite—close to the youth’s lips.

A yin wind blew through, extinguishing the campfire in the cave completely. The moonlight took on a faint, eerie crimson tinge.

In that ghastly red glow, two drops of golden blood faintly trickled from the man’s shattered wrist bone.

Like essence blood refined from utterly drained bones, once they fully slid into the youth’s lips, an unnatural silence enveloped everything. All sounds seemed to have followed the blood into his stomach.

Jiang Rang’s eyes snapped open. He gasped and shuddered violently.

Like a patient finally escaping a tormenting nightmare, he awoke.

In that instant of clarity, Jiang Rang gripped the man’s arm tightly. Tonight, the youth seemed conscious all along. His lips trembled, his downcast black eyes misty with moisture. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Ah Miao, what exactly are you doing? Why are you feeding me your blood?”

Zhu Miaojie had no strength left. His head, his arms, his waist—everything felt as though it had lost all bony support.

He panted with great effort, his pale and beautiful face covered in fine beads of sweat, like morning dew overflowing on flower petals.

The man lowered his gaze, his thick white lashes trembling. His voice was barely audible, yet in the face of the youth, it carried such earnestness and force.

He said, “I was born under the Heavenly Slayer Lone Star, plagued by endless disasters. I once sought ways to break the curse, but found nothing. Then one day, a mortal who had saved me was dragged down by my misfortune. He suddenly fell gravely ill, teetering on the brink of death. The other villagers grabbed their knives and vowed to cut me down…”

His dark, flickering eyes glimmered with star-like flecks of moisture. He continued, “The splattered blood touched the mortal’s lips, and his condition improved.”

Jiang Rang shuddered abruptly, as if struck by an even crueler realization. His voice quivered as he asked, “And then? They found out about it…”

Zhu Miaojie suddenly smiled. His fair face was pristine, almost melting into transparent, flowing water under the moonlight.

Calmly, he said, “Then they locked me in the cellar and drained my blood day and night.”

“I couldn’t die, so I lived a fate worse than death.”

The youth’s eyeballs trembled. Slowly, drops of scalding tears began to fall.

Zhu Miaojie said softly, “Don’t cry.”

“A-Rang, don’t cry.” For the first time, he called the youth’s name with intimate warmth, speaking slowly. “All these years, I’ve tried everything. Only my blood can slightly suppress the disaster. You’ve been with me for so long now—you’re almost at your limit.”

Sudden understanding dawned on Jiang Rang. He gently took hold of the man’s wrist and carefully examined the scars one after another. In a hoarse voice, he said, “You… you’ve been feeding me your blood from the very first day we set out together, haven’t you?”

Zhu Miaojie said nothing. Perhaps from the pain, his trembling grew even more severe.

Jiang Rang’s eyes reddened further. He couldn’t hold back. “You fool.”

A faint, careful smile tugged at Zhu Miaojie’s deathly pale face—the first true smile he had shown in days.

He said, “You told me you like me. I can’t let you get hurt.”

Jiang Rang fluttered his lashes and fed the man precious elixirs without restraint. Only once the bleeding had stopped did he speak. “You’d believe someone who confesses their love the very first time you meet?”

Zhu Miaojie’s knuckles tightened ever so slightly. In a low voice, he replied, “I believe you.”

How could he not? The young man’s gaze burned with sincerity. His affection filled his eyes like starstones, every ray of light reflecting back an even more dazzling brilliance.

Jiang Rang couldn’t help but laugh, a teasing lilt in his tone. “You’re way too easy to fool… Hold on—then why didn’t you agree when I said I wanted to pursue you before?”

Zhu Miaojie quietly lifted his eyes. Strands of white hair framed his frail brows. His prolonged gaze made the youth’s face flush red, leaving him distinctly uncomfortable.

His gentle voice landed in the youth’s ears like the quiet blooming of a bouquet of flowers.

He said, “I never disagreed.”