Chapter 17: Suspicion

By the time Yi Xuefeng crashed into Ning Yu, his consciousness was already murky. All he felt was the boundless cold surrounding him—and the endless warmth radiating from the person before him.

“So warm.” Yi Xuefeng reached out and clutched at the warm thing in front of him, his muddled mind past all thought.

Ning Yu’s expression was black as thunder. When Yi Xuefeng had flung himself at him, his first instinct had been to hurl the brazen little bastard across the room—but before his hand could move, he felt the chill radiating off the youth, as if he’d just been pulled from an ice cellar.

Without a word, Ning Yu raised a hand and flicked it toward the window lattice. A Barrier abruptly dispersed, and the room’s glacial temperature came flooding back. Within moments, the frost coating everything began slowly melting into dripping water.

Yi Xuefeng was cold enough that he’d started pawing at Ning Yu’s clothes; even as the chill dispersed, his body showed little sign of warming.

“I’m so cold.”

The sight of Qieyun had told Ning Yu roughly what these two were doing, sneaking into his room in the middle of the night instead of sleeping. He yanked his half-opened lapel shut, gripped Yi Xuefeng’s shoulders with a dark face, and set him upright—but the moment he let go, the youth simply toppled back into him, impossible to keep standing.

Face dark as still water, Ning Yu dragged Yi Xuefeng over and laid him on the couch, saying coldly, “Come out.”

Qieyun shuddered from head to toe, wriggling about inside Yi Xuefeng’s sleeve for ages before painfully crawling out, trembling faintly as he rolled to the edge of the bed.

Ning Yu said icily, “How long has he been here?”

Qieyun was frightened nearly to the point of vomiting blood. Having steeled himself thoroughly, he reluctantly took human form and stood at the bedside, head bowed, not daring to look up even once.

Even in such terror, he still thought of Yi Xuefeng. Hesitating a moment, he said carefully, “Over an hour.”

In truth, it hadn’t even been a quarter hour.

Ning Yu snapped, “Reckless!”

If the boy had truly spent a full hour in this ice-and-snow room, then freezing like this was only to be expected.

He looked with distaste at the youth curled into a shivering ball on the bed. After a moment’s thought, he couldn’t quite bear it, and draped the nearby quilt over Yi Xuefeng.

Seeing that Ning Yu no longer seemed suspicious, Qieyun quietly let out a breath of relief.

Perhaps because he so rarely saw Ning Yu soften toward anyone, Qieyun hesitated in place for a long while before summoning the air of a warrior severing his own wrist. Lifting his head with forced calm, he asked, “Sword Venerable, I… my Sword Tassel—have… have you seen it?”

Ning Yu was tucking in Yi Xuefeng’s quilt. At the words, he turned back and gave him a cool look. “I have.”

Qieyun’s heart leapt with joy; he was immediately beside himself. “Then may I trouble you to return it?”

As he spoke, he held out both palms cupped together, gazing up at Ning Yu with pleading eyes—the exact posture Yi Xuefeng had once used to beg Qieyun for the sword.

Ning Yu looked at him, tilted his head, propped his cheek on one hand, and enunciated lightly: “No.”

Qieyun: “…”

Qieyun thought he must have misheard. What sort of person, faced with the rightful owner demanding back his own property, could say the word “no” so shamelessly, without so much as a blush?

Utterly shameless.

Daring to be angry but not to protest, Qieyun could only try reasoning with him. “Sword Venerable, you… you don’t understand. This was a gift from Xuefeng Dad. If Dad’s spirit in heaven knew I’d lost what he gave me, he’d surely be angry.”

Was it his imagination? The moment that “Xuefeng Dad” left his mouth, the room—already warmed again—suddenly seeped with wisps of chill once more.

Qieyun shivered involuntarily.

Ning Yu remained seated, his face betraying nothing at all. Only the hand resting on the small side table abruptly clenched.

He gave Qieyun one cold glance, voice low. “You truly are as outrageously bold as your dad.”

Qieyun shuddered, unable to make sense of the words. His dad had been docile and timid from childhood to adulthood—this was the first time in his life he’d ever heard anyone call Yi Xuefeng bold.

Ning Yu’s frigid eyes fixed on Qieyun, freezing a sword solid until he shivered from head to toe, before he spoke in a voice cold to its very core: “That is what I hate most about your dad.”

Qieyun froze. He—he actually used the word hate for Yi Xuefeng?!

Ning Yu’s finger tapped lightly against the small table. At that faint sound, Qieyun involuntarily stumbled back a step, staring at him in horror.

Ning Yu said, “If not for that, he would never have ended with no intact corpse to bury.”

Qieyun started, fists clenching tight, teeth gritted. “You…”

He began to doubt his own instincts, no longer certain whether this man, should he learn Yi Xuefeng’s true identity, would actually move against him.

Watching Qieyun tremble all over, Ning Yu’s lips actually curved into a smile—but it held not the slightest trace of warmth, so ice-cold it chilled a person clear down to the soles of their feet.

“If he were still alive, I would surely make him…”

Before the threat could be finished, a hand suddenly stretched out from behind and, shivering, wrapped itself around his waist.

Ning Yu: “…”

Qieyun: “…”

Yi Xuefeng was probably too cold—his consciousness dim, he had followed the warmth and crawled slowly around behind Ning Yu, pressing his body tight against that rigid back, both arms locked deathly around his waist, his icy cheek rubbing heedlessly against his back.

His eyes were unfocused, his every breath a cloud of white fog.

“I’m cold.” Struggling to climb higher, his hands had already found their way to Ning Yu’s chest before the recovered Ning Yu seized both his wrists in one grip.

Qieyun shrieked; terrified that Ning Yu meant to murder them into silence, he instantly dissolved into a wisp of black mist and shot out of the room.

Ning Yu turned on him through gritted teeth. The Great Devil-like menace of moments ago had vanished without a trace, leaving only the exasperated fury of a man who wanted nothing more than to hurl Yi Xuefeng out the door.

“Lin Fuyu!” One hand locking the youth’s wrists, Ning Yu slapped his cheek with the other, impatient. “Wake up.”

Yi Xuefeng shivered with cold; restrained from burrowing into warmth, he could only strain his head upward desperately, rubbing his face against Ning Yu’s warm palm.

Ning Yu snatched his hand back as if shocked. Furious as he was, he remained utterly helpless against the boy.

Only, as Yi Xuefeng pressed his face into his palm, a bone-piercing chill kept radiating out, ceaseless.

Ning Yu’s brow creased.

By all rights, once the Barrier had dispersed, however thoroughly frozen the boy had been, his body should have been warming by now. Yet a good while had passed, and Yi Xuefeng’s body was still cold as a block of ice.

At some thought, Ning Yu’s eyes gave a faint, sudden tremor.

His consciousness felt as though countless threads were dragging his limbs down, down. Yi Xuefeng struggled, flexed his fingers and toes, and slowly opened his eyes.

Around him was something like the bottomless depths of dark water; he floated in its midst, touching nothing at all.

“Xuefeng.” Someone leaned close behind his ear, breath soft, the low voice steeped in barely suppressed, bewitching laughter. “So you adore him.”

Yi Xuefeng could not see the person behind him; only a surge of furious resentment welled violently in his chest. He said sharply, “Silence!”

“Don’t be afraid.” The voice chuckled. “So long as you give your body to Me—a mere Ning Yu is nothing. Obtaining him would be no great difficulty.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh?” A hand slowly stroked up the line of his throat. “Then shall I kill him for you, hm?”

Yi Xuefeng whirled around—but behind him lay only void, only that laughing voice lingering at his ear.

“Kill him.”

“A Ning Yu is nothing. There are as many as you like.”

“Xuefeng… everyone praises you as docile and harmless. Then why is it you have never once obeyed Me?”

“…”

Yi Xuefeng sucked in a sudden, ragged breath; a faint dull ache throbbed through his chest—and he snapped awake.

On the small table beside the bed burned a candle-flame small as a bean. Gray-white bed curtains hung from golden hooks nearby, stirring faintly in the breeze drifting through the window.

Pressing a hand to his aching head, Yi Xuefeng pushed himself upright and looked around, dazed.

“Awake?” Ning Yu’s voice sounded abruptly at his side, its tone still carrying barely leashed fury.

Yi Xuefeng turned his head, and only after a long search spotted Ning Yu in black robes, seated in the soft chair beside the bed.

At the sight of him still sleep-befuddled, Ning Yu’s anger flared all over again, his words growing more impatient. “Slept straight through till the sun sits high in the sky. Are you a pig?”

Yi Xuefeng looked at the sky outside, unable to process it, and said hesitantly, “Sword Venerable, it’s not even dawn yet, is it?”

Ning Yu: “Heh. And here I thought you actually meant to sleep till the sun sat high.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

How was Ning Yu somehow even more unreasonable after a single night apart?

Yi Xuefeng frowned, glanced around again—and only then registered that this was not his room.

He jolted, wide awake in an instant.

Last night he and Qieyun had come to Ning Yu’s room to search for the Sword Tassel; his New Moon Day affliction had flared without warning, and he had collapsed before ever making it back.

Judging by the look of a man who wanted to beat him to death, Yi Xuefeng could not remember what exactly he might have done. Terrified of giving himself away, he ventured carefully, “Sword Venerable, last night…”

“Six.”

Yi Xuefeng frowned. “What?”

Ning Yu’s face was carved from frost. “Last night you touched me six times. Either six thousand extra sword strikes in today’s practice, or six raps of the Discipline Ruler on your palms. Choose.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

“…Huh?”

Ning Yu rose impatiently. “Up. Sword practice.”

Same foul temper as always—he probably hadn’t been found out.

Yi Xuefeng quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

He nodded and climbed off the bed. The instant his feet touched the floor, his legs gave out beneath him and he dropped straight into a kneel.

He’d braced himself to fall to his knees yet again—when that man cold as bedrock, Ning Yu, actually flashed over and caught his arm.

It was only a moment’s support, but at least Yi Xuefeng did not slam down into a full kneel.

Yi Xuefeng steadied himself hastily, looking up at him in bewilderment.

Since when did this man’s conscience start working?

Ning Yu’s eyes were like colored glaze, brimming with cold. “Seven strikes.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

Scratch that. This man still had no conscience whatsoever.

Having spent the whole previous night half-frozen, Yi Xuefeng was weak all over, and it took a long struggle just to stand. He patted himself down and found no trace of Qieyun anywhere.

Tilting his head, he asked warily, “Sword Venerable, did you take Qieyun away again?”

Ning Yu sneered. “I don’t stoop to taking a worthless sword.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

Nonsense! You were clearly delighted to take him last time!

Even so, Ning Yu was not the sort to bother lying about such trivialities. Frowning, Yi Xuefeng sent a Voice Transmission to Qieyun—but long moments passed with no reply.

Ning Yu pulled a sword from the wall and tossed it over carelessly. “Use this. After practice, you’re coming out with me.”

Yi Xuefeng caught it, puzzled. “Where to?”

“Cold Huai River’s Clear Spring.”

Yi Xuefeng didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway and went out, sword in hand.

Ning Yu sat on the soft couch by the window, watching the youth frown his way through sword forms in the courtyard below, his eyes cold and empty of all feeling.

After who knew how long, a Paper Crane came fluttering over on beating wings, alighting lightly on Ning Yu’s lapel with its clusters of gold-threaded Corn Poppy flowers.

Ning Yu said, “Well?”

Lord Qingchuan’s voice came through. “Why would you want to know this? Who have you run into?”

Ning Yu said impatiently, “Spare me the chatter.”

Lord Qingchuan said, “Fine—Cold Huai River’s Clear Spring can indeed test whether someone has undergone Body Seizure. But by your account, that person carries not the slightest trace of Ghost Aura. For all we know, the Clear Spring will prove useless.”

Ning Yu fell silent. He lifted his eyes slightly, meaning to look at the youth practicing in the courtyard—and saw only a sword lying quietly on the ground.

His brow creased. Looking further afield, he caught a dark-robed figure flashing over the courtyard wall and vanishing beyond it.

Ning Yu: “…”