Lin Zhuoyu was stubborn to the bone. Once he’d settled on something, not even Yan Su could budge him—and true to form, half an hour later he arrived at the Flying Kite Workshop with Qingshan Qi wrapped in a fox-fur cloak at his side.
Qingshan Qi’s gaunt face was ghastly pale, his frailty plain; he walked half-leaning on Zhuoyu, muffling coughs in his hand every few moments.
Yan Su waited outside the Flying Kite Pavilion, the Wuyou Sword cradled in his arms—and at the sight, his brow knotted hard.
Zhuoyu had always been the one looked after. Since when had he ever needed to fuss over anyone else?
Worse, Zhuoyu was thoroughly enjoying himself, helping the man along with great enthusiasm—though every few steps his foot would come down square on Qingshan Qi’s instep. The man, thick-hided and tough, never made so much as a peep.
Yan Su watched, black-faced.
Spotting Yan Su from afar, Zhuoyu tossed him an easy greeting. “Oh, Senior Brother’s here.”
Qingshan Qi, still in that Snow Plum Daoist Robe, straightened up a touch and bowed respectfully. “Commander Yan.”
Yan Su ignored him.
Off to one side, Yuan Jiucang covertly watched Yan Su’s face. The Commander had always been a cold one, true—but this was the first time he’d seen him refuse a man even the barest face.
Zhuoyu knew Yan Su’s foul temper—nine chances in ten the man was still sour over a single robe, taking it out on Lu Qi—and couldn’t help glaring at him.
Yan Su met his glare, cold.
Zhuoyu’s lips pursed. Fine—I’ll just get him a new set of clothes once we’re back at Floating Jade Mountain, and spare everyone this endless tantrum.
The Flying Kite Workshop entrance lay just ahead. Zhuoyu, remembering how he’d been fleeced on the way out, gave a cold laugh, determined to wipe away that old disgrace. He told Qingshan Qi to wait at the side, rolled up his sleeves, and marched up, aggression radiating off him, ready to demand exactly how much silver it cost to fly to Floating Jade Mountain.
But before the fighting-rooster Zhuoyu could get a word of challenge out, the Flying Kite Pavilion attendant cried “Aiyo!” and hurried over with a deep, respectful bow. “Would that be Little Immortal Lord Lin?”
Zhuoyu went “ah”—one doesn’t strike a smiling face—and his fighting spirit evaporated. “Oh, oh, yes, that’s me.”
“I thought as much. The Flying Kite Pavilion receives honored guests beyond counting, but you, sir, are the first whose register entry reads ‘dazzling in radiance, girded in glory’s light.’ One glance across this sea of faces and I knew it was you.”
Zhuoyu coughed drily and lowered his sleeves. “You flatter me. Was there something you needed?”
“Some days ago, you purchased a small Wooden Kite at the Flying Kite Pavilion outside Floating Jade Mountain. From this day forth, you may ride any Wooden Kite at any Flying Kite Pavilion in the Three Realms.” The man’s patter was polished, without a single leak. “Your private Wooden Kite is ready and waiting. This way, Little Immortal Lord Lin.”
Zhuoyu chuckled, pleased.
Wonderful. He’s not a fool after all.
The Flying Kite Pavilion’s routes spanned the Three Realms; for long journeys they were far faster than a Profound Flying Steed. Zhuoyu’s wasted silver hadn’t been wasted after all, and he happily ushered the three of them aboard the little Wooden Kite.
Small though “little” made it sound, the Wooden Kite had three full levels, roomy beyond measure—rockeries and winding paths, flying eaves and pavilions, everything exquisitely tasteful.
Once the four of them boarded, there was no need to wait for other passengers; the Wooden Kite soon soared gracefully aloft, piercing the cloud layer toward Floating Jade Mountain.
With his Inner Core gone, Qingshan Qi was weak and frail, cough-cough-coughing the whole way. Terrified the man would up and die on him mid-flight, Zhuoyu settled him into the inner chamber to lie down and rest.
Zhuoyu wrung out a handkerchief to wipe his face and nearly poked Qingshan Qi’s eye out; mercifully the man’s survival instincts held, and he tilted his face slightly aside. “I’ve been such a burden to you, Elder Brother…”
Zhuoyu’s brow creased. “What nonsense. You did it to save me.”
Qingshan Qi’s pale lips pressed together. “This life of mine was charity from Elder Brother in the first place…”
Zhuoyu made as if to swat him. “Say that again and you’ll get a beating.”
Qingshan Qi looked at Zhuoyu’s palm, throat bobbing once. “I wasn’t wrong to begin with.”
Zhuoyu laughed in vexation. “Asking for a beating on purpose, are you?”
Qingshan Qi: “No…”
Zhuoyu, none too gently, stuffed a candy into his mouth. “So much hot air. Have something sweet and plug it.”
Qingshan Qi, perforce, shut up.
As the two chatted idly, a knock came at the door, and Yan Su’s voice followed.
“Zhuoyu.”
Before, Zhuoyu would have scampered straight out to his Senior Brother. This time, dead set on standing on his own two feet and adding no further burdens to Yan Su, he answered in a level tone. “What is it?”
Yan Su was silent a moment before saying, “The scenery is beautiful. Come out and look at it.”
Zhuoyu was baffled. Since when did his block-of-wood Eldest Senior Brother harbor any eye for moonlight and blossoms—inviting him out to admire the view, of all things?
Qingshan Qi, who could ordinarily nurse a single candy for half a day, abruptly began crunching it, for reasons unknown.
Zhuoyu, ever one for a lark, was game. “Oh! Then wait while I—”
“Pfft!” Qingshan Qi clapped a hand over his mouth and spat out blood flecked with candy shards.
Zhuoyu jolted and rushed to hold him up. “Lu Qi!”
Lu Qi slumped against his shoulder, coughing without pause. “I-it’s nothing serious. You should go out first, Elder Brother—don’t keep Commander Yan waiting.”
Zhuoyu: “Don’t say stupid things!”
Listening to the intermittent stifled coughs from the room—and that grating crunch—Yan Su’s hand clenched white-knuckled around his sword hilt, jaw locked tight.
Yuan Jiucang wouldn’t have dared say a word, cursing only in his heart: Why does the Commander look like some spineless husband whose wife got stolen away?
The Wuyou Sword looked one twitch from leaving its sheath.
Who knew how much blood Qingshan Qi had in reserve? For hours of the journey, whenever Yan Su so much as called Zhuoyu’s name, the man would start gushing blood afresh. By the end Zhuoyu’s own face had gone white; terrified the man would breathe his last, he dared not leave his side.
Yan Su: “…”
As the sun neared its descent, the little Wooden Kite finally swayed and wobbled its way into Floating Jade Mountain’s territory.
Qingshan Qi rallied like a dying flame’s last flare—no more blood, even standing on his own two feet. Had Cang Zhou been present, even he would have had to concede in earnest: that dead fox truly knows how to put on a show.
Zhuoyu only grew more worried.
As they descended, the two emerged from the chamber.
Yan Su sat in a pavilion drinking, expressionless, the Wuyou Sword laid on the stone table humming in low waves. His peripheral vision swept once over the person leaning on Zhuoyu’s shoulder nearby—his pupils trembled, ill-intentioned.
Yan Su’s hand moved without a trace.
The little Wooden Kite, steady through half a day’s flight, abruptly rocked from side to side. Qingshan Qi’s footing gave and he pitched aside; Zhuoyu instinctively reached to catch him, but the kite lurched the other way, flinging Qingshan Qi clean off his feet to sprawl wretchedly on the floor.
Zhuoyu: “…”
Yan Su rose with sword in hand and brought the Wooden Kite down in a smooth landing at Floating Jade Mountain’s entrance, casting a cold glance. “Can’t even stand steady?”
Zhuoyu hurried over and hauled Qingshan Qi up, glaring. “All you’re good for is snide remarks.”
Then, his tone melting gentle, he turned to Qingshan Qi. “Did you hurt yourself anywhere?”
Qingshan Qi said weakly, “My elbow… it hurts.”
Zhuoyu pushed back the robe—and sure enough, blood had begun seeping at his elbow. He fumbled hastily to apply salve.
The softening in Yan Su’s face sank once more. “Zhuoyu. We’re home.”
Zhuoyu: “Mm, coming.”
Qingshan Qi looked down at Lin Zhuoyu fretting over him. The hollow where his heart should have been, empty for as long as he could remember, seemed suddenly to be filling—a satisfaction so keen it set his fingertips trembling.
This is how it should be. Every gaze fixed on him alone, not a crumb of it parceled out to anyone else.
Every measure of regret, pity, and tenderness Zhuoyu lavished on him felt like sustenance for this twisted, aberrant flower—a thing that ached to coil around him, entwine him, drain him dry, and stuff its own hollow heart full.
Zhuoyu gazed at him anxiously. “You’ve truly suffered these past days.”
Injuries great and small, time after time—he’d even lost his Golden Core.
Qingshan Qi’s eyes clung to him as if fastened there. This time he didn’t say “it’s nothing.”
Only: “It hurts.”
Only after much dawdling did the two finally climb down from the Wooden Kite.
They had barely reached the entrance of Floating Jade Mountain when a dark mass of people came hurrying out—and before Zhuoyu could react, the mountain’s disciples had swallowed him in a tight circle.
He Xing was the first to pounce, seizing him in a crushing hug and bawling nonstop. “Aaaah, Lin Zhuoyu, you little wretch, you scared me half to death! Thank the heavens you’re fine—is your injury healed or not? I stole a whole pile of Spirit Pills from my Shizun—eat them, quick!”
Zhuoyu: “…”
Soon someone elbowed He Xing aside, and the disciples took turns hugging him, crowding in to peer at his nose and confirm he was still breathing.
“Little Junior Brother! My poor, long-suffering Little Junior Brother! Let your Senior Brother look at you—ah! You’ve lost weight! I can’t go on!”
“…Didn’t we all say to mind the omens! Little Junior Brother never should have run his mouth before leaving!”
“Wh-wh-who’s this?”
Hugged half breathless, black hair in disarray, Zhuoyu dragged the jostled-aside Qingshan Qi over and made the introduction. “This is Lu Qi, a younger brother I met on my journey of training. If not for me, he’d never have made it back to the sect alive.”
The crowd shrieked as one, then hastily clapped their hands over his mouth.
“We said—mind the omens!”
“Children’s words carry no harm!”
Qingshan Qi watched the crowd cluster around Zhuoyu, brow creasing without trace, a streak of undisguised loathing and seething temper showing through.
After the riot of squawking and scrambling, Zhuoyu led Qingshan Qi up into Floating Jade Mountain.
Having finished howling, He Xing trailed at Zhuoyu’s side, questions spilling without pause. “So is your injury actually healed? You look lively enough… wait, who even is this?”
Zhuoyu rolled his eyes and shoved his face away. “Senior Brother, you’re so loud.”
He Xing’s eyes bugged. “I was worried about you!”
“Fine, fine, fine.” Zhuoyu soothed him. “Take Lu Qi to Xuanxu Residence first. I’ll see Shizun and be right back.”
He Xing narrowed his eyes at Lu Qi and clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling without a drop of warmth. “Him? An outsider. Being let into Floating Jade Mountain at all is mercy beyond the law—how could he lodge in your Xuanxu Residence? I say he rooms with me instead.”
The words were barely out when Qingshan Qi’s body pitched, nearly toppling.
Zhuoyu hurried to catch and shield him. “What happened?”
Qingshan Qi shook his head weakly. “It’s nothing. He didn’t mean it.”
He Xing: “???”
He Xing examined his own palm, utterly bewildered. He hadn’t used any force at all just now. Could his divine arts have reached completion without him noticing?! Wahaha!
