“That’s right, it’s you. I like the quiet ones who don’t make a sound.”
Unlike the others, Ruan Xuezong didn’t let out a terrified shudder. In this way, he became the lucky one chosen. The Holy Son’s reason for picking him was utterly capricious.
In an instant, the other slaves—including the guards—all turned pitying, sympathetic gazes toward Ruan Xuezong.
At that moment, Ruan Xuezong found himself in a bind. He had infiltrated the Chasang Royal Palace to gather intelligence. Staying by the side of this exalted Holy Son would mean constant surveillance, which ran completely counter to his original goal.
Seeing that he showed no reaction, the white-haired Holy Son—who looked deceptively normal but harbored a vicious heart eager to dig out others’ organs—tilted his head slightly. His pale lips parted as he uttered a puzzled question. “What are you standing there for? Why haven’t you come over? Do you refuse to serve a blind man like me, just like everyone else in this hall?”
“…We wouldn’t dare.” At those damning words, Ruan Xuezong remained unmoved, but the countless slaves and soldiers in Radiant Water Garden all dropped to one knee, trembling like chaff in the wind.
The sound of knees hitting the ground rang out in unison.
The white-haired, golden-eyed youth heard it all. His delicate face remained stern and impassive, his pair of golden eyes vacant and cold. His long white lashes didn’t even quiver, like some little madman who exploited his disability at every turn.
Ruan Xuezong said nothing.
Since the Holy Son had asked so directly, he had no other choice.
As for what might happen if his identity slipped and the youth tried to dig out his heart and liver—well, that would depend on whether the boy had the skill for it.
…
Ruan Xuezong had sneaked into Chasang with a specific hypothesis to test. On his first day, he made no real progress, only confirming the rumors that the Holy Son’s temperament was as fickle as the weather.
The youth was like a schizophrenic with nerves of steel—meek and pure as a virgin when calm, no different from anyone else. But when the mood struck, he casually talked about carving out hearts and livers. His sudden storms of caprice had worn down the entire Chasang Royal Palace.
Ruan Xuezong, however, felt nothing of the sort.
He didn’t see it as torment at all.
The boy’s petty whims were child’s play to him. For instance, when the Holy Son demanded fresh fruit—newly picked, still glistening with dew—any ordinary person would panic, racing halfway across the Royal City to the Chasang market. A round trip took at least an hour or two.
But Ruan Xuezong covered the distance with a few bounds of lightness skill. In moments, he returned bearing two platters of ruby-red pomegranates, the dew still beading on their skins.
No sooner had he arrived than a man’s agonized scream echoed through the hall, as if he were enduring some brutal punishment. From the accent, he was from the Central Plains.
Ruan Xuezong returned to his post and asked as calmly as he could, “What happened?”
Mu Ti Ya, the Holy Son’s personal maidservant, replied with a straight face. “As you see, this man from the Central Plains is a spy who infiltrated the palace. He claimed he came to Chasang hunting some treasure. Lately, the Western Regions have been flooded with these scheming gold-hunters, all waving Treasure Maps and swearing there’s a hoard in the Great Desert. It’s laughable. No one took them seriously at first, but these rivers-and-lakes martial artists turned out to be bold enough to sneak into the palace itself. The Queen chatted with him briefly and said she’d let him go, but the Holy Son was furious. He insisted on punishing this reckless fool from the Central Plains.”
…
Oh. In that case, no issue.
Sneaking into an enemy kingdom as a spy meant you could end up beaten to death if caught—and that was normal. Greed killed men as surely as hunger killed birds, no matter how many times you heard the warning. People kept making the same choices. Ruan Xuezong felt no pity for the man. His own situation was similar, but Ruan Xuezong’s superior martial arts let him do as he pleased.
Still, one detail in the maidservant’s words piqued his curiosity.
“The Queen wanted to let him off easy?”
Ruan Xuezong was handsome by nature. Even with a simple disguise, a strange handsomeness shone through his features.
Mu Ti Ya couldn’t help glancing at him a few extra times before answering. “You’re a slave of Chasang now—born to Chasang, dead to Chasang. It doesn’t hurt to tell you. The Queen hails from the Central Plains herself. She probably wanted to go easy on a fellow countryman.”
The Queen was from the Central Plains!
Ruan Xuezong noted that detail mentally. As for the bit about being “born and dead to Chasang,” he let it blow past like wind.
Then he remarked, “The Holy Son’s got real stamina. That’s got to be over a hundred lashes.”
He held no real disdain for the youth. The Central Plains man on the ground—hands bound, a second-rate rivers-and-lakes expert with internal arts protecting him—could withstand any number of whips without real harm. The Holy Son had no martial prowess himself, just a frail boy who wobbled when he walked. Even hundreds of lashes from him couldn’t hit a vital point. The world was merciless like that: masters felled foes with one palm, while the weak scratched with hundreds of blows.
“How dare you! Speaking of the Holy Son like that—if he hears you, your head’s done for!” Mu Ti Ya shot him a glare.
But Ruan Xuezong noticed her eyes held little real anger. Keeping a straight face, she added, “What are you staring at? Finished your tasks? Then come with me to water the Rear Garden.”
Ruan Xuezong set down the golden platter of pomegranates and followed her to the palace’s Rear Garden.
The desert climate was parched, rainfall scarce, yet it didn’t stop this desert kingdom’s Rear Garden from blooming with exotic flowers and rare plants. Ruan Xuezong considered himself well-traveled, but he still couldn’t identify sixty or seventy percent of the varieties.
“What’s this flower?” he asked, pointing to a vast sea of crimson-and-white blooms. They were dazzlingly vibrant, petals dyed like lacquer, clustered tightly. Pollen drifted on the breeze, leaving him briefly dazed before sharpening his senses. Snapping alert, Ruan Xuezong felt gooseflesh prickle his skin.
Instinct told him this was an ill-omened bloom.
Mu Ti Ya chided him playfully. “Such ignorance. This came from the Western Regions—Afuyong. Rare in the Central Plains. It has another name that’s more common there, but I can’t recall the Central Plains tongue for it.” Seeing his thoughtful look, she hesitated before warning, “You don’t strike me as a meek slave. Don’t touch it. It’s no ordinary flower—it’s addictive.”
A flower that hooked people?
“And what’s this grass?” Ruan Xuezong pointed to the lush, emerald patches spreading like carpet. His sharp intuition noted that amid the garden’s riot of showy blooms, this grass was the least conspicuous. Yet it received the finest care.
“So many questions!” Mu Ti Ya rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed, though she didn’t know the answer either. “It’s some southern Central Plains plant, delicate. Needs warm, humid climes—won’t grow in the desert. Yet the Queen and Your Majesty adore it so much, they lavish it with the kingdom’s most precious fresh water just to keep it alive…”
Even at the cost of vast amounts of water, they insisted on saving this unremarkable grass?
Water in the Great Desert was worth more than gold.
While the maidservant looked away, Ruan Xuezong plucked two stalks. Glancing down, he saw the soil beneath was unnaturally rich, its hue demonically vivid. He brushed it aside and a venomous scorpion burst out. If he hadn’t dodged fast, he’d have lost a finger.
His face darkened as he crushed the thing.
Snakes, scorpions, bugs—he’d dealt with the Demonic Sects enough in his past life to know them well. But poisonous scorpions in the Chasang Royal Palace? That begged questions.
When Ruan Xuezong returned, the Holy Son had stopped tormenting the Central Plains man. Having vented, the white-haired youth looked drained. He made his way to the edge of a pool and sat down. Then disaster struck.
Bright sunlight bathed the land. The white jade pool gleamed crystal-clear, filled with pale purple lotuses in full bloom. The youth sat quietly. Suddenly, snakes slithered from the undergrowth—silent stalkers with flicking red tongues, masters of ambush.
The boy’s eyes were afflicted; he couldn’t see the peril. He sensed a vague threat from his surroundings, but it happened in a flash, too swift to counter.
By the time he reacted, it was too late. A venomous fang pierced his calf, leaving a tiny mark. His already pale face drained of all color, turning ashen as paper. Darkness swam before his eyes.
“Holy Son!” The guards finally snapped to, drawing blades from sheaths to hack the snakes in two. The reptiles scattered, sparking screams wherever they went.
When the snakes lay slain, everyone looked to the fallen Holy Son. Their faces twisted in horror. His delicate, pallid features swiftly turned an sickly bluish-purple under the venom’s grip.
“The Holy Son’s been bitten! Fetch the imperial physician!”
“Too late—he’s barely breathing!” Panic gripped them like a tidal wave. The snakes’ attack was inexplicable, striking the Holy Son with deadly precision. If he died here, none of them would survive the fallout.
Ruan Xuezong hadn’t planned to intervene, but the youth seemed to sense death’s shadow. His frail, pallid face grew eerily serene. In a soft voice, he murmured, “No need for the physician. I’m finally going to die.”
A breeze chose that moment to stir, rustling the purple lotuses and wafting their fragrance like drifting mist—whispering some secret of Chasang. Sunlight gilded the boy’s silver hair and golden eyes with a luminous sheen. His slender frame looked fragile, the shocking wound on his pale calf like a blemish on a soulless doll.
Something stirred in Ruan Xuezong’s heart—a rare flicker of compassion.
He couldn’t say why, but the scene hurled his senses back to Peacock Manor, to Qu Wangshu’s corpse cooling before him. The Holy Son Wu Yao’s face bore no resemblance to hers, yet it evoked her image time and again.
Fine. He was just a sixteen-year-old boy, after all.
Ruan Xuezong leaped forward, weaving through the stunned crowd. Before anyone recovered, he snatched a guard’s blade. The man barely yelped, “What are you—?”
Ruan Xuezong’s knife sliced the boy’s calf open. The edge was keen; blood—blackened—spurted forth, pooling on the ground. Everyone froze in shock.
“It’s you… Why cut me with a knife…” Pain roused the youth from his haze. He pried open his eyelids, revealing those unfocused golden eyes, gazing blankly at Ruan Xuezong—reflecting no image. In a bewildered tone, he asked.
Ruan Xuezong was mildly surprised. The blind Holy Son had sharp senses after all. Even with his mind fogging, he could tell it was Ruan Xuezong by feel alone.
“I’m saving you,” Ruan Xuezong said. Before the boy could respond, he slashed again, carving deeper amid fresh blood. The youth gasped in pain.
I hope the “sun” in Sun and Moon Shine Together refers to you.
Ruan Xuezong thought coolly.
