ATAVID CH55

Jiang Qunyu was stunned; he hadn’t expected Wei Xun to agree so lightly. He had thought he would have to bicker with him for a while longer.

He blinked and leaned in closer, suspiciously scrutinizing that cold face. “You just believe me like that? Don’t you think I’m a liar anymore?”

Wei Xun turned his head, his eyes covered by the white silk veil “looking” out the window. The fine snow was still falling, silent and soundless, piling up a thin layer on the window lattice.

“Isn’t it you who said you are my inner demon?” He said, his tone as flat as if stating a fact. “I believe you now, why do you find that unbelievable?”

Jiang Qunyu said honestly, “You aren’t usually this easy to talk to.”

Wei Xun: “…”

He scoffed, “You certainly know me well.”

“We’ve spent many years together, after all.” Jiang Qunyu added modestly.

Wei Xun couldn’t see, so he walked slowly, keeping a hand against the wall. Hearing this, although he found it laughable that Jiang Qunyu was still keeping up the charade, he didn’t show it on his face. Instead, he feigned curiosity about the “outside world,” asking nonchalantly: “Oh? How long have we spent together?”

Jiang Qunyu stood up, and then his entire mood soured.

Earlier, Wei Xun had been sitting down, and Jiang Qunyu had been indignant when Wei Xun called him short. Now that Wei Xun had stood up, he realized he barely reached the man’s chin—not to mention that this Wei Xun was only sixteen!

Jiang Qunyu’s mental composure shattered.

Why did Wei Xun have to grow so tall? Now he had to crane his neck just to look at him, and his aura immediately felt like it had been cut in half.

He thought sourly that when he transmigrated into the book, he was at least eighteen; maybe he would have a growth spurt later on.

Wei Xun stopped. Seeing that Jiang Qunyu hadn’t made a sound for a long time, he assumed the boy finally couldn’t keep up the act and was about to make a move. The corners of his lips curled imperceptibly, and a dagger from his wrist slid quietly into his palm.

Outside the window, a wind arose from nowhere, sweeping in with the fragrance of cold plum blossoms.

The youth’s resentful voice came from behind him: “Thirteen years, or maybe twelve, I can’t quite remember.”

Wei Xun lowered his eyes and retracted the dagger back into his sleeve, finding it absurd: “Ten-plus years…”

The corners of his lips curved upward, with no attempt to hide the irony in his tone: “It is truly a miracle that I haven’t killed you after all this time.”

He determined Jiang Qunyu’s character in an instant, thinking that if those fools wanted to send someone to kill him, they could have at least sent someone clever. Not only were his reasons full of holes, but the claim that they had been together for over a decade and he hadn’t killed Jiang Qunyu yet was entirely impossible. Even if they had both ended up crippled, he would have killed the other person first; he would never allow someone to stay safely by his side.

Jiang Qunyu rolled his eyes, rendered speechless. “You think you didn’t? You think too highly of your own kindness.”

Wei Xun didn’t speak, just turned his head slightly, “looking” in his direction.

“It’s only because I am your inner demon that I cannot die,” Jiang Qunyu said.

Wei Xun was silent for a moment, then turned around and continued to grope his way forward. At the same time, for some reason, after hearing Jiang Qunyu’s words, he felt a subtle sense of bitterness rising in his chest.

Wei Xun pursed his lips, the aura around him turning even colder.

Seeing him walk so slowly, Jiang Qunyu simply sat back down. He yawned, his beautiful eyes misting over with moisture, looking like the snow outside that hadn’t quite melted.

He asked: “How long have you been blind?”

The strange feeling in Wei Xun’s chest disappeared as if it had never existed. His tone was so calm that no emotion could be heard: “Two months.”

“Only two months?”

Jiang Qunyu sighed.

It was still a long way from the two years Wei Xun had mentioned earlier. He had once possessed Wei Xun’s body when the man was blind, and after only a few days, he had found that infinite darkness absolutely terrifying. How had Wei Xun endured it for two whole years?

Moreover, Wei Xun had spent the last year of those two years in a water dungeon. That meant from the moment he went blind until he became a half-ghost, he had been living in darkness.

“Where are you going? If you can’t manage, I’ll lead you.” At this thought, Jiang Qunyu’s heart softened, and he felt that Wei Xun was actually quite pitiful. “You won’t know when you’ll ever get there if you walk by yourself.”

Wei Xun stopped.

He was silent for a moment and, unexpectedly, did not refuse. He simply said calmly: “To sleep.”

“That works, I’m sleepy too.” Jiang Qunyu jumped off the bed, walked over in a few steps, and grabbed Wei Xun’s hand. He led Wei Xun toward the inner room, muttering to himself as they walked: “You didn’t use to go to bed this early.”

Wei Xun lowered his eyelids, letting the boy drag him along by the hand, and said coldly: “In my current state, what else can I do besides sleep?”

Jiang Qunyu froze for a moment. He opened his mouth, but not knowing what to say, he fell silent.

The snow outside grew heavier, the sky darkened, and a hazy gray layer gradually filled the room.

He led Wei Xun to the bedside, climbed up first, moved inward, and then patted the space beside him—his movements as natural as if he had done it a thousand times before.

Wei Xun stood still for a moment.

Then, his face darkened instantly, his voice dropping to a low growl: “Get down.”

Jiang Qunyu tucked himself into the quilt, resting his head on the pillow, and replied righteously: “No. Didn’t we always sleep like this before? It’s so cold out, I’m not sleeping on the rafters.”

Wei Xun was silent for a long while before he lay down beside Jiang Qunyu, expressionless, frowning with disgust: “Suit yourself.”

Of course he had to suit himself, Jiang Qunyu thought; Wei Xun couldn’t kill him now, so what was there to fear?

He closed his eyes with peace of mind and quickly fell asleep.

As he slept, Jiang Qunyu fell into his old habits. The wind and snow outside were freezing, and he felt the cold in his dream. Drowsily, he nudged toward the heat source, subconsciously trying to stuff his icy calves between Wei Xun’s warm legs to get warm.

Wei Xun, who had been lying with his eyes closed, stiffened violently, his face turning completely black. The white silk veil had long been removed; the youth’s eyes were pitch black and deep, filled with chilling intent.

Jiang Qunyu’s breath brushed lightly against his neck, making that small patch of skin itch as if a feather had passed over it.

A layer of cold loathing covered Wei Xun’s eyes, his outer corners narrowing slightly; he felt this person was foolish beyond redemption. To sleep beside him so unguardedly—he truly wasn’t afraid that Wei Xun would just raise his hand and end his life.

His hand reached out silently, his fingertips resting lightly on Jiang Qunyu’s slender neck.

Just a little more force, just a little tightening, and the person before him would be quiet forever.

Wei Xun’s knuckles strained slightly, but in that very instant, his heart felt an unprovoked, sharp, and sudden pain, so jarring it made his breath hitch.

Wei Xun’s expression turned hideously ugly; that feeling had returned.

He pursed his lips, refusing to believe it, and tried to continue. But every time his fingertips tightened, the pain in his heart intensified.

Wei Xun: “…”

A long time later, he finally let go of Jiang Qunyu and let him be.

He curled his lips into a sneer—he finally believed Jiang Qunyu’s story. He could not kill Jiang Qunyu. Although he didn’t know why, this realization made him inexplicably annoyed. If it wasn’t Jiang Qunyu’s own doing, then the “him” in the outside world was also a fool, having placed some messy restrictions on himself.

Useless thing, Wei Xun thought, expressionless.

But if what Jiang Qunyu said was true, and he had entered a nightmare due to an obsession… then what made Jiang Qunyu think that he alone could resolve this monstrous obsession?

Wei Xun “gazed” at that unguarded sleeping face, the emotions in his eyes dark and indecipherable.

Snow had been falling on Guhan Peak for who knew how many years.

Wei Xun’s cave dwelling was located here. Because it was too far from the main peak of the Lingxiao Sect and covered in wind and snow year-round, few disciples chose to set up their dwellings in this bitter, cold place.

Jiang Qunyu didn’t know how many days he had been in the illusion.

It was just that the snow outside had stopped, and he no longer placed those ugly little snowmen by Wei Xun’s side.

When warm sunlight appeared outside the dwelling, he would go out to sunbathe. When the sun grew too intense, he would move his spot to a tree, leaning against a branch, hands behind his head, letting the wind roll the fallen leaves onto his shoulders.

From time to time, he would turn his head to look through the open window at the adolescent Wei Xun.

Blind and unable to see, he could only use his hands to feel everything around him, walking slowly and carefully, one step at a time.

As Jiang Qunyu watched, he inevitably thought of the later Wei Xun. The later Wei Xun, even without using his spiritual sense, could walk steadily and calmly through crowds, as if those eyes had never been lost. To achieve such a state, he must have suffered greatly.

He sat up, legs dangling in the air, thinking that although he quite disliked Wei Xun, he truly didn’t like watching such a proud son of heaven fall from the clouds into the mud.

Moreover, during these days in the illusion, sometimes when he woke up in the middle of the night, he would see Wei Xun sitting alone facing bamboo scrolls engraved with cultivation techniques, his fingertips tracing the uneven patterns over and over again.

He said things like, “What else can I do besides sleep,” but in private, he had never truly given up.

Perhaps Wei Xun’s obsession wasn’t to kill those who kicked him when he was down, but to recover his cultivation.

With this thought, Jiang Qunyu twirled his fingertips and made up his mind. Even if this was just a mirage in an illusion, he had to try and see if he could help Wei Xun recover his cultivation. Regardless, he had no idea how to resolve Wei Xun’s obsession anyway.

He jumped down from the tree, patted his clothes, and walked away without looking back.

Inside the room, Wei Xun raised his eyelids, “looking” far out the window.

That presence had vanished.

He lowered his eyes, the corners of his lips curling into a faint arc, his eyes lacking even a ripple of waves.

Inner demon or not, it didn’t matter. He had long guessed that Jiang Qunyu would eventually leave.

Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

For the first time in a long time, disciples came up to Guhan Peak.

“So annoying, these are all high-grade spirit pills. Why do the elders still insist on sending them to Wei Xun every month?” A disciple in blue frowned and complained. “These pills would be enough for a dozen outer disciples to reach Foundation Establishment.”

He paused, his tone growing more dissatisfied: “He’s swallowed so many pills, but there’s no sign of improvement; he’ll probably be like this for the rest of his life. If you ask me, we shouldn’t waste these things on him.”

Guhan Peak had many steps, and one could not fly on a sword after reaching the halfway point, forcing them to walk up. The other disciple was already irritated, so he couldn’t help but echo: “Senior Brother is right. Think of how glorious he was in the past, the proud son of heaven that everyone in the sect looked up to. Now, blind and crippled, he has to walk by feeling his way, and he still occupies so many cultivation resources. Who wouldn’t feel resentful?”

He spat: “In my opinion, he just refuses to accept his fate, insisting on dragging everyone down with him. It would be better to let go early so he can suffer less.”

“Hush—keep your voice down, don’t let him hear you; after all… he performed so many meritorious deeds in the past.”

“Merit is merit, fault is fault.” The other disciple sneered, his volume not decreasing one bit. “Now he’s just a cripple. Leaving these pills here, who wouldn’t use them?”

The two complained the entire way, their voices drifting along the mountain path, scattered by the wind.

When they reached the cave dwelling, Wei Xun happened to be walking out.

He took the pills and turned to leave, not saying a single word from beginning to end.

The two disciples looked at each other, and suddenly, someone let out a soft laugh.

Wei Xun stopped, turned his head, and the aura around him suddenly turned cold and condensed.

The two disciples froze, the smiles on their faces stiffening.

Wei Xun let out an unidentifiable scoff and continued walking forward. His pace remained slow, his fingertips occasionally touching the rock wall to his side, as if confirming the direction, or perhaps just out of a careless habit.

Gulp—

Someone swallowed hard. It wasn’t until Wei Xun was further away that the two finally exhaled.

“Bah!” The blue-robed disciple cursed angrily, as if to cover up his momentary guilty conscience. “I don’t know what he has to be proud of; he isn’t even at the Foundation Establishment stage anymore.”

“No matter.” The other disciple pulled at the corner of his mouth, his tone filled with gleeful certainty. “He can only be proud for these few days. As time goes by, naturally no one will care if he lives or dies.”

“True.”

The two turned to walk back, but as they walked, they suddenly felt something was wrong.

The wind, which had been gentle just moments ago, was now dyed a scarlet color. The world seemed to be shrouded in a thin veil, and even the light became dim and eerie.

The blue-robed disciple’s heart tightened as he looked around in horror: “Where is this?!”

The other man’s face was pale, his voice trembling: “I—I don’t know either.”

Before the words fell, a figure slowly approached from the edge of the domain.

The youth was dressed in red like burning blood, his high ponytail neatly bound, the ends of his hair swaying lightly with his steps. A jade belt tightly cinched his waist, highlighting his narrow shoulders and upright waist, his posture as straight as a pine. The jade ornaments on his person clicked against each other with a crisp sound, yet it couldn’t suppress the cold, biting aura surrounding him.

He was extremely beautiful, his brows clear and cold, his lip color pale; yet, wearing that red attire made his coldness appear eerie and intimidating. Although he looked like a youth, his eyes were as cold as if tempered with ice, making one not dare to meet his gaze.

In his hand, he gripped a small, red curved sickle, its edge glowing with a faint crimson light—shaped like a crescent moon, or perhaps a bow. It was small, but inexplicably terrifying.

“Wh—who are you?” The blue-robed disciple asked, stammering.

Jiang Qunyu curled his lips, smiling with an innocent expression: “I’m your daddy.”

After speaking, he raised his hand and threw the red sickle.

The red light flickered like a startled goose, tearing through the air in an instant, the sickle flowing with eerie, dark glimmers as it bore down upon their faces with overwhelming pressure.

The wind shrieked. The blade sliced past their skin, the coldness bone-chilling. The two men’s pupils contracted in fear, their bodies stiffening, forgetting even to close their eyes, thinking they would be decapitated in the next second.

But the red sickle stopped suddenly just as it touched their skin.

Jiang Qunyu retracted it listlessly, pouting, before walking up and beating the two of them into a pulp.

A long time later, Jiang Qunyu finally stopped.

He stood straight, straightened his sleeves, and looked down at the two bruised and swollen men on the ground, his tone languid: “Next time you dare to talk nonsense, I’ll feed you both to my blade.”

The two men were terrified out of their wits, kowtowing and apologizing repeatedly: “We won’t dare again! We absolutely won’t dare!”

“It’s good that you don’t dare.” Jiang Qunyu waved his hand indifferently. “Get lost.”

The blood-colored domain dissipated, sunlight returned to the mountains, and the two fled down the mountain in a scramble.

“Wait—”

Jiang Qunyu added softly.

Their legs went soft, and they froze in place.

“If others ask, how will you explain these injuries?”

The blue-robed disciple’s voice trembled, tears almost falling: “We—we fell because we weren’t careful while walking!”

“Right, right! We fell!”

Jiang Qunyu let out a light laugh and said with satisfaction: “Just say that.”

“Oh, right.” The youth smiled, looking both flamboyant and handsome. “Guhan Peak is haunted, so don’t let other disciples come up. From now on, you two will continue to deliver the pills. If there’s ever a time when you aren’t the ones delivering, I’ll come down the mountain and kill you.”

Jiang Qunyu didn’t know if it was because he’d been with Wei Xun for so long, but he felt he had great potential as a villain. He threatened viciously: “Of course, if a third person finds out, I will assume it was the two of you who leaked it. By then, I’ll feed you to the blade.”

The two disciples nodded repeatedly and left quickly.

Only when they disappeared did Jiang Qunyu feel slightly relieved.

He stepped forward and walked straight into the cave dwelling.

The light inside was soft; Wei Xun was still sitting on the couch by the window, his fingertips lingering on a bamboo scroll covered with patterns. However, the movement of his slow tracing paused imperceptibly the moment he stepped inside.

The youth’s eyes were vacant, his iris color pale. Though he couldn’t see, he seemed to have precisely captured Jiang Qunyu’s aura, turning his head slightly in his direction, his voice cold: “Why did you come back?”

Jiang Qunyu didn’t answer and sat down opposite him. He reached out and grabbed the box of pills in front of Wei Xun, opened it, glanced at it, and tossed it aside.

“Don’t eat the pills they give you anymore.” He pulled another medicine bottle from his robes and stuffed it into Wei Xun’s hand. “They might have poisoned you. Take these instead.”

His fingertips touched the medicine bottle—it was warm, carrying Jiang Qunyu’s body heat.

“So,” he paused, a trace of unusual emotion in his tone, “you’ve been going out these past few days to find these pills?”

“That’s right.” Jiang Qunyu nodded as if it were a matter of course, leaning in closer to study that cold face. “Otherwise? Where did you think I went?”

Wei Xun pursed his lips.

A long time later, he lowered his eyes, his voice very soft: “No idea.”

Jiang Qunyu looked at him oddly, but couldn’t help lowering his voice to show off: “These pills were stolen from the Alchemy Peak. You have to take them properly.”

“Okay,” Wei Xun said.

Outside the window, a breeze blew from somewhere unknown, carrying the faint scent of apricot blossoms.

It was March 3rd once again.

Jiang Qunyu took out an apricot branch from behind his back with a grin and waved it in front of him. With his other elbow propped on the table supporting his chin, his eyes curved into crescents: “Wei Xun, happy birthday.”

Wei Xun was dazed for a moment, and only after a long time did he blink ever so slightly.

…

Ever since he beat those two disciples, word about Guhan Peak being haunted somehow got out.

A place that was already rarely visited became even more deserted. On the rare occasions that disciples had to pass by, they would rather take a detour, fearful of bumping into something unclean.

Jiang Qunyu didn’t know whether those pills were useful to Wei Xun or not. In any case, the illusion remained unbroken.

However, Wei Xun’s personality changed quite a bit; he was no longer as icy as when they first met. When Jiang Qunyu spoke to him, he would often respond. Except for those times when he would suddenly go mute and stop talking again.

“Sigh, I don’t know how much time has passed outside. We aren’t going to die here, are we?” Jiang Qunyu sat cross-legged under the tree, staring at Wei Xun’s side profile.

Wei Xun originally didn’t want to come out. But Jiang Qunyu, afraid that he would grow moldy if he stayed in the room for too long, dragged him out and forced him to practice outside.

He was currently closing his eyes, adjusting his breathing.

Hearing this now, the aura around him suddenly turned cold again. He turned his head, his tone laced with coldness: “Jiang Qunyu, do you not want to stay with me that much?”

Jiang Qunyu: “?”

Where did this lunatic come to that conclusion?

Jiang Qunyu said, “I was with you on the outside too. Is there a difference?”

And, he added silently in his heart, they had been together for so long, and he had never seen Wei Xun want to stay with him that much anyway. It would be better to go their separate ways sooner.

A faint coldness hung between Wei Xun’s brows; he couldn’t clarify why his heart felt so irritable. For him, there was no difference between the outside world and this illusion. Here, there were still those people who kicked him when he was down, the cold words, the faces that made him nauseous.

The only difference was Jiang Qunyu.

In the “outside” world that Jiang Qunyu spoke of, there was another version of himself. That “Wei Xun” had been with Jiang Qunyu for thirteen years. While he… had only been with Jiang Qunyu for a year.

Wei Xun lowered his eyes, the strange feeling in his heart surging. He knew what it was.

It was jealousy. Yes, jealousy.

Clearly, at the beginning, he had wanted to use Jiang Qunyu, and even kill him. But he couldn’t explain when those thoughts had changed. He only knew that now, every time he heard Jiang Qunyu mention the “Wei Xun” on the outside, he felt uncomfortable inside.

He even felt that the illusion was quite nice.

As long as Jiang Qunyu was there, it was enough.

He could now understand why his “outside” self would have placed restrictions on himself. However, his “outside” self was a fool after all; otherwise, he couldn’t imagine why that fool would have killed Jiang Qunyu twice.

Wei Xun tugged at the corner of his lips, his smile thin and cold: “It is different.”

“What’s different about it?” Jiang Qunyu was confused by his random words.

Wei Xun didn’t answer directly.

He turned his head slightly, “looking” in Jiang Qunyu’s direction. His eyes, covered by the white silk, surged with a sinister light. He curled his lips, his voice carrying a subtle, lingering allure: “You said it yourself—he killed you twice and deceived you once.”

He paused, then asked softly: “Why did you come in here to save him? Can’t you just leave him be? That way, he would be dead.”

Jiang Qunyu was stunned.

“That may be true…” But he had come in with the intention of saving Wei Xun in the first place.

Wei Xun seemed listless and continued: “Isn’t it fine if it’s just the two of us?”

Jiang Qunyu fell silent.

Wei Xun as a youth was far more difficult to deal with than he would be later. This illusion was very realistic; everything felt true. The wind was real, the snow was real, and those pills were real. He even possessed a physical body here, capable of truly touching this world.

But he also knew that what was fake was fake and could never be real.

After a long time, Jiang Qunyu opened his mouth: “It’s not fine.”

“No matter how real this place is, it is fake.” Jiang Qunyu said, “Wei Xun, the you outside has not only grown up properly but has also reunited with your mother. Walking this path again will be very hard, so we should get out.”

Wei Xun remained silent for a long time. So long that Jiang Qunyu thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then, he heard a light laugh. That laughter was soft, as if it had spilled from the depths of his chest, carrying a subtle, inexplicable meaning. Wei Xun’s expression was somber, a thin shadow cast across his brows, and he asked: “Must you leave?”

“Yes.” Jiang Qunyu answered decisively.

“Good.” Wei Xun raised his eyes, looking straight at Jiang Qunyu. In that moment, Jiang Qunyu even felt as if the man could see. He heard Wei Xun’s voice, sounding like both a sigh and a laugh: “You want to resolve his obsession, don’t you? I guess his obsession… isn’t killing those people.”

Jiang Qunyu’s heart jumped.

A mysterious arc appeared on Wei Xun’s lips—very faint, yet inexplicably unsettling: “Jiang Qunyu, if you want to resolve his obsession, you will have to bear the consequences yourself.”

As he spoke, before Jiang Qunyu could react, a hand suddenly reached out and clamped onto the back of his neck.

The distance between them was suddenly pulled incredibly close. So close that Jiang Qunyu felt his heart skip a beat.

Following that, a touch, which could be counted as a kiss, suddenly landed upon his lips.

It was very faint, very light.

In the early spring season, the wind blew through, causing the pines and bamboo forest on Guhan Peak to rustle, much like the heartbeat of Jiang Qunyu at this very moment.