SS CH34

Chu Xiwei remained silent for too long.

When Ye Fusheng snapped out of his daze, he realized he had been pushing his boundaries too far. Twisting his shoulder, he broke free from Chu Xiwei’s restraint, turned around, threw on an outer robe, and prepared to bolt straight out the door.

His heart was filled with anxious panic. He calculated that with his own footwork, he could probably scour most of Guyang City within half an hour; perhaps he would run right into Duanqing.

It was a fine plan. However, Ye Fusheng had only just recovered from his injuries. Let alone running like the wind, even stepping out of this courtyard was a bit of a stretch.

The moment he pushed the door open, Chu Xiwei finally snapped out of his thoughts. Furrowing his brows, he turned around just in time to see Ye Fusheng spring upward to leap over a stone carving. But instead of treading upon the wind, Ye Fusheng’s strength failed him, and he tumbled straight back down.

“Are you looking to die?”

Shifting his stance with lightning speed, Chu Xiwei caught the falling man securely in his arms, preventing him from landing on the back of his head and knocking himself unconscious again.

Ye Fusheng leaned against him to stabilize his footing, stating, “A-Yao, I must go look for him. I must find him.”

That single taste of the oddly flavored liquor had stirred up thousands of threads of lingering attachments. He desperately wished time could flow backward, returning him to the years before everything began. Yet time is the most relentless thing of all; aside from instinctively seeking out an old friend to alleviate years of profound grief, he simply didn’t know what else he could do.

Chu Xiwei studied him for a long moment, then suddenly moved.

He reached out, took off his own hooded cloak, and threw it right over Ye Fusheng’s head, wrapping him up so tightly he resembled an over-fried, giant spring roll.

Before Ye Fusheng could even wiggle his head out, Chu Xiwei bent down, slipped his arms under the tall man’s knees, and scooped him up horizontally in a princess carry. Channeling his lightwork, he leaped upward into the air. Too impatient to even keep his feet on solid ground, he swept across treetops and leaped over rooftops, pursuing a direct path toward the West Gate.

Ye Fusheng was utterly stupefied by this thoroughly unmanly posture. But Chu Xiwei clearly had no patience for his rambling. The moment Ye Fusheng finally poked his head out, the younger man frowned and threatened, “If you utter one more word, I’ll drop you right here.”

“……A-Yao, you’ve grown less endearing the older you get.” Ye Fusheng let out a sigh. A sudden maternal grief of “a son outgrowing his mother’s counsel” washed over him, but he tactfully shut his mouth.

When he truly fell silent, Chu Xiwei felt another wave of suppressed annoyance, feeling as though his punch had landed squarely on soft cotton with nowhere to release its force. Yet despite the thousands of words turning over in his throat, he didn’t utter a single syllable. A blanket of silence fell between them, making their pace even swifter. Before long, they arrived at the West Gate.

__

Due to the recent upheaval at Duanshui Manor, everyone in Guyang City was on edge. The local authorities had no choice but to brace themselves and deal with the influx of martial artists flowing in and out of the city. Consequently, guards had been stationed at the previously neglected West Gate.

Chu Xiwei had calculated that since the city gates had opened only a short while ago, Duanqing wouldn’t have gone far even if he traveled by carriage. Yet when he arrived in a hurry with Ye Fusheng, he saw only his own subordinates—disguised as coachmen—pacing back and forth by the gate with the horses and carriage.

The carriage door hung wide open, revealing a completely empty interior.

Chu Xiwei set Ye Fusheng down, furrowed his brows, and asked in a deep voice, “Where is he?”

The subordinate reported, “That Taoist Daoist priest said there was no need for a carriage and left taking only Li Feng with him. We intended to follow them, but his movement technique was incredibly bizarre. Shortly after leaving the city, he vanished completely.”

Ye Fusheng had just managed to extricate himself from the cloak when those words hit him like a bolt from the blue. He clenched his fists, his voice turning raspy: “How long ago did he leave? Did he mention where he was heading?”

The subordinate glanced at him, then at Chu Xiwei, before shaking his head. “He left an hour ago without stating his destination. However…”

Chu Xiwei narrowed his eyes. “However what?”

“That Daoist priest previously asked us about the whereabouts of the ‘Flying Rakshasa’. We didn’t know, so we informed him honestly.”

Ye Fusheng’s face turned deathly pale as he muttered, “Could it be…… he is heading to the Burial Soul Palace?”

The moment the thought surfaced, Ye Fusheng’s legs buckled. He turned around, preparing to mount a horse and give chase, but Chu Xiwei caught him in a iron grip.

Seeing this man so completely lose his composure, Chu Xiwei couldn’t bring himself to feel any shred of satisfaction. He asked coldly, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“He went to the Burial Soul Palace…… A-Yao, he cannot go to the Burial Soul Palace!” Ye Fusheng’s eyes were heavily bloodshot, his voice cracking with a choked sob. “He cannot go there…… he cannot!”

“In your current state, do you honestly think you can catch up to him?” Chu Xiwei recalled their brief encounter from the previous night; with his current level of martial cultivation, he hadn’t even been able to gauge the depth of that white-haired Daoist’s internal energy. “If his lightwork is exceptional, an hour is more than enough for him to cover immense distance. Do you expect to pursue him when you can barely walk straight?”

Ye Fusheng’s face was completely drained of color. After a long pause, a strained smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Even so…… I must try.”

Chu Xiwei let out a harsh, angry laugh. “Back then, when I chased after you and begged you to turn back, did you ever turn around? Did I ever catch up?”

He spoke purely out of anger, but looking at Ye Fusheng’s flushed, bloodshot eyes, his thoughts involuntarily drifted back to the past. A wave of irritation flared up like an unquenchable fire within his chest. His hands, hidden beneath his sleeves, clenched into tight fists as blue veins bulged across the backs of his hands.

“……I did turn back,” Ye Fusheng murmured softly after a long, heavy silence.

Chu Xiwei froze. Yet Ye Fusheng had no intention of elaborating further. His injuries were far from healed, and standing in the biting cold wind for so long had left him lightheaded; he could only lower his head and rub his temples.

__

With his raging anger left with nowhere to go and this abrupt, cryptic statement leaving him entirely bewildered, Chu Xiwei took two deep breaths. Fortunately, a hand clapped onto his shoulder, and a voice murmured beside his ear, “Calm your mind, do not let anger consume you.”

The newcomer was none other than Sun Minfeng, the Ghost Physician. His gaze flicked back and forth between Chu Xiwei and Ye Fusheng. Wisely choosing not to entangle himself in their dispute, he crossed his arms and drawled in a theatrical, singsong cadence, “The master has dispatched a servant with a family letter, stating that the young miss misses you dearly and wishes to express her parting sentiments. Would the young master care to glance over her heartfelt words?”

Startled by this bizarre tone, Ye Fusheng looked at Chu Xiwei and instinctively asked, “You’re already married?”

Chu Xiwei: “……No!”

Flustered and vexed, he slapped Sun Minfeng away, sending him stumbling, before heading straight toward a nearby teahouse with a dark expression. Sun Minfeng patted his chest, casually tugged at Ye Fusheng’s sleeve, and said with a grin, “He gets exceptionally irritable for a few days every month. Don’t take it to heart.”

Ye Fusheng naturally wouldn’t hold a grudge against Chu Xiwei. He merely lamented, “He used to be such a well-behaved child back then. I wonder when his temper grew so fierce.”

Sun Minfeng gave it some serious thought. “I don’t recall when his temper turned sour either. I only know that whenever he sees you, he becomes exponentially more furious.”

Ye Fusheng rubbed his nose. “I suppose I’m just not very likable.”

Sun Minfeng narrowed his eyes, offering no confirmation or denial. He turned to a nearby subordinate and instructed, “Find Er-Niang. Tell her to have our people keep a close eye on all the main roads and side paths leading from Guyang City to Mizong Ridge. If they spot a white-haired Daoist traveling with Li Feng, find a way to delay them.”

The subordinate took his orders and departed. Ye Fusheng blinked, catching Sun Minfeng’s conspiratorial winks, and instinctively glanced toward the teahouse. Sure enough, Chu Xiwei was sitting by a second-floor window looking thoroughly impatient. The moment he caught Ye Fusheng looking, he slammed the window shut with a loud thud.

Ten years apart, and I have no idea who taught him to be so stubborn and prickly.

Ye Fusheng couldn’t help but chuckle, the knots of anxiety in his chest loosening slightly. Though Chu Xiwei had given him nothing but cold shoulders and sharp looks since their reunion, the younger man always managed to bring a smile to his face.

After taking a brief moment to self-reflect on his habit of drawing amusement from Chu Xiwei’s irritation, Ye Fusheng followed Sun Minfeng up into the teahouse. Chu Xiwei had ordered a table full of fruits and pastries, but no tea—only a pot of plain, warm water.

Despite his icy demeanor, his fingers were working meticulously to shell melon seeds. With a gentle pinch of his fingertips, the shells cracked cleanly, revealing the slightly golden kernels inside. In the brief time Ye Fusheng and Sun Minfeng had lingered downstairs, he had already filled a small dish with shelled seeds.

As the two sat down, Sun Minfeng beamed. “Many thanks, Sect Master! I happen to love—”

He reached out to pinch a handful of the seeds, but Chu Xiwei, without even lifting his gaze, moved with terrifying speed. With a flick of his left hand against the edge of the plate, he slid the small dish straight in front of Ye Fusheng.

Ye Fusheng’s vision had already recovered, so a single glance told him there were easily over a hundred kernels in the dish. Memories drifted back to the past when he used to tease a certain little round dumpling, claiming he ate fruits without peeling them and melon seeds without spitting the shells, deliberately making the dignified young imperial grandson shell a hundred melon seeds for him while he did nothing but open his mouth.

Lowering his gaze, Ye Fusheng said nothing. He picked up the dish and tipped all the kernels into his mouth at once, his cheeks puffing out like a squirrel chewing diligently. For a brief moment, this otherwise sophisticated man exuded a touch of childlike innocence.

Seeing him like this, the frustration in Chu Xiwei’s chest dissipated a bit, and his expression softened. He turned to Sun Minfeng. “Where is the letter?”

Showing an ambiguous mindset, Sun Minfeng didn’t bother to shield Ye Fusheng—an outsider—from the matter. He fished a folded letter out from his robes. The paper was an incredibly flashy shade of pastel pink, folded into a triangle and sealed with a pale yellow wax flower. No matter how one looked at it, it resembled a maiden’s love letter to her sweetheart.

Knowing that people had been dispatched to intercept Duanqing, Ye Fusheng felt lighter. Seeing this, his mischievous nature resurfaced. “Let me guess. Does the letter begin with: ‘Years have passed since our parting, and my dreams run wild; daily I yearn for my lord, my heart breaking in vain’?”

Sun Minfeng burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. “Exactly so! Master Ye, you certainly know your way around these things!”

The two old rogues exchanged a look, sharing a moment of mutual appreciation. Chu Xiwei suppressed his mounting irritation, ruthlessly tore off the wax flower, unfolded the pink paper, and began to read.

The letter was written with flowery, sweeping strokes, filled entirely with unconvincing prose lifted straight from theatrical scripts. Chu Xiwei read through it with furrowed brows until he finally spotted a line of actual substance at the very end:

“The anniversary of Madam’s passing approaches. Lan-shang has run away from home to seek vengeance against an old enemy. You must depart immediately, locate her, and bring her back to the Valley without causing a stir.”

Reading this, Chu Xiwei felt a headache coming on—even his teeth began to ache.

Watching his troubled expression had originally been amusing to Ye Fusheng, but seeing those deeply knit brows, a pang of sympathy hit him. He found himself wondering: This child used to cry openly and laugh freely; his emotions came fast, but he was always direct. He never used to scowl like this. How did he become so closed off?

During these past ten years, in the places where I couldn’t see him, how exactly did he live?

The Master of the Hundred Ghosts Sect holds an illustrious status in the martial world, but what kind of life does he actually lead?

Lost in his thoughts, he instinctively reached out and drew the letter from Chu Xiwei’s fingers. Chu Xiwei didn’t stop him. Once Ye Fusheng finished reading, he raised an eyebrow. “Is your future father-in-law tasking you with capturing your runaway fiancée?”

Chu Xiwei: “……What are you thinking? She is only thirteen!”

The amusement in Ye Fusheng’s eyes deepened. “A child bride then?”

Sun Minfeng had enjoyed enough of the spectacle. To prevent a certain someone from completely snapping out of embarrassment, he finally stepped in to smooth things over. “She is the granddaughter of our old Sect Master. She has run away from home to do something incredibly reckless. As her martial uncle, no matter how troublesome it is, he has to bring her back and discipline her.”

Ye Fusheng’s brow twitched. Chu Xiwei tapped his fingers against the table, letting out a cold sneer. “She isn’t just being reckless; she has grown a spine of steel and thinks she can overturn the heavens!”

“She’s merely a half-grown girl; how much chaos can she possibly cause?” Ye Fusheng shook his head, pouring him a cup of water. “Cool your temper first.”

Chu Xiwei downed the water in one gulp, his lingering anger still visible. “Do you still remember Lu Mingyuan?”

Ye Fusheng searched his memory before replying, “Lu Mingyuan of the Sanmei Academy?”

“Duanshui Manor collapsed overnight, and almost every prominent figure in the martial world has been rushing toward Guyang City these past few days. Yet he chose this exact moment to lead his men and turn back…… tell me, why do you think that is?”

Ye Fusheng pondered for a moment. Suddenly, it struck him that it was currently the eighth lunar month. The only thing that could make a man like Lu Mingyuan swallow his pride, offer apologies, and abruptly abandon the martial gathering was……

“The Autumn Examinations!” A sharp gleam flashed across Ye Fusheng’s eyes before vanishing. “The Southern Scholar has come out of seclusion?”