SS CH87

The existence of someone like Sun Minfeng was likely intended to stomp the phrase “benevolence of a healer” straight into the mud, never to recover.

Upon returning to Liufeng Residence, Sun Minfeng first applied acupuncture to Chu Xiwei. Deliberately targeting extraordinary acupoints, he caused a completely unconscious man to wake up from the sheer, agonizing pain, yet left him without even the strength to curse.

After finishing the acupuncture, he directed Ye Fusheng to use internal energy to force out the congested blood in Chu Xiwei’s body, while he ordered his subordinates to boil a large tub of medicinal water.

Given Chu Xiwei’s current condition, ordinary medicine would yield little result, so Sun Minfeng simply resorted to drastic measures. As a result, when Ye Fusheng saw that vat of pitch-black sludge, he didn’t even realize it was a medicinal bath at first.

Its color was terrifying to behold, and its smell was lethal within ten paces.

Having just woken up, Chu Xiwei took one look at this inhumane concoction, and his sword-like brows twisted into a tight knot. He immediately flicked his sleeve, preparing to leave, only to have Ye Fusheng step forward and seal his acupoints.

“You…”

He had just had his dantian true qi forcefully suppressed by Shen Wuduan, and had subsequently suffered at Sun Minfeng’s venomous hands. How could he possibly muster the strength to break through his sealed acupoints now? He could only glare at Ye Fusheng with eyes practically spitting fire, shouting angrily, “I’m fine! Let me go!”

“A drunkard never admits he’s drunk, and sick people are exactly the same.” Ye Fusheng shrugged and conveniently sealed his mute acupoint as well, before turning back to Sun Minfeng.

Holding back a laugh, Sun Minfeng said, “The time is about right. Strip him naked and throw him in.”

Hearing this, it wasn’t just Chu Xiwei’s face—even the tips of his ears turned bright red. At first glance, he looked exactly like a boiled crab. Unable to bare his fangs or brandish his claws, he could only fix his eyes firmly on Ye Fusheng.

Ye Fusheng, however, didn’t think much of it. Having learned the cause of Chu Xiwei’s internal cultivation deviation from Shen Wuduan, he felt a mix of heartache and fury, laced with guilt and helplessness. His heart was as chaotic as five overturned flavor bottles. Right now, he only cared about solving the problem; how could he possibly have the energy to notice whether the man was blushing or not?

Tactfully explaining all the necessary precautions, Sun Minfeng found an excuse to leave, closing the door behind him.

Once the outsider was gone, Ye Fusheng dropped all formalities. Reaching out, he quickly and efficiently stripped Chu Xiwei’s upper body bare. Once the inner garments were removed as well, he rubbed his chin and remarked, “Who would’ve thought, Ah-Yao? You used to be such a sturdy little meatball, and now…”

Although he was teasing, it was also the truth. When Chu Yao was young, surrounded by fine clothes and rich food, he was incredibly chubby and utterly adorable. Even after training in martial arts with him for three years, he had only slimmed down slightly, still retaining that lovable, fleshy roundness.

But the Chu Xiwei of today was not only taller but also much thinner.

His lower body’s long trousers wrapped around two long, powerful legs. With his upper body exposed to the air, his chest, abdomen, waist, and back were defined by smooth, symmetrical muscles. Combined with his slightly paler-than-average complexion, his skin seemed to possess the luster of jade under the lamplight. Contrasting with the cascade of raven-black hair falling down his back, it cast a momentarily bewitching, almost soul-stealing illusion.

It wasn’t that Ye Fusheng had never seen a naked body before.

Setting aside the fact that the Lueying guards were mostly a bunch of rough men, he himself had lost count of how many times he had watched couples “fighting like demons” from the rafters during his time as a spy. Even the most beautiful exterior was just a slab of meat to him; a stunning female assassin once famed as a “Flower Maiden” had been decapitated with a single stroke of his blade while trying to seduce him.

Ye Fusheng thought he had long ago reached a transcendent realm entirely immune to beauty, yet he never expected to be momentarily blinded by a man’s body today.

He blanked for a second, then instinctively closed his eyes and lightly pressed a hand to his chest, thinking to himself, Strange, why is my heart beating so fast?

Although Ye Fusheng had never truly indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, he was an experienced wanderer who had strolled through a myriad of flowers without a single petal clinging to him. Naturally, he didn’t believe he could like men, even if this one was a beauty.

More importantly, this beauty was fundamentally his young disciple. As a shifu, he could be unreliable, but he couldn’t be a beast.

Silently reciting the Scripture of Clear Mind—which his Shiniang used to use to put him to sleep—two times over, Ye Fusheng finally opened his eyes. Holding the man on a stool, he took off his trousers, shoes, and socks. Still inexplicably nervous and not daring to look too closely, he tossed Chu Xiwei into the wooden tub like a hot potato. Due to his trembling hands, he ended up splashing a faceful of water onto himself.

A medicinal bath required unimpeded meridians and a smooth flow of qi and blood. Naturally, Ye Fusheng couldn’t keep him restrained. He raised his hand to unseal the acupoints, fully expecting Chu Xiwei to splash water in his face or just jump out and fight him. Unexpectedly, after the seal was lifted, Chu Xiwei remained quietly submerged, merely shooting him a vicious glare before closing his eyes as if to rest.

This was completely uncharacteristic of Chu Xiwei’s temper. Narrowing his eyes, Ye Fusheng keenly noticed that Chu Xiwei’s body was trembling slightly. Within moments of entering the bath, a fine sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead.

Startled, he used one sleeve to wipe the sweat from Chu Xiwei’s face while dipping his other hand into the medicinal water.

The water had been boiled and then allowed to cool, so it possessed no steam or heat. But the moment it touched the skin, it felt like countless tiny needles piercing through the pores—not only painful but accompanied by an eerie, bone-chilling cold. Ye Fusheng instinctively snatched his hand back, only to realize that Chu Xiwei had opened his eyes and was staring at him.

When Sun Minfeng administered medicine, he rarely resorted to gentle, nourishing methods, especially considering Chu Xiwei’s condition required a heavy hand. Although the herbs in the bath were meticulously selected to be harmless to the body and to quickly repair his damaged meridians, their properties were overwhelmingly potent. Combined with the specially added cold-poison ingredients meant to forcefully suppress his turbulent true qi, the agony was simply beyond words.

The nine major extraordinary acupoints, opened by the acupuncture needles, now acted like nine holes in his body, madly absorbing the medicinal power in the water. As it mobilized his qi and blood to circulate through all his limbs and bones, it also transmitted this piercing pain to every single part of his body. Cycling endlessly, it was no different from suffering the torments of hell.

Even though Chu Xiwei had learned to endure over the past ten years, he was on the verge of collapsing. Yet, unwilling to show his wretched state in front of Ye Fusheng, he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to endure even when the pain became unbearable.

But endurance ultimately has a limit. Even the most flexible bowstring will snap when stretched to its absolute peak.

Chu Xiwei felt a bone-piercing pain and a marrow-freezing chill, as if a living person had been bound to a glacier until their flesh froze and cracked, only to be subjected to death by a thousand cuts with a dull blade.

He clenched his hands into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms, but this minor pain was utterly insignificant and completely unable to keep him lucid.

His brain, battered by cold and agony, began to blur. Chu Xiwei inexplicably recalled a time many years ago, when he was still small.

As imperial kin and the grandson of a prince, he rarely experienced pain, let alone hardship. The hardest he ever cried as a child was when he went to play in the imperial gardens and was bitten on the calf by a dog. A mere scraped wound had him crying like a little cat with a dirty face, refusing to stop until his mother coaxed him with pastries and Brother Xun carried him on his back to play.

He had thought he could spend his entire life being pampered like that, without having to worry too much or endure anything.

Who could have expected that no amount of self-righteous assumptions could match the whims of fate and the cruel tricks of destiny?

Chu Xiwei struggled to pull the corners of his mouth. Feeling as though his bones were about to freeze and shatter, he finally couldn’t hold back anymore. Trembling hands gripped the rim of the tub, and he tried to stand up.

Unexpectedly, a pair of hands suddenly pressed down on his shoulders, forcefully pushing him back without a word. His face pale, Chu Xiwei gritted his teeth and gasped, “Ye Fusheng!”

“The Ghost Physician said you must stay lucid through the entire two-hour bath, and it’s only been half the time.” Standing beside him, Ye Fusheng stared at Chu Xiwei’s lips, which had been bitten until they bled. “Ah-Yao, endure it a little longer.”

Chu Xiwei stared at him blankly. Those eyes had shed their playful, romantic demeanor, revealing a seriousness that hadn’t been seen in years—carrying the same undeniable authority that permitted no refusal or disobedience as they did back then.

Having remained so quiet until now, Chu Xiwei suddenly began to struggle violently.

As he thrashed fiercely, Ye Fusheng’s frown deepened. However, he dared not seal his acupoints, nor did he dare use force. Restraining a man slightly taller than himself was incredibly difficult. He could only press him down while softening his tone: “Ah-Yao, bear with it, just a little longer and it will be over.”

“No…” Chu Xiwei’s breathing was rapid and chaotic. He was in too much pain to think, his instincts driving him to crawl out. His eyes hazy, he murmured, “I’m cold… it hurts…”

His voice wasn’t loud—it could even be described as faint—but Ye Fusheng heard him perfectly clearly.

Looking into Chu Xiwei’s unfocused eyes and feeling his trembling body beneath his hands, he knew that if this stubborn, uncompromising fool weren’t in genuine, living hell, he would never behave like this. It was like the dying struggle of a trapped beast.

Pinned down and unable to move, the pain caused Chu Xiwei’s body to spasm. Just as he was about to bite his tongue, a finger was suddenly jammed between his teeth, and he clamped down on it fiercely.

On Ye Fusheng’s right index finger was a small, faded bite mark from many years ago. Now, it was covered by a fresh mark, as if marking a long-overdue transition from the old to the new.

With his mind muddled, Chu Xiwei’s bite naturally carried immense force. Feeling the searing pain radiating from his finger, Ye Fusheng felt thin streams of blood leak out, which the parched Chu Xiwei instinctively licked away.

The sharpness of his teeth and the warm softness of his tongue felt like a stark contrast of ice and fire.

As the warm blood slipped down his throat, Chu Xiwei jerked as if burned. Seeing Ye Fusheng’s pale face, he instinctively let go, only for his vision to suddenly blur.

Propping himself up with his left hand, Ye Fusheng flipped into the tub. The bath wasn’t very large, so squeezing two tall, long-limbed men inside made it unavoidably cramped. The water level rose accordingly, reaching their necks.

He stared at Ye Fusheng in a daze, forcing out the words, “Why… did you get in?”

“Seeing you in so much pain, and since I couldn’t coax you, the only thing I can do is share your suffering.” Ye Fusheng’s clothes were completely soaked, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, to say nothing of the sheer potency of the medicinal water itself. Forcing himself not to lose face in front of his disciple, Ye Fusheng rested Chu Xiwei’s head on his own shoulder, using his still-bleeding right hand to gently stroke his hair, coaxing him like a child. “Endure a little longer, it’ll be fine once you push through… Don’t be afraid, I am here.”

Caught off guard by the embrace, Chu Xiwei didn’t have time to form any romantic thoughts before an overwhelming, indescribable wave of intertwined sorrow and joy surged within him.

Tears suddenly burst from his eyes.

Chu Xiwei hadn’t cried in a very long time. Over the past ten years, he had learned to treat suffering as a whetstone, mastering the art of “swallowing broken teeth mixed with blood” while finding joy in the bitterness.

Yet being embraced by Ye Fusheng like this far outweighed three thousand days and nights of licking his own wounds, and far surpassed the bone-deep agony of wishing for death right now.

Scalding tears slid down his face, landing on Ye Fusheng’s shoulder. The man paused, saying absolutely nothing, but his soothing touches grew even gentler.

It was as if time had reversed in an instant. Ye Fusheng was once again that soft-hearted young man, and the man in his arms had reverted to the crying, fussy child. Neither hid anything away, baring all their joy, anger, sorrow, and delight.

After a long time, Ye Fusheng finally spoke: “Before the battle at Jinghan Pass, I thought I was dead for sure. I wasn’t afraid then; I only regretted breaking my promise to you.”

Chu Xiwei’s body stiffened as he listened to him continue. “Later, when I fortunately survived, I should have gone to find you immediately. But because I owed Xie Wuyi a great debt of gratitude, I had to fulfill his dying wish. I thought then… if Heaven had eyes, it would let me finish the task and leave me with just one breath to reach you.”

“When the Seizing-Blade Challenge went awry, as the poison flared up at the bottom of the Wanghaichao abyss, I was thinking… I’ve tried to be a man of my word my whole life, yet I always broke my promises to you. When I reach the Yellow Springs, I absolutely must knock over Meng Po’s soup and shamelessly wait a hundred years to see you again. Even if you curse me for breaking my promises, it’ll be fine… Fortunately, you came.”

His voice hoarse, Chu Xiwei asked, “What… exactly are you trying to say?”

“Ah-Yao, I failed you. Both Gu Xiao and Ye Fusheng failed you.” Ye Fusheng smiled softly. “It is entirely justified for you to hate me, and I am perfectly willing to let you kill me… Therefore, my life and death are entirely in your hands. Why must you push yourself to this extreme?”

The corners of Chu Xiwei’s mouth twitched. “You don’t understand…”

“Then explain it to me,” Ye Fusheng replied.

Chu Xiwei slowly lifted his head from Ye Fusheng’s shoulder. With trembling hands, he gripped Ye Fusheng’s arms. As their eyes met, his gaze held an unprecedented, fathomless darkness.

Life and death might be swayed by human effort, but love and hate have never been subject to one’s own control.

Taking a deep breath, Chu Xiwei looked at Ye Fusheng’s face and said, “You are inflicted with Youmeng. You do not have long to live.”

“That doesn’t matter; consider it my retribution. There is nothing to pity. Either way, this head of mine is credited to your account. As long as you take it before the poison claims me, the grudges between us will be settled.”

He spoke of life and death as lightly as drifting clouds and a gentle breeze. Chu Yao used to envy such composure endlessly, but the current Chu Xiwei felt an irrepressible rage welling up inside.

The next second, Ye Fusheng felt a heavy shove against his shoulder, his entire body pinned against the back of the tub.

Before he could even speak, Chu Xiwei recklessly lowered his head and kissed him. It was as brief as a dragonfly skimming the water—withdrawing instantly upon contact, barely even qualifying as a kiss—yet it completely shattered Ye Fusheng’s soul, sending it flying into the highest heavens.

An unknown breeze blew open the half-closed window, carrying a wisp of osmanthus fragrance. In his dazed state, Ye Fusheng suddenly recalled the dreamlike, heavy drunkenness of the previous night. He remembered his own inappropriate, alcohol-fueled words and actions, and Chu Xiwei’s restrained yet frenzied kiss.

He stared blankly at Chu Xiwei, entirely speechless.

“During the palace rebellion back then, your last-minute betrayal caused my father’s plans to fall short, leading to his defeat and death in the golden hall, and forced my mother to set herself on fire. You destroyed my bright future. Stabbing you twice back then wasn’t enough; I felt that even slicing you into a thousand pieces couldn’t be faulted…” Chu Xiwei’s voice slowly grew hoarse. “But you still saved me time and time again, even enduring ten years of captivity in the imperial court for my sake… Every thought in my heart exists because of you. How can you expect me to pick it up, only to put it back down again?”

With a trembling hand, Chu Xiwei touched his face. “Shifu, the gratitude and grudges between us are impossible to untangle; the love and hate leave me trapped between a rock and a hard place. Before seeing you, I missed you madly, yet hated you enough to want to flay your skin and eat your flesh… But seeing you suffer, seeing you in agony, hurts more than a thousand cuts… Hearing me say this, do you finally understand what exactly is tormenting me?”

He had originally thought he could suppress this delusional desire—one that defied worldly ethics and betrayed the lingering regrets of his parents—for his entire life. He endured constantly, terrified of exposing such a sinful thought. But passion was impossible to contain, and he had ultimately failed to hold back.

Ye Fusheng’s drunken words the night before had suddenly made him not want to endure anymore.

Life was fleeting, like a white horse flashing past a crack in a wall. To bear the burden of love, hate, passion, and vengeance in vain would leave him with absolutely nothing in the end.

His father was like this, his mother was like this, and the countless people he had seen in the first half of his life were exactly the same.

In the end, he wanted to be selfish just once.

Returning to the forbidden grounds where his parents’ spirit tablets were enshrined early that morning, Chu Xiwei had knelt before them for twelve full hours, bowing to plead for forgiveness and willingly executing the family punishment upon himself.

Three strikes severing the meridians, destroying the heart, and cracking the bone. Even though he had executed the punishment on himself, he could barely stand back up, which was why he had been nearly powerless against Duanqing.

The punishment of the three strikes was to plead guilty for three sins—

The first strike pleaded for the unfilial son letting go of old grudges and falling in love with his enemy;

The second strike pleaded for the unfilial son’s improper desires and failure to carry on the family line;

The third strike pleaded for the unfilial son’s devoted love, which would not cease until death.

In this life, the gratitude and grudges were impossible to untangle, defeated by a passion that could not be restrained. If he failed, they would perish together, fulfilling both love and hate; if he succeeded, he would beg Heaven for a few more years of grace. When he descended to the Yellow Springs in the future, he would cast himself into the River of Forgetfulness, letting his flesh and bone melt into mud to ferry the souls of his parents through reincarnation.

This heartfelt, soul-baring confession shattered all of Ye Fusheng’s chaotic thoughts and presumptuous speculations. Staring dumbfoundedly at Chu Xiwei, he found himself unable to say a single word.

Chu Xiwei slowly pulled him into an embrace. Ye Fusheng’s body jolted, instinctively trying to push him away, only to feel that head rest gently on his shoulder. Mingled with still-damp tears, he nuzzled against his neck.

His voice hoarse, Chu Xiwei said, “Shifu, I don’t want you to die. I… you are all I have left.”

A floating life is like a single leaf; when a person dies, it is like a lamp extinguishing.

The will of Heaven is endlessly fickle; I only urge you to cherish a single speck of dust.