ATAVID CH60

Jiang Qunyu was rendered speechless by that finger blocking his mouth. He could only stare at Wei Xun with teary, mournful eyes, the black mist ball trembling with rage.

Wei Xun looked down at him, his long, slender, cold-white fingertip moving in and out with leisurely indifference.

“Jiang Qunyu, be good,” he said, his tone as bland as if he were coaxing a disobedient cat.

Jiang Qunyu wanted nothing more than to bite him, but he had no strength left in his current form. He could only accept his fate and swallow. As the blood, laced with demonic energy, fused into his soul, the lingering dizziness gradually faded away.

While he drank, he cursed Wei Xun from head to toe in his mind, thinking that the first thing he would do once he regained his human form would be to give Wei Xun a proper beating.

Wei Xun seemed to read his thoughts instantly, the corners of his lips curling into a faint, shallow smile.

“Thinking about how to hit me?”

Jiang Qunyu glared at him.

“In your current state,” Wei Xun retracted his finger unhurriedly. A drop of moisture lingered on his fingertip, which he looked down at before casually wiping it off on Jiang Qunyu, “you couldn’t even beat one of my fingers.”

Jiang Qunyu was so angry he had a headache. Now that he had a bit of strength back, he lunged and bit down on Wei Xun’s wrist, cursing viciously: “You cheap bastard!”

Wei Xun wasn’t annoyed by the bite. Instead, a shallow warmth rippled through his eyes, even carrying a hint of indulgent pleasure as he asked: “Do you want to bite again?”

Jiang Qunyu: “…”

He let go and stared at Wei Xun with complex emotions for a long time: “Which Wei Xun are you right now?”

Why does this Wei Xun feel like he carries all the madness of the seventeen-year-old one?

If not for the fact that he was currently a ball of black mist, plus the presence of Liang Yun and Mo Wudu not far away, Jiang Qunyu would have suspected he was still trapped in “Yizhen Huangquan.”

Wei Xun pulled his lips into a smile, his tone careless, inexplicably tinged with a dangerous edge: “Who do you want me to be?”

He remembered everything that happened between “Wei Xun” and Jiang Qunyu in the illusion, but why should that version of himself have been able to meet Jiang Qunyu at seventeen?

It’s so unfair.

Fortunately, from now on, there was only him. That other self was nothing more than a fleeting dream of yellow millet.

Jiang Qunyu’s face went wooden: “You’re annoying in every version.”

“Is that so?” Wei Xun chuckled softly, then suddenly asked in a ghostly tone: “Or perhaps you wish it were the seventeen-year-old Wei Xun? After all, he liked you.”

Jiang Qunyu, who had been resting on Wei Xun’s wrist, stiffened at these words.

Thud— He tumbled off.

But before he hit the ground, he was caught by Wei Xun.

The flickering firelight reflected on his face; the youth was pale to the point of transparency, his voice turning cold in an instant: “Jiang Qunyu!”

Jiang Qunyu didn’t know why he had suddenly gotten angry again. He was thankful he was currently only a ball of black mist, so he just threw all caution to the wind and snapped: “What?!”

Seeing that he wasn’t hurt, Wei Xun felt a surge of relief, though his expression remained unmoved: “Nothing.”

Jiang Qunyu hurried to gloss over the previous remark, stiffly changing the subject: “How did you get out of the illusion?”

Wei Xun didn’t speak.

He kept his gaze fixed on Jiang Qunyu for a long time. The look was indecipherable and heavy. Jiang Qunyu couldn’t describe it, but he was certain Wei Xun was about to say something he didn’t want to hear.

He grew irritated: “If you aren’t going to talk, I’m going to sleep.”

“I killed them.” Wei Xun finally shifted his gaze, his voice so calm it bordered on indifference, as if he were merely stating an everyday occurrence.

“Oh,” Jiang Qunyu nodded. “So your obsession really was killing them.”

At least it wasn’t me.

Wei Xun was momentarily speechless, a dull frustration rising in his chest. He curled his lips and said coldly: “I wouldn’t fall into an illusion over a bunch of idiots.”

Jiang Qunyu fell silent.

The firelight danced on the black mist ball, reflecting a warm glow. He just lay quietly on Wei Xun’s wrist, neither making a sound nor moving.

A long while later, Wei Xun corrected himself: “Perhaps, as you say, my obsession truly was them.”

Jiang Qunyu looked at him blankly, blinking slowly. The entire black mist ball relaxed, responding lazily: “I knew it.”

The campfire popped with a faint sound, and the night deepened suddenly.

Wei Xun pressed his thin lips into a straight line.

Two years in ‘Yizhen Huangquan,’ but only a few days in the outside world.

This year was the early spring of the twenty-third year of Xiping. The night wind still carried the lingering chill of deep winter, causing the silver bell hanging on the Devouring Soul sword to chime.

Wei Xun heard his own voice, as cold as ice, speaking word for word: “Jiang Qunyu, what is our relationship now?”

Jiang Qunyu was stunned. After a long while, he said: “I am your inner demon.”

Wei Xun sneered, his gaze heavy as it fell upon him: “Inner demon?”

Jiang Qunyu was silent for a moment, then took a step back: “…Friends.”

“Friends?”

Jiang Qunyu took another step back: “Close friends.”

Wei Xun had once thought he would be close friends with Jiang Qunyu for a lifetime. He asked: “Just like Wen Xingyao?”

His expression was calm, but his tone carried a mocking sarcasm: “You certainly have a lot of close friends.”

Jiang Qunyu was at a loss for words.

The silver bell chimed softly, sounding inexplicably lonely in the night.

Jiang Qunyu suddenly didn’t know what else to say. Wei Xun is so annoying, he thought.

“We grew up together,” Jiang Qunyu finally said.

Wei Xun didn’t press him further. He didn’t sleep; he just sat in silence. The firelight flickered across his face, illuminating a side profile devoid of any visible emotion.

Jiang Qunyu didn’t want to hear any more of this aimless talk. He wasn’t actually tired at all, but he intentionally yawned, feigning drowsiness.

He didn’t want to stay on Wei Xun’s wrist anymore; he just wanted to hide somewhere the other man couldn’t see.

So, he drifted up lightly, flattened himself into a soft pancake atop Wei Xun’s black, satin-like hair, and lay down quietly.

The night wind continued to howl, and the campfire jumped.

The two finally reached an unspoken agreement, tacitly skipping over the kiss-like touch in the illusion, thoroughly burying it in that nonexistent early spring.

The twenty-fourth year of Xiping.

This was the first New Year’s Eve that Jiang Qunyu and Wei Xun spent in the Demon Realm.

New Year’s Eve in the human world meant red lanterns reflecting on snow, firecrackers deafening the sky, families pasting vermilion couplets, and hearths burning red-hot. The New Year’s festival in the Demon Realm, however, was a different kind of surging chaos.

On the far horizon, a layer of deep purple twilight always remained. There was no sun or moon, but the sky was filled with floating, fluorescent blue soul-fire, hanging like a fallen galaxy, illuminating the entire Cloud Palace City with flickering light.

The towering black city walls stretched for ten thousand miles, the ancient demonic runes on the bricks glowing faintly in the night. The bone-lamps that usually lined the streets—so cold and deadly—were replaced by strings of suspended ghost-crystal lanterns. Dark blue and ink-green colors intertwined, the flowing light washing over the eaves and corners, looking even more eerie and magnificent than the lanterns of the human world.

The main avenue of the city was a surging tide of people.

The demons were not as cold or taciturn as the rumors suggested. Tall demon generals clad in heavy armor, carrying animal-skin pouches filled with demonic brew at their waists, walked past in groups of three or five, their boots making muffled, powerful sounds against the bluestone pavement.

Demon children darted between vendors, holding newly bought soul-beads, laughing and jostling through the crowd.

Even the usually stern-faced demon soldiers were gathered in front of wine shops, clinking cups together, their coarse, boisterous laughter making the very air tremble.

Stalls on the streets roasted beast meat until it dripped with oil, the fragrance mingling with the thick, mellow scent of demonic ale. The clamor of voices and the rowdiness were even livelier than the New Year’s season in the human world.

Yet, this revelry lacked the reunion and joy of the human world; it was a wild, rampant indulgence belonging solely to the demons. Within the clamor, the factions of the Four Great Guardians surged, dark currents flowing beneath the jubilant facade.

Wei Xun’s residence was located in the inner city of Cloud Palace.

The courtyard was planted with Ghost Shadow flowers, unique to the Demon Realm. In the night, their deep black petals bloomed, emitting a cold, slightly sweet fragrance.

There were no lanterns hanging from the eaves; only a quiet soul-lamp was placed on a stone table. The lamp’s glow was gentle, barely dispelling the chill in the air.

Jiang Qunyu was curled up on a daybed, flipping through a storybook. The characters in the story were embroiled in a heated battle, but his eyelids were growing heavy.

The book slipped from his fingers; he pushed it aside and, wrapping himself tightly in his quilt, fell asleep.

Outside, it began to snow.

When Wei Xun returned through the wind and snow, it was already the third watch.

The clamor in the city had died down, and the long streets were empty, save for the soul-fire still slowly drifting across the firmament.

He carried a green paper lantern, the dim yellow light stretching his shadow long and thin.

Fine snowflakes landed on his long lashes, then fell into his collar; he paid them no mind.

He pushed the door open.

The warmth of the room rushed out to meet him. Wei Xun took off his black cloak and hung it on a screen; the blood stained on the cloak had already frozen in the wind and snow, stiff and shining with a dark, dull luster under the lamplight.

His fingertips seemed to still linger with the searing, bloody intent of the Azure Dragon, which felt nauseating.

The lamp flickered.

Wei Xun walked slowly to the bedside, looking down at Jiang Qunyu, who was sleeping soundly.

The quilt had been kicked into a mess by him, and one of his hands was exposed, his fingertips curled slightly, his breathing long and steady.

The ice in Wei Xun’s eyes shattered suddenly, replaced by a soft tenderness.

Jiang Qunyu vaguely heard him return. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and sat up in a daze: “Why are you only back now?”

Wei Xun lowered his eyes wearily, not bothering to hide the disgust between his brows: “Today, that old immortal forced me to have a fight with the Azure Dragon.”

The “old immortal” he referred to was the current Demon Lord ruling over Cloud Palace. That man was bloodthirsty, cruel, and temperamental, enjoying nothing more than driving his subordinates into the arena to fight the fierce beasts he raised for fun, treating human life like grass.

Sometimes, he would even make his subordinates kill each other, saying that if they could kill their opponent, they could take their place.

The Demon Realm valued strength above all, so other demons had long since become accustomed to it.

The Azure Dragon was one of the Four Great Guardians under the Demon Lord; he was powerful and a top general under the Lord’s command.

“Did you kill him?” Jiang Qunyu asked.

“Mm.” Wei Xun had inevitably sustained injuries; his complexion now appeared slightly pale.

Jiang Qunyu, however, had no desire to ask about Wei Xun’s injuries.

Instead, he grew gloating, leaning against the head of the bed: “That’s what you get for not letting me follow you. See? You’re still not good enough without me. I’m at the Great Completion stage now, too. If I had come with you, you wouldn’t have been injured at all.”

He didn’t know what kind of madness Wei Xun was going through.

This year, every time Wei Xun went out, he wouldn’t bring Jiang Qunyu with him anymore.

Jiang Qunyu had asked him why.

And Wei Xun had actually said he was a drag.

Jiang Qunyu had been so angry he laughed on the spot. He wasn’t one to lower his pride and keep pestering someone, so he just let it be.

Fine, don’t bring me! It’s not like I’m dying to follow you!

Since then, he had stayed in the courtyard every day reading storybooks, or, when he was truly bored, he would chat with Wen Xingyao via a sound-transmission jade pendant. It wasn’t too stifling.

Wei Xun glanced at him, his tone calm and rippling with no emotion: “Jiang Qunyu, you’d better look after yourself first.”

Jiang Qunyu: “…”

Look at him being so condescending.

Before he could retort, Wei Xun turned and headed into the inner chamber to bathe. The sound of water came faintly, mingled with the whistling of the wind and snow outside.

When he emerged again, his hair was still slightly damp, several stray locks sticking to his forehead. His thin lips were pressed tight, his face even paler than before. His collar was slightly open, revealing a wound on his chest that hadn’t completely healed—the flesh was rolled back, looking painful.

Jiang Qunyu saw the wound.

He opened his mouth; the words he had intended to say were stuck in his throat. After swirling around a few times, he couldn’t hold back the question: “Wei Xun, why do you want to sit on that position?”