SS CH63

When Chu Xiwei woke up, it was already the morning of the third day.

Having slept for so long, his limbs and bones felt weak and aching, and his mind was still foggy. His confused eyes stared up at the ceiling for a moment, taking in the pale yellow gauze canopy, while a faint, lingering scent of medicinal incense drifted into his nose.

Chu Xiwei was startled for a second. Straining to sit up, he unexpectedly found one of his hands pinned down. Turning his head, he saw Ye Fusheng fast asleep by the bedside.

Separated for ten years, it had been over half a month since their reunion, yet this was only the second time Chu Xiwei had properly looked at Ye Fusheng like this. Over three thousand days and nights had pulled him from a young boy into an adult, but they hadn’t left too many marks on Ye Fusheng. He simply looked more settled now. Though his romantic charm remained unchanged, his face no longer overflowed with the reckless arrogance of his youth.

Chu Xiwei stopped moving and just watched him in silence. Touching upon the weary look on Ye Fusheng’s face, his heart softened further, and the anger that had filled his chest was instantly extinguished by this sudden surge of tenderness.

He remembered back when Qin Liurong was still alive, Shen Wuduan would wake early every morning and return to the room before she rose, watching her awaken from her dreams so that the first thing she saw each day was him.

So-called companionship, aside from sharing life and death, was mostly this daily togetherness—seeing you last before sleeping, seeing you first upon waking. You alone occupy the softest place in my heart, so deeply rooted that even wanting to pull you out hurts too much to bear.

Driven by a strange impulse, Chu Xiwei carefully adjusted his body, leaning over to kiss the furrowed brow that Ye Fusheng kept even in sleep. Yet just as he was about to touch him, Ye Fusheng suddenly opened his eyes.

Chu Xiwei: “…”

He snapped back like lightning, his movement so fast he hardly looked like a bedridden, severely injured man.

Before Ye Fusheng could fully regain his senses, he rubbed his bleary eyes. “A-Yao, you’re awake? How are you feeling?”

Chu Xiwei maintained a stiff expression. “Fine enough.”

Ye Fusheng stifled a yawn. “Why did you lean in so close just now? You startled me.”

A storm of mixed emotions surged in Chu Xiwei’s heart, and the smothered anger returned to life, leaping frantically in his chest. He turned his face away, choosing out-of-sight, out-of-mind. “The light hit your face and dazzled my eyes.”

Ye Fusheng blinked and turned to look out the window. Though the sun had risen, its light lacked warmth, let alone being blinding.

Sighing inwardly that the kid grew up and learned to talk nonsense, Ye Fusheng considered himself a broad-minded man and let the matter drop. Noticing his raspy voice, he turned to pour a cup of lukewarm water.

Chu Xiwei took it, drank it down, and asked, “Where is Lanshang?”

“She carried on for three days and two nights. I just knocked her out so she could rest.”

“What happened?”

Ye Fusheng highlighted the main events after he fainted, saying, “That night, she opened the room on the left. Guess what was inside?”

Chu Xiwei had been teased by him constantly since childhood and knew he was intentionally building suspense. Refusing to indulge his habit, he replied, “Tell it or not. Either way, it has nothing to do with me.”

Ye Fusheng remarked, “You’re really no fun. Fine, I’ll tell you. Inside was…”

That tightly locked room was much more spacious than the bedroom on this side, but it contained no antique calligraphy, paintings, or gold and silver treasures—hardly fitting the heavily guarded lock on its door.

The moment Qin Lanshang stepped inside, dust falling from the doorframe covered her face. Ye Fusheng pulled out a fire striker and blew it into a flame, barely illuminating the scene within.

At that single glance, Qin Lanshang felt as if struck by lightning.

It was an ancestral hall, divided into a main hall and a side chamber by a bamboo curtain, arranged solemnly and sternly. On the wooden racks directly ahead sat a dense array of spirit tablets—at a glance, there were easily over a hundred, with cold, long-extinguished ashes remaining in the incense burner on the altar.

Qin Lanshang moved forward step by step, reading every name on the tablets under the dim firelight. Every stroke looked to be carved by the same person, bearing no specific titles or status, only names, suggesting they were not set up by their own clansmen.

Her gaze landed on the central tablet, which looked no different from the rest, inscribed with the name: Qin Hebai.

Qin Lanshang’s legs went weak, and she fell onto the dusty prayer mat, respectfully kowtowing three times without even wiping the dust from her forehead before turning to lift the bamboo curtain.

Ye Fusheng followed behind her, solemnly bowing to the row of tablets before stepping through. The contents of the side chamber were even simpler, holding only a single long spear set upon a rack.

The spear was seven feet long. Though its tip was covered in dust, it could not hide its cold gleam. Beneath the red tassel, a coiled, nine-turning flood dragon was carved into the shaft, vivid and lifelike.

As the firelight reflected off it, the dragon seemed ready to soar with the spear, roaring forth alongside the clashing sound of thousands of troops, carrying an imperceptible air of iron and blood from the battlefield.

Even without having seen it before, Ye Fusheng and Qin Lanshang recognized it instantly—this was the Dragon-Locking Spear.

When the Qin family was executed to the last man back then, only Qin Liurong escaped the calamity. But she could barely save herself, so how could she carry away old belongings? Thus, the whole world assumed the Dragon-Locking Spear had either been abandoned in the wilderness or destroyed outright.

Who would have thought it was right here, still guarding its master’s spirit tablet, remaining inseparable just as it had in life?

Tears poured down Qin Lanshang’s face. Crying, she reached out to pull the spear free. The weapon was exceptionally heavy, and she had to exert immense effort just to lift it, let alone wield it with ease. Yet she refused to let go or allow Ye Fusheng to lend a hand, dragging the long spear out to the courtyard to practice the thirty-three forms of the Dragon-Locking Spear Technique. Even when exhausted to the limit, she merely leaned on the spear to rest for a moment before starting over again.

Knowing the grief and fury in her heart were hard to quell, Ye Fusheng did not stop her. Only when he judged she had reached her absolute limit did he strike to knock her out, carrying her back to the hall to sleep on the prayer mat.

Hearing Ye Fusheng’s explanation, Chu Xiwei frowned. “It’s already been three days, and she still wants to wait?”

“Let’s wait. The girl has set her heart on getting an explanation. Even if you tie her up and take her back, she’ll just find a way to run back later. Why bother?” Ye Fusheng yawned. “She isn’t awake yet. Are you hungry? I’ll make you something to eat.”

Chu Xiwei said, “If I remember correctly, you once said you’d only ever master ‘setting the kitchen on fire’ in this lifetime.”

Ye Fusheng asked in surprise, “I lied to you, and you actually believed it?”

Chu Xiwei: “…”

He wanted to strangle this bastard again.

Ye Fusheng had gone out yesterday to buy some grain. Stepping into the kitchen to tinker for a while, he brought out a bowl of porridge. It looked decent enough, cooked with deboned fish and washed, chopped greens, making Chu Xiwei stare in rare astonishment.

Seeing Chu Xiwei hold the bowl and look it up and down, Ye Fusheng rolled his eyes. “Eat it or leave it. If you don’t want it, I’ll save it for the girl.”

Chu Xiwei quietly took a sip. The rice was simmered just right, and the seasoning was spot on.

Before his anxious heart could settle, he heard Ye Fusheng speak up again: “Speaking of which, A-Yao, you’re not a child anymore. When do you plan on finding a nice girl to cook soup for you?”

The dignified Baigui Sect Master nearly choked to death on a mouthful of porridge.

Taking in his reaction, Ye Fusheng sighed inwardly and dropped the subject, switching topics: “Right, the girl said you used potent medicine despite your injuries. Why push yourself so hard?”

Chu Xiwei: “…”

Without answering a single word, he finished his porridge with a dark face, set the empty bowl down, put on his coat, and got out of bed.

His meridians still throbbed with faint pain, though it was much better than before. Sweat beaded on Chu Xiwei’s forehead as he walked slowly, readapting his body after three days of stillness. Ye Fusheng rested his chin on his hand and watched for a bit before getting up to open the door. “This room is too small. I’ll walk with you around the courtyard.”

Chu Xiwei glanced at him and granted approval.

This walk lasted until noon. Qin Lanshang finally woke up and cleared her mind. Just as she was about to check on her young uncle, she stepped out to find Chu Xiwei and Ye Fusheng strolling together in the yard.

She froze, overjoyed, and hurried over. “Young Uncle, you’re finally awake!”

Chu Xiwei had been holding a bellyful of anger at her, fully prepared to discipline this reckless girl. But taking in her exhausted face and the dark circles under her eyes, his temper dissipated. He offered a lukewarm, “Mm.”

Receiving this single word felt like a grand pardon to Qin Lanshang. She brought a soft cushion from the room to cover the stone bench, attentively urging the two to sit, then somehow fished out tea leaves to brew a pot and serve them, clearly trying to make up for her fault.

Ye Fusheng sat on the cushion, took a sip of hot tea, and remarked with emotion, “Though she’s a bit mischievous, if I had a daughter like this, I’d spoil her to the heavens too.”

Chu Xiwei: “…”

This bastard’s tongue must not have woken up today, saying whatever was most annoying.

Idling away like this, half a day slipped by. By the time Ye Fusheng snapped out of his thoughts, dusk had fallen once more.

He hadn’t enjoyed such leisure in a long time—especially living peacefully in a small rural courtyard with someone he thought he’d be locked in a life-and-death struggle with forever. It was a pipe dream hard to imagine even in sleep.

He held the now-cooled tea, his expression somewhat vacant. Chu Xiwei looked at him and was about to say something when the sound of horse hooves echoed outside the gate.

The noise alerted all three in the yard. Qin Lanshang, whose strength had grown over three days of martial practice, stepped forward with her spear and opened the gate. The person who entered was a dust-covered scholar in white robes.

It was none other than Lu Mingyuan.

Qin Lanshang instinctively reached out to support him, getting a hand full of dust. Seeing two slashes across the scholar’s clean clothes with blood faintly visible beneath, her heart sank.

Fortunately, the villagers were all cooking dinner at this hour, and he had taken a side path without drawing attention. Qin Lanshang quickly led the horse inside, tethered it to a tree, and closed the gate tight.

Chu Xiwei said in a deep voice, “What happened?”

Lu Mingyuan looked exceptionally battered, covered in dirt with numerous small and large wounds across his body. Blood had glued his clothes to his flesh, yet he seemed insensible to the pain, standing dazed as his gaze swept over Chu Xiwei and Ye Fusheng before settling firmly on Qin Lanshang.

Qin Lanshang felt her hairs stand on end under his stare. A realization emerged in her mind, yet she felt too bewildered to grasp it.

Lu Mingyuan spoke softly, “My master has passed away.”