SS CH68

After finishing the thirty-seven letters, Qin Lanshang could no longer stand steady.

Ye Fusheng immediately supported her, but the young girl backhandedly grabbed his arm, gripping so hard her nails nearly dug into his flesh, like a drowning person clutching a final straw. She had so much she wanted to say, but alas, not a single word could pass her lips.

Feeling the pain of her grip, Ye Fusheng did not pull away. His brow furrowed and quickly relaxed as he helped straighten her up. Chu Xiwei, however, saw this clearly. Brushing Qin Lanshang’s hand away, he asked, “You have received the explanation you wanted. What else are you unsatisfied with?”

Leaning on the Suolong Spear to support her weight, she shook her head, forcing a pale smile. “Nothing. There is nothing left.”

Clutching the booklet tightly, she stumbled back into the ancestral hall and closed the door. The three people in the courtyard held their breath, waiting until faint sobbing drifted from the room.

Looking slightly anxious, Lu Mingyuan seemed completely drained of strength after handing the item over, as if his spine had been extracted. He asked, “The hidden assassins from the Prince of Li’s manor have been tailing me this whole way. Although I shook them off, it’s only a matter of time before they find this place. What are your plans?”

Hearing the girl’s tears, Chu Xiwei’s brows knitted deeply, clearly too bothered to speak. Ye Fusheng shook his head and replied, “Young Master Lu has traveled a long and exhausting road. It is best you rest for the night. We have our own plans and will certainly ensure the Prime Minister’s efforts are not wasted.”

Seeing that Chu Xiwei had no intention of objecting despite his impatient expression, Lu Mingyuan settled his heart. The exhaustion and grief he had forcefully suppressed surged up at once; blinking back his tears, he hoarsely murmured his thanks and retreated to the bedroom.

Night had fully fallen, bringing heavy dew and a biting wind. Accustomed to wearing light clothing due to his martial arts training, Chu Xiwei sneezed—unable to shield himself with internal energy, the chill had finally seeped in.

Holding back a laugh, Ye Fusheng removed his outer robe and draped it over him. Knowing the man would rather suffer than lose face, he offered an excuse: “I’m cold. Accompany me to the front hall to rest for a bit?”

Pulling the still-warm robe closer, Chu Xiwei studied him for a moment and agreed.

The front hall was roughly the size of two bedrooms. A portrait of a sage was enshrined in the center, flanked by bamboo curtains. The right side led to the kitchen and utility areas, while the left side was a quiet alcove with a low desk and a soft couch. Ye Fusheng had thoroughly cleaned the usable areas over the past two days, dusting the couch and laying down fresh bedding he had found stored away.

Seeing the sheer exhaustion in the younger man’s eyes and knowing his severe injuries wouldn’t let him hold out much longer, Ye Fusheng gently nudged him. “You sleep for a while. I’ll keep watch and wake you if anything happens.”

Chu Xiwei raised an eyebrow, catching the faint dark circles under Ye Fusheng’s eyes in the candlelight. “You aren’t resting?” he asked, his tone cooling.

Quietly pinching himself behind his back to stay awake, Ye Fusheng smiled. “I’m not sleepy yet.”

Chu Xiwei stared at him, then turned around to lift the blanket. Before Ye Fusheng could even exhale his relief, the man suddenly spun back, his fingers hooked like claws as he lunged forward to grapple him.

The strike came without warning. However, weakened by his injuries, Chu Xiwei lacked both speed and strength, allowing Ye Fusheng to narrowly dodge. “A-Yao, I’m really not sleepy,” Ye Fusheng sighed helplessly.

Letting his hand slip down to grip Ye Fusheng’s shoulder directly, Chu Xiwei sneered, “Do you think I’m blind?”

In a split second, they exchanged half a dozen moves. Ultimately, Chu Xiwei’s spirit was willing but his flesh was weak. Ye Fusheng twisted the man’s arms, flashed behind him, drove a knee into his lower back, and pinned him flat against the soft couch.

Furious, Chu Xiwei struggled to throw the bastard off. “Let go!”

Kids were far harder to handle once they grew up. Sweating from the sheer effort required to keep him pinned, Ye Fusheng’s reflexes bypassed his brain completely. He unceremoniously delivered a sharp slap to Chu Xiwei’s backside. “Behave!”

Only after the strike landed did he remember that Chu Xiwei was no longer a child. He froze instantly.

Chu Xiwei was struck utterly speechless.

Sensing the powder keg was about to blow, Ye Fusheng decided to go all in. He yanked the sash from his waist and bound Chu Xiwei’s wrists tightly, absolutely terrified to release his hold.

Struggling in vain, Chu Xiwei flared with humiliated rage. “Ye Fusheng! Just you wait!”

Steeling his nerve, Ye Fusheng flashed a cheeky grin. “I’m not running away. Why don’t you get up, then? I’m right here waiting!”

How could someone be so thoroughly shameless?

Chu Xiwei’s lungs were about to explode. He surged his internal energy to snap the bindings, but the moment his breath stirred, a dense, agonizing wave of needle-like pain pierced his meridians. He let out a muffled groan, losing all his strength.

Tilting his head, Ye Fusheng’s gaze darkened. “I originally planned to wait until you were better to ask, but since it’s come to this, I’ll ask you directly. A-Yao, what exactly is going on with your internal injuries?”

Suppressing his turbulent breath, Chu Xiwei fought to keep his voice steady. “What does it have to do with you—”

Before he could finish, another slap landed squarely on his back, knocking the words right back down his throat.

Since their reunion, Ye Fusheng had felt an overwhelming mix of guilt and heartache, yielding to him at every turn. Yet truthfully, the urge to thrash some sense into him had been brewing for quite a while. Over the past ten years, he had often wondered what the obedient, pure-hearted Chu Yao would grow up to be. He never expected this.

High martial prowess, towering status, broad experience—these were good things. But what gave Ye Fusheng a splitting headache was that the boy’s slightly proud temper had intensified to an alarming degree. He didn’t have the obnoxious arrogance of a wealthy heir; when he wasn’t throwing a fit, he presented a perfectly dignified facade. Yet his arrogance was etched deep into his bones. He looked down on everyone and everything, not even valuing his own life. Ye Fusheng would indulge him in anything, except this.

Anger flared in Chu Xiwei’s heart, threaded with a faint, imperceptible grievance. Yet before he could recklessly force his way free again, a hand gently rubbed the exact spot on his back that had just been struck.

“Does it hurt?” Ye Fusheng asked softly.

Hesitating, Chu Xiwei rewarded him with a stiff grunt of acknowledgment.

“Do you remember what I told you at the bottom of the Wanghaichao abyss? When I hit you, it hurts me far more than it hurts you. But if I don’t let you feel the pain, you’ll never learn your lesson.”

“I’m fine,” Chu Xiwei muttered, his tone uncharacteristically softening. “Get up.”

Unfortunately, Ye Fusheng wasn’t buying it. “Answer my question first, or we’ll just sleep exactly like this.”

“Who wandering the Jianghu hasn’t suffered internal injuries? What is there to talk about?!”

Fighting the urge to smack him a third time, Ye Fusheng spoke with the ominous calm of an impending storm. “Oh? You’re really not going to say?”

When Chu Xiwei stiffened his neck in stubborn silence, Ye Fusheng continued. “Then I’ll say it. If I’m wrong, correct me. If I’m right, admit it. I checked your pulse. Your meridians and lungs were shattered by the backlash of your own internal energy. There is a critical flaw in your cultivation method, isn’t there?”

Silence.

“The physician said you ingested a highly potent drug, and I asked the Qin girl about it too. You did this knowing full well what the consequences would be. Didn’t you?”

Complete silence. Having his confirmation, Ye Fusheng finally asked the most important question of all. “Why?”

“Why what?” Chu Xiwei replied sullenly.

“The intricacies of your cultivation are a secret of the Hundred Ghosts Sect. As an outsider, it’s not my place to ask. But… why did you use a lethal drug to forcefully stimulate your energy?” Ye Fusheng’s fingers gently brushed the back of Chu Xiwei’s head. “This life of mine belongs to you. If you want to take it, it is only natural. Exchanging my life to guarantee your safety leaves me with zero regrets. So why did you do it?”

Chu Xiwei had been unconscious for three days, and Ye Fusheng had spent that entire time agonizing over every shared memory, completely unable to fathom why the man had saved him. In fact, why Chu Xiwei hadn’t killed him yet was a mystery Ye Fusheng still couldn’t unravel. Since he couldn’t figure it out, he laid it all bare. Whatever happened next—be it execution or torture—at least he wouldn’t be left in the dark.

Hidden from Ye Fusheng’s view, Chu Xiwei’s eyes were completely bloodshot. His internal energy was chaotic, a raging fire burning in his chest, and the man pinning him down was only pouring oil on the flames. Driven nearly mad by the burning heat, this question was like a basin of ice water dumped over his head. It didn’t extinguish the fire in his heart; it only left it to slowly simmer and boil.

He turned his head. Startled by the crimson eyes staring back at him, Ye Fusheng heard him ask, “How do you know… I don’t want to kill you?”

Seeing Ye Fusheng on the brink of death at the bottom of the abyss, Chu Xiwei had felt sheer, paralyzing terror—immediately followed by an overwhelming surge of murderous intent. He hadn’t known if the man could be saved, only that if Ye Fusheng died just like that, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

But regret what?

In that fleeting moment, fragments of their shared past had drifted before his eyes, too transient to grasp, leaving behind only a profound sense of loss. He reasoned that it was because ten years of gratitude and grudges remained unsettled; of course he would regret not killing the man with his own two hands.

He had raised his palm. Had he struck down, Ye Fusheng wouldn’t have lived to see today. But his hand had gathered power only to loosen its grip, eventually wrapping around Ye Fusheng’s shoulders to carry him out of the abyss. He had fled blindly through a night of torrential rain and blood, his mind utterly consumed by a single, desperate thought: This person is going to die, but I still don’t want him to die.

After wrestling him back from the King of Hell, seeing the life return to his eyes and hearing him call out “A-Yao” once more made him even more reluctant to let go. Chu Xiwei felt he was incurably sick. He was the one person in this world who had the most right to take Ye Fusheng’s life, the one who wanted him dead more than anyone—yet he was also the one who couldn’t bear to lose him.

His heart shifting a thousand times in an instant, Chu Xiwei bit the tip of his tongue to force himself awake. “Are you really not going to get off?” he asked in a dangerously low voice.

Unable to decipher his mood, Ye Fusheng firmly shook his head.

The next moment, the world spun. Chu Xiwei violently flipped over, hooking a long leg around Ye Fusheng’s waist to pin the unruly bastard down onto the couch. Contracting his wrists to slip free of the bindings, he used his opponent’s own trick against him, wrapping the sash around Ye Fusheng’s wrists and yanking downward to tie a dead knot to the leg of the couch.

Dumbfounded by the sudden reversal of fortune, Ye Fusheng couldn’t speak.

Rolling his wrists, Chu Xiwei leaned down, trapping him between his arms. As his face drew closer, Ye Fusheng suddenly felt an immense, suffocating pressure bearing down on him like Mount Tai. Regardless of their complicated history, an old saying declared a teacher to be a father for life. While Ye Fusheng cared little for such rules, being pinned down and rendered immobile by the child he had watched grow up was undeniably humiliating. “Let go!”

“I told you to let go a moment ago,” Chu Xiwei sneered. “Why didn’t you?”

Ye Fusheng was trapped. Their faces were so close their noses nearly touched, leaving Ye Fusheng unable to see anything but the eyes staring directly into his. Dark as ink, bright as starlight, they seemed to hold the entire night sky—and reflecting the warm candlelight, they held only him.

An unnamed place in Ye Fusheng’s heart suddenly fluttered. It was a painful, itching sensation, as if a seed had finally broken through the frozen earth. Unable to move and afraid to speak, he watched as Chu Xiwei, seeing him so unusually quiet, slowly lifted his head, a faint curve gracing his lips.

They say viewing a beauty under a lamp amplifies their radiance threefold. Chu Xiwei already possessed picturesque features; smiling like this, Ye Fusheng couldn’t tear his eyes away. His heart suddenly hammered against his ribs. Uh-oh, he thought.

Before he could figure out exactly what was wrong, Chu Xiwei leaned down again, his lips parting in a soft murmur.

At that exact second, the door was violently kicked open. “Uncle! Uncle Ye! A letter from the sect just—!”

The letter slipped from Qin Lanshang’s fingers, fluttering to the floor. She stared completely dumbfounded at the scandalous scene before her. Only one thought echoed frantically in her mind: Oh heavens, I’m going to be silenced!

Before either man could react, she spun around and bolted. “I didn’t see anything! Apologies for the interruption! Please continue!”

Ye Fusheng’s scattered soul finally slammed back into his body. Raising a leg, he brutally kicked the man off of him. “You little brat, are you trying to rebel?”

The little brat in question simply sighed. He hadn’t just wanted to rebel; he had wanted to take a bite. Unfortunately, the mood was utterly ruined, and this was no longer the right time for confessions. Dusting a shoe print off his clothes, he picked up the dropped letter.

Reading it, his eyebrows twitched, and a genuine laugh escaped him.

“Good news?” Ye Fusheng asked.

“Excellent news,” Chu Xiwei confirmed. “Something has happened to the Burial Soul Palace’s main stronghold at Mizong Ridge. Helian Yu has likely received the news and is rushing back. Our journey forward just became much safer.”

Ye Fusheng exhaled a sigh of relief, though his heart inexplicably tightened again. “Did it say what happened at the ridge?”

“Yes,” Chu Xiwei replied. “Someone showed up at their doorstep and completely smashed the Vermilion Bird Hall. Hall Master Bu Xueyao is severely injured.”