TBR CH20

The grand performance was about to begin, but Fu Tingxue was not an actor in this play.

Given the current situation, it was inconvenient for him to go anywhere, so he remained in the dungeon, still maintaining his disguise. He sat alone, head lowered in contemplation, slowly mulling over certain thoughts.

He touched his hair.

Just moments ago, Gu Shishu had tidied it for him, pushing a few stray strands back. When his fingers brushed against his skin, that small patch of flesh seemed to still burn with residual warmth.

Fu Tingxue thought, even knowing that Gu Shishu would never love him again, his heart still beat for him.

That was why he had reached out to touch Gu Shishu’s hair in return.

Yet, the Demon Lord’s reaction had surprised him. Someone like Gu Shishu—being touched so casually—even by an old acquaintance, should not have tolerated it so easily. He was not himself, after all.

Gu Shishu had merely looked at him, his lethal strike dissipating in his palm.

Beyond his instinctive caution, he made no move to stop Fu Tingxue. His eyes only flickered briefly with something akin to helplessness.

Fu Tingxue had been standing close enough to see his own reflection in Gu Shishu’s dark pupils.

…Far too close.

For a moment, he feared that his long-buried feelings, concealed for centuries, might be laid bare before the other’s gaze.

No—was it fear?

Then why did it feel like anticipation?

Like a desperate gamble, like he was exposing everything before Gu Shishu and awaiting his judgment.

They were not lovers. And yet, they had crossed a line, doing things that only lovers should do.

The Immortal Lord’s fingers trailed slowly down from Gu Shishu’s hair, until they brushed against his own closed eyelids. To an outsider, his expression remained as cold as frost, detached from all worldly emotions.

Yet only he knew—

In the abyss of darkness,

A foolish, impossible hope took root once more.

Gu Shishu had been testing him, but that was fine. At this point, Fu Tingxue suddenly felt that he no longer needed to keep up the pretense.

He even allowed himself to imagine—how would an indifferent Gu Shishu react if he were to discover his love?

His fingertips pressed lightly against his own eyelids. Sightless, he smiled faintly.

He trusted Gu Shishu’s character.

He knew the other man would never mock him, never reject him with disgust or scorn.

And yet, what good would that do, other than allowing himself to sink even deeper?

This love—like Fu Tingxue himself—was pure, devoid of falsehoods.

There was nothing shameful about it.

Centuries had passed. The restraints of the past had long since crumbled, leaving only the chains he had forged for himself.

And now, in the most unlikely of fantasies, he wondered—

If he let this final chain fall away, if he did nothing, would he regret it for eternity?

His soul was parched.

And so, without hesitation, he would reach out once more.

Gu Shishu drank in the grand hall.

Unlike Fu Tingxue, he was not easily intoxicated. The Demon Palace housed a collection of rare and exquisite wines, all displayed generously for the night’s festivities.

As the banquet commenced, he swirled the golden goblet in his hand, watching the clear liquid catch the candlelight, refracting a soft, luminous glow.

Seated beside him at the guest table, the Yao King Wusu was in an excellent mood, even showing some interest in the Demon Lord’s drink.

“Just pear blossom wine,”

Gu Shishu’s response was unexpectedly plain.

Though well-brewed, it was by no means a rare or precious wine.

Wusu merely shrugged, downing the Immortal’s Drunken Bliss in his own cup—a liquor worth thousands in gold, brewed with countless rare spiritual herbs. He made no comment on the Demon Lord’s odd choice.

A beautiful wine maiden approached, smiling as she lifted a silver ewer to refill his cup.

Her skin was pale as snow, her fragrance delicate—though this was the Demon Realm. Behind such a flawless exterior, one might find little more than a flesh-eating skeleton. She cast a charming smile at Wusu, who remained unmoved, his thoughts drifting instead to his own soft, obedient little Daoist companion.

His mind held room for no one but Nian Nian.

What were these common playthings in comparison?

Following that thought, Wusu’s gaze flicked toward the ever-elusive “Shen Nian” of the Demon Lord’s palace. The young man had gone to great lengths to avoid him, as though he feared what Wusu might do.

What nonsense.

Just because he shared a name with someone Wusu deeply cherished, did he really think that meant he would fancy him too?

Wusu scoffed inwardly. It was mere curiosity, nothing more. As someone under Gu Shishu’s protection, Shen Nian need not worry about coming to harm.

But such arrogance—perhaps a lesson was in order.

Tonight’s banquet centered on the trade between the Demon Lord and the Yao King—the Qilin Bone.

Before striking a deal, powerful figures often indulged in leisurely pastimes, feigning patience and grace.

But now, it was time for the main course.

Gu Shishu, unaccompanied by attendants, drained his cup and turned to Wusu.

“Yao King, do you think it’s time? Let’s bring in the Qilin Bone of the demon race.”

Perhaps buoyed by his own joy, or by the extra drinks he had indulged in, Wusu no longer bothered with the caution he had maintained earlier. Laughing, he waved a dismissive hand.

“You’ve seen my sincerity, Demon Lord. But what of yours? Is that ‘Shen Nian’ of yours present tonight?”

Earlier, he had already surveyed the room. No particularly striking face stood out.

If Shen Nian was truly among them, then he had vastly overestimated the Demon Lord’s taste.

Gu Shishu followed his gaze toward the crowd, his expression shifting into something natural—an unguarded trace of confusion and mild concern.

“I sent someone to fetch him earlier… and yet he hasn’t arrived.”

Right on cue, one of the Demon Palace’s attendants rushed forward, dropping to his knees before them.

“Your Excellency, Young Master Shen says he is unwell tonight—”

Wusu cut him off.

His golden beast-like pupils locked onto the trembling servant. Under the full force of the Yao King’s gaze, the man faltered, nearly choking on his words.

“Not even a different excuse?”

Satisfied, Wusu turned to Gu Shishu.

“Tonight was meant to be a mutually beneficial arrangement, yet the Demon Lord insists on keeping secrets. The Qilin Bone has already arrived—under such circumstances, I cannot help but question your sincerity.”

Gu Shishu… had been waiting for these very words.

Waiting for the Yao King to walk into his own trap, to escalate Shen Nian’s actions into a matter of political tension between the two realms.

Although the agreement concerning the Qilin Bone and Fu Tingxue had already been settled and was unlikely to change, Wusu’s stance was far from irrelevant.

So Gu Shishu swirled the wine in his cup, shifted his gaze to pacify the Yao King, and cast a cold, pointed look at the kneeling attendant who had just delivered the report.

“Go and summon him again. Tell him about the current situation. Even if he is feeling unwell, he must come—without hesitation.”

The attendant bowed his head, trembling as he obeyed, and quickly exited the hall.

Meanwhile, Gu Shishu ordered more fine wine to be poured for Wusu.

“Rest assured, Yao King. You will see him before the night is over.”

The Demon Lord smiled at him.

And for some inexplicable reason, Wusu felt a sudden chill. The smile did not reach Gu Shishu’s eyes—rather, it gave him the unsettling impression that he was the one caught in a game.

But he quickly dismissed the thought as paranoia.

The wine was rich, the taste of vengeance sweet. The answer to his curiosity was within reach—what was there to be dissatisfied about?

The best way to torment someone was to keep them in a constant state of fear.

Shen Nian had been living in that fear for days. He had evaded Wusu at every turn, relying not only on the system but also on a few useful “fish” he had caught within the Demon Lord’s palace.

One of them was the very same attendant who had just gone to deliver the report.

Though they did not know why he was avoiding the Yao King, it was not difficult to guess—an unattached beauty hiding from a powerful figure always invited a certain kind of speculation.

Shen Nian himself had no idea why Wusu had taken an interest in him.

Had the Yao King overheard his name by chance?

That… that shouldn’t be enough, right?

Perhaps Wusu had not given the “Shen Nian” of the Demon Palace much thought—perhaps he was merely a fleeting amusement, a casual distraction to pass the time.

What Shen Nian did not realize was that Gu Shishu’s words had only fueled Wusu’s curiosity further.

At that moment, Shen Nian sat in his quarters, gripping his robes so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The anxiety boiling inside him was nearly unbearable. And yet, deep within, a fragile hope still flickered—perhaps he had narrowly escaped danger once again.

After all, Wusu had been in the Demon Palace for days now, searching for him without success.

Maybe, just maybe, he had already lost interest.

Perhaps, Shen Nian thought, Gu Shishu had even shielded him out of some unspoken fondness—worried that Wusu might fall for him as well. After all, his “Irresistible Charm” aura had given him this flawless face.

Most people were possessive of their lovers.

If he was hiding from the Yao King, and Gu Shishu did not seem to mind—if anything, if he had sent even more rare medicines and treasures to comfort him—did that not mean he was being protected?

Whatever the case, Shen Nian sat in his chambers, waiting anxiously.

He knew that after tonight, Wusu would leave, taking the captured Qingcheng Sword Sovereign, Fu Tingxue, with him.

This was the Yao King’s last night in the palace.

Perhaps nothing would happen.

Perhaps he would get through this, as he always had.

The best way to torment someone was to let them believe they had escaped—only to make them realize, at the last moment, that there was no escape at all.

The attendant who had been dismissed earlier now pushed open the doors to his quarters.

Shen Nian caught sight of the man’s expression.

And in that single glance, he understood.

No.

It was over.

As the attendant recounted the conversation from the banquet hall, a violent shudder ran through Shen Nian’s entire body.

He had been driven into a dead-end with no escape route left.

“You cannot simply refuse,” the system warned him.

If he insisted on defying them tonight, setting aside whether he even had the ability to resist—

Shen Nian’s gaze flickered toward the guards standing at the entrance, hands resting on their swords, waiting to escort him.

Instantly, as if burned, he snapped his eyes away.

This matter was no longer just about him.

It was about the deal between the two great realms.

It was about the Qilin Bone, the treasure the Demon Lord sought.

It was about whether he could still survive past this night.

If he refused again, how would Gu Shishu see him?

He was merely a lowly disciple of an immortal sect—why should he be so afraid of meeting the Yao King? No matter how much indulgence had been granted to him, would the Demon Lord not grow suspicious? And if that suspicion took root, would it not cause his entire strategy to collapse?

Shen Nian clenched his fists so tightly that his nails nearly dug through his palms, drawing blood.

Disgust churned within him. Nausea twisted his stomach. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to do nothing, to face nothing.

Yet, the system in his mind screeched like an alarm, demanding, pressuring, forcing him forward.

No. Shen Nian desperately sought any means of escape, any way to cover himself.

No, he could not be trapped like this.

Everyone loved him.

He was the bearer of the “Irresistible Charm” aura.

The grand doors of the Demon Palace swung open once more.

Wusu narrowed his eyes and looked toward the entrance.

The attendant from earlier had finally returned, and this time, he was not alone.

Gu Shishu also took notice. He had been idly tapping his fingers against the table, boredom evident in his posture. At the sight, his movements came to an abrupt halt.

“Your Excellency,” the attendant began, knowing he had failed his task. Bracing himself, he reported stiffly,

“Young Master Shen has arrived.”

Beside him stood a figure draped in white, face concealed beneath a veil of pure silk—so tightly wrapped that not even a glimpse of his features was visible.

Wusu’s expression darkened slightly as he pointed at the newcomer.

“You are Shen Nian?”

There was something familiar about the aura emanating from this person—familiar, yet deeply unsettling.

And after all the effort it had taken to summon him, after all the insistence, this was how he chose to present himself? Hidden away behind layers of fabric?

It did not seem like the act of someone who had come with sincerity.

Gu Shishu, for once, did not offer his usual shield of protection.

Perhaps he found such behavior too ridiculous to defend. His voice, edged with displeasure, cut through the air:

“The Yao King wishes to meet you. Why do you wear a veil?”

Beneath the thin silk, Shen Nian’s face contorted with fear and frustration.

Unfortunately, no one else could see it.

To them, even his suffering was cloaked in beauty. Even his trembling would be perceived as the sorrowful tears of a delicate beauty.

Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, he finally forced himself to speak, his voice trembling:

“Your Excellency… I… This morning, I woke to find a rash upon my face. It is unsightly, unfit to be seen. But because Your Excellency insisted that I attend, I feared offending the esteemed guests. That is why I wear the veil.”

The veil did more than obscure his face—it shielded him from their gazes.

From within its folds, Shen Nian could not see the look in Wusu’s eyes.

Could not tell if there was belief in them.

Could not discern whether Gu Shishu’s gaze had grown colder.

He knew nothing.

Not even his own fate.

All he heard was the Demon Lord’s soft sigh.

“Very well. Take your seat.”

Then, turning back to Wusu, Gu Shishu’s tone was light, yet laced with unspoken intent:

“Now then, Yao King—are you finally willing to hand over the Qilin Bone?”

The gaze Wusu cast upon Shen Nian was filled with nothing but unrestrained scrutiny and malice.

Yet, at Gu Shishu’s words, he reluctantly pulled his focus away.

As much as his mind was a storm of irritation, it would be improper to openly disrespect the Demon Lord’s authority.

With a sharp wave of his hand, he signaled his trusted subordinates to fetch the Qilin Bone.

Still—

A nameless agitation gnawed at him.

A restless, irrational fixation.

Tonight, no matter what, he would see Shen Nian’s face.