Yan Ling was long accustomed to talking to himself and didn’t mind Sheng Jiao’s aloofness at all. After boasting about himself, he quickly moved to the next topic: “I heard that after school starts, we’re going to that secret realm to hunt spirit beasts. How about it? Do you want to go with me? I can reluctantly accept you joining me for experience.”
Sheng Jiao remained silent.
Outside the window, a light rain pattered. Yan Ling chattered on and boasted a heap of things but never received a response.
Clearly, this pattern between the two had existed for two or three years, and Yan Ling should have been used to it. But perhaps the rainy day made him feel somewhat uneasy; for no reason, he suddenly felt a bit exhausted.
He lowered his head and whispered: “Can you say something?”
‘Can you just respond to me once? Don’t make me always talk to myself.’
Sheng Jiao’s brow twitched slightly. He looked down at Yan Ling, who resembled a puppy drenched in rain. After a long silence, he suddenly parted his lips lightly.
“You…”
Yan Ling hurriedly looked up, gazing at him eagerly.
But Sheng Jiao had only uttered a single word when his form, condensed from candlelight, flickered unsteadily. Like a candle flame about to burn out, it flashed twice before dimming completely.
Sheng Jiao’s figure vanished inch by inch from the spot like burnt-out ash.
Yan Ling’s pupils constricted, his eyes widening in disbelief, and he suddenly lunged forward uncontrollably.
“Don’t…”
Sheng Jiao’s figure disappeared instantly.
Yan Ling lunged at empty air, falling wretchedly to the floor, his elbows striking the ground and scraping open grotesque bloody streaks.
The scene of Yan Hanque disappearing before him overlapped with Sheng Jiao. Yan Ling sat dazed on the ground for a long time, not even realizing his face was covered in tears.
Where was Sheng Jiao?
Yan Ling thought blankly, ‘Why can’t I see him anymore?’
The extinguishing of the rhino horn lamp suddenly plunged Yan Ling into a confusion where he couldn’t distinguish memory from reality. clutching his splitting forehead, he murmured in a daze: “Sheng Jiao died?”
How could that be?
He was just here.
Yan Ling staggered up from the ground. Without even draping an outer robe, wearing only a single layer of clothes, he rode the wind into the night and rushed out of the Xi residence.
The Xi family and Sheng family were both in Central State City, not too far apart.
Yan Ling’s eyes were unfocused and hollow. In a trance, he rushed through the rain to the Sheng residence. Avoiding the main gate, he took a familiar route through a grove of osmanthus trees to Sheng Jiao’s courtyard.
A lamp was lit in the inner chamber, casting Sheng Jiao’s shadow against the carved window.
Yan Ling, soaked through by the rain, stared blankly at that familiar shadow. His heart, which had plummeted into an ice cellar, finally began to warm bit by bit.
He’s still alive.
Yan Ling thought dully.
Sheng Jiao hadn’t left like Yan Hanque.
Confirming this fact, a smile suddenly appeared on Yan Ling’s pale little face. Completely relieved, he turned to leave.
But before he could leave the courtyard, the door to the inner chamber suddenly opened.
Sheng Jiao, somehow discovering Yan Ling, rushed into the rain with a dark expression. His warm, large palm seized Yan Ling’s wrist, dragging him quickly toward the inner chamber.
Yan Ling allowed himself to be dragged forward in a daze.
There was a stretch of cobblestone path in Sheng Jiao’s courtyard. Yan Ling hadn’t even had time to put on shoes, and stepping barefoot on the stones finally made him register the pain and cold, causing him to shiver and give a small hop.
Sheng Jiao frowned and looked back. Seeing that he was hurting quite a bit—balancing on tiptoe in the muddy water beside the path, daring not to step on the stones—Sheng Jiao simply wrapped one arm around his waist and carried him back into the room like a child.
Yan Ling had completely sobered up by now. Whether laughing at his own stupidity or at seeing the rarely stern Sheng Jiao, he held onto Sheng Jiao’s shoulders with both hands, pursing his lips and smiling incessantly.
Sheng Jiao carried him into the room and tossed him a set of large robes to change into.
Yan Ling sat on the warm bed, wrapped in the oversized outer robe, narrowing his eyes and smiling at Sheng Jiao.
Sheng Jiao, brows tightly furrowed, used spiritual power to gently heal the grotesque wounds on Yan Ling’s elbows bit by bit, then held his ankle to wipe the mud from his soles.
Seeing him still grinning foolishly, Sheng Jiao looked up and gave him a cold glance.
Yan Ling lay back unceremoniously on Sheng Jiao’s hard bed, grinning as he said: “What happened to your rhino horn lamp? Why did the person suddenly disappear?”
Seeing his feet frozen blue-purple—clearly having run all the way here like this—Sheng Jiao’s expression was inexplicably icy.
“Out of lamp oil.”
Rhino horn lamps burned rhino horn. To prevent the lamp from burning out completely, lamp oil was mixed in, ensuring it could be used for decades.
“Oh, oh,” Yan Ling said. “I knew it.”
Sheng Jiao wiped the mud from the soles of his feet clean and stuffed him directly into the warm brocade quilt.
Yan Ling sneezed and shook out his messy black hair: “Looks like I’ll have to make do here for the night. Tsk, your bed is really hard—change to a softer one next time.”
He was in the midst of joking around when Sheng Jiao suddenly leaned forward, his finger lightly brushing the corner of Yan Ling’s eye.
That was precisely where the crimson mark was. Yan Ling’s whole body shuddered—he nearly thought his illusion hadn’t concealed it properly.
But then he heard Sheng Jiao ask: “Why were you crying?”
Yan Ling smoothly played dumb: “What crying? What nonsense are you spouting? That’s from the rain. You have no idea how heavy the rain was outside—it was pouring.”
But Sheng Jiao repeated: “…Why were you crying?”
Yan Ling froze, the forced smile on his face slowly fading.
Back then, he hadn’t yet learned to completely disguise himself. After walking too long in the cold night rain, when he finally encountered a trace of warmth, he was like a moth to flame—willing to be burned alive just to hold onto that rare glimpse of warm light.
“The rain was so heavy,” Yan Ling said, curling his body into a ball and pulling the brocade quilt up to cover half his face, leaving only a pair of beautiful eyes visible. He spoke softly: “I’ll go home once the rain stops.”
Sheng Jiao saw through his evasion but didn’t press further, only saying: “Alright.”
Yan Ling turned over to face away from Sheng Jiao, mumbling: “Sheng Jiao, it’s hard.”
Sheng Jiao didn’t know how to respond. Within the narrow space enclosed by the bed curtains, silence lingered for a long time before a faintly suppressed sobbing sound could suddenly be heard.
“It’s so hard,” Yan Ling tried to make his voice sound normal, but it still carried a faint tremor. He whispered: “It hurts so much.”
Sheng Jiao listened to the young man’s muffled weeping, his hands continuously clenching his sleeves, not knowing how to speak.
Fortunately, after a short while, Yan Ling’s breathing became even as he fell asleep.
Sheng Jiao reached out and pressed on the unbearably hard bed, pursing his lips slightly.
Early the next morning.
Yan Ling slept until the sun was high in the sky, groggily awakened by a bout of fierce cursing.
He rubbed his eyes. Before he could listen closely, he felt something odd beneath him.
Yan Ling sat up cross-legged, drowsily pressing his hand on the bed—it was unexpectedly soft to the touch. The bed that had been rock-hard last night now had a thick layer of soft feather bedding at some point.
No need to guess—it was definitely Sheng Jiao’s doing.
Yan Ling was fully awake now. Running his five fingers across the soft bed, he imagined on his own the scene of Sheng Jiao maintaining his ice-block face while lifting him up, spreading out the bedding, then carefully placing him back down. He immediately kicked his legs in delight.
He’d said it was too hard, and Sheng Jiao actually changed the bedding overnight.
Damn it, that’s kind of cute.
Last night’s worries instantly vanished. Yan Ling beamed with joy, wrapped in the loose outer robe, and got off the bed. His entire body was covered in Sheng Jiao’s clothing, as if surrounded by the scent of osmanthus.
Leaving the inner chamber, the noisy voice grew louder—someone seemed to be cursing.
Yan Ling glanced outside, his eyes instantly turning cold.
Sheng Zhongfeng stood in the small courtyard with a dark expression, berating Sheng Jiao: “…Back then, you were the first in all of Central State to awaken a spirit-level xiangwen. Why is your cultivation still only on par with those people from Zhuxing Zhai? Shouldn’t you be far ahead? A mute and a cripple—you can’t even catch up to them. Sheng Jiao, when will you ever amount to something?”
Light snow was already falling outside. Sheng Jiao stood there silently, expressionless, letting Sheng Zhongfeng’s endless chatter continue without a single word of rebuttal.
“In a few days, school will start and you’ll go out for training again. When will you be able to stand above others and let the Sheng family hold its head high in Central State?”
Sheng Jiao turned a deaf ear.
Yan Ling clicked his tongue, his volatile temper instantly flaring up.
“Oh my,” Yan Ling said, pushing the door open and leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, his expression neither smiling nor not. “The Sheng family head sure has great authority. Hold your head high? What, is your Sheng family planning to stomp on my Xi family’s head and show off?”
Yan Ling detested the Xi family, but that didn’t stop him from using the Xi family name daily to act recklessly, leveraging Xi Jue’s reputation as a wastrel to offend all kinds of powerful cultivators and draw massive amounts of hatred.
Sheng Zhongfeng hadn’t expected “Young Immortal Lord Xi” to be here. His angry expression instantly changed.
Sheng Jiao was still too young—his spirit-level xiangwen hadn’t brought too many substantial changes to the Sheng family.
But the Xi family, also a minor family, had directly received the favor of Central State’s prestigious families because of Xi Jue’s spirit-level xiangwen. This made Sheng Zhongfeng increasingly anxious, always feeling it was because Sheng Jiao wasn’t excellent enough, without considering that it was due to the difference in xiangwen types.
“Young Master Xi speaks too heavily,” Sheng Zhongfeng said, not daring to offend anyone from the Xi family—much less this lawless wastrel young master. He forced a smile. “The Xi family is flourishing like the midday sun. How could our small household compare? I’m just scolding my incompetent son a few times.”
Yan Ling’s sharp tongue showed no mercy, lazily twisting his words: “Is that so? So you want Sheng Jiao’s cultivation to far surpass mine, making me lose face and causing the Xi family to be mocked and ridiculed by all of Central State—that’s your true goal, isn’t it?”
Sheng Zhongfeng’s expression instantly changed: “I… I have no such intention!”
(advanced chapters available on kofi)
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152