WBICDPH Chapter 93

Chapter 93: Late-Night Talk

“I… haven’t had it before.”

Lin Jin tried to picture the food Xiao Lanqi had described, but in the end he couldn’t make sense of the “bao” part—only the “noodles.”

“‘Firecracker noodles’ might be impossible, but I can make a simple bowl of noodles. Is that okay?”

He asked for Xiao Lanqi’s opinion.

“…You can’t even make firecracker noodles? Tch. Fine, whatever.”

Xiao Lanqi forced his way past the topic and quietly let out a breath of relief.

Strange.

Why had Lin Jin reacted so strongly to “firecracker noodles”? What exactly were they? Why hadn’t Lin Jin understood? Weren’t they supposed to be noodles that crackled like firecrackers?

Xiao Lanqi’s mind filled with question marks.

Lin Jin was just as puzzled.

When he first heard “bao mian,” he had thought it was the “instant noodles” he knew. For a split second, he’d even wondered if this big dark guy, like him and Han Ao, might be someone transmigrated from the modern world.

Now it seemed he’d misunderstood.

So what were firecracker noodles? Did they explode in your mouth like actual firecrackers? That was… bizarre. Did people really eat something like that?

But then again, if it was traditional demon cuisine, maybe it made sense.

Maybe demons were just… different.

Lin Jin didn’t dwell on it. He checked the ingredients in his storage ring and headed out to find Piaomiao Pavilion’s small kitchen.

That morning, while his senior sister had shown him around, he had specifically asked about the kitchen. Not only had she confirmed its existence, she’d even kindly pointed out where it was.

When Lin Jin arrived, the kitchen was empty. Using the simple setup there, he made two bowls of plain Yangchun noodles and carried them back to Qiuyun Chamber.

The steaming bowls released a rich aroma as they were set on the table. Xiao Lanqi pulled over a stool and sat down, curiously eyeing what was inside.

Demons didn’t need food the way humans did. Most of them didn’t have the habit of eating at all. Even when they did, it was usually spiritual fruits or sweet soups. Only a small number of low-level demons had the habit of eating raw beasts—or even humans.

Xiao Lanqi himself had once disdained eating entirely—until he tasted the roasted chicken Lin Jin had fed him.

That said, Lin Jin had only ever made meat dishes for him before—roast chicken, fried meatballs, braised pork. He had never eaten “noodles.”

Staring at the thin white strands in the bowl, Xiao Lanqi had no idea how to start.

After a while, he hesitantly reached his hand into the bowl and fished out two strands.

Hot.

Holding the noodles, he was still thinking about how to pretend he knew what he was doing when he looked up—only to see Lin Jin staring at him in shock, still holding a pair of chopsticks he hadn’t yet handed over.

“Isn’t it hot? Use… these.”

Lin Jin set the chopsticks beside Xiao Lanqi’s bowl and pulled out a handkerchief from his storage ring for him to wipe his hand.

“…Oh.”

Xiao Lanqi dropped the poor noodles, wiped his hand clean, and reluctantly picked up the chopsticks. Still, he couldn’t resist adding disdainfully:

“You humans are so pretentious—needing tools just to eat.”

As he spoke, he gripped the two slender bamboo sticks like he was holding a sword.

He waved them awkwardly near the bowl, completely unsure how to use them, and lifted his eyes to watch Lin Jin.

Lin Jin had already sat across from him, casually picking up noodles with ease.

After taking a bite, Lin Jin happened to look up—and noticed Xiao Lanqi staring at him.

Confused, Lin Jin met his gaze for a moment, then slowly lowered his eyes to Xiao Lanqi’s hand, where he was clutching the chopsticks like a child with all five fingers.

…He doesn’t know how to use chopsticks?

Thinking about it, chopsticks were a human invention. And this guy had just grabbed boiling noodles with his bare hand, so it made sense.

Lin Jin raised his own chopsticks and demonstrated.

“Hold them like this.”

Xiao Lanqi tilted his head.

Frowning, he studied Lin Jin’s hand, then tried to mimic the position.

But his fingers seemed to have minds of their own—no matter what he did, he couldn’t hold the chopsticks naturally.

The young lord’s patience quickly wore thin. His expression darkened, and just as he was on the verge of snapping the chopsticks—and possibly his own fingers in frustration—Lin Jin noticed his difficulty and stood up.

“Like this.”

Lowering his gaze, Lin Jin gently rescued the chopsticks from Xiao Lanqi’s grip.

He took Xiao Lanqi’s hand and positioned each finger where it belonged.

The moment their fingers touched, Lin Jin was slightly surprised.

Xiao Lanqi’s body temperature was very high—almost hot to the touch. Because he was taller, his hands were much larger than Lin Jin’s. They were well-shaped, with long fingers, and his nails weren’t the pale pink of humans but a glossy jet-black, like polished gemstones.

Big dark guy indeed—even his nails were black.

After adjusting his grip, Lin Jin placed the chopsticks back in his hand.

“That should work. Try it.”

“….”

Xiao Lanqi wobbled the chopsticks, a little distracted.

Damn human. Who said you could touch me so casually?

He was displeased.

This guy’s hands were so small—what could they even do? His fingers were thin as chopsticks, like they’d snap with a bend, and his body was so cold—like ice.

Humans were truly strange creatures.

The small bowl of noodles was soon finished. Lin Jin used a cleansing spell to wash the dishes, stored everything away, tidied up briefly, then sat back at the table to review the talismans he might need for the next day’s match.

While he worked, Xiao Lanqi sat beside him, idly playing with his hair, yawning from time to time, looking utterly lazy.

Lin Jin ignored him and focused on his own tasks.

Later that night, when Lin Jin glanced over, he realized Xiao Lanqi had fallen asleep sitting there.

His eyes were closed, long lashes casting faint shadows across his face.

Lin Jin raised a brow slightly and reached out, lightly tapping his wrist.

“Hey, big guy?”

The touch was gentle—but the moment Lin Jin made contact, Xiao Lanqi jolted awake.

His reaction was extreme—the chair scraped loudly as it shifted back.

He looked up at Lin Jin, his green eyes flashing with hostility. His entire aura sharpened instantly, as if he might tear everything in front of him apart in the next second.

The sight startled Lin Jin, sending a chill down his spine.

He instinctively scooted back. “I—I wasn’t trying to do anything. You were asleep, so I just—”

“….”

Xiao Lanqi didn’t respond.

He glanced around, then back at Lin Jin. After a moment, he seemed to recover, letting out a breath as the hostility in his eyes faded.

“You going to sleep?”

“…Yeah.”

Xiao Lanqi subconsciously touched his neck, said nothing more, and simply stood up and went to lie down on the bed.

Lin Jin paused.

He looked at him, then around the room.

The big guy had taken up the entire bed… so where exactly was he supposed to sleep?

After a moment of helplessness, Lin Jin made a decision.

He took out a soft mat, found a pillow and blanket from a corner, and laid them out on the floor beside the bed.

On the bed, Xiao Lanqi rested with his eyes closed, wondering why Lin Jin was taking so long to come to sleep.

After a while, he opened his eyes impatiently—only to see Lin Jin lying on the floor.

…Does he have something wrong with him? Why isn’t he sleeping on the bed?

Xiao Lanqi frowned, then finally realized—

He wasn’t in beast form anymore. With him occupying the bed, Lin Jin had nowhere to lie but the floor.

Tch.

Whatever. What’s wrong with sleeping on the floor? It won’t kill him.

He’d spent nearly a hundred years at the bottom of Ghost Howling Cliff. That place had been cold, with chains around his neck, bound day after day. Forget a bed—he couldn’t even lie flat. And no matter how exhausted he was, he couldn’t sleep, because the moment he let his guard down, starving monsters would lunge from the darkness, desperate to tear a piece of flesh from him.

That was true hell.

Compared to that, sleeping on the floor was practically a blessing.

Xiao Lanqi turned over, facing away from Lin Jin, intending to ignore him. But the moment he closed his eyes, all sorts of thoughts started creeping in—

Was the mat soft enough? Was the blanket thick enough? What if he froze in the middle of the night?

This guy was delicate, and his body was fragile. If the ground was too cold or hard, what if he got sick?

Humans getting sick was the worst—especially this one. When he felt bad, he’d cry and even use him like a rag to wipe his tears!

Yeah—if he got sick, it might look like he was suffering, but the one who’d really be inconvenienced would be him!

With that, Xiao Lanqi convinced himself.

Right. He was just saving himself trouble—not caring about this annoying human!

He turned over again, propping himself up to look down at Lin Jin.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

Lin Jin was about to sleep. Hearing him, he opened his eyes in confusion.

The big dark guy, wearing a sour expression, spoke awkwardly:

“Switch places. Get up here. You take the bed.”

“Huh?” Lin Jin didn’t understand. “It’s fine, I can sleep on the floor—”

“Who said I care about that?!”

Xiao Lanqi snapped, voice rising.

“This stupid bed is too small—only fits short humans like you. I can’t even stretch my legs. It’s suffocating! Just switch already. Stop dawdling!”

“…Oh.”

Under his fierce tone, Lin Jin tearfully crawled out of the warm spot he had just managed to heat up and climbed onto the bed.

Xiao Lanqi, meanwhile, grabbed the blanket and sprawled onto the floor.

His body was warm, and the spot he’d lain on was still heated—warmer even than Lin Jin’s own bedding had been.

Lin Jin tucked himself in, thinking, The bed really is more comfortable, and closed his eyes, ready for a good night’s sleep.

But just as he drifted off—

“Hey.”

Lin Jin’s heart jumped reflexively.

“What now?”

“….”

Xiao Lanqi didn’t answer right away. After a moment, he suddenly sat up and leaned against the bedside, looking at him.

Seeing those green eyes again, Lin Jin flinched.

Strangely, the same color looked entirely different—his own little dog’s eyes were clear and cute, while Xiao Lanqi’s were sharp, like a bloodthirsty beast. Especially those slit pupils—they carried an overwhelming sense of pressure.

Lin Jin shrank back instinctively.

His startled, almost prey-like reaction didn’t escape Xiao Lanqi.

Resting his head on his hand, Xiao Lanqi raised a brow.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“A little,” Lin Jin admitted with a dry laugh.

“Why? Am I that scary?”

Xiao Lanqi clicked his tongue, then seemed to think of something. Awkwardly, he looked away.

“Earlier… I didn’t mean to scare you. I can’t sleep sitting up. So when you touched me suddenly, I reacted a bit strongly.”

Lin Jin blinked, only then realizing he was referring to what happened earlier.

He almost found it funny.

Had this guy really been hung up on that the whole time?

“It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

Relaxing slightly, Lin Jin paused, then asked:

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t you sleep sitting up?”

“…Because…”

Xiao Lanqi subconsciously touched his neck again.

“I’ve had… bad experiences. If I fall asleep sitting, it brings those memories back.”

Lin Jin nodded thoughtfully.

“You seem so strong, and yet you still have things you don’t want to remember?”

“Hah. Good eye.”

Xiao Lanqi lay back down, crossing his legs, clearly in a better mood.

“Isn’t that normal? What do you humans say—everyone slips up sometimes. Learned a lesson, saw someone’s true colors. Not a total loss.”

“Oh… so the injuries you mentioned before were because of that too?”

“Yeah.”

“Then… why are you staying at Piaomiao Pavilion?”

After chatting for a bit, Lin Jin had grown bolder.

He leaned over the edge of the bed, looking down at Xiao Lanqi in the dim candlelight.

“And how do you know Jiang Zhenfeng?”

He was truly curious.

In the original story, Jiang Zhenfeng had nothing to do with the demon race—there wasn’t even a hint that she had any demon acquaintances.

Lin Jin wanted to know the story beyond the written words. Were the words creating this world, or merely describing it?

“I…”

Why was he staying at Piaomiao Pavilion? Because he didn’t want to be locked up with those beasts at Fanghua Peak—but how was he supposed to explain that?

Unable to find an excuse, Xiao Lanqi fell back on his usual irritable tone to cover it up:

“I stay where I want. I know whoever I want. What’s it to you? Why so many questions?”

“Alright.”

Lin Jin didn’t mind the refusal. It was a personal matter, possibly involving secrets—he hadn’t expected an answer anyway.

So he simply lay back down and said nothing more.

But Xiao Lanqi, lying on the floor with his arm under his head, felt increasingly unsettled.

…What?

Why did the conversation die again?

Wasn’t Lin Jin supposed to be talkative? When he was alone, he could ramble endlessly—even to a dog. So why did he have nothing to say here?

Rolling around restlessly, Xiao Lanqi shifted the mat beneath him.

Humans.

So annoying.