Atone with my death.
Su Yan wasn’t surprised. After all, this wasn’t the first time. Back in the cave after they fell into the valley, Jinghong Zhui had mistakenly thought he had offended Su Yan. His expression back then had been just as grief-stricken, and he had almost struck his own skull to kill himself.
This was emotional blackmail! He was relying on Su Yan’s soft-heartedness, his refusal to hold grudges, and his tendency to focus on others’ good qualities. For a moment, Su Yan almost wanted to throw caution to the wind and yell, “Then go ahead and die! Just don’t do it in front of me.”
But as soon as the thought flashed through his mind, a pang of pain struck his chest—not sharp, but deeply unsettling.
—No, this wasn’t blackmail. Jinghong Zhui’s anguish, despair, and guilt were so overwhelming that they were laid bare before him, completely exposed, as if saying, “Judge me, decide my fate as you will.”
At that moment, a single word from Su Yan—or even just a look of hatred or disdain—would have prompted Jinghong Zhui to take his own life. And he would do it so quickly that Su Yan wouldn’t even have time to stop him.
Su Yan could see it clearly: the resolve to die burning in Jinghong Zhui’s eyes. It was a cold, fervent determination, as if his entire being had been consumed by an obsession. Even though he knew it was hopeless, he was still like a moth to a flame, offering himself up as the most devout sacrifice to a deity.
Su Yan felt an intense headache. Rationally, he knew he couldn’t blame Jinghong Zhui. After all, losing control of one’s mind due to qi deviation wasn’t intentional. Jinghong Zhui was also a victim. Su Yan believed that if Jinghong Zhui had been in his right mind, he would rather die than commit such an act.
But the truth remained: it had happened. He and his personal bodyguard had crossed a line, and there was no way to pretend it hadn’t. Things could never go back to the way they were.
Su Yan rubbed his temples, tied up the wound on his hand with a strip of cloth, and said wearily, “What’s the point of dying? Would it erase what’s already happened? Death is the end, leaving those who remain to bear the scars forever.”
Jinghong Zhui’s face turned ashen, like dying embers. “If I cannot die and yet have no face to live, then what am I to do?”
Su Yan sighed deeply. “Just leave.”
Jinghong Zhui’s body shook violently. His expression was one of pain and despair, even more excruciating than if Su Yan had demanded his life. “My lord…” His lips quivered, his teeth clenched, and his gaze was like that of a wolf about to be killed by a hunter’s blade. “You want to drive me away?”
Even as Su Yan made this decision, he wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or sorrowful.
“We were only traveling together for mutual protection. Now that the danger has passed, parting ways is only natural. You can return to the capital to avenge your sister; I won’t stop you. I, on the other hand, have the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the military forces of the Imperial Guard. I’ll be safe enough. Let’s part here. Like the message you once left me on a slip of paper: ‘The green mountains remain, and the rivers flow endlessly.’”
Jinghong Zhui let out a low growl and slammed his fist into the ground beside him, leaving a shallow dent in the tiled floor. “I’ve already said that my life belongs to you…. If you want me gone, then kill me yourself. Slice me to pieces….”
Su Yan gave a bitter smile. “But I’ve also told you before: a person’s life is too long and too precious. No one but the person themselves has the right to decide it. You don’t belong to me. You belong to yourself. Go, leave this little corner of my world. The world is vast—you’ll achieve great things. With your talents, rising to prominence is inevitable. Perhaps one day you’ll even be remembered for generations to come.”
“I’m not going anywhere!”
After roaring, Jinghong Zhui grew unexpectedly calm. He raised bloodshot eyes to look at Su Yan. “I will stay wherever I wish—”
“There are so many people in this world, each living their own way. Some strive for glory, others chase fame and profit, some indulge in pleasure, and still others drift aimlessly, accomplishing nothing. No one has the right to dictate which path they should take.”
“But, Ah Zhui, don’t you have any ambition? Don’t you want to accomplish something on your own—”
Jinghong Zhui interrupted him, “You are my ambition! I just want to stay by your side, guard you, protect you, be your sword and your shield. If necessary, I’ll be the stepping stone that lifts you higher. Why can’t I choose this way of life?”
He panted heavily for a moment, then lowered his gaze to the floor. His voice dropped, quiet and lifeless, like still water. “I was born without parents. The only person I ever cared about in this world was my sister. Roaming the martial world, killing and being killed became normal to me. Even when I was drafted into the Dead Soldier Camp, where every night might have been my last, I wasn’t afraid. Sometimes, I felt like a shadow—without flesh, without desires, without meaning.”
“When my sister died, I was consumed by fury and swore to avenge her at all costs. But at the same time, I felt an odd, creeping fear… not for the punishment I’d face for desertion, but for the thought of having no ties left to this world. I’d truly become a living corpse.”
A person with no one to remember them, no connections, living only in darkness, appearing only to deliver death. Could such a person even be called alive?
Su Yan shivered involuntarily.
Jinghong Zhui knelt closer on his knees, hesitated for a moment, then stopped himself and trembled as he said, “It wasn’t until I met you that I felt human again, like a corpse in a graveyard touched by blood, dreaming of regrowing flesh. I overstepped—I desired joys that weren’t mine to have, defiled a pristine jade, and committed an unforgivable sin.”
“I know no amount of death could atone for what I’ve done. If you want me dead, I’ll die. If you want me to atone with my life, I’ll break my bones, bleed myself dry, and give you everything I have. Just don’t send me back to the darkness.”
He had never spoken such a long monologue. Though his voice wasn’t loud, by the end, it was hoarse and desperate.
In his final words, Su Yan heard an undercurrent of longing. Shocked, he exclaimed, “You! You mean to say it wasn’t the qi deviation that caused all this, but rather…”
Jinghong Zhui gritted his teeth, as if burning his bridges. “Qi deviation twists one’s mind and unleashes buried desires, but it doesn’t create something out of nothing. What I did to you… the root cause was… I…”
He swallowed and looked directly at Su Yan. “I have feelings of love and desire for you. I want to embrace you, possess you—and, shamelessly, I even dare to dream of staying by your side forever.”
“I feel like I’m being roasted over a fire every time I look at you, yet I dare not reveal a single trace, fearing your disdain. If not for losing control due to the inner demon, I might have kept enduring until… until I could no longer bear it. At that point, even I wouldn’t know what might happen.”
Su Yan’s face turned pale. “Wh-When did this start…. In the cave?”
Jinghong Zhui shook his head.
“Much earlier. When I disguised myself as a woman and snuck into the carriage to take a hostage and escape the capital, only to nearly harm you. You bore no grudge, saved me again, and even buried my face in… in your neck. Surrounded by the armed guards ready to strike, you, with nothing but a scholar’s frail body, scared off that vicious old Wei with your sheer presence. And you said I was…” His pale cheeks showed a faint hint of red. “You said I was your concubine.”
Su Yan covered his face with his hand…
D*mn your loose tongue! You thought he was straight as steel, and yet you still flirted carelessly as a joke! Now look what you’ve done—misleading someone into taking it seriously. And now you’re paying the price! You’ve brought this upon yourself!
“I love you my Lord,” Jinghong Zhui said firmly. “If you have no feelings for me whatsoever, I will retreat to my place and serve as a loyal guard for the rest of my life. But if there’s even the slightest hint of affection, no matter how faint, it would be the greatest mercy the heavens could grant me. But I cannot leave you—not in this life. Even if you drive me away, I will linger near, hidden in the shadows, ensuring you never see me again.”
After letting out a long breath, as though finally unburdened, he fell silent, his entire body seemingly relaxed, and he closed his eyes as if awaiting divine judgment.
The “divine” being in front of him opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by a massive sneeze, followed by several more, leaving tears streaming down his face.
It was, after all, the fifteenth night of the eighth lunar month, the Mid-Autumn Festival. The weather had turned chilly, and the night wind carried a distinct bite. Although the room was warmer than the outside, both he and Jinghong Zhui were stark naked at this moment.
Jinghong Zhui, a trained martial artist with a robust physique, was naturally unaffected by the cold. But Su Yan, having lingered like this for quite some time, now found himself sniffling and shivering.
The bathtub nearby had lost much of its steam, but the water was still warm. Feeling the goosebumps on his arm, Su Yan hurriedly held onto the tub’s edge and climbed in. However, as he lifted one leg, the overused area behind him pulled and stung, causing him to wince and freeze awkwardly on the rim of the tub.
Seeing this, Jinghong Zhui’s pale face flushed deep red, and he instinctively stood and reached out.
It’s said that once bitten by a snake, one fears even the sight of a rope for ten years. Su Yan had thought he’d recoil from Jinghong Zhui’s touch after what happened. To his surprise, he’d already grown used to the guard’s close proximity, even familiar with his breath as if it were his own. This old habit ran deeper than the new wound, leaving him momentarily stunned and failing to push Jinghong Zhui away in time.
By the time he realized he should refuse, he was already being gently helped into the tub.
The burning sensation lessened significantly as the inflamed area submerged in warm water. Su Yan exhaled in relief but then recalled that earlier, Jinghong Zhui had washed his face in this very tub. Didn’t that mean… his stuff had dissolved into the water? And now he was soaking in it from head to toe…
His expression immediately turned sour. He shot up from the water in alarm, clutching the tub’s edge with his injured hand, only to wince and stagger from the pain.
Jinghong Zhui, still uncertain of his fate and unaware of when the sword hanging over his neck might fall, cautiously asked, “Is the water too cold?”
Su Yan splashed a handful of water at his face. “It’s filthy! All because of you—”
He clamped his mouth shut mid-sentence.
Jinghong Zhui wiped his face, finding the water perfectly clean, if not overly warm. “I’ll fetch a few buckets of boiling water to reheat it. Be careful not to let your injured hand touch the water,” he said, hurriedly dressing as if to escape.
“Forget reheating! I want the entire tub changed with fresh water,” Su Yan snapped.
“Changing the water will take time. Staying in warm water for too long may give you a chill. Perhaps you should dry off and get dressed first?”
But the clothes would stick to him! Technically, given the amount of water compared to “that stuff,” it was negligible—Su Yan wasn’t a germaphobe, but the thought alone made him feel irrationally disgusted. He needed somewhere to vent his frustration, and Jinghong Zhui happened to be the easiest target.
“Who’s wearing clothes? You tore my last set to shreds, and I haven’t even cleaned myself properly. How can I wear new ones? You have one incense stick’s time—no, one tea’s time—to completely change this water! If you don’t have time to boil it, use your martial arts skills to heat it with your internal energy!”
Jinghong Zhui didn’t mind being ordered around. In fact, he feared Su Yan wouldn’t order him at all. Hastily dressing, he rushed out the door.
Meanwhile, Su Yan sneezed repeatedly, reluctantly sinking back into the tub while nervously sniffing the surface of the water.
It didn’t really smell like anything. He wiped his face, grumbling indignantly, “D*mn it, getting into my eye—what if I get conjunctivitis… How long has he been holding it in? So much, so thick, and the smell…”
He splashed at the water angrily, Jinghong Zhui’s heartfelt confession still echoing in his mind.
To say he was entirely unmoved… would be a lie.
He had always known Jinghong Zhui was deeply grateful and loyal, intent on staying by his side. But he hadn’t realized that hidden within was such a deep, fervent affection—one bordering on obsession…
Given Jinghong Zhui’s background and experiences, the fact that he had grown into his current self without turning out entirely warped was already remarkable.
What’s more, Jinghong Zhui had clearly gone to great lengths to suppress his feelings, almost self-destructively so. Had it not been for the inner demon incident, Su Yan might have never known the truth.
Now, in this impossible situation, he had no idea what to do. Su Yan sighed.
Letting Jinghong Zhui die to atone for his actions was unthinkable. Driving him away? He’d clearly refuse to leave, and even if forced to go, he’d just lurk nearby, spying on him in secret—which was even more unsettling.
But keeping him around every day would inevitably remind Su Yan of that incident… D*mn it, being a virgin was such a hassle. Foreplay, preparation, lubrication—Jinghong Zhui knew nothing. If not for the lamp oil nearby, the first few attempts would’ve left him bleeding profusely… Even with lubrication, it still hurt. D*mn, when had he ever endured such pain?
Shen Qi, at least, had researched the process before. And as much as the vile Yu Wang had violated him, at least that b*stard hadn’t left him in pain… Wait, why am I even thinking about this? Is this something worth comparing?!
It was all the fault of this body belonging to the original owner, a d*mned gay man. At first, it hurt so much—even his chest was scraped raw—but somehow, he still ended up enjoying it. He even climaxed several times! And the worst part? He didn’t even need to touch himself in front; he was directly finished from the back! What the actual h*ll—oh, heavens above, could you not have at least given me a different body to inhabit? I’d even take being seventy or eighty years old—better to die early and reincarnate into a proper man’s life again next time!
Su Yan felt both aggrieved and guilty, his thoughts running wildly. His mind wandered between the echoes of pain and pleasure, unaware of how much time had passed.
When Jinghong Zhui came in carrying several freshly heated buckets of water, he saw Su Yan sitting dazed in the bathtub. His expression was blank, his gaze seemingly piercing through the void and reaching the heavens. To put it nicely, one could call it a “soul wandering through the ether.” Realistically, he just looked utterly despairing.
Jinghong Zhui’s heart sank. He put down the buckets and quickly approached, gripping Su Yan’s exposed shoulder above the water as he anxiously said, “My lord? Please don’t scare me! I know I was wrong! If you truly don’t want to see me, I… I’ll leave your sight. Just please don’t think of taking your own life!”
Su Yan turned his head with a wooden expression, thinking to himself: D*mn, small stature but a big weapon. He went at it the moment the skirt came off—now I’m practically traumatized. Every time I see those maids outside in skirts, I start worrying: could they also be packing down there….
Jinghong Zhui froze under Su Yan’s gaze, his whole body shivering as though pierced by needles. He quickly withdrew his hand and, biting his lip, said with difficulty, “I understand. I’ll take my leave now. My Lord, take care…. I’ll call the servants to change the water.”
With that, his figure flashed, and with a faint sound of the window, he disappeared as if carried off by the wind.
Coming back to his senses, Su Yan cursed under his breath, “You already brought in the water—couldn’t you help me change it before leaving? D*mn blockhead! Thick-headed brute!”
The room was still filled with the lingering scent of their earlier activities, and Su Yan was too embarrassed to summon the servants to clean up. Resigned, he climbed out of the tub, poured in the boiling water to warm it up, and managed to finish his bath. Afterward, he put on clean undergarments.
He also found a bottle of external wound medicine to treat the cut on his palm, which had already stopped bleeding. The wound wasn’t large, but it was deep enough to require a few days to heal.
He applied medicine to the raw skin on his chest as well. Hesitating for a moment, he reached down to check his rear… Thankfully, it wasn’t torn, and the swelling had started to go down. It should be fine.
Leaving the scattered water and broken porcelain shards on the floor, as well as the shredded clothes he stuffed at the foot of the bed, Su Yan collapsed onto the bed, utterly exhausted, and fell asleep almost immediately.
Surprisingly, he slept quite soundly—though, unfortunately, not for long.
Before the third watch of the night, noises erupted from the front courtyard. Clashes of weapons and the sound of people quarreling broke the stillness. Su Yan woke up groggily, reluctantly got up, threw on an outer robe, and pushed open the door to ask, “What’s going on?”
Gao Shuo hurried over and saluted, “Apologies for disturbing your rest, my lord. It’s the Oirat people—they’ve gone mad and are demanding justice for their leader.”
“Oirat leader…” Su Yan’s foggy brain, muddled by sleep, slowly churned. “Aletan? What happened to him?”
“They say he was attacked and poisoned. He’s on the verge of death.”
Su Yan’s drowsiness vanished instantly. Cold sweat broke out on his back as he exclaimed, “What?!”
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