Su Yan slept soundly in the battered little Taoist temple despite the storm outside, unaware that the capital had been turned upside down overnight. The Embroidered Guards and the Imperial Army had scoured every corner above and below ground to find him.
By the time daylight broke and the rain stopped, Su Yan awoke to find Jinghong Zhui had held him the entire night without changing posture. He got up, a little embarrassed.
“Why didn’t you lay me down? Aren’t your arms numb?” he asked while gently massaging Jinghong Zhui’s arm.
Jinghong Zhui’s inner energy had been circulating all night, keeping his blood flowing, so he wasn’t numb at all. But since Su Yan was rarely so caring, he decided to secretly enjoy the moment. So as Su Yan kneaded away, he winced and hissed, pretending to be in pain.
The more Su Yan massaged, the more something felt off—this so-called “stiff and numb, can’t move” martial arts master didn’t have softened muscles… but was getting hard down there instead. He immediately realized he’d been had, slapped the other on the shoulder, and laughed: “Get your *ss up! The guards all thought I’d been captured. If I don’t go back now, who knows what kind of mess they’ll make.”
Jinghong Zhui picked up the now-dry cloak, shook off the dust, and fastened it on Su Yan. Then he put on his own torn robe, looking like a beggar sect disciple—utterly shabby.
Su Yan stifled a laugh. “May I ask, Master Hero, which rank elder of the Beggar Sect you are? How skilled are you? How confident are you in slaying demons and defending the Dao?”
Jinghong Zhui thought seriously before replying in dead earnest, “One pocket. One root of confidence. As for which part of me you want to use—that’s up to you. And martial skills… if you say it’s good, it’s good. If you say not good, I’ll practice more.”
Su Yan stared blankly, then suddenly understood—and blushed, spitting at him fiercely before turning to leave.
Jinghong Zhui dashed up and scooped him into his arms, leaping with qinggong skill—fast and steady. Su Yan wrapped his arms around his neck, complimenting him: “You’re like a maglev train.”
The ruined temple was on a hill just outside the capital. After about half an hour, Jinghong Zhui and Su Yan appeared near the outer city. Many soldiers from the Embroidered Guards were still searching along the river, but the heavy rain last night had washed away all traces.
From afar, Su Yan spotted a familiar figure on horseback. His heart surged with blood and he shouted: “Qilang—!”
That person looked up and, recognizing the voice, galloped over.
Jinghong Zhui halted. The soft curve on his lips vanished, returning to a cold, expressionless face.
Man and horse arrived in a flash—it was indeed Shen Qi. Su Yan rushed up to him, only to see his face pale and bloodless, eyes bloodshot, lips cracked, and expression drawn with exhaustion and fury—as if he’d suffered a huge blow overnight, surviving only on pure, unyielding will.
Su Yan’s heart clenched with pain. He helped him off the horse, only to touch a deep red stain on his robe.
“Your wound’s reopened!” Su Yan exclaimed. “Let me see!”
Shen Qi didn’t seem to hear. He wrapped his long-lost beloved in a crushing embrace, afraid that letting go would make him vanish again.
“As long as you’re okay,” he rasped hoarsely into Su Yan’s ear, “as long as you’re okay…”
That last thread of resolve snapped, and his whole body sagged. Su Yan caught him with all his strength, eyes damp at the corners. “I’m fine, but look at you! You’ve only been healing a few days and already ran out, even rode a horse! Do you even realize how badly you’re hurt?”
Shen Qi panted and simply said four words: “I couldn’t rest easy.”
No matter how many elite troops the Imperial Army deployed to find Su Yan, he couldn’t let go of the tension coiled around his heart like steel wire. He’d forced himself to imagine every possible worst-case scenario—knowing how much the Seven Kill Camp and Void Sect hated Su Yan, he had imagined, over and over, what would happen to his beloved if they got their hands on him. He’d even prepared for the worst: if alive, see the man; if dead, find the body.
Fortunately, Qinghe returned safe and sound.
—As long as he’s back, as long as he’s okay, nothing else matters.
Shen Qi let out a long breath, resting his head on Su Yan’s shoulder.
Su Yan braced him tightly and said urgently, “Ah Zhui, give me a hand.”
Under the withered tree nearby, Jinghong Zhui stood expressionlessly with his sword in hand, his tattered clothes fluttering in the wind, exuding the aura of a peerless swordsman before a final duel. In short, it was the classic stance: if the enemy doesn’t move, I don’t move; even if the enemy collapses, I still don’t move. The ultimate aloof persona.
Su Yan scolded angrily, “Stop posturing! Get over here and help me check his wounds.”
Seeing that his lord was truly angry, he finally walked over and poked at Shen Qi’s wound with the tip of his scabbard.
Su Yan swatted away the sword, gently laid Shen Qi flat, letting his head rest on his lap. He undid Shen Qi’s belt and collar, revealing his chest and abdomen wrapped in blood-soaked bandages.
Jinghong Zhui didn’t even need to open his eyes to know exactly where Shen Qi was hurt—how deep the blade had gone, which veins had been severed, which vital points avoided—because it was he who had delivered the blow.
At the time, he was still the Wuming Blood-Eye assassin, carrying out orders. The directive was to severely wound but not kill.
As for why it was exactly three strikes? Probably because back when Shen Qi was pursuing him, he’d been cut three times. And why he felt a certain satisfaction when his blade pierced the brocade uniform of the Embroidered Uniform Guard—even in his muddled state—who knew.
Su Yan tried to undo the bandage, but in his urgency, he fumbled, his fingers trembling as the blood seeped out faster. Nearly pleading, he called out, “Ah Zhui—”
With no other choice, Jinghong Zhui stepped in, pressing several acupoints on Shen Qi to stop the bleeding, and infused some of his inner energy to stabilize his pulse.
A moment later, a bit of color returned to Shen Qi’s pale face. He furrowed his brow in pain, then slowly opened his eyes.
Jinghong Zhui immediately withdrew his hand and wiped it several times on his robe with visible distaste.
He stared at the blood on his palm that wouldn’t wipe off and suddenly remembered—he had touched something even filthier than blood… Shen Qi’s precious parts. His anger spiked again, and he bitterly regretted not shaking his hand at the time and severing that b*stard’s windpipe.
Shen Qi, like a lone wolf sensing hostility, scanned Jinghong Zhui’s sword warily. But when his gaze fell on Su Yan’s face, all the vigilance melted like ice in spring. Su Yan’s tension eased, and he gripped Shen Qi’s hand tightly.
“I’ll take you back to the residence and call Doctor Yingxu to take another look.”
Given Shen Qi’s condition, riding a horse was out of the question. The Embroidered Uniform Guard quickly brought a carriage and carried their commander inside.
Shen Qi held Su Yan’s hand and wouldn’t let go. Su Yan was planning to ride with him, but just then, Jinghong Zhui showed up in a clean outfit and climbed in too.
Shen Qi said coldly, “There’s no room for you here.”
Jinghong Zhui ignored him and said to Su Yan, “If he’s on the verge of dying, I can still give him another breath of life.”
Su Yan turned to Shen Qi, “How about… we make a little space for him?”
Shen Qi bit his lip hard, panting a few times before saying, “My wound hurts. Come here and let me use your leg as a pillow. He can sit opposite.”
Su Yan immediately shifted over, offering not just his lap but also his hand.
Now it was Jinghong Zhui’s turn to grind his teeth. Unfortunately, his worst moments were behind him, and there was no competing with the half-dead Shen Qi now. In the end, he closed his eyes to meditate, hugging the precious sword Su Yan had given him, determined not to look.
The carriage rumbled on for a long time. As the noise of people outside grew louder, they seemed to have entered the inner city—then, without warning, it came to a stop.
An Embroidered Uniform Guard officer reported from outside the window in a low voice, “Sir, an imperial eunuch has come to deliver a decree. Lord Su is summoned to the palace.”
Shen Qi gripped Su Yan’s hand tighter and said bitterly, “Sitting deep in the palace, yet their information is really up to date.”
“Mind your words,” Su Yan patted his hand lightly, half-warning, half-comforting.
After causing such a stir—even the imperial guards had been dispatched—there was no way the Emperor wouldn’t know. The moment Su Yan and Jinghong Zhui revealed themselves, a report must’ve reached the Emperor immediately. It was only natural that the Emperor, concerned, would summon him to inquire.
Su Yan gently slid his thigh out from under Shen Qi’s head and said to Jinghong Zhui, “Ah Zhui, I’ve got a task for you.”
Jinghong Zhui opened his eyes and looked toward his lord.
“Take Shen Tongzhi back home for me. If his condition changes, I’ll need you to step in and help. And after Doctor Yingxu finishes his assessment, please report back to me.”
Jinghong Zhui’s face darkened.
Su Yan knew full well the deep grudges between him and Shen Qi. If they didn’t find a way to resolve them, seeing each other every day like roosters ready to fight would be unbearable—not just for them, but for Su Yan too.
So he turned to Shen Qi and said, “Qilang, I’ve got a task for you too—act like a proper patient. Accept treatment quietly, no more running around. Until I get back, Ah Zhui will keep an eye on you. Don’t fight with him.”
Shen Qi’s face also darkened.
Su Yan lifted the curtain and stepped out, leaving the two romantic rivals alone in the carriage, glaring at each other.
Jinghong Zhui subconsciously gripped his sword hilt. Shen Qi painfully sat up, sneering, “What, planning to kill me?”
“Killing you is that hard?” Jinghong Zhui retorted. “As you are now, you couldn’t block even one of my moves. Easier than killing a dog.”
“Then why don’t you do it?”
“…”
“You’re afraid Qinghe would hate you. And rightly so. The hatred of killing one’s husband is irreconcilable,” Shen Qi said slowly. “You not only won’t kill me, you even have to serve me like a servant. Feels humiliating, doesn’t it?”
Jinghong Zhui’s eyes flashed with killing intent, and it seemed he might draw his sword at any moment. And once that sword was drawn, it would not return to its sheath without blood.
He hovered on the edge of that murderous impulse for a long time, but reason finally prevailed—Su Yan had entrusted him with this task. If he struck Shen Qi now, it would no longer be personal revenge—it would be betrayal.
After several deep breaths, he swallowed the killing intent and delivered a cold, cutting line from his own repertoire of psychological warfare:
“You secretly sided with the force behind the Seven Kill Camp. You killed a royal guard as a token of loyalty. To avoid suspicion from the Emperor, you deliberately had yourself severely injured and staged a whole scene of being ambushed by assassins—does my lord know all this?”
Translation (close to the source):
Fortunately, Qinghe returned safe and sound.
—As long as he’s back, as long as he’s okay, nothing else matters.
Shen Qi let out a long breath, resting his head on Su Yan’s shoulder.
Su Yan braced him tightly and said urgently, “Ah Zhui, give me a hand.”
Under the withered tree nearby, Jinghong Zhui stood expressionlessly with his sword in hand, his tattered clothes fluttering in the wind, exuding the aura of a peerless swordsman before a final duel. In short, it was the classic stance: if the enemy doesn’t move, I don’t move; even if the enemy collapses, I still don’t move. The ultimate aloof persona.
Su Yan scolded angrily, “Stop posturing! Get over here and help me check his wounds.”
Seeing that his lord was truly angry, he finally walked over and poked at Shen Qi’s wound with the tip of his scabbard.
Su Yan swatted away the sword, gently laid Shen Qi flat, letting his head rest on his lap. He undid Shen Qi’s belt and collar, revealing his chest and abdomen wrapped in blood-soaked bandages.
Jinghong Zhui didn’t even need to open his eyes to know exactly where Shen Qi was hurt—how deep the blade had gone, which veins had been severed, which vital points avoided—because it was he who had delivered the blow.
At the time, he was still the Wuming Blood-Pupil assassin, carrying out orders. The directive was to severely wound but not kill.
As for why it was exactly three strikes? Probably because back when Shen Qi was pursuing him, he’d been cut three times. And why he felt a certain satisfaction when his blade pierced the brocade uniform of the Embroidered Uniform Guard—even in his muddled state—who knew.
Su Yan tried to undo the bandage, but in his urgency, he fumbled, his fingers trembling as the blood seeped out faster. Nearly pleading, he called out, “Ah Zhui—”
With no other choice, Jinghong Zhui stepped in, pressing several acupoints on Shen Qi to stop the bleeding, and infused some of his inner energy to stabilize his pulse.
A moment later, a bit of color returned to Shen Qi’s pale face. He furrowed his brow in pain, then slowly opened his eyes.
Jinghong Zhui immediately withdrew his hand and wiped it several times on his robe with visible distaste.
He stared at the blood on his palm that wouldn’t wipe off and suddenly remembered—he had touched something even filthier than blood… Shen Qi’s precious parts. His anger spiked again, and he bitterly regretted not shaking his hand at the time and severing that b*stard’s windpipe.
Shen Qi, like a lone wolf sensing hostility, scanned Jinghong Zhui’s sword warily. But when his gaze fell on Su Yan’s face, all the vigilance melted like ice in spring. Su Yan’s tension eased, and he gripped Shen Qi’s hand tightly.
“I’ll take you back to the residence and call Doctor Yingxu to take another look.”
Given Shen Qi’s condition, riding a horse was out of the question. The Embroidered Uniform Guard quickly brought a carriage and carried their commander inside.
Shen Qi held Su Yan’s hand and wouldn’t let go. Su Yan was planning to ride with him, but just then, Jinghong Zhui showed up in a clean outfit and climbed in too.
Shen Qi said coldly, “There’s no room for you here.”
Jinghong Zhui ignored him and said to Su Yan, “If he’s on the verge of dying, I can still give him another breath of life.”
Su Yan turned to Shen Qi, “How about… we make a little space for him?”
Shen Qi bit his lip hard, panting a few times before saying, “My wound hurts. Come here and let me use your leg as a pillow. He can sit opposite.”
Su Yan immediately shifted over, offering not just his lap but also his hand.
Now it was Jinghong Zhui’s turn to grind his teeth. Unfortunately, his worst moments were behind him, and there was no competing with the half-dead Shen Qi now. In the end, he closed his eyes to meditate, hugging the precious sword Su Yan had given him, determined not to look.
The carriage rumbled on for a long time. As the noise of people outside grew louder, they seemed to have entered the inner city—then, without warning, it came to a stop.
A Embroidered Uniform Guard officer reported from outside the window in a low voice, “Sir, an imperial eunuch has come to deliver a decree. Lord Su is summoned to the palace.”
Shen Qi gripped Su Yan’s hand tighter and said bitterly, “Sitting deep in the palace, yet their information is really up to date.”
“Mind your words,” Su Yan patted his hand lightly, half-warning, half-comforting.
After causing such a stir—even the imperial guards had been dispatched—there was no way the Emperor wouldn’t know. The moment Su Yan and Jinghong Zhui revealed themselves, a report must’ve reached the Emperor immediately. It was only natural that the Emperor, concerned, would summon him to inquire.
Su Yan gently slid his thigh out from under Shen Qi’s head and said to Jinghong Zhui, “Ah Zhui, I’ve got a task for you.”
Jinghong Zhui opened his eyes and looked toward his lord.
“Take Shen Tongzhi back home for me. If his condition changes, I’ll need you to step in and help. And after Doctor Yingxu finishes his assessment, please report back to me.”
Jinghong Zhui’s face darkened.
Su Yan knew full well the deep grudges between him and Shen Qi. If they didn’t find a way to resolve them, seeing each other every day like roosters ready to fight would be unbearable—not just for them, but for Su Yan too.
So he turned to Shen Qi and said, “Qilang, I’ve got a task for you too—act like a proper patient. Accept treatment quietly, no more running around. Until I get back, Ah Zhui will keep an eye on you. Don’t fight with him.”
Shen Qi’s face also darkened.
Su Yan lifted the curtain and stepped out, leaving the two romantic rivals alone in the carriage, glaring at each other.
Jinghong Zhui subconsciously gripped his sword hilt. Shen Qi painfully sat up, sneering, “What, planning to kill me?”
“Killing you is that hard?” Jinghong Zhui retorted. “As you are now, you couldn’t block even one of my moves. Easier than killing a dog.”
“Then why don’t you do it?”
“…”
“You’re afraid Qinghe would hate you. And rightly so. The hatred of killing one’s husband is irreconcilable,” Shen Qi said slowly. “You not only won’t kill me, you even have to serve me like a servant. Feels humiliating, doesn’t it?”
Jinghong Zhui’s eyes flashed with killing intent, and it seemed he might draw his sword at any moment. And once that sword was drawn, it would not return to its sheath without blood.
He hovered on the edge of that murderous impulse for a long time, but reason finally prevailed—Su Yan had entrusted him with this task. If he struck Shen Qi now, it would no longer be personal revenge—it would be betrayal.
After several deep breaths, he swallowed the killing intent and delivered a cold, cutting line from his own repertoire of psychological warfare:
“You secretly sided with the force behind the Seven Kill Camp. You killed a royal guard as a token of loyalty. To avoid suspicion from the Emperor, you deliberately had yourself severely injured and staged a whole scene of being ambushed by assassins—does my lord know all this?”
Shen Qi’s face froze, his voice icy as he shot back: “The cultivation method you practice has a fatal flaw—once it goes out of control, you become a killing puppet. Even that whole scene was staged by the two of us together—does Qinghe know all of that?”
Both of them were holding leverage against the other, and under the weight of their mutual stares, neither could gain the upper hand. A tense silence filled the carriage, like swords drawn but yet to clash.
At last, it was Jinghong Zhui who spoke first: “My lord carries the world and the people in his heart. If you go against him, you’ll only bring him sorrow and disappointment in the end. I don’t think you’re entirely stupid—so are you really blinded, or are you playing some twisted game?”
Shen Qi retorted sharply, “And you? A lackey of the Seven Kill Camp—pledging loyalty one day, turning traitor the next, who knows if you’ll get captured and brainwashed again tomorrow. You can’t even stand firm yourself. What right do you have to criticize my stance?”
Jinghong Zhui took a deep breath and said in a low voice, “I’ll find another way to deal with the cultivation method. As for you—if not for the lord’s sake, I wouldn’t waste another word on you. But if you one day oppose him, I’ll kill you with my own hands!”
Shen Qi opened his mouth, then abruptly shut it again. After a pause, he said, “Just worry about yourself. Instead of watching me so closely, why don’t you look up at those in power? The emperor you claim will ‘entrust great responsibility to our lord’—he’s already trying to shove Qinghe into Yu Wang’s bed.”
Jinghong Zhui: “!”
“It may have been a test, but it shows that the emperor already sees Qinghe as his forbidden toy. I, Yu Wang—we’re both targets to be strictly guarded against, even eliminated. Qinghe is full of ambition; he’d never willingly become a pampered favorite. That, I know better than you. But once the emperor gets what he wants, no matter how unwilling Qinghe is, the stain will be permanent.”
Jinghong Zhui lowered his eyes and said nothing, his fingers slowly and heavily rubbing over his sword sheath.
Su Yan’s plea echoed in his ears, looping again and again:
“…Brother, lover, or whatever—it doesn’t matter. This relationship as it is, I’m okay with it, as long as he’s willing. Can’t you just stop getting in the way, Ah Zhui?”
Lord Su had feelings for Shen Qi. At this point, he could no longer deny it—and the realization pierced him with a sour ache.
—But fortunately, the lord probably had feelings for him too. Otherwise, why would he risk his life to restore his consciousness, silently allow—even indulge—his transgressions, and even make him a promise to stay together forever?
Thinking of Su Yan, Jinghong Zhui’s hardened expression gradually softened. Stroking the “Oath” sword the lord had given him, he calmly said to Shen Qi, “The one who abducted him last night was me. The one who slept with him was also me. After my mind cleared, I couldn’t resist and did it again.”
Shen Qi began coughing violently, bending over and spitting out a mouthful of clotted blood onto his robe.
Jinghong Zhui leaned in, pressing a hand to his back and steadily feeding him internal energy, while continuing: “The lord didn’t reject me. Whether out of pity or responsibility, I accept it all—as long as I can stay by his side and keep him safe for a lifetime.”
“He has you in his heart. And you, Shen Qi—if you intend to place your desire and possessiveness above his will, you should step aside. He doesn’t need your love, and I don’t want to see him hurt.”
Shen Qi clutched his wrist with a death grip.
That Lantern Festival night, Su Yan had told him sincerely that he was willing to die for both him and Jinghong Zhui.
“…Fate brought us together in a twisted way. Now our futures and destinies are too entangled to separate. Losing you would be like ripping out my heart; sacrificing him would be like severing my limbs. If one day a calamity comes we can’t escape—I’ll live and die with you both.”
He had thought this unwanted third wheel could be quietly removed behind the scenes. But it had taken root deep in the bone, mingled into Qinghe’s very blood. Impossible to cut out, yet unbearable to leave in.
Why was spending a lifetime with someone so difficult?
“Is it really that hard?” Jinghong Zhui asked.
Only then did Shen Qi realize that, driven by pain and emotional collapse, he had spoken the deepest, most bitter truth aloud.
Jinghong Zhui crouched before him, meeting his gaze levelly, expression both serious and merciless: “If you’re willing, if the lord is willing, then I’m willing too. That’s all there is to it. Whoever wants to tear you two—or us—apart, we’ll find a way to get rid of them.”
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