Years of training on the razor’s edge had honed an instinctive vigilance that awoke before his mind did. Before opening his eyes, Jinghong Zhui had already sensed the warmth and heartbeat of another person beneath him. His hand instinctively reached for the sword he always kept by his pillow.
He grasped at nothing but cold, unyielding rock.
Memories of what happened before he lost consciousness flooded back. His eyes snapped open, and he pushed himself up on his arms—only to realize he had spent the entire night pressing down on someone else.
Jinghong Zhui bolted off the stone bed as if burned, rolling to the ground in sheer terror.
The dull thud jolted Su Yan awake.
He slowly opened his eyes, his eyelids heavy and sore. His whole body felt like a pancake stuck to a scorching stone pan—his underside was practically fused to the surface.
“…I had a nightmare last night,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. “Dreamt I was crushed under a horse the whole time.” He turned his head with difficulty, his neck making an audible crack, and finally focused on the man sprawled on the ground.
Jinghong Zhui had frozen mid-motion while trying to get up, staring back in a daze. His expression seemed stiff, but a closer look at his furrowed brows and the flicker in his eyes revealed a chaotic storm beneath—shock, panic, shame, guilt, and something even deeper, something raw and scorching….It was a sight more dazzling than a kaleidoscope.
Su Yan observed his naked personal guard from a novel distance and angle. He couldn’t help but think with a hint of envy, This guy has an incredible physique.
This “incredible” differed from the grandeur of Yu Wang or the athletic elegance of Shen Qi.
Jinghong Zhui wasn’t particularly tall, and at first glance, his figure seemed merely well-proportioned. The muscles under his slightly darker skin weren’t exaggeratedly bulky either. But upon closer inspection, his physique was the embodiment of “high efficiency.” It was devoid of any excess or deficiency, with smooth, flawless lines. Every muscle’s shape and direction seemed to align perfectly with the most precise principles of human biomechanics. Like a blade forged to perfection, his body was a pure weapon designed for killing.
This reminded Su Yan of modern special forces soldiers. Those hailed as “Soldier King” back in his original world were never towering muscle-bound men. On the contrary, they were usually around 1.7 meters tall, with lean, inconspicuous muscles capable of easily taking down opponents much larger than themselves.
Moreover, Ah Zhui was still a centimeter or two taller than his current self. Su Yan could only console himself: The original host’s body is just 17 years old. There’s still plenty of time to grow. Hitting 1.8 meters someday isn’t a dream. Definitely not a dream!
Meanwhile, Jinghong Zhui was also scrutinizing the supine Su Yan in the bright daylight. Against the backdrop of black rock and cascading dark hair, Su Yan resembled a piece of ice lotus on a black jade plate or a beam of moonlight in the night—a radiant, immaculate presence that made Jinghong Zhui feel utterly inferior.
Yet that flawless snowy skin was marred with bruises and swelling, along with numerous dried bloodstains, scrapes, and cuts. The sight was shocking.
Overwhelmed by guilt and concern, Jinghong Zhui hastily asked, “My lord, you’re injured? Where does it hurt?”
When Su Yan had just woken, he couldn’t even feel his limbs. Now that his blood was circulating again, the stabbing pain that followed almost made him cry out. His body felt like it was pierced by a thousand needles, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead instantly.
Jinghong Zhui, still unclothed, leaned over to check his pulse.
At that moment, Su Yan’s skin was hypersensitive, and any touch felt like needles stabbing into him. He almost screamed, “Don’t touch me! Don’t—”
Jinghong Zhui recoiled as if gravely chastised, dropped to his knees, and knelt in silence, awaiting punishment.
Su Yan endured the pain for a few seconds until it subsided. Only then did he sigh in relief and say, “It’s fine now.” He sat up slowly, draping his damp outer garment over his shoulders. “Why are you kneeling again? Come over here and lie down. Let me see how your wound is doing.”
Seeing Su Yan’s usual demeanor, the anguish in Jinghong Zhui’s chest eased somewhat. In a low voice, he replied, “It’s just a flesh wound, nothing serious. But my lord’s injuries…”
Su Yan glanced at his own bruised and battered body. Though it hurt, it was likely just soft tissue bruising and not as severe as it looked. The original host’s skin seemed unusually delicate, bruising at the slightest bump. Sometimes he’d see bruises on his shins without even recalling when he’d knocked into something.
“Really, it’s nothing—just some bruises that’ll fade in a few days. But you! Last night you scared me half to death. Who knows how much blood you lost? I was so worried you’d go into shock and never wake up.” Su Yan tied his sash and carefully helped Jinghong Zhui up to check his lower back.
But after Su Yan’s earlier actions, blood had begun seeping through the now-brown-stained bandages again. As he reached to untie the bandages to check the wound, Jinghong Zhui immediately stepped back, blushing fiercely. “My lord, please allow me to put on my pants first.”
If he hadn’t said anything, Su Yan might not have noticed. But since he mentioned it, Su Yan couldn’t help but glance at the area between Jinghong Zhui’s legs, feeling a surge of jealousy and frustration: Height and proportions are supposed to correlate, aren’t they? Why do you get to ignore the basic laws of physics?
Jinghong Zhui hurriedly grabbed his pants from the corner and put them on, avoiding eye contact. In a strained voice, he asked, “Last night… when I was unconscious, did I… offend my lord?”
Last night you were practically bled dry. Offend my *ss. Su Yan had thought that, as men, sharing body heat was no big deal. Besides, Jinghong Zhui was as straight as an iron rod. As a martial artist, he should be more easygoing than himself. But seeing Jinghong Zhui so flustered and awkward sparked a mischievous urge in him.
With a stern expression, Su Yan replied, “Yes.”
Jinghong Zhui’s face turned pale. He glanced up at Su Yan quickly, despair flickering in his eyes. “You were kind enough to keep me warm, and I repaid you with acts worse than an animal’s. I… I am unworthy of your forgiveness. Please punish me as you see fit—whether to kill or dismember me, I will not complain.”
Su Yan’s face remained cold. “Do you think I’d kill you?” We’ve been together day and night for over two months now. Do you still not know what kind of person I am? Even if you were just an ordinary guard, I wouldn’t kill you without reason. Do you really think so little of the bond we share?
But Jinghong Zhui interpreted his words differently:
“If you truly seek penance, do it yourself. Don’t make me do it for you.”
Biting his lip, Jinghong Zhui, devastated, said, “You’re right, my lord. I’ll handle it myself. After wandering for so many years, I have no attachments except for my sister. I buried her ashes under the old peach tree in your courtyard back in the capital. Please, when you return, build her a grave and erect a tombstone so she may rest in peace. As for Wei the traitor, he’s already half-dead. If you can finish him off, that would be best. If not, so be it.”
With that, he looked around the cave. Recalling that he’d lost his sword when he rolled down the slope with Su Yan, he decided to sever his own meridians instead. Gathering his remaining internal energy, he raised a hand to strike his own skull.
Su Yan hadn’t expected Jinghong Zhui to attempt suicide the moment he said he’d atone. What was this, some kind of legendary wuxia chivalry? Sacrificing oneself with valor and righteousness? Su Yan was appalled by the recklessness. He lunged forward, grabbed Jinghong Zhui’s arm, and shouted, “There was no offense! Absolutely none! I just held you because you were freezing and unconscious. Your whole body was cold and stiff, except for that part, which was soft. You didn’t even have the hardware to offend me! Really, nothing happened. We’re as clean as a plate of tofu and green onions!”
Jinghong Zhui felt slightly relieved when Su Yan clarified there was no offense, but as soon as Su mentioned “soft” and “hard,” he was so embarrassed he wished he could vanish. His mind betrayed him, conjuring an image of the two of them from last night: both naked, embracing on the stone bed in the rain. He pictured himself pressing against Su Yan, rough and unrefined, like coarse stone grinding against flawless white jade. He imagined himself as a fallen pilgrim desecrating the deity he revered—a divine being who, with boundless compassion, had extended arms to hold him, accepting all his greed, folly, and unworthiness.
Lost in thought, Jinghong Zhui staggered backward as Su Yan tackled him, falling onto the stone bed.
Su Yan placed one hand on Jinghong Zhui’s bare chest and pulled his arm down with the other. Suddenly, he froze, blurting out, “You’re hard?”
Jinghong Zhui’s lower back pressed against the stone bed’s edge, and the bandages quickly became soaked with fresh blood. Su Yan exclaimed, “Your wound’s opened again! You’re bleeding like this and still manage to get hard… I respect you, a true man.”
Jinghong Zhui had thought the earlier embarrassment was already unbearable, but he hadn’t expected the real humiliation to come now—so intense that he wished he could be ground into dust and scattered to the wind. Breathing heavily, he scrambled out from under Su Yan and grabbed his torn shirt from the ground, which had been shredded by branches and jagged rocks. He hastily pulled it over himself.
But his summer clothing was too thin. Drenched by last night’s rain and still damp, the fabric clung to his body, outlining certain… unspeakable areas with stark clarity.
Su Yan couldn’t hold back a laugh and teased, “Your morning reaction sure has a long delay.”
Whether words could be understood literally or just implied meaning, in this situation, it made no difference—Jinghong Zhui had reached the pinnacle of mortification. His face was frozen into an expressionless mask, his entire demeanor as stiff as an ice sculpture.
The moment Su Yan took a step forward, Jinghong Zhui instinctively stepped back as if facing a formidable enemy.
Su Yan’s smile faded slightly. “Don’t dodge,” he ordered. “Come here and let me check your wound.”
Jinghong Zhui remained rooted in place, cold sweat breaking out on his back. He looked at Su Yan with silent, pleading eyes.
But Su Yan had no intention of showing mercy. He lifted the hem of Jinghong Zhui’s outer robe and unwrapped the bandages. The wound on the right side of his lower back was four or five centimeters long, irregular in shape. Its depth was unclear, and it was uncertain if any internal organs had been damaged. Wood splinters were still embedded in the wound, sticking to the bloodied flesh, and inflammation was already setting in. Fortunately, the impact from earlier had mostly stopped the bleeding.
“We need to remove the debris, clean the wound, and disinfect it. But we don’t have any tools or medicine. What now?” Su Yan frowned deeply.
Jinghong Zhui dismissed his own injury without a second thought. “Just bandage it. I’ve suffered far worse wounds and survived. This is nothing. Once I restore most of my inner strength, I’ll take you away from here.”
Su Yan took in the countless scars across his body. Some were old, faded, barely visible. Others had been improperly treated at the time, leaving behind twisted, jagged marks, far more vicious than the ones Yu Wang bore. The newest wounds—three sharp weapon cuts—were still fresh. One on his shoulder, two beneath his ribs. The flesh around them was a tender, newly healed pink, likely from when he was pursued by Shen Qi.
“…Don’t get hurt anymore,” Su Yan murmured, tearing a clean strip of fabric from his inner garment to rewrap the wound. His voice carried an unfamiliar gentleness, even he himself didn’t notice. “Sometimes I wonder—do you so-called tough guys even have pain receptors? I took a few dozen strokes of the cane, most of them softened, and I was still in agony. Meanwhile, you lot are always taking knife wounds, arrow shots, enduring torture, and yet you act like it’s nothing, always ready to jump back into the fray. Can’t you just admit it hurts, take better care of yourselves, and stop throwing your lives away?”
Jinghong Zhui gazed down at Su Yan, who was crouched by his side, his voice low. “My life belongs to the Lord. Whatever the Lord says, I’ll do.”
Su Yan sighed. “Your life is your own! Why can’t I get through to you? Anyway, next time, don’t risk your life to save me. Help if you can, but if it’s hopeless, don’t throw your life away.”
Jinghong Zhui looked at the crown of Su Yan’s head, a hint of daze in his expression. “No matter what you say, I’ll listen carefully. But when the time comes, I can’t promise what I’ll do.”
Su Yan realized yet again that this stubborn ex-assassin, now his bodyguard, remained an untamed thorn. Though Jinghong Zhui claimed to lack eloquence, his sharp tongue had been known to drive his adversaries to rage or despair.
What a troublesome personality. But then again, Su Yan had chosen him. For better or worse, he’d keep him around.
Rising to his feet, Su Yan patted Jinghong Zhui’s shoulder. “Rest and recover. I’ll go fetch some water from the cave entrance. The floodwaters are too dirty and full of parasites. Rainwater is at least cleaner.”
As Jinghong Zhui sat cross-legged to meditate, his only worry was: When will this d*mn thing finally go down?