The night was deep and silent, the wind howling like ghosts wailing, adding an eerie chill to the air.
"Anyway... I just saw a figure right there!"
Chu'he clung to the young man's back, her face buried in the crook of his neck, only her eyes peering out the window. Her finger pointed toward the direction where she had seen the shadow, but now there was nothing but the swaying silhouettes of trees. As for the ghostly figure, it had vanished without a trace.
"Ninth, Ninth, do ghosts really exist in this world?"
She tugged at his white hair, her grip tightening as she shook his head back and forth.
Ninth's expression remained blank. "There's the scent of death here."
Chu'he shuddered. "So there is a ghost!"
Ninth replied, "Not a ghost."
If there was the scent of death but no ghost, then what was it?
Ninth turned his face to look at her. "Chu'he, you're heavy."
A vein throbbed on Chu'he's forehead.
But then she noticed the dark bruise around his left eye, marring the beauty of his striking features. The added touch of absurdity only heightened the sense of lurking danger.
Chu'he had struck fast, but only afterward did fear slowly creep in.
After all, this man's methods of killing grew more terrifying each time!
She stayed silent on his back, only her eyes darting around nervously. Her bare feet curled, toes scrunching up in a mix of obedience and cowardice—ridiculous yet pitiable.
Ninth set her down on the bed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he watched her put on her shoes. His silent stance made it seem like he was contemplating how to deal with her.
Chu'he deliberately took her time, dragging out the process while sneaking glances at him.
"If you didn’t have feet, would you save time by not needing to wear shoes?"
Cold sweat broke out on Chu'he's back. The shoes she had struggled with for so long were suddenly on in a blink. She forced a sweet smile and sidled up to him, feigning concern. "Ninth, does your eye still hurt?"
Ninth said, "No."
His body was no longer like a normal person's—his sensitivity to pain was dulled. Only wounds that pierced flesh and bone could make him so much as frown.
Chu'he grabbed the little bell hanging at his waist. "You should say it hurts! If you say it doesn’t, how will anyone feel sorry for you?"
Ninth glanced at her, as if to say he couldn’t care less about others' pity.
Chu'he pressed on, "And if no one feels sorry for you, who’s going to hug you and comfort you?"
Ninth blinked.
Her nonsensical logic seemed endless, but every "reason" she spouted was utterly novel to Ninth, who knew nothing of human emotions.
So, Ninth said, "It hurts."
Chu'he immediately obliged, wrapping her arms around him and patting his back gently. "There, there, let the pain fly away. Ninth’s eye will heal soon, I’m sure. A magnanimous person like you wouldn’t stoop to holding a grudge against poor, weak, timid little Chu'he, right?"
Ninth lowered his gaze, expressionless.
Chu'he tilted her head up, her smile wide but strained. "You won’t... right?"
Her confidence wavered, her cheerful facade threatening to crack.
Ninth let out a soft hum through his nose, then lifted a hand. His pale fingers tugged at his collar, baring his fair yet firm chest once more.
With one hand cradling the back of her head, he pulled her flush against him, their bodies pressed close.
Chu'he froze. The warmth of his skin seeped into her, his cold aura enveloping her, slowly staining her cheeks red.
Ninth murmured, "If you stay like this, skin to skin, I won’t hold it against you."
Chu'he: "...Oh."
After a moment, Ninth’s fingertips traced the curve of her cheek, trailing down along her jawline—testing, exploring.
His touch slid over the delicate column of her throat, brushed her collarbone, then lingered at the edge of her robe, dipping slightly inward.
Chu'he tensed.
Ninth tilted his head, puzzled. "Why don’t you take off your clothes too?"
Chu'he: "!!?"
She scrambled out of his embrace, clutching her robe tightly. "No!"
Ninth remained where he was, his clothes disheveled, one shoulder exposed. His slender frame and innocent confusion carried an undercurrent of temptation, as if silently inviting her to push him down.
No.
Must resist!
Before Chu'he could conjure up another excuse, a noise came from outside the window.
She seized the distraction. "Ninth, the ghost must be back!"
The young man pursed his lips, reluctant to move.
Chu'he leaned in again, hastily straightening his robes. In a coaxing tone, she said, "What if it’s related to Miss Zhao’s disappearance? If we catch the culprit and find the missing girl, we’ll get our reward sooner! With the money, we can buy so many sugar-coated hawthorns!"
Ninth’s eyes brightened. "Sugar-coated hawthorns?"
Chu'he tucked a stray braid behind his back, beaming. "Yes, sugar-coated hawthorns!"
Ninth raised his hand. A sharp whistle cut through the air as something shot through the window, vanishing into the night.
On the rooftop, a shadowy figure sensed the danger and drew his sword, deflecting the projectile with a shower of sparks.
Upon closer inspection, it was a simple bamboo flute—ordinary in appearance, yet infused with its owner’s inner force, turning it into a lethal weapon.
The blue-robed youth spun his blade, its cold gleam flashing as the flute hurtled back toward its sender. It landed neatly in pale fingers, twirled once, and fell silent—once again just an unassuming flute.
In the courtyard stood a crimson-clad youth with silver-white hair, his robes fluttering in the night breeze. The chime of silver ornaments grew livelier, yet the more cheerful they sounded, the more ominous the atmosphere became.
The young man frowned.
Chu'he, slower on her feet, finally caught up and peeked out from behind Ninth. She recognized the swordsman—they had crossed paths at an inn before. The tension between him and Ninth had been palpable even then, and she had feared they might clash.
In a hushed voice, she asked, "Ninth, can you take him?"
Ninth glanced down at her, lips curving in a deceptively sweet smile. "What do you think?"
Chu'he shivered. "Of course you can! You’re amazing!"
The young man lifted his chin, posture straightening. The night wind tousled the strands of hair framing his face, revealing a feather earring adorned with a ruby that caught the moonlight, lending him an unexpected vitality.
"One venomous insect is enough to deal with him."
Chu'he sensed his usual flair for theatrics and couldn’t help muttering, "Damn."
Ninth turned. "Meaning?"
Chu'he: "Praising your awesomeness."
Satisfied, Ninth spun the flute in his hand and brought it to his lips. But before a single note could sound, the figure on the rooftop leaped down.
"Greetings. I am Fang Songhe, investigating the case of the missing women in the city. I mean no harm."
Chu'he froze.
Fang Songhe—wasn't that the male lead's senior brother!?
Ninth paid no heed and blew the first note on his flute, but Chu'he quickly jumped up and grabbed it.
"Ninth, this gentleman says he’s a good person!"
Ninth frowned. "How would you know he’s good?"
"Look at him—dashing, elegant, and radiating righteousness! He must be a good man!"
Dashing?
Elegant?
Radiating righteousness?
This was the first time Ninth had heard Chu'he string together so many four-character phrases. When she praised him, it was always just a dry "impressive."
Chu'he’s sharp eyes caught the little green snake slithering out. She immediately stretched out her hands, clutching it tightly against her soft chest to suppress it.
"Ninth, no fighting!"
The little green snake instinctively struggled, torn between biting and holding back. After a moment, it realized it was pressed against the girl’s warm, pillowy embrace and stilled, flicking its tongue. Its green scales seemed to heat up, its vertical pupils glazing over in bliss.
Suddenly, its master yanked it up by the head and slammed it to the ground. The snake writhed, trembling in fear.
Fang Songhe stood to the side, utterly confused.
Chu'he cautiously asked, "Ninth, what’s wrong? Are you angry? Say something—how am I supposed to know what you’re thinking? If you stay silent, I won’t even know if I should comfort you."
Ninth pressed his lips together, then suddenly smirked and uttered a single word: "Six."
Chu'he: "..."
Now what? Should she still try to comfort him or not?
