Deep autumn had arrived, and the weather grew colder by the day. A fine drizzle fell ceaselessly, droplets trickling from the eaves and striking the stone steps below, their crisp yet lonely echoes filling the air.
Ninth had been lying in bed for an entire day and night. Glancing at the girl draped motionlessly over him, he cleared his throat and asked, "Chu'he, aren’t you hungry?"
Chu'he shook her head, tightening her grip around him, her face pressed against his chest as she listened to the familiar, monotonous rhythm of his heartbeat—yet she couldn’t get enough of it.
Once upon a time, it had been him who clung to her. Now, the roles seemed reversed.
Ninth lay bare, his long hair cascading like scattered moonlight across most of the bed. Her fingertips traced lightly over his pale, flawless skin, searching for any trace of the wounds that had once torn him apart.
This was Chu'he’s way—she refused to let him dress, insisting on scrutinizing every inch of him to ensure he was truly unharmed.
Their bodies pressed together, yet it had nothing to do with desire. Instead, it was an overwhelming dependence, like vines entwined around a tree, a bird inseparable from the sky, or the tides bound to the sea. It was impossible to tell who needed whom more—only that without the other, the world would lose its color and direction.
Such was the unbreakable embrace of their souls.
After a full day and night of being studied in his naked state, Ninth could bear it no longer. He caught her wandering hand, kissed her fingertips, and murmured, "Chu'he, that tickles."
She interlaced their fingers and lifted her gaze to meet his. "Does it still hurt?"
She had asked this question countless times already.
Ninth sighed. First, he flipped her onto her back, pressing a few lingering kisses to the corner of her lips. Then, he pulled her up into his arms, cradling her as he gently brushed the stray hairs from her temples. Cupping her face in one hand, his ruby-like eyes bore into hers, shimmering with emotion.
"Silly Chu'he, I stopped hurting long ago."
Yet inexplicably, her eyes welled up, her breath hitching. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "But... when all those insects bit you... you must have been in pain."
Ninth wiped away the tears at the corners of her eyes with his fingertips, then leaned down to nuzzle her nose. "How could mere insects trouble someone as formidable as me? If we’re talking about the worst pain..."
Chu'he tensed, her expression anxious.
He pretended to think deeply for a moment before leaning close to her ear and murmuring, "It was on our wedding night, when we truly became one for the first time."
Back then, she had felt no pain at all—but he had been the one stifling groans.
Chu'he burst into laughter through her tears.
Ninth cupped her face as if holding a priceless treasure, his eyes crinkling with affection as he kissed her tenderly. "Finally, you’re smiling. It’s no easy feat to make my Chu'he happy."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. When their lips parted, she choked out, "Ninth, you won’t leave me again... right?"
"Never."
Chu'he pushed him back onto the bed, sweeping aside the disheveled silver hair strewn across his body. His exquisite form lay bare before her.
Wherever her fingers trailed, his muscles tensed in response, the contours of his sculpted frame betraying a primal, untamed beauty.
This was the same boy who could reduce a man to utter torment with a single insect—yet here he lay, willingly surrendering himself to her whims.
"Ninth."
"Hmm?"
"Your life now, your next life, and every life after... they all belong to me."
A faint smile curved his lips as he rested a hand behind her head. "For all eternity, I am yours."
With a gentle tug, he drew her down, capturing her lips once more.
As the bed curtains fell, the tiny silver bell on the red-stringed anklet around the girl’s foot lost its rhythm, jingling incessantly.
"Chi Yan, no one will ever love you."
The cursed voice resurfaced in his mind. The boy, lost in the throes of love and desire, furrowed his brow slightly—a faint red mark flickered between his eyebrows.
"No one will ever truly care for you."
"Ninth, just disappear."
His eyelids lowered as he suppressed the surge of violent energy rising within him. Flipping their positions, he pulled the warmth of her body tightly against his, gripping the ankle adorned with the chiming bell as their movements grew more fervent.
Meanwhile, the mysterious old man had vanished without a trace. Unable to rest easy, Fang Songhe, along with Sang Duo and Cang Yan, combed the city in search of him.
Sang Duo wasn’t particularly concerned about the old man—her doubts lay with her master’s true identity.
Back in Miaojiang, her talent for refining gu had been lackluster at best. Her frequent mishaps—exploding cauldrons of poison—had become something of a spectacle. One day, after yet another explosion, she heard laughter.
At the time, Sang Duo was barely ten years old. Furious, she stormed toward the sound and found an old physician from the Central Plains. "Stupid Central Plains fool! What’s so funny?" she snapped.
"I’ve simply never seen anyone refine gu with such... unique flair. I couldn’t help but admire it. Don’t take offense, little girl," the old man chuckled. "Would you like to become my disciple?"
And so, from that day on, Sang Duo gained a master who frequently disappeared without warning.
His identity seemed anything but ordinary. He taught her both the arts of Miaojiang’s witchcraft and the medical and toxicology techniques of the Central Plains. Yet most of the time, he would appear for a day or two, toss her a few manuals to study on her own, and vanish again.
His longest absence had lasted seven years.
When he finally returned to Miaojiang after those seven years, he brought with him a living corpse—a boy whose bones and meridians had been shattered beyond repair. Accompanying him was a female swordsman clad in red.
Sang Duo peeked at the unconscious boy on the bed. He looked a year or two younger than her, devoid of breath yet still warm. With one foot already in the underworld, survival seemed impossible.
Eavesdropping from the doorway, she listened to the conversation outside.
"Seven years. Though his body has grown from a child’s into that of a youth, I’ve tried every method imaginable—none can prolong his life," Doctor Wu sighed. "Lady Shangguan, I’ve failed your trust."
Shangguan Huanxi replied, "Doctor Wu, you needn’t blame yourself. Years ago, I entrusted this child to you, and since then, you’ve traveled from the northern snowfields to the southern rivers, scouring mountains and valleys for rare medicines. Your dedication alone moves me deeply."
As it turned out, seven years prior, Shangguan Huanxi had barely managed to rescue the barely alive Cang Yan from the burning ruins of the Cang Family. Her first thought had been to seek out the renowned Doctor Wu.
Moved by the boy’s tragic fate, Doctor Wu had vowed to find a way to sustain his life. Yet the injuries were too severe—even the legendary physician Hua Tuo himself would have been powerless.
Shangguan Huanxi’s voice was heavy with sorrow. "He may be the last surviving heir of the Cang Family. To see him slip into eternal slumber... I cannot bear it."
Doctor Wu said gravely, "There is only one method left. Lady Shangguan, have you heard of Miaojiang’s puppet arts?"
