Xue Laohu stirred from unconsciousness, blinking through the haze of pain that clung to his skull like a heavy fog. The first thing he saw was Li Zhameng's pale face hovering anxiously above him, muddy green eyes filled with worry.
"Shizun!" Li Zhameng gasped in relief, his voice trembling as he pressed a damp cloth to Xue Laohu's fevered brow, wiping away the beads of sweat that had gathered there. "You're awake—thank heavens."
Xue Laohu groaned softly, lifting a hand to his pounding head. "How long was I out?" he murmured, his voice hoarse and unsteady.
"I don't know exactly," Li Zhameng replied, shaking his head. "A-Tuzi woke up screaming in the middle of the night. I rushed over and saw you lying on the ground—I thought he'd attacked you. I panicked…"
Xue Laohu's eyes widened in alarm. "He's fine. He's just asleep again. I used another round of sleeping pellets to subdue him."
A deep exhale left Xue Laohu's lungs as the tension in his shoulders eased. He slowly rose to his feet, steadying himself as the dull ache in his temples flared up again—a cruel reminder of the punishment he had endured in that endless, desolate void of his mind. His robes clung to him, damp with sweat, but he straightened them with practiced precision.
"I need to find Shudu," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "I need to make sure he's still alive."
At the threshold of the room, he paused, casting one last glance over his shoulder. Li Zhameng was crouched beside Xue Tuzi, carefully tucking the his arms beneath the blanket, his expression gentle and focused.
"Meng Meng," Xue Laohu called softly.
Li Zhameng looked up.
"Thank you."
As soon as the words slipped his tongue, Li Zhameng was right next to him murmuring in his ear, "No need this disciple will await Shizun's safe return." Xue Loahu's face flushed red as he stepped into the hallway, the hem of his robe whispering over the floor as he vanished into the shadows beyond.
He unsheathed his sword in one smooth motion, the blade gleaming faintly with a practiced step, he hopped onto it, his robes billowing around him as the sword lifted into the air. He clenched his fist, murmuring low under his breath, summoning the system despite the throbbing pain still lingering in his bones from the punishment it had inflicted.
"System…" he hissed, his voice tight with restraint, "locate Shudu. Take me to him."
The interface shimmered to life before him—glitching at first, distorted by his weakened state—then stabilized with a soft chime. The familiar raspy voice began to drone its greetings, but Xue Laohu swiftly flicked through the menus, ignoring the grating sound with a scowl. He didn't have time for its theatrics.
A glowing line appeared before him, pointing through the trees, guiding him like a phantom thread. He followed it wordlessly, gliding over the forest canopy with urgency in his chest, the wind rushing past his ears, cool and sharp like a blade. The line pulsed brighter as he neared a shadowy ridge, where thick vines concealed the mouth of a cave. As he descended, the air turned heavy—tainted with the coppery scent of blood. Xue Laohu's heart lurched. He pushed through the thorns and stepped into the gloom, the cave's walls pulsing with faint demonic energy. And there, lying motionless in a pool of dark, glistening blood, was Shudu.
"Shudu!" Xue Laohu cried out, rushing to his side. He dropped to his knees, pressing trembling fingers to the demon's meridians, searching desperately for a pulse. Faint. Weak. But still there. A shaky breath left his lungs. Relief nearly made him dizzy.
Without pause, he tore open a cloth pouch and began tending to the wounds. He dabbed gently at the dried blood with a damp cloth, careful not to press too hard against the torn flesh. Shudu's chest rose and fell in shallow, pained breaths. Xue Laohu wrapped the gashes carefully, his fingers efficient but trembling with suppressed emotion. As he tightened the final bandage, a faint groan escaped Shudu's lips. The demon stirred, eyes fluttering open with a furrowed brow. His gaze was unfocused at first, flickering to the cavern ceiling before slowly shifting to Xue Laohu's face.
"…Xiao Zongzi?" he whispered hoarsely, turning his head to the side. His hand instinctively reached for something that wasn't there. The spider demon's voice, the final echo he had heard before blacking out, was gone. His fingers came to rest over his chest, where his demonic core should have been shattered beyond repair. Yet it pulsed—faintly, but unmistakably. Alive. Whole.
You damn fool, he muttered to himself. A single tear slid down his cheek. He brought an arm over his eyes to hide it, ashamed.
Xue Laohu blinked, confused he reached into his sleeve and pulling out a small vial. He held it to Shudu's lips with gentle insistence. "Drink. It's medicine."
Shudu hesitated, but drank. The bitter liquid burned down his throat like fire, but warmth began to spread through his limbs. Xue Laohu steadied him, helping him into a sitting position. For a moment, they sat in silence. Only the faint dripping of water echoed from the stone walls.
"It was in a cave just like this," Shudu murmured suddenly, eyes distant, "where this venerable one first met Grandmaster Xue."
Xue Laohu froze. His brows knit, lips parting slightly. He had no memories of the event he couldn't recall he hadn't yet transmigrated, but he still gave Shudu a bitter smile.
"Can you… remind me?" he asked, voice low. "Please. I want to remember."
Shudu looked at him for a long moment, eyes glimmering faintly in the dark. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Very well," he said at last, closing his eyes with a sigh. "Allow this venerable one to jog Grandmaster Xue's memory."
"I had just received a demonic core from a dying spider demon," Shudu began, his voice barely more than a whisper, eyes glazed as if watching a distant memory play out in the shadowed corners of the cave. His hand moved instinctively to his chest, pressing over the spot where the core now pulsed—whole once again, fused with Xiao Zongzi's own.
"Her body had long passed its prime," he continued. "Centuries old, brittle as thread, unable to contain the wild strength of her own power anymore. When she passed it on to me, it was not with gentleness. The demonic qi tore through my veins like wildfire. My body—small, frail, exhausted from resisting—eventually gave in. It surrendered, and accepted the corruption." He paused, drawing in a shaky breath, arms folding over his chest as he tilted his head toward Xue Laohu.
"And that's when I saw him," he said, a wistful glint lighting in his eyes. "The most ethereal-looking man I'd ever laid eyes on. He descended into that cave like a god descending from the heavens—hair black as ink, cascading like a river down his back. His skin was pale, smooth, like polished jade under the moonlight. He wore pristine white robes that barely brushed the cave floor, and his eyes—"
Shudu's voice softened, a note of reverence in it. "—his phoenix eyes could cut through the coldest winter. Sharp, cold, full of judgment. But beneath that… there was warmth. A hidden kindness tucked behind the frost." He turned his gaze to Xue Laohu's present form, and a half-hearted smile curved his lips.
"You were that man, Grandmaster Xue. I truly thought I had reached Nirvana. I was in awe, breathless, waiting for your divine touch… and then—"
He chuckled dryly.
"—you forced a spoon down my throat and barked, 'Drink. It's medicine.'"
Xue Laohu blinked, startled. "I… did that?"
"Mm." Shudu's smile grew faintly bitter. "I was smitten, but now..."
Xue Laohu's lips parted, but no words came out. Shudu's eyes drifted toward him again, studying the man who sat beside him now—disheveled hair hacked short and uneven, a smudge of dried blood on his cheek, but still with that same pale skin, that lingering air of grace.
"You know," Xue Laohu muttered with a small pout, "I am still striking and ethereal looking. Thank you very much."
Shudu stared, caught between amusement and something softer. "I didn't say you weren't," he murmured, eyes flicking over the blush rising on Xue Laohu's cheeks. But the moment of levity crumbled as quickly as it came. Shudu's smile faded. His gaze lowered to his lap, fists tightening into trembling knots against the fabric of his pants.
"You healed me," he said, voice shaking. "You spent all that time, that effort… and in the end, you rejected me."
The question hung heavy in the air.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why does everyone reject me?"
Xue Laohu's heart clenched. He had no answer. Not one that would heal the cracks in Shudu's voice, or stop the pain twisting his features. A laugh bubbled from Shudu's lips—high and sharp, the sound brittle like glass shattering. And then it broke into a sob. His shoulders hunched, arms folding tightly around himself as if trying to hold something in that had long since fractured. Xue Laohu moved before he even realized what he was doing. He reached out and gathered Shudu into his arms, drawing him close, cradling the demon's trembling form against his chest. Shudu didn't resist. He curled into the warmth, hands clutching at Xue Laohu's robes as he wept in silence.
When Xue Laohu returned to the inn, he was greeted by a heavy silence. The lamps flickered low, casting long shadows along the walls. Xue Tuzi was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands limp in his lap, his gaze vacant and unfocused, as if staring through the fabric of the world itself.
"You're awake," Xue Laohu said gently, stepping inside. His voice was soft, almost cautious. He casted a quick glance toward the corner, where Li Zhameng stood with his back pressed to the wall, his complexion pale and drawn. It was clear he hadn't rested.
At the sound of his voice, Xue Tuzi's shoulders shook. A raw, broken sob tore from his throat. "Shizun… Xiao Jiao…"
His voice cracked into pieces, and more tears slipped down his cheeks, despite how dry and red his eyes already were. He had cried himself into exhaustion hours ago, but the grief still came in waves. Li Zhameng had tried everything—sleeping pellets, calming powder, whispered comfort—but the mourning would not cease.
Xue Laohu moved quickly, kneeled in front of him and taking his shoulders with both hands. "A-Tuzi," he said firmly, staring into his swollen, tear-streaked face. "No more crying. You'll make Xiao Jiao sad, seeing you like this. Xue Tuzi let out a hiccupped breath, trying to swallow the sobs that still pushed at his throat. Xue Laohu sat beside him, giving his back a few comforting pats.
"Xiao Jiao would want you to live," he said quietly. Then he reached out and lifted Xue Tuzi's chin with two fingers, gently brushing the tears from his cheeks with his thumb. "Don't let his death be in vain. Please." Xue Tuzi's lips quivered. He nodded slowly, his expression crumpling again, though he fought to keep it together.
"Shizun…" he whispered after a moment, voice small and trembling. "Can… can you take me back? To where Xiao Jiao… passed? I want to… give him a proper burial." His words hit like a rock tossed into still water. He stared at the floor, trying to stay composed, but his fists clenched in the fabric of his robes.
Xue Laohu reached out, ruffling his hair gently. "Once you've recovered, we'll go," he promised. "And we'll bury him together, properly."
And so, for the next two days, Xue Laohu remained by Xue Tuzi's side. He brewed soothing teas, rubbed cooling balm along his wrists to calm his qi, and sat beside him when the nightmares woke him screaming. Each time, he would cradle Xue Tuzi in his arms, holding him tightly, whispering words of comfort like a lullaby. At night, when he finally drifted into a deep sleep, Xue Laohu would slip away—always careful, always quiet—and head back into the forest, carrying a bag full of food, medicine, and bandages.
He would return to the cave, where Shudu waited.
But one night, Xue Tuzi stirred earlier than usual. His sleep had become fragile. The absence beside him was immediate. He blinked groggily and sat up, scanning the room.
"Shizun…?" he whispered.
No answer. The space where Xue Laohu had been was cold. Pulling on his robes, Xue Tuzi padded to the window, then to the hallway, barefoot and silent. His eyes widened as he caught sight of his Shizun near the entrance of the inn, adjusting the strap of a heavy pack over his shoulder.
"…Make sure to keep an eye on A-Tuzi," Xue Laohu murmured to Li Zhameng, who stood beside him with a concerned look. "If he wakes up again, just give him more pellets. He needs rest."
Li Zhameng nodded, tightening a strap on the pack and adjusting it with careful hands. "This disciple understands."
Xue Tuzi's brow furrowed. He took a silent step back, ducking into the shadows of the hallway. Where is he going? he wondered, the question circling in his mind like a hawk.
Quiet as a ghost, he followed.
Through the woods, through brush and bramble, until he reached the cave. Xue Tuzi crouched near the rocks outside the mouth, his breath caught in his throat. Inside, Xue Laohu had already set down the bag. "Hey," he said lightly, "I brought steamed buns. Still warm."
He opened the lunchbox and pulled out a small container of ointments, elixirs, and rolled bandages. Shudu sat propped against the wall of the cave, his skin once tan was pale but no longer deathly. His wounds had begun to close. His aura was steadying.
"Mm. About time," Shudu said, biting into a bun. "Grandmaster Xue always makes this venerable one wait."
"You always complain when I show up," Xue Laohu teased, rolling his sleeves as he knelt beside him and began unwrapping the old bandages.
They talked quietly, their words flowing like the steady stream of a river. But to Xue Tuzi, it was the backdrop to a noise tearing through his skull. He couldn't grasp the words, and he no longer cared to try. Another voice, scorched and final, was drowning them out—the ghost of Ye Hu, screaming as the flames took him.
"Your heart has been tainted by that demonic Gu… and you don't even realize it."
The thought was a shard of ice in his veins. Could it be true?
His mind, once his own, became a battleground. A sharp, drilling pain bloomed behind his eyes, a physical anchor for the chaos within. Then the voices came, not one, but a legion, overlapping and warring, a hellish chorus from the depths of his own cracking sanity.
A voice, cold and sneering, slithered through the noise: "You've been possessed, and you don't even know it."
It was answered by a sob, wretched and broken: "Tainted. You are tainted."
Then, a shriek of pure, unadulterated rage: "You dare hold dear that maggot? That monster took delight on the orphans essence! Have you forgotten the smell of blood and smoke?"
A tone of false, cloying reason: "Surely you've been bewitched. Your feelings are not your own."
And finally, a seductive, unifying whisper that cut through the rest: "You can only be free if you rid yourself of him. Kill him."
The chorus became a chant, a hammering rhythm against the inside of his skull. "Kill him. Yes, yes. Kill him. Set yourself free."
Xue Tuzi dug his fingers into his temples, nails biting into skin as if he could physically tear the voices out. He pressed the heels of his hands against his ears until the world became a muffled roar, but it was useless. The prison was in his mind. He had always felt it—a forbidden, shameful current beneath his attraction to the demon. A fundamental wrongness that he had mistook for passion. And now, with Jiao Jiao gone, he should've felt free. But instead, he felt hollow. Conflicted. Confused.
"You cursed child," a voice wept with his own mother's tone.
"What are you waiting for?" another snarled.
"Free yourself!"
The seed of doubt, planted by Ye Hu and watered by this torrent of grief and pain, unfurled into a dark, thorned vine, constricting his heart. It offered a terrible, simple solution—a single, definitive act that could silence everything.
Maybe… maybe if I kill him, Xue Tuzi thought, swallowing hard, maybe I can put all of this behind me. Maybe I'll finally be free.