Wu Huan set down his bird flute, smiling at him, curious to know if there was anything else peculiar.
After a long hesitation, as if organizing his thoughts, Song Qingshi took a deep breath. He produced a golden Soul Lamp and handed it over. Inside the lamp was a malevolent soul that he had sought for a long time, currently writhing in agony and despair.
Wu Huan took the Soul Lamp, stupefied, awaiting an explanation.
"I've captured him," Song Qingshi looked into Wu Huan's eyes, his expression entirely earnest. "I won't let go of anyone who has harmed you. Don't worry; I am very ruthless, proficient in killing. My Netherworld Ghostly Fire is torturous; they won't die easily. I'll also capture their souls as gifts for you…"
He now knows, he's learned of my form of amusement…
Wu Huan couldn't help but want to grasp his own wrist to maintain lucidity.
"I don't care about such things," Song Qingshi quickly seized his hand, preventing any self-harming, then held it tightly. "Tell me whatever it is you want. If you have a list of people you want dead, I'll kill them one by one until all those beasts are eliminated."
Wu Huan wanted to pull his hand back but found it grasped even more tightly. He couldn't help but smile, "You can't do it."
Song Qingshi insisted, "I will try."
"Master, you have no idea how many there are... too many, so many that it's impossible to kill them all," Wu Huan spoke softly. "Jin Feng Mountain Manor is a prestigious name in the realm of immortals. Most of the guests coming and going aren't insignificant people. Among those beasts I've served, many are elders or even sect leaders from major factions, Golden Core cultivators, Nascent Soul cultivators, Soul Separated cultivators, and even Grand Ascendant Elders…"
His beauty is well-known, coveted by all.
He also offended Jin Fei Kui, becoming a deliberate target for humiliation, open to abuse by everyone.
Most cultivators have a backing faction, providing mutual protection. It's an entangled web; how can you kill them all?
"I've already given up," Wu Huan smiled, "To kill all those beasts would require turning this world into a sea of corpses and rivers of blood, complete annihilation…"
Even in his madness, he knew this was an impossible feat.
"If you want a sea of corpses and rivers of blood, then so be it," Song Qingshi held him tightly, persisting, "I'll try my best. As long as I draw breath, I will keep killing! I will never give up!"
"I don't want that; revenge is merely a side game. If I get the chance, I kill; if not, so be it. There's no need to dirty your hands with such trash," Wu Huan said, both irritated and amused. He pinched the stubborn face of his master, trying to change his expression, then teased, "I've already found something—something more important."
Song Qingshi was perplexed, "What is it?"
"Stop fretting over unhappy matters; I like your gift," Wu Huan blew the bird flute again. The cheerful melody summoned two larks, lightening the mood. "The moonlight is so beautiful; let's do something joyful. Master, would you like to solve puzzles or read books?"
Song Qingshi hesitated, "Wu Huan, don't always give in to me. I'm very foolish; I often misread people's hearts, and I frequently make mistakes…"
Wu Huan smiled, "I like you just the way you are."
The Master is good; it's just that he doesn't want his own tainted heart to be seen.
...
After much contemplation, Song Qingshi found his answer in the storytelling script of "The Three Tiger-Slaying Brothers" and Yan Yuan Xianjun's lecture notebook: when men encounter confusing emotional matters, they often resort to drinking. Once intoxicated, the heartfelt truths will naturally come pouring out.
He took out the recently purchased "Beauty's Drunken Elixir" and presented it in front of Wu Huan, proclaiming with grandeur, "Let's drain this bottle!"
Wu Huan was puzzled.
"It's a special product of Nanhai City, sweet, limited edition, and absolutely delightful!" Song Qingshi recited all the promotional phrases the shopkeeper had used, then added, "I've checked; this wine is completely clean, free of any impurities. I rarely drink, but I want to try this one!"
Wu Huan thought for a moment. Given the emotional upheavals of the day, a bit of drinking to lift his Master's spirits wouldn't hurt.
Suppressing his germophobia, Wu Huan took out an appropriate vessel for drinking, verified the wine's cleanliness, and poured a full glass for him.
The "Beauty's Drunken Elixir" was indeed delightfully sweet, a mellow brew that didn't scorch the throat. Even those unaccustomed to alcohol would find it easy to sip. However, its potency was surprisingly high.
"Master, go easy on it," Wu Huan advised, holding his cup, "This wine is called 'Beauty's Drunken Elixir' for a reason."
His caution came too late. After three cups, Song Qingshi's face was flushed, and he collapsed into Wu Huan's arms.
Wu Huan hadn't expected his Master to be such a lightweight. With no alternative, he laid him across his lap to rest.
So much for loosening tongues with liquor…
Utterly adorable.
Wu Huan gently stroked Song Qingshi's soft locks as one might pet a cat. After a long while, he playfully asked, "Master, are you still awake?"
Song Qingshi hummed for a moment and then honestly said, "I'm awake."
Wu Huan further inquired, "Master, is there any secret you're keeping from me?"
Song Qingshi glanced at Wu Huan's lips, pondered for a bit, and replied, "I want something sweet."
Wu Huan asked again, "Ice cream?"
Song Qingshi shook his head slightly, "No, something even tastier."
Wu Huan made a few more guesses about desserts, but Song Qingshi seemed to become increasingly fuzzy and no longer answered. Cradling the soul lamp beside him, Wu Huan tormented the trapped soul within for a while, feeling a sweet satisfaction. He suddenly realized that Song Qingshi had never really asked for any gifts from him.
Aside from his initial plea for Wu Huan to refrain from self-harm, Song Qingshi had never made any requests. Yet, the gifts he gave were numerous, while Wu Huan could only offer one.
Wu Huan took out the Phoenix Blood gem from his mustard seed bag. The gem had already been strung on a golden chain carved with magical formations. But the spell formation was still incomplete. He wanted to add the most intricate soul imprint so that this gem would follow this man eternally, just like the brand he left on him—never to be parted.
Wu Huan extended his fingertip, gently tracing it along the pale curve of Song Qingshi's neck, utterly satisfied.
This was the perfect spot.
Feeling the warmth of the fingertip on his skin, Song Qingshi felt a tingling sensation. He twisted his neck and hummed twice in response.
With a smile, Wu Huan withdrew his hand and casually inquired, "Master, do you have any particular wishes?"
After a long silence, Song Qingshi whispered, "Yes, something I dearly want..."
Wu Huan paused, puzzled. Various research equipment, rare ancient books, valuable medicinal herbs, and lab rats floated through his mind. Unable to deduce an answer, he couldn't help but ask, "What is it you desire? I'll find it for you."
"Music," Song Qingshi turned around, hugging Wu Huan's legs as he sobbed. "I really want to hear you play, but it seems to make you sad... so I don't want it anymore."
He had a great fondness for music.
The tune Wu Huan had played on the Langgan Terrace still resonated in his mind—it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
But the emotion captured in that piece was too sorrowful, too painful...
Everything from Jin Feng Mountain Manor and Yan Mountain Sect could potentially be Wu Huan's nightmare.
That's why he dared not ask, dared not listen any longer.
...
Wu Huan was stunned; he had never imagined that Song Qingshi would wish for this. He had a purple bamboo flute in his mustard seed bag, which Song Qingshi had impulsively bought during their trip to the City of Music. At that time, Song Qingshi had purchased an array of items, all of which he had handed over to Wu Huan, so Wu Huan had never considered that this flute had any particular significance.
"I don't dislike music; I dislike certain kinds of music," Wu Huan said, his smile tinged with bitterness. From the age of three, he had toyed with his mother's konghou, and at five, he practiced the zither with the queen. How could he dislike music? He had distaste only for the vulgar and frivolous tunes. The reason he no longer played was that his days were consumed by matters of greater urgency, leaving him neither the mood nor the reason to indulge.
But if this person enjoyed listening, he would willingly play.
He retrieved the purple bamboo flute and tested its pitch.
Song Qingshi reached out, mischievously removing Wu Huan's golden mask, "I want to see your face."
Wu Huan smiled, placed the flute against his lips, and softly began to play "Phoenix Seeking the Phoenix," a tune that had circled endlessly within his heart.
In the embrace of the night, the haunting melody wafted through the air. The clamorous crows ceased their cawing. A nesting oriole peeked out, several larks landed nearby, followed by thrushes and finches; even a white crane unfurled its wings and glided over the pond to join them...
All sentiments were delivered through the music of the flute.
Song Qingshi slowly rose and sat before him. With a dazed comprehension, he began to grasp the meaning conveyed by the flute's melody, understanding its plea. As he blankly gazed at Yue Wuhuan's flushed lips, memories of words from books and couples he had seen in bamboo groves surfaced, giving rise to a strange yearning deep within him. The more he looked, the sweeter it seemed; more delectable than any candy in the world.
So enamored, incredibly enamored…
He felt that Yue Wuhuan shared the same thoughts.
The melody concluded its final note, leaving a lingering resonance.
Yue Wuhuan's lips parted from the purple bamboo flute, only to find Song Qingshi gazing at him with a smile—a tipsy, muddled expression as if contemplating something amusing...
Song Qingshi leaned in close to his chin, sniffing his target before grinning, "Does Wuhuan want something sweet too?"
Not grasping his meaning, Yue Wuhuan casually responded, "Sure."
Suddenly, Song Qingshi seized his shoulders and pressed his lips forcibly against Yue Wuhuan's.
Yue Wuhuan's eyes widened in astonishment; the shock was so immense that he momentarily forgot how to react.
It was an awkward and inexperienced kiss, reminiscent of a newborn puppy gnawing at a bone. Clearly not knowing how to kiss, yet persistently attempting, he first softly licked each inch of Yue Wuhuan's lips until they were wet, then gently nipped with his teeth—as if wishing to swallow yet afraid of causing pain—fumbling around in uncertainty before letting out a soft, discontented whimper.
Yue Wuhuan finally snapped back to reality. He hurriedly pushed Song Qingshi away, frantically wiping his mouth with his hand. Unsatisfied with the result, he rummaged in his bag for a cloth, "Don't kiss me... My mouth has touched too many disgusting things. I'll contaminate you."
"Why do you always say you're dirty?" Song Qingshi was utterly baffled, "Wuhuan is clean, not dirty."
Yue Wuhuan pleaded, "Master, you don't understand. You are clean; don't touch me..."
Song Qingshi paused to consider a scientific approach. Relying on his cultivator's speed and strength, he lunged forward to sample another kiss, confirming the taste.
Yue Wuhuan couldn't evade and became thoroughly flustered.
Song Qingshi concluded, "Wuhuan is very sweet."
Yue Wuhuan looked at him in stunned silence, unable to speak.
"If you think you're dirty," Song Qingshi contemplated a solution before leaning in for another kiss, "don't worry, I'll lick you clean..."
Yue Wuhuan's breathing grew rapid, and his thoughts swirled in disarray.
The chains of desire were unlocked.
The beast caged within strained against its bonds, howling in frenzied anticipation...
He'd only taste a little, just a little would suffice...
Countless Blood King Vines burst forth, weaving together once again into a net that firmly bound the person before him. Dragged close and locked in his embrace, there was no room for evasion, no chance for escape.
"Master, that's not how to kiss. Let me teach you."
Yue Wuhuan bent down and fiercely captured those pale pink lips, prying open clenched teeth to invade a sanctum of purity never before touched. His tongue eagerly explored the moist, tantalizing apex—advancing and retreating, testing and attacking, clumsily yet skillfully like a complex symphony—until they found a perfect rhythm, melding together so inseparably they could no longer distinguish one from the other.
Moist, heavy breaths spread between them.
Song Qingshi finally came to his senses... realizing what he had done.
A mental health professional must never entertain ambiguous thoughts about a patient. It's a matter of professional ethics and industry norms. He had always restrained himself from such thoughts, from such touches. What was he doing now? What had he done to his patient?
He had breached the inviolable; he had shattered an absolute prohibition.
This was severe professional misconduct, a grave medical incident...
What should he do?
Song Qingshi gripped Yue Wuhuan's shoulders tightly. Any retreat would trigger a more ferocious advance. His mind a blank, feeling utterly disoriented from the kiss, he was clueless on how to handle this medical incident, unaware of what penance might earn him forgiveness.
Would a lifetime of responsibility suffice?
...
Yue Wuhuan's kisses deepened. To him, in this world, only the person in his arms was real. He had no desire to relinquish this most exquisite taste; it was never enough, no matter how much he savored it.
In the shadows of the bamboo grove, An Long silently observed the scene. His eyes had already darkened to a deep red, the pupils slit like those of a demonic creature from the abyss, devoid of any emotion.
Yue Wuhuan sensed the terrifying presence, but he chuckled carelessly and continued his fervent kisses.
He had finally awaited this person's appearance. Many matters could now be concluded.
This was happiness, doubled.