Sometimes, scolding is never just scolding. Beneath the harsh exterior, words can twist into something deeper, something far more than simple anger—or, perhaps, they are merely the first crack showing in an unyielding facade. Only time would tell if the delicate, unwritten pages of the notebook would remain, or if they were destined to be torn apart.
Hàn Zài's breath sawed in and out, ragged and uneven. Despite his weakened state, he grabbed Huà Yǐng by the throat once more, his glare sharp enough to draw blood. His mind was a frantic cacophony, screaming about the spiritual restraints—the remnants of the black bamboo spirit—that still held the cave mouth sealed, preventing his friends from reaching them.
"Shīzūn," Huà Yǐng choked out, his voice trembling like a plucked lute string. "Why are you yelling at me so much, even when you're... sick? Do you truly hate me that much? It was... just some drawing and a poem..."
His one eye was squeezed shut, and his hands weakly fumbled, trying to pry Hàn Zài's grip loose. He genuinely didn't understand the source of Hàn Zài's profound frustration. Was it the sickness, or was it something far more volatile? The horrors of the spirits outside and the present violence indoors had already left his young mind reeling.
Hàn Zài swallowed hard, the uncomfortable gagging intensifying. He wasn't sure how long he could maintain his composure. He felt a desperate urge to vomit right then and there, a feeling that would surely be followed by a lifetime of regret. He felt like a fool, screaming without a proper, articulate reason. Yet, he was certain the true issue was far more complicated than he could ever speak aloud. He didn't even understand it himself; it defied all the logical rules and teachings he had ever absorbed.
He looked down at Huà Yǐng. The boy was so much younger, too young to warrant such fury. Even the act of stealing the forbidden notebook was only a secondary transgression. Hàn Zài's lips pressed into a thin, tight line as a deep bitterness rose in his chest.
Suddenly, his strength failed him, and he released the boy, spinning around as a violent, rattling cough seized him. He bent over, trying desperately to suppress the noise. He hadn't realized the single sip of wine could have such a catastrophic effect... or was it, perhaps, something else entirely? Wine alone could not be this deadly. He clutched his own throat, eyes wide and watering into his dark, loose hair. The pain was a searing, burning sensation. His shoulders shook as he covered his mouth, whimpering in disbelief and panic when he saw the dark, viscous stain of blood on his palm.
Huà Yǐng's fear immediately morphed into desperate worry. His hands, though still trembling, gently rubbed Hàn Zài's rigid back after carefully moving the long, dark hair aside.
"Shīzūn, you're truly not fine! Please, let me help you just this once, then I promise I will never cross your path again if that is what you wish!"
Hàn Zài was about to protest, to dismiss the offer with his customary gruffness, when a sharp, excruciating pain lanced through his lower back. His mouth silently formed a painful 'O.' The sensation was a sickening blend of burning, internal bleeding, scratching, and pinching—a diminutive, internal torture.
Huà Yǐng noticed the sudden, sharp movement. "W... where?" he asked, his voice shaking but laced with a firm determination to help Hàn Zài, to redeem himself, even if only for a moment. He slowly and cautiously slid his hand up and down Hàn Zài's back, seeking the source of the agony.
Hàn Zài's breath hitched painfully as Huà Yǐng's hand pressed near the lower part of his spine. His eyes were painfully watery, though he stubbornly refused to let a single tear fall. He gripped his own wrist, his fingers digging in hard enough to draw fresh blood—a visceral, self-imposed punishment, just as the rigid rules had trained him.
Huà Yǐng swallowed hard, his gaze shakily dropping to Hàn Zài's robe-covered waist. He touched the area again, and this time, something distinctly pulsed beneath the fabric, making Hàn Zài bite back a cry and arch his back in pain.
"S... Shīzūn... if you wouldn't mind... please undress, just a bit," Huà Yǐng managed to say, his voice barely audible despite his fear of a renewed scolding. "Something is caught in your robe... it's stuck to your body."
Hàn Zài couldn't speak. He hummed painfully in confused disbelief. He had never fully undressed in front of anyone, not even his brothers. How could he possibly do so in front of a young boy, his testing student? His hand shakily tried to remove whatever was adhering to his body, but his muscles felt sapped of all strength. He groaned, trying to move his hand or shift his body, but he was seized by a strange, temporary paralysis. He panted as if he had run thousands of kilometers.
It felt deeply uncomfortable and weird to expose himself, yet the situation offered no mercy. He couldn't stay like this; he couldn't talk, nor could he move. So, with a weak, desperate huff, he quickly began to open the ties of his outer robe.
Huà Yǐng exhaled, a small measure of relief washing over him that Hàn Zài was finally listening. He watched the movements, his anxiety mounting. He felt terrible seeing Hàn Zài's pale, bloodied mouth, his hands stained crimson and trembling, and the pulsing thing that elicited those raw sounds of pain—sounds Huà Yǐng had never imagined hearing from his stoic teacher.
Hàn Zài finally let his robe fall from his shoulders, baring his back. His face was as pale as rice paper, utterly devoid of any natural flush. His back bore multiple scars—some old, some fresh—a testament to a painful history. The same marks were visible on his wrists. Huà Yǐng felt as though he was reading an untold story etched upon the skin of the person he idolized. That the man he aspired to be had endured so much pain was a sobering revelation.
He shook his head, forcing his focus back to the task at hand, his eyes fixed on the spot where he had felt the sickening movement.
His eyes widened in horror. Hàn Zài's skin was visibly puffed up. Something long and thick, like a venomous worm, was slowly crawling beneath the flesh. Each undulating movement made Hàn Zài whimper, even as he bit his lip to stop the sound. It was clearly a curse, likely embedded during the fight with the black bamboo spirit. But how could he remove it?
"What is it?" Hàn Zài managed to gasp, then murmured, desperately, almost pleadingly, "Take it out, whatever it is... it burns..." His eyes were shut tight, reddened with strain. He was anxiously scratching his wrist, drawing more blood—a truly painful sight.
"It's... it's a curse, but I will take it out of your body," Huà Yǐng declared with determination, though his voice wavered with fear over the success of the attempt.
Hàn Zài swallowed hard, his eyes wide with fear and pain. He tried to move but immediately fell onto his chest, the motion intensifying the agony. His mouth twisted into a silent cry. He panted, his fingers digging into the soil, the bubbling, caught blood at his mouth growing heavier.
Huà Yǐng quickly stabilized Hàn Zài, stopping him from moving further. "Shīzūn, don't move. I'll... I'll cut it out of your body. Please, don't worry."
Hàn Zài's mind raced, trying to figure out when the deadly curse had struck him. He now realized the black bamboo spirit must have planted it deliberately.
Huà Yǐng swallowed again, his throat dry, repulsed by the sight of the curse wriggling inside Hàn Zài's flesh. He was only a novice in the study of curses, but he knew they were not easily expelled. He needed to be swift, to cut a slab of flesh quickly and remove the parasite before it reached the spinal cord, heart, or brain.
"Idiot!" Hàn Zài barked, his voice tight and strained, before murmuring louder than usual, "Do you want me to die here?! Just cut already! Haven't you learned the knife art?!"
Huà Yǐng instantly nodded, drawing his own knife. His eyes locked onto the curse, not daring to move. He looked at Hàn Zài's tired, strained profile, took a deep breath, and thought: I hope Shīzūn has a little faith in me.
Hàn Zài didn't flinch or tense at the impending stab; he was hardened to physical pain. But this curse... this was something beyond anything he had ever endured. He tried to relax his muscles, thinking: If that boy makes one mistake, if he cuts my kidney too... I will cut him into three pieces. I've already sealed my death wish by deciding to save him.
Huà Yǐng thought: God, please don't let me be the disaster maker again.
He mixed his spiritual qi with the knife. The blade instantly glowed a fiery, rosy red. He stabbed, aiming precisely at the curse just as it was about to scurry toward Hàn Zài's upper spine. Hàn Zài arched slightly, biting back a whimper, his lower lip meeting his wrist in a painful, desperate clench.
The curse screamed—a sickening, wet sound—and its numerous legs erupted from Hàn Zài's skin, struggling to escape the burning blade. Huà Yǐng blinked, exhaling a shaky breath. "I did it...? In one stab?!" But the sight and behavior of the curse instantly made his stomach churn with bitter nausea.
"Cut my skin... wider... take it out," Hàn Zài instructed, his voice low, guiding Huà Yǐng. Then he murmured, "Don't look at its appearance. Just stab on its head and the middle part of its body!" The instruction was louder, tighter, an order disguised as a murmur.
Huà Yǐng did as he was told..
But he didn't got a single thank you from Hàn Zài..he just looked at him like : you're saved today but not forever...
Huà Yǐng blinked..then groaned hopelessly, his forehead momentarily pressing against the cave wall behind him. "Shīzūn... You could at least phrase it kindly just once... but you're still cursing me... all I did was draw and write about your legacy, and I even removed that disgusting curse... I only asked for one simple phrase." He mumbled his upset feelings to himself.
Hàn Zài looked at him again , his tired expression unreadable. He quickly adjusted his robe after using his minimal remaining qi to heal his wounds slightly—not fully, as he was too exhausted. He rolled his eyes, searching for a leftover polite phrase, but he did the exact opposite:
"It was... fine. A little." He then murmured, "Just lower the special grade disaster... which means you're on disaster level. Be careful with it."
Huà Yǐng felt instantly that he'd have been better off never asking. "N... Never mind, Shīzūn." He mumbled ,looked away while hugging himself...
A thick silence settled in the cave. The black bamboo spirit outside had stopped its screaming but was clearly still there, a constant threat.
Hàn Zài silently mused: My luck was good this time, since his knife worked on the first try. But luck isn't something a cultivator can always rely on.
Oh, Yǐng Huō... when will you find me? I've left my marks on the way here... I hope you'll be able to find us and save me from that little disaster.
"Um..." Huà Yǐng started nervously. "Should I... tend to your wounds, Shīzūn?" he suggested, offering a strained, nervous smile, desperate to get himself removed from Hàn Zài's mental blacklist.
Hàn Zài stared at him for a few long seconds, his expression utterly blank. "I don't need more curses injected into my body," Hàn Zài said gruffly, then looked away and murmured almost randomly, "I have an allergy to roses like you."
"H... huh??" Huà Yǐng was dumbfounded. The murmur was so out of nowhere. Was it a metaphor, or the simple truth? He sighed, realizing he wasn't going to escape Hàn Zài's critical gaze anytime soon.
"Hànie! Are you here?!" Yǐng Huō's voice boomed from outside the sealed cave mouth, followed by the familiar sounds of sword slashes.
Hàn Zài's heart gave a leap of relief. He instantly gained a small measure of energy and sat back up properly. "Yǐng! I'm here!" he called out, then murmured, half-annoyed, "With that disaster."
"Are you alright?! Is Huà Yǐng with you?! He went missing, too!" Yǐng Huō called back, sounding immensely relieved.
"Shīzūn, I'm here too!" Huà Yǐng chimed in from the cave.
Hàn Zài let out a final sigh of relief as the sealed cave mouth weakened and Yǐng Huō strode in, followed closely by Wù Yàn. A senior disciple was with them as well.
"Oh, I'm so glad both of you are fine! You almost killed me with worry... and poor Wù Yàn has been a walking corpse of anxiety," Yǐng Huō said with a nervous laugh, moving to help Hàn Zài stand.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to go deeper into the forest, Huà Yǐng?!" Wù Yàn yelled, his panic now turning into annoyance. Huà Yǐng was his testing student; he was responsible for leading him. If anything truly bad had happened, Wù Yàn would face deadly punishment, far worse than the already inflicted mark cutting.
Wù Yàn's anger was so fierce that Huà Yǐng instinctively backed off, accidentally pressing his back against Hàn Zài.
"I'm sorry, Shīzūn! It wasn't my fault, really!"
Hàn Zài quickly pressed a hand against Huà Yǐng's back to steady him, though the gesture was more about maintaining distance than offering comfort.
"Don't go backwards," Hàn Zài said , his murmur felt like cursing , "like those blind horses."
He gave Huà Yǐng a firm push toward Wù Yàn. The boy stumbled with a yelp, caught in Wù Yàn's grip—his hands burning faintly with leftover spiritual energy.
"No wonder Hàn can't handle you," Wù Yàn muttered, his tone low and sharp, the kind that coiled around the heart like smoke. Huà Yǐng froze, his pulse faltering under that voice.
"Okay, okay, don't scare the child," Yǐng Huō said, smiling lightly as he waved a hand in front of Wù Yàn's eyes. "He's four—five years younger than us."
Wù Yàn huffed and turned away. "Fine."
The senior disciple's calm voice cut through the air. "We must leave now. The testing round ended over three hours ago. Everyone is waiting."
The words struck harder than any blow.
Huà Yǐng's stomach dropped—three hours. His breath hitched. He could already feel the weight of what awaited him: the silent courtyard, the cold eyes, the punishment that never missed its mark.
He swallowed hard, the faint hum of spiritual energy still clinging to his skin.
As they started walking back, the world seemed too quiet—until a crow cawed above the temple roofs, its cry cutting through the dusk.
Huà Yǐng glanced up, heart trembling.
Somehow, he knew—this was only the beginning of what he'd lose tonight.