TSMITB Chapter18

Sheng Qixiao slowly walked into the courtyard. Perhaps because it had been used for too long, the small lamp in his hand was not as bright, and everything before him appeared hazy gray.

 

The umbrella was folded and leaned against the wall. Sheng Qixiao supported himself against the wall with one hand, bent over, and picked up the shoes Shen Que had carelessly kicked aside. He squatted by the water vat and, using the still-faint light to carefully brushed off the mud, then placed them under the eaves to dry.

 

After doing this, sweat had already covered his forehead. Sheng Qixiao closed his eyes and shook his dizzy head. He stood rooted to the spot for a long time before looked up at the second floor in a delayed manner. A blurred figure was leaning on the railing, seemingly gazing down at him.

 

Sheng Qixiao straightened up and ascended the stairs.

 

The rain had slackened a little. Damp wind swept through the second-floor corridor, and the silver bells tinkled softly, carrying with them a faint fragrance that surged into Sheng Qixiao’s nostrils.

 

The flower he had picked earlier in the day was still fastened to the wooden railing, canted to one side under the battering of wind and rain, as droplets drummed against its petals and gradually pooled, then slid into the flower’s core.

 

Shen Que had entered the room at some point. The scene he had just witnessed kept replaying in his mind, and he felt inexplicably irritable trying to figure out how to answer if Sheng Qixiao asked.

 

Shen Que hitched up the hem of his shirt with one hand and pulled his arm free before shedding the damp fabric from his upper body. He wiped his hair with careless ease, sweeping the fringe back to reveal a clean, smooth forehead. The ends of his hair were still dripping wet, droplets falling onto his pale, finely contoured chest and tracing the lines of his muscles as they flowed downward.

 

The belt had already been impatiently undone and tossed aside when he entered the room. The dark jeans were half-off, hanging loosely around his waist.

 

Just as his fingers brushed the waistband, poised to push the trousers down, the door was gently pushed open. For an instant, light and shadow blurred together. The air was briefly silent, then the door was shut with a “bang.”

 

Sheng Qixiao gripped the doorknob tightly as his chest rose and fell rapidly. A flush spread across his otherwise pallid face. He stared, eyes wide, at the dark bamboo grove beyond the window, not daring to close them for fear that Shen Que’s bare upper body would rise before him once more.

 

The next second, the door was pulled open from the inside. Shen Que leaned halfway on the door frame with a smile playing on his lips. He scanned Sheng Qixiao’s tightly pursed, constrained lips with his eyes. “Is something the matter?”

 

Sheng Qixiao’s lips were not thin. In Shen Que’s memory, they were full and tender red, adding a touch of softness to his pale face. Even under compression now, they were a lifeless, grayish-white.

 

Sheng Qixiao only subconsciously glanced forward before immediately shifting his gaze down, but then his eyes met the black underwear that was completely soaked by the rain, clinging tightly to his skin and even somewhat translucent.

 

Shen Que glanced at his look, which was so stunned that every strand of his hair seemed frozen, and couldn’t help but make a sound of ‘tsk.’ He then turned and walked into the room.

 

Sheng Qixiao tilted his head slightly, scanning the closed door opposite Shen Que’s room with his peripheral vision. After a moment of contemplation, he followed him in before closing the door securely behind him.

 

Shen Que had excellent body proportions. His well-shaped body, layered with a thin film of muscle, was casually revealed to Sheng Qixiao through his effortless movements. The smooth lines of his muscles tightened at the waist, his dimples partially hidden by the waistband, showing only faintly. Below, his firm buttocks and long, powerful legs were fully sheathed in the fabric.

 

Sheng Qixiao stared at him for a long while before finally looking away as if remembering something, feeling his whole body on fire.

 

“Just now outside the window, was that you? What did you see?”

 

Shen Que hadn’t had time to perfectly blend the truth and lies, so he simply tugged on his trouser leg and played dumb: “What window? Where’s the window?”

 

However, Sheng Qixiao was exceptionally impatient tonight and raised his hand, wanting to pull him. Yet, he didn’t have a stitch of cloth on his upper body, and his lower half wasn’t convenient for pulling either. Sheng Qixiao’s outstretched hand froze awkwardly in mid-air, and the unhealed wound on his wrist; whether by accident or design, was now fully exposed before him.

 

His temple twitched uncontrollably, and he conceded weakly, “Alright, I know it was you. There’s moss there, did you fall?”

 

“……” Shen Que was momentarily speechless. Which was more serious: him possibly falling, or Sheng Qixiao nearly bleeding himself dry?

 

Facing Shen Que’s half-smile, half-serious gaze, Sheng Qixiao lowered his eyes, drew back his hand, and placed it behind his back. His long lashes cast a dark shadow beneath his eyes, and a crystalline bead of water condensed above, flashing with tiny, discerning light. He explained proactively, “I won’t let myself get hurt.”

 

“Then what were you guys doing? Do you think blood is urine that you can just recklessly sprinkle it around?” As he spoke, Shen Que genuinely felt a bit angry. During the day, this person maintained a mature demeanor, preventing people from messing around, yet at night, he wouldn’t even blink before giving himself a swift cut.

 

Hearing this, Sheng Qixiao stubbornly lowered his head, his lips tightly pressed, while the silver butterfly atop his head remained upright, as if in silent defiance.

 

Shen Que suddenly didn’t want to beat around the bush anymore and asked directly, “I heard that the Miao people need flesh and blood for sacrifices when raising Gu. Are you feeding the Gu with your blood?”

 

Sheng Qixiao looked up, a hint of scrutiny flashing in his eyes: “You mentioned Gu to me before as well. Are you very interested in Gu?”

 

Another flash of lightning struck, and the extreme rapid contrast of light and dark made Sheng Qixiao’s expression look utterly bizarre. Shen Que’s heart jumped, and he instantly sobered up as if struck by lightning.

 

What was he doing? Having spied on secrets that shouldn’t be known by outsiders, he should have kept his mouth shut. No matter how injured Sheng Qixiao was, as long as it didn’t affect him, why worry? Too much concern would only lead to suspicion.

 

He dismissed the unusual feeling in his heart.

 

Shen Que turned his back, picked up a dry shirt, and draped it over his shoulders before glancing at the turbulent, wind-and-rain-swept scenery outside the window. “I was just worried about you, worried that you’d be like in my nightmare.”

 

“I don’t raise Gu, Shen Que. You’ll know later.”

 

“Alright, this is your business, and I shouldn’t ask too much. Do you need me to help you apply ointment?”

 

Sheng Qixiao nodded without hesitation.

 

This was the second time Shen Que had entered Sheng Qixiao’s bedroom. The room was small, the layout very simple, with the most conspicuous feature being the excessively large bed in the center of the room.

 

Sheng Qixiao handed him the ointment, his eyes gleaming as he sat on the edge of the bed, then impatiently stretched out his wrist.

 

The bleeding had ceased, but a long gash remained on his wrist with the flesh turned outward, and the edges had whitened, likely from being soaked in the rainwater.

 

Shen Que winced, the image of Sheng Qixiao sliced his wrist expressionlessly repeating in his mind.

 

He lightly touched the somewhat swollen skin around the wound with his fingers before pressing down with moderate pressure.

 

Sheng Qixiao gasped, pulling his wrist back slightly: “It hurts.”

 

Shen Que smiled, unconvinced: “Are you really hurt or fake hurt?”

 

“It really hurts.”

 

“Is that so? I didn’t see you flinching when you cut yourself.”

 

“I was holding it in.”

 

“You…” Shen Que trailed off, “Never mind.”

 

Shen Que’s bandaging skills were truly poor; he simply thickly applied the ointment to the wound, then pulled a strip of cloth and tied a rather ugly bow.

 

Sheng Qixiao didn’t utter a word, sitting quietly while watching the sliver of fair, slender neck exposed when Shen Que lowered his head. He silently ground his teeth, reached out, pulled Shen Que up, and pressed him to sit beside him. A tear trembled at the corner of his eye, ready to fall as he fixed his gaze on Shen Que: “Can I lean on you? I feel a little dizzy.”

 

Without waiting for Shen Que’s response, he leaned right over, his silver ornaments jingling incessantly by Shen Que’s ear, a cold sensation gliding across Shen Que’s cheek.

 

“Sheng Qixiao, would you lie to me?”

 

After a long silence, Shen Que turned his head to look. Sheng Qixiao was leaning on his shoulder with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep.

 

Shen Que didn’t ask again, but he had already gotten the answer he wanted.

 

If they were mutually deceiving each other, why should he continue to feel guilty?

 

The rain fell continuously for a long time, only reluctantly stopping around noon on the third day.

 

After a rain shower, most of the medicinal herbs in the village were ready for picking. The tribesmen, carrying large and small baskets, went to the herb fields to gather the herbs.

 

After breakfast, Sheng Qixiao also took his small basket to help with Gang Zi and Old Qiu volunteered themselves to go along as well.

 

Gang Zi blocked the doorway, brimming with enthusiasm: “Brother Xiao Sheng, take us along! We can be your laborers.”

 

“No need.”

 

“We’ve been eating and staying here for free; we genuinely feel bad. If we can lend a hand, we’ll feel better about it.” Old Qiu shot a look at Shen Que. “Right, Shen Que?”

 

Shen Que had just hummed his assent when Sheng Qixiao immediately chimed in, “Then you two go with me. Shen Que isn’t going.”

 

Naturally, Shen Que wasn’t eager to go looking for work either.

 

No sooner had the few of them walked away than Shen Que quietly slipped up to the third floor.

 

The small herbal room door was tightly locked, and a piece of paper was pasted on it. Shen Que’s name was scrawled crookedly on it, followed by a large cross, indicating prohibition from entry.

 

Shen Que couldn’t quite name the feeling, but he laughed out loud, finding his laugh rather bitter.

 

He really couldn’t figure out Sheng Qixiao. At first glance, he seemed beautiful and innocent, but through these past few days of interaction, Shen Que increasingly felt that Sheng Qixiao wasn’t as simple as he appeared on the surface. Sometimes, he displayed a maturity and aloofness beyond his years, yet at other times, he could be utterly childish, just like at this very moment.

 

After more than a day of interaction, despite the language barrier, Old Qiu and Gang Zi had miraculously integrated.

 

Ke Di also put away his initial hostility and enthusiastically acted as a translator.

 

Shen Que stood on the stone path, gazing at this vibrant, harmonious, and pleasant scene.

 

If everything were as simple as it seemed on the surface, maybe it would actually be quite nice.

 

A small, pale flower landed on Shen Que’s nose, bringing with it a string of silvery bell sounds. Sheng Qixiao’s shadow appeared at Shen Que’s feet, drawing closer until it stood side-by-side with his.

 

“Bored? I’ll take you to look around.”

 

Shen Que was still at the stage of having an issue with the word “look around”: “Going to your herb field to get medicine for my recovery again?”

 

Sheng Qixiao smiled, knowing he held a grudge, and softened his tone: “I’ll take you to see our stockaded village.”