Just in case, after Xin Hexue finished bandaging and treating Hen Zhen’s injuries, he went to the back of the courtyard and cleaned up the bloodstains in the mountain spring pool. Otherwise, if monks from Taichu Temple came investigating and tried to trace Hen Zhen’s tracks, the residual blood would be extremely suspicious.
After all, this dilapidated temple was located just around a bend past Mount Buzhou.
Xin Hexue returned from outside and stood under the green-blue roof tiles on the eaves. Snow had begun to fall at dusk, and now a layer of silvery frost had already accumulated on the ground.
He had only been out for a short while, but the cloak draped over him was already covered in fine snowflakes. As he stepped onto the stone slab beneath the eaves, he tilted his face down and to the side, brushing the snow off his cloak with steady pats. Snowflakes fluttered off in a soft rustle.
The young man resembled a green willow, its branches weighed down by winter snow.
Hen Zhen watched closely, then took two steps back and glanced at the worn out Buddha statue in the front hall of the temple. The outer layer of gold foil on the statue had long since been stolen by thieves, and the bare clay beneath had cracked with intricate spider web patterns due to years of neglect.
It was really in a sorry state.
Looking at the statue, Hen Zhen pulled out a mocking smile.
He was a demon, and an evil demon with heavy karma. Naturally, he had no reverence for anything related to Buddhism or Daoism, and his attitude could even be called disdainful. Since he looked down on them from the bottom of his heart, how could he possibly believe in them?
He didn’t believe in Buddhas, nor in immortals. If there really were gods or Buddhas who cared for the mortal world, he wouldn’t have gained consciousness in a pool of blood filled with broken limbs. The instincts he was born with were a never-ending urge to kill.
If there truly were gods and Buddhas in this world, how could there have been no one to save him, no one to deliver him?
Hen Zhen looked at the old statue once again and felt it was an eyesore from every angle.
He might as well carve a new one someday, perhaps a statue of the Little Fish Bodhisattva to replace it.
Xin Hexue walked in from under the eaves into the front hall. Hen Zhen had already lit a charcoal fire in a basin. The square paper windows had only one small pane left open to the north for ventilation.
Hen Zhen stepped forward and took Xin Hexue’s hand. “Are you cold?”
He asked this question even though he knew the answer. The two of them had just practiced dual cultivation the night before. When a demon’s body is filled with spiritual power, their physique naturally differed from ordinary humans, and neither wind nor snow could affect them.
They had done the most intimate thing, so Hen Zhen understood very clearly the condition of Xin Hexue’s spiritual power, down to the tiniest fluctuations in his meridians.
Xin Hexue was about to shake off Hen Zhen’s hand, but upon feeling the warm heat, far more comfortable than his own mild chill, he simply let Hen Zhen cling to him like a dog skin plaster.
There was a noticeable difference in their body temperatures. Although both were demons and unaffected by rain or snow, their inherent physiques differed. Hen Zhen’s body temperature was higher than that of an ordinary human, while Xin Hexue’s was perpetually lower, as if he were an immortal sculpted from cool jade and snow.
Thus, even though he wore a cloak with two layers of inner and outer robes, he appeared colder than Hen Zhen, who wore only a light robe.
Hen Zhen said, “Let me warm you up.”
His hand completely wrapped around Xin Hexue’s, tightly enclosing it and passing on warmth.
Trapped in his palm was a slender, delicate hand with rounded almond-shaped nails.
Perhaps because Xin Hexue had a more slender frame, Hen Zhen stood a full head taller than him, and his hands were also nearly twice as large. Hen Zhen’s eyes moved downward…the young man’s hands were white and bloodless.
But Hen Zhen had seen that after he licked and bit each of those knuckles, the whole hand would flush a soft pink, even the joints were tinged with a bashful red.
He liked Xin Hexue to slap him with those very hands, especially when he was buried all the way in.
Xin Hexue noticed Hen Zhen’s vertical pupils contracting again with excitement, and frowned as he asked, “…What are you thinking about?”
For some reason, Xin Hexue subconsciously felt that whatever Hen Zhen was thinking couldn’t possibly be anything decent.
He shoved his cold hand into the other’s collar as a warning.
“Why don’t you guess what I’m thinking?”
The smile on Hen Zhen’s thin lips widened, and he didn’t show any sign of discomfort from the cold. Instead, he tilted his head, rubbing his cheek against the back of Xin Hexue’s hand. The curled ends of his brown hair brushed across the snow white skin.
Xin Hexue really felt like he was raising a Songpan dog.
But the kind that had separation anxiety and would go completely feral the moment you gave it even the slightest cold shoulder.
“Not interested.”
Xin Hexue calmly pulled his hand back, then sat down on the drum stool by the brazier to warm himself. The firelight reflected off his knuckles.
Hen Zhen raised an eyebrow and pointed at the Buddha statue in the front hall. “I was just thinking, since that clay statue is already so broken, why not replace it? I could sculpt a new Bodhisattva to put there.”
Xin Hexue hadn’t known he could sculpt and sounded doubtful. “You can?”
Hen Zhen dragged over a square stool and sat beside him. “Why couldn’t I? When the time comes, I’ll carve a Little Fish Bodhisattva. What do you think?”
He looked straight at Xin Hexue, his red eyes half-smiling. “I’ll come to worship you every day, kowtow three times in the morning and evening with absolute piety, and burn a stick of incense every morning and evening. After all, I’m the dog under the seat of the Little Fish Bodhisattva.”
Xin Hexue originally thought he was being serious about sculpting, but after only a couple of proper sentences, Hen Zhen was already back to talking nonsense that had nothing to do with anything.
Xin Hexue couldn’t even be bothered to respond. His eyes reflected the glow of the burning charcoal as he said in a quiet voice, “If you’re that bored, go sweep the snow in the courtyard.”
It hadn’t been that long, but the courtyard outside was already covered in frost and snow like moonlight mixed with layers of salt.
While Xin Hexue sat inside by the fire, he heard Hen Zhen humming in the courtyard and the soft swish of a bamboo broom brushing the ground.
He glanced sideways, not understanding what Hen Zhen had to be so happy about.
………
Both of them were demons and didn’t need to eat the grains of mortals, so they simply skipped dinner altogether.
It wasn’t time to sleep yet, and a small candle burned on the table beside the bed.
Xin Hexue sat on the bed, and the light of the tung oil candle illuminated the open scroll in his hand.
Hen Zhen lay beside him. While Xin Hexue read, he watched Xin Hexue.
The eyelashes are long and distinct, each strand visible. At such a close distance, Hen Zhen felt that if he spent just a little time, he could count every single one of those lash feathers.
At night, Xin Hexue no longer maintained the illusion that masked his hair color. Now, half of his snow white hair lay softly over his shoulders. He wore only his inner robe on his upper body, with a light outer robe draped over his shoulders. The strands of hair fell just right into the collar, glowing with a cool luster like moonlight.
The smooth lines of his jaw cast a faint shadow from the angle of the candlelight.
How could someone be so good-looking?
Just sitting there was enough to make someone lose their mind.
Hen Zhen stared at the long and slender fingers holding the scroll, and finally couldn’t help but reach out and pull the scroll from Xin Hexue’s hands.
“Don’t read anymore and go to sleep. Your hands are cold.”
Hen Zhen wrapped his hands around those fingers and found they were still as cool as during the day.
Xin Hexue tried to take the scroll back. “It’s only the first watch, I’ll sleep at hai shi (midnight).”
Hen Zhen had snatched it with his left hand, and to keep Xin Hexue from retrieving it, leaned back at an angle. Xin Hexue had no choice but to lean in his direction. He used his elbow to support himself but accidentally slipped off the pillow, causing his upper body to tilt forward.
Xin Hexue realized he must have pressed down on the wound at Hen Zhen’s waist. He heard Hen Zhen’s sharp intake of breath, and soon after, caught the scent of blood from the reopened wound.
He quickly tugged the scroll back. Regarding the fact that he had pressed on Hen Zhen’s injury, he mumbled softly, “Sorry.”
Hen Zhen raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You don’t even feel a little sorry for me?”
Before Xin Hexue could respond, Hen Zhen tugged the corner of his mouth into a sneer. “Do you think I’m annoying?”
Xin Hexue blinked slowly. He couldn’t follow Hen Zhen’s train of thought and tried reasoning with this Songpan dog. “I apologized. Besides, you were the one who suddenly took my scroll without a word.”
“I don’t need your apology.”
The red in Hen Zhen’s eyes churned with emotion. Due to the severity of his injury, he had lost a lot of spiritual power, making it even harder to control the chaotic emotions brought on by the path of slaughter. His moments of madness had grown even more frequent than before.
He said fiercely, “If it were that Zhou Shanheng, you’d never act like this. You only like him! The moment he got hurt, you were very anxious. All I did was blind him, and you treated me like an enemy in the water dungeon, calling me a beast, a mad dog, a monster!”
Just how many times was this snake demon going to bring up old scores?
And it was always under the pretense of Zhou Shanheng.
Xin Hexue placed the scroll back on the small table beside the bed and remained silent.
Seeing that he seemed genuinely angry, Hen Zhen suddenly fell quiet.
Xin Hexue grabbed a lock of Hen Zhen’s slightly curled brown hair and pulled it, forcing Hen Zhen to face him directly.
“Don’t you really like it when I call you names?” Xin Hexue looked Hen Zhen up and down, a faint curve tugging at his lips. “Or do you prefer me calling you something more affectionate?”
“…Little dog.”
