“?” Upon hearing this, Fu Sang glanced at Qi Changying.
If it weren’t for some higher-dimensional being secretly pulling the progress bar, Fu Sang thought that their previous topic should have had nothing to do with what Qi Changying was saying now.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I want to smell you.”
Qi Changying repeated his request, then gave himself an escape route: “It’s fine if not.”
Perhaps thinking Fu Sang would definitely refuse, Qi Changying lowered his head and continued playing with the lighter in his hand.
Fu Sang studied him for a moment before finally looking away. “Since when are you so polite? When did you learn to ask in advance?”
“I’m afraid you’d find it offensive.”
“Did I ever scold you when you came close without asking before?”
“No.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“…” Qi Changying wasn’t sure what Fu Sang meant.
Seeing Fu Sang still looking down, eating slowly, he couldn’t help but lean closer.
But before he fully closed the distance, he still asked one more time:
“So, it’s always been okay, even without asking, right?”
Fu Sang’s patience ran out: “Ask again and get out.”
Qi Changying smiled.
He lowered his head and leaned into the hollow of Fu Sang’s neck, his cool nose tip almost brushing against Fu Sang’s warm skin.
Fu Sang felt that this Crimson Evil, who liked clinging to him like a dog to sniff him, was really a bit deranged. At least he’d never heard of any other ghost exhibiting this kind of behavior.
And he quickly regretted having tacitly allowed Qi Changying’s request.
Because as soon as this ghost latched on, it was as if he’d fallen into some kind of addiction. He lost interest even in the newly discovered “electricity” and lighter. He didn’t say anything, just focused on quietly leaning against him and smelling his scent.
Although it wasn’t particularly bothersome, having something cold and clammy cling to you the whole time was still uncomfortable.
Qi Changying clung to Fu Sang like that, waiting until he’d put away the takeout boxes and turned his computer back on, tapping away at the keyboard and mouse for a while, with no sign of leaving.
Fu Sang endured it again and again, but finally couldn’t hold back anymore, “Haven’t you smelled enough yet?”
“Sorry.” Qi Changying seemed to have just come back to his senses, lifting his head from Fu Sang’s neck and sincerely complimenting, “You really do smell great.”
“?” Fu Sang wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear that kind of compliment from a ghost.
Although he knew Qi Changying didn’t mean it that way, he still felt like he was being seen as a juicy hamburger that made ghosts drool in that context.
“What does it smell like?”
Perhaps he wanted to confirm that he wasn’t actually food in the ghost’s eyes, or maybe it was for some other reason, but Fu Sang’s hand on the mouse stopped.
“Hm?” Qi Changying had already pulled back a bit. Hearing this, he couldn’t resist leaning in for another sniff.
“What exactly do I smell like to you?”
“It’s hard to describe.”
“…”
Fu Sang was silent for a moment:
“Lilies?”
“What?”
“Is it a lily scent?”
Fu Sang couldn’t forget that memory from when he fell into the well at Hei Mountain Pass.
He didn’t know why that fragmented memory had been so immersive and real at the time, so real that even a faint, elusive fragrance of lilies had been etched into his memory with striking clarity.
If Qi Changying said it smelled good, could it be that scent?
“…No.” Perhaps to confirm, or perhaps just to take the chance to smell him more, Qi Changying leaned in again:
“It’s not a floral scent. If I had to describe it… it’s like the scent of my little horse.”
“?” Fu Sang turned his head to look at him coldly: “Are you sick?”
Were horses animals that smelled good?
But Qi Changying ignored Fu Sang’s irritation, already lost in his own association:
“I had a white horse called Qianshan. I raised it from a young age, and it went with me to many places. When there was no war, I was always with it…treading through the snow that had not yet melted in early spring, riding through wheat fields in autumn that were as golden as the sun… So the memories it brings me are all beautiful. It reminds me of those peaceful, tranquil times. And Fu Sang, you do too. Smelling your scent makes me feel at ease.”
Hearing this, Fu Sang let out a scoff of ambiguous meaning: “It’s a waste that you went to war. You should have been a poet.”
“Really?” It should have been a slightly sarcastic remark, but Qi Changying seemed rather pleased to hear it: “Thank you, Fu Sang.”
Fu Sang twitched the corner of his mouth slightly, as if he was smiling.
After a pause, he raised an eyebrow slightly and asked again, “Does it have any siblings called Wanshui?”
“Hm?” Qi Changying didn’t immediately understand what Fu Sang meant.
Fu Sang glanced at him:
“Your horse is called Qianshan. Do you have another horse called Wanshui?”
“…” Qi Changying fell silent.
Fu Sang also regretted having made such a boring joke.
He was about to end this strange, slightly eerie conversation between a human and ghost and refocus on his computer, when he heard Qi Changying say:
“That phrase is familiar.”
“What, did your little horse say that to you too?” Fu Sang sneered.
“No, but it seems… someone did ask me that before.” Qi Changying fell into thought.
“Qianshan, Wanshui…it’s a very common association.” Fu Sang didn’t pay it much mind.
Perhaps finding Fu Sang’s reasoning sound, Qi Changying stopped dwelling on those elusive fragments of memory. Following Fu Sang’s gaze, he looked at the laptop in front of them.
“How can you create so many glowing objects?” Qi Changying was curious; after all, everywhere seemed to have things he’d never seen before.
“That’s hard to explain. It all started in the 19th century with an Austrian named Friedrich, but I don’t want to discuss the origin story of liquid crystal displays with you right now. All you need to know is that these glowing things are very important, and if water gets spilled on them, I’ll immediately refine you to ashes, got it?”
Fu Sang rattled off a bunch of stuff in a deadpan tone that Qi Changying only half understood.
Qi Changying was a ghost with a thirst for knowledge. He would have liked to keep asking, but based on his brief experience with Fu Sang, he felt that with this tone and expression, Fu Sang was nearing the end of his patience and about to lose his temper. So he silently swallowed his questions.
He thought Fu Sang probably wouldn’t want him to keep clinging and sniffing him like before.
But he also didn’t want to move away and lose Fu Sang’s scent.
So he stayed where he was, sitting close to Fu Sang, and watched the glowing square with him.
Later, Fu Sang seemed to have finally found what he was looking for, reaching for paper and pen beside him and jotting something down.
Qi Changying couldn’t read much of it either: “What is this?”
“Wei Luyuan.” Fu Sang said concisely.
There really was a Wei Luyuan in the History department of the Humanities College. She was one year above them, currently in her third year of graduate school, due to graduate in a few months.
Fu Sang noted down what he’d found on paper, then closed the laptop and went to wash up for bed.
The loft that served as a bedroom was cramped. He couldn’t even stand up straight in it, always having to keep his head down and back bent.
Fortunately, this bedroom was generally only used for sleeping. As long as he lunged for the bed as soon as he got upstairs, the agony of not being able to stand up straight couldn’t catch him.
Fu Sang flopped onto the bed, buried himself in the covers for a moment, then reached out and turned on the small nightstand lamp.
Light instantly filled the tiny space. He rolled over and stared blankly at his bedroom…
This place was filled with things related to Qi Changying.
The standee Qi Changying had taken downstairs earlier was just one of the most inconspicuous little items. Looking around, the walls of this room were plastered with Qi Changying-related posters; anime characters, game roles, film figures… Just the Li history books alone were piled in three complete sets in the corner, but only the individual volumes related to Qi Changying made it onto the bookshelf.
Many times, even Fu Sang himself didn’t understand why he did all this.
It was just an ordinary person who had existed for twenty-two years across five thousand years of history…why spend so much effort to understand him?
But now it seemed…
Fu Sang blinked.
Because a face painted with runes on one side suddenly appeared in his field of vision.
Qi Changying looked at him: “You’re still awake.”
Then, without waiting for a response, he went over to the desk and carefully placed the standee he’d taken down earlier back in its original spot.
“I’m about to not be awake, so I suggest you get back into the nail quickly. If you make any noise in the middle of the night and wake me up, I’ll refine you to ashes on the spot.”
“…Alright.”
He agreed verbally, but Qi Changying sat beside the snake-bone nail that Fu Sang had placed by the head of the bed, showing no sign of going in for a long while.
After another moment of silence, he spoke: “I want to sleep with you, Fu Sang.”
Fu Sang was about to laugh: “As if you need to sleep.”
“I don’t need to, but I don’t want to go back. I want to stay by your side.”
The way this sounded left way too much room for misunderstanding.
Fu Sang frowned. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit cold: “…Have I been too lenient with you, giving you the wrong idea? Qi Changying, right now you are my captive, not an honored guest. You have to listen to me. You don’t have the right to make demands. Otherwise, I’ll make you experience what it truly means to never be reincarnated for eternity.”
Hearing this, Qi Changying wasn’t scared, nor was he upset. He just tried to reason with him:
“The Qi Family Army was also very lenient with prisoners of war.”
“Well, that’s a pity. I’m not the Qi Family Army. I’m a fascist.”
“What’s a fascist?”
“A violent, authoritarian dictator. In this context, it’s a metaphor for someone who will refine any disobedient Crimson Evil to ashes the moment they get annoyed.”
“…I won’t disturb you, Fu Sang.”
Qi Changying made one last attempt: “I’ll sit quietly on the floor. I just want to smell your scent.”
With that, he demonstrated by sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Fu Sang’s bed, showing his sincerity as much as possible, “Right here, like this. I won’t move. I won’t make you angry. I promise.”
Fu Sang opened his mouth, probably about to say something.
But when he looked up, he saw Qi Changying’s face. It was clearly inhuman and strangely eerie under the warm lamplight, his eyes lowered and his expression calm and gentle.
This image, so contradictory yet subtly harmonious, made him swallow his words again.
‘…This is insane.’
Fu Sang hugged the blanket and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. He lifted a hand and roughly rubbed his own hair:
“…Do whatever you want.”
