Chen Shui was almost scared to death.
After returning to Phoenix Village, he had finally begun to feel a little more secure. His voice had regained its usual strength, and he was becoming cheerful and talkative again… but the good times did not last. Now he had been frightened so badly that he did not dare say a single word.
High school students—teenagers, one of the most dangerous groups in the world to provoke—and right now, there were two of them sitting in his back seat!
He had already parked outside the house, turned off the engine, and rolled the windows halfway down so cold air could pour in from every direction. Yet the two menaces in the back were still pressed together whispering and apparently had not noticed that they had arrived.
Chen Shui very carefully glanced into the rearview mirror. All he could see was Qin Shu’s profile, which somehow made it even scarier.
His jawline was faintly tense. A Gu creature was peeking in and out of his collar, while something indescribable flowed across his dark-red eyes—a gloomy, eerie light like storm clouds gathering. It gradually enveloped his entire figure until the reflection warped and distorted, making it impossible to tell what he actually was.
Chen Shui’s eyes widened uncontrollably. He desperately wanted to make out the reflection in the mirror, yet it was as though he had suddenly developed aphantasia: no matter how hard he tried, he could not form a mental image of what he had just seen.
Elio’s Notes: Aphantasia is the inability or reduced ability to voluntarily form mental images. Here, Chen Shui can physically see Qin Shu’s reflection but finds himself unable to mentally comprehend or reconstruct what he is looking at.
A faint rumble of thunder sounded beside his ears, almost like an auditory hallucination and yet carrying the force of a warning that could not be disobeyed. Chen Shui snapped out of his daze as though waking from a dream and hurriedly tore his gaze away, only then realizing that his entire body had gone rigid as iron.
He could not raise his arms. His legs temporarily refused to obey him, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably.
Had it really been an illusion? Chen Shui almost did not dare think back on it.
Just now, he had felt as though he had become some evil thing that needed to be eliminated and purified, instantly locked onto by lightning overflowing with ghostly radiance. If he had hesitated even a moment longer, he might have been summarily struck down on the spot, his soul scattered completely, leaving nothing but a cold corpse sitting inside the car.
Of course, that was not actually the most terrifying part.
The most terrifying part was that Chen Shui had been forced to listen to their conversation the entire time. Whether he wanted to hear it or not, he had heard everything.
And—and Qin Shu seemed to be right… This Student Pei Zhao, who had remained quiet from beginning to end, this Student Pei Zhao who looked unmistakably like an ordinary high school boy, really had not died!
Phoenix Village was the Cave God’s territory, the homeland of the dead, a boundary between yin and yang beyond even King Yama’s jurisdiction. If that was the case, then just what kind of terrifying existence could walk straight into it alive and completely unaffected by its rules?
Elio’s Notes: King Yama is the underworld judge and ruler commonly associated with the judgment of the dead in Chinese Buddhist and folk tradition.
“Sorry, Mr. Chen. We’ll get out now. Could you open the trunk for us… Mr. Chen?”
Chen Shui did not answer. He was still submerged in his ever-expanding fear, and Qin Shu’s voice reached his ears like a muffled echo from underwater, leaving him unable to distinguish hallucination from reality.
He had not even noticed that Qin Shu and Pei Zhao had finished their discussion and gotten out of the car.
Qin Shu stood beside the window watching him. Seeing that Chen Shui was still sitting there in a daze with his soul apparently elsewhere, he hesitated briefly, bent one finger, and knocked on the car door.
Knock, knock.
“AAAAAH! Cough—cough!”
Chen Shui instinctively turned toward the sound and came face-to-face with Qin Shu at point-blank range, staring directly into those black eyes. He very nearly frightened himself out of his soul for real. A yell escaped him before he choked on it and dissolved into frantic coughing, taking quite a while to recover.
Qin Shu was startled too and silently took half a step back. “Mr. Chen, do I look that scary?”
“…No, no. Brother Qin, you’re extremely handsome. Extremely handsome.” Chen Shui forced out a few awkward laughs, dragged his heavy body out of the car, and tried to help them with their luggage.
“We can carry our luggage ourselves. Mr. Chen, you should go rest. Your complexion suddenly looks awful. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Really. Here are your keys. The black one is for the courtyard gate. Accommodation conditions in the mountains might be a little basic, so please bear with us… I’m really fine.” Chen Shui cautiously handed over the keys, then snatched his hand back the instant Qin Shu took them.
He did not look fine at all!
If even someone who was technically a corpse could look this terrible, then things had gone far beyond ordinarily terrible.
Qin Shu was somewhat baffled. He tilted his head and secretly shot Pei Zhao an inquiring look, only for Pei Zhao to return an even more baffled one.
Forget it. They would give Chen Shui some private time to recover.
Qin Shu stuffed all the keys into Pei Zhao’s hands, picked up both suitcases, and headed into the courtyard.
The accommodation Phoenix Village had arranged for them was not basic in the slightest. It looked more like an expensive vacation guesthouse at a scenic resort, except the craftsmanship and decoration were even finer. The building was a full three stories tall, fitted perfectly against the contour of the mountainside and surrounded on all sides by lush evergreen trees.
The courtyard was broad and level, apparently flattened and constructed later. Its outer walls were quite high and provided excellent privacy. Tiny dried grains were scattered between the paving stones, probably traces left by previous residents who had kept chickens or ducks.
The first floor contained a living room, a study, and a garage of unclear purpose. After putting the luggage down, Qin Shu curiously wandered into the garage for a look. It was completely empty, but he could distinctly smell herbs and a faint trace of alcohol.
The second floor seemed to be the main living area. Even the kitchen was upstairs. The instant Qin Shu pushed open the kitchen door, a wave of heat enveloped him… The heating was extremely effective.
The kitchen’s brick hearth had thoughtfully been heated in advance. A ceramic pot hung on an iron rack inside, filling the room with the powerful, unfamiliar fragrance of a rich broth.
Qin Shu put on a pair of gloves and carefully lifted the lid. His eyes immediately lit up.
“Zhaozhao, come look, come look! It’s red sour soup!”
It was made by fermenting rice wine and wild tomatoes, then adding plenty of chili and litsea berries. The flavor was intensely stimulating, and it was a famous Yuncheng specialty.
Qin Shu had eaten sour-soup fish several times in Jiangcheng and remembered it vividly, but none of those versions had been as authentic as the pot in front of him. Both the acidity and the aroma of wine were considerably stronger.
He took bowls and chopsticks from the sterilizing cabinet, filled two bowls, and drank a large mouthful from his own first. An unfamiliar, powerful wave of heat rushed straight into his chest, squeezing his silent heart so hard that it suddenly went thump, thump twice before falling still again.
“…Mm. This is really good, but is that reaction normal? Zhaozhao, am I sweating?” Qin Shu was startled yet again.
Because right now, he was dead.
Theoretically, at this exact moment, Qin Shu’s soul was residing inside the Purple Palace of a corpse, replacing every function of the brain. He was using his will to guide the body’s movements and perceive the world through it.
A soul did not sweat, and a corpse whose heart had stopped absolutely should not sweat either, unless Qin Shu had suddenly returned to life just now—alive for one brief instant…
The red sour soup was astonishingly potent. Judging by its rich and complicated aroma, it had probably been made with quite a few ingredients meant to strengthen the body.
The heat coursing through him refused to fade. Qin Shu wanted to try another sip, but Pei Zhao took the bowl from his hand.
Pei Zhao handed him a packet of wet wipes and put Qin Shu’s bowl away, unusually firm about the matter. “Sweating is normal. But you can’t drink too much. There’s alcohol in it.”
Qin Shu heard unmistakable vigilance in his uncompromising tone and could not help laughing. He pushed the wet wipe back toward him. “Then wipe it for me, and I’ll listen to you.”
Pei Zhao froze.
Without saying anything, he narrowed his eyes and studied Qin Shu, expertly checking whether he had entered that slightly tipsy state again.
Of course, he did not refuse Qin Shu’s request either. Qin Shu had only produced the faintest trace of sweat, so it was hardly troublesome. The cool, soft wipe brushed gently across his temples and the back of his neck, drawing them close once again.
“It’s too hot in here,” Qin Shu suddenly murmured, then confidently wrapped an arm around Pei Zhao’s waist. “Hug.”
“If you feel hot, we could simply leave the kitchen,” Pei Zhao replied faintly.
“That makes so much sense. Zhaozhao, you’re a genius!”
With considerable difficulty, Pei Zhao extracted himself from Qin Shu’s arms and turned sideways to open the kitchen door.
The cool mountain wind of late winter and early spring rushed in and lifted the boy’s black hair. Pei Zhao looked back at him. “I’m not a genius. Your alcohol tolerance is just terrible.”
“Oh, is that what it is?” Qin Shu’s lips curved upward as he caught Pei Zhao’s hand. “You’re so pretty.”
“…That’s what it is.”
Pei Zhao ignored the second half and naturally led him toward the bedroom, only for Qin Shu to continue with a grin. “Right? You think you’re pretty too, don’t you? Excellent taste. We completely agree.”
Pei Zhao: “…”
The two of them stumbled into the bedroom. Their conversation had wandered a hundred thousand miles away from where it started, yet their physical contact remained stubbornly unbroken.
Of course, that was mostly because Qin Shu was holding on to Pei Zhao and refusing to let go, while Pei Zhao could do nothing about him.
Still fully dressed, they lay down on the neatly made bed and were simultaneously shocked by just how soft the mattress was. It almost felt as though they were about to sink straight into a pile of cotton.
They stared silently at each other for a moment before Qin Shu took the initiative to roll onto his back and look at the ceiling.
“Sleep with me tonight. Xu Qian can have a room to herself. She’ll definitely need some privacy.”
“Okay.”
“Where exactly did you hide my birthday present?”
“I’m not telling you.”
Qin Shu rolled over to face him, suddenly moved closer, and once again shattered the subtle distance between them. “So why didn’t Phoenix Village’s rules affect you? You said in the car that you’d explain.”
“Mm. I’ll explain.” Pei Zhao stroked his face. “You’ll know tomorrow.”
His cold fingertips lightly brushed the corner of Qin Shu’s eye, then slowly followed the contour of his face downward. They pushed aside a few stray hairs and eventually settled at the corner of his lips.
It was an unusually proactive gesture of comfort—unhurried, effortless, calm indulgence.
Qin Shu paused.
His gaze remained fixed on Pei Zhao, studying his eyes and every tiny shift in his expression. Only after a long while did he quietly say, “I feel like you’re playing with me.”
“…Hm?”
“Pei Zhao, have you never actually placed me on equal footing with you?”
The abrupt question stopped Pei Zhao’s hand. The barely perceptible curve at the corner of his lips vanished at once. He tried to sit up, only for Qin Shu to gently catch his wrist.
“Don’t misunderstand. I’m not blaming you, and I never will. Whatever kind of Pei Zhao you are, that’s the Pei Zhao I like. I don’t need you to change.” Qin Shu smiled. “But I want to talk about it.”
“Okay. Let’s talk.” Pei Zhao lay on his side and looked at him.
“I know you treat me very well. You care about me, and you indulge me. A lot of what you do is for my sake. But your emotions are far too stable, aren’t they?”
“Mm.”
“So many things happen in the world every day… I want to care about everything, while you don’t care about anything.”
Pei Zhao frowned slightly. “You think I don’t care about you?”
He suddenly seemed a little angry.
Cute.
Qin Shu forced his thoughts not to wander and quickly cleared his throat. “I didn’t say you don’t care about me! How should I put this…? This brings us back to what I just said about ‘indulging’ someone. Zhaozhao, do you know something? Indulgence can only exist inside an unequal relationship.
“Take our homeroom teacher, for example. Old Fu indulges me all the time, but I can’t indulge Old Fu. That sounds weird, doesn’t it? Nobody talks about a student indulging their teacher.”
“…”
Pei Zhao said nothing.
His brows furrowed more deeply. He was thinking.
Even the smallest hint of distress made that beautiful face seem more alive… Qin Shu discovered that he rather liked looking at it.
So he pulled Pei Zhao into his arms and became even more enthusiastic about explaining. “Let’s use an easier word: spoiling. My mom can spoil me—spoil her child—but I can’t possibly have the ability to spoil my mom. That sounds mentally unhinged, hahaha… Between the two of us, she’s the only one who can initiate that kind of behavior.”
“Why can it only be her?” Pei Zhao voluntarily shifted closer into his embrace, displaying very genuine confusion.
“Because the relationship between parent and child is naturally unequal. No matter how good our relationship is, it can never truly be equal. Only the person who holds the power gets to choose whether to indulge or spoil the other person. And in reality… the moment she decides she doesn’t want to indulge me anymore, she can change how she treats me and take everything back whenever she wants. I can’t stop her. I don’t even have the standing to stop her.”
Qin Shu laughed softly before continuing. “The nature of our relationship is different, but you can also withdraw your indulgence from me. You could push me back into the position of an ordinary classmate and treat me like some irrelevant passerby you don’t care about. Just like you really don’t care about Liu Yang Yang, or Xing Yong, or anything happening in Phoenix Village, or even all those gods and ghosts trying to hurt you…”
“But I won’t do that to you,” Pei Zhao interrupted quietly, his expression becoming slightly more serious. “I won’t.”
“See? You’ve made me a promise. That alone proves you have another option and are simply choosing to indulge me. But what if you chose the other one?”
“Qin Shu, there is no ‘what if.’ I won’t…” Pei Zhao tried to say more, only for Qin Shu to seize his cheeks and knead them back and forth until no coherent words could emerge.
“There’s a what-if for everything. Zhaozhao, if that day really came, even if I wanted to get you back, what could I possibly do if you refused? I wouldn’t be able to do anything. That’s why I get anxious. That’s why I think about all these ridiculous possibilities.”
Qin Shu lowered his eyes. His fingertips pressed slightly harder against Pei Zhao’s cheek, leaving the faintest blush in his pale, cool skin.
It was beautiful.
The moment Qin Shu released him, it would vanish like an artificial sunset.
“But you don’t get anxious. Pei Zhao, you would never worry that I might suddenly stop liking you, because you’re the one standing above me. You know you’ll always have that sense of security and control. You can call a stop to anything at any time.”
Pei Zhao remained silent for a very long time.
His previously furrowed brows had already relaxed, but his golden-amber eyes were shadowed by Qin Shu leaning steadily closer, resembling a pair of unusually colored cat eyes opening silently in the dark night, filled with an unreadable gleam.
His body language was always docile, and it remained so now. Even with his chin pinched and his wrist held, he showed no desire whatsoever to struggle or escape, nor the slightest panic or unease.
Qin Shu wanted him to lie there, so he did.
That was all.
It was not difficult, and there was no particular reason to refuse.
Yet that very calmness was also part of the reason Qin Shu felt anxious. Often, he genuinely could not tell whether Pei Zhao agreed with his opinions, agreed with what he wanted to do, or agreed with what he was already doing.
He really could not tell.
Fortunately, their relationship was not without progress. Every serious conversation they had helped. At the very least, Qin Shu could now see that Pei Zhao was thinking.
Pei Zhao really was seriously considering how he should respond to Qin Shu’s feelings.
“Qin Shu, you can make me lose my sense of security and control,” Pei Zhao finally said after a long silence, apparently having found a solution. His tone was completely certain. “There are many ways. It isn’t difficult.”
Qin Shu froze. “Really? Like what?”
“For example… imprison me. Put Gu on me. Contaminate my soul. Take away something I cherish and use it to force my obedience. Torture me until I beg you to spare me and become willing to do anything you ask.”
Qin Shu: “…”
“It really isn’t difficult. I can teach you slowly.” Pei Zhao tilted his head and looked at him, emphasizing the point again.
“Zhaozhao, cough—um, let’s not talk about my problems anymore. None of my problems are really problems… I need to call Mr. Xu.”
Qin Shu felt completely sober now. His expression stiffened as he abruptly sat up and began searching everywhere for his phone. The mattress was so soft that he swayed several times and nearly made himself dizzy again.
He had not actually been drunk in the first place. That single mouthful of rice wine in the sour soup had merely left him briefly light-headed… and since the words had already been on the tip of his tongue, he had taken advantage of the excuse to bring them up.
Even if that slight tipsiness had somehow survived their entire conversation, however, Pei Zhao’s answer would have sobered him instantly.
Qin Shu was shocked completely sober.
“Your phone is here.” Pei Zhao, utterly confused, handed it to him. “Why do you suddenly need Xu Min?”
“To schedule weekly counseling sessions for you.”
“…Hm? I don’t want to go.”
“You’re going. I’ll go with you.”
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