If a corpse herder was responsible, then every adult man in Phoenix Village was a suspect.
Except, of course, for the little kids still running around bare-bottomed.
Qin Shu let his gaze extend outward, looking beyond the courtyard at the mountain ridges and rows of buildings rising and falling beneath continuous bands of light. He let out a pained sigh. “There are way too many people. We definitely can’t investigate them one by one. At that rate, we’d still be checking suspects on my birthday next year.”
“Men don’t inherit the tradition of refining Gu, so there can’t be only one person involved. Maybe they have accomplices. Maybe they’re hostile to one another. It’s hard to say.” Pei Zhao opened a can of ice-cold Sprite and drank leisurely. “Tomorrow, we should still inspect the Drum Tower first.”
“Okay. Whatever you say. Though Village Chief Liu is strange too. She actually gave us permission to investigate it without even asking why…” Qin Shu frowned. “Isn’t that supposed to be Phoenix Village’s sacred center of worship? Letting outsiders enter so easily feels suspicious.”
“We’ll know once we go inside.” Pei Zhao thought for a moment. “Actually, I think that woman named Long E is suspicious too.”
“…?”
“She was the hero who drove away the mountain bandits, and she was also the victim of a feudal tragedy who was sacrificed. None of that is wrong. But she massacred the village.”
Pei Zhao paused. “A massacre is still a massacre. She killed every adult in the village without sparing a single one, and the children didn’t actually survive either. Yet now, those ‘survivors’ worship her as an idol, and even this mountain was named after her…”
“It is a little strange,” Qin Shu murmured. “She could have statues. Legends. An entire memorial hall devoted to documenting everything she did in her life. But being worshipped to this extent without the slightest resentment or fear… You really don’t see that kind of thing in history.”
“So never trust any god completely, whether they seem good or bad.” Pei Zhao looked into the distance, toward the Milky Way he had refused to let Qin Shu examine too closely. “Anything with an independent consciousness, anything capable of thought, has selfish desires.”
Qin Shu sat up straighter, pulled Pei Zhao’s hand over, and rested it on his own thigh. He laughed. “Zhaozhao, you always manage to say things that sound incredibly cool. I should learn from you. Mm… What about Jiangcheng’s City God? We can’t trust him completely either? I really feel like he’s a good person.”
Pei Zhao tilted his head. “Did he tell you who I am?”
“…Hm?”
“The more detailed your questions about me become, the less willing he is to answer. He can always find some way to keep his mouth shut and brush you off.” Pei Zhao spoke unhurriedly, a faint haze resting over his golden eyes in the darkness. “Because no matter how kind he is or how much he cares about the people of Jiangcheng, he’ll still choose to preserve his position as City God first. Only afterward will he consider doing good deeds.”
Qin Shu froze briefly before thinking it through. “Oh. Ohhh… I get it. Staying alive comes first, keeping the official post comes second, and actually serving the people comes third.”
“Mm.”
“That’s understandable, though. As long as he actually gets things done, I don’t have a problem with it. Life isn’t easy for anyone these days. People need to keep themselves alive before they can do more of what they’re supposed to do.” Qin Shu leaned back against the lounger and sighed lazily.
Pei Zhao was not surprised by his reaction. “Whenever someone else does something wrong, you’re always very forgiving.”
He had only just finished saying this thoughtfully when he tried to pull his hand away from Qin Shu’s thigh. Qin Shu immediately caught his wrist and dragged it right back.
“I’m obviously very forgiving toward everyone.” Qin Shu lowered his head and lightly kneaded Pei Zhao’s cool finger bones as though playing with some fragile stress-relief toy. He smiled. “I’m lenient with myself and lenient with other people too…”
Pei Zhao said nothing. He watched Qin Shu’s moonlit profile, the shadow cast by his black lashes at the corners of his eyes, and that familiar smile.
Yuanbao dragged Coalball out of Pei Zhao’s pocket and secretly crawled away along the darkest edge of the courtyard, disappearing at astonishing speed without making the slightest sound.
Pei Zhao pressed his lips together.
“So who are you?”
Qin Shu ignored the fleeing creatures. After a brief silence, he asked softly, “Is that my coming-of-age gift?”
“No.”
“Your gift is…” Pei Zhao stood up, following the pull of Qin Shu’s hand still clasped around his wrist and naturally allowing himself to be drawn closer.
He sat down on Qin Shu’s lap.
Calmly and leisurely, he straddled him, thigh against thigh, his knees settling on either side of Qin Shu’s abruptly tensed waist.
Pei Zhao remained perfectly composed. He freed his hand from Qin Shu’s grip, which had already rubbed his skin warm and faintly red, then placed both hands on Qin Shu’s shoulders and gave him a gentle push.
With a smack, Qin Shu went down like a block of tofu. His head tipped backward and bumped lightly against the backrest of the bamboo lounger. He had simply made no effort to resist.
Coolness spread over him.
Pei Zhao’s palm.
One hand rested over Qin Shu’s chest, while the other gently cupped the side of his face and tilted it upward.
Qin Shu looked slightly dazed, yet cooperated completely, lifting his face to gaze up at the beautiful boy above him, silhouetted against the moonlight.
Soft, ink-black hair swayed in the cold wind. As Pei Zhao lowered his head, several strands drifted over Qin Shu’s forehead, shimmering faintly like frost beneath the light.
Qin Shu’s Adam’s apple moved. He found himself unable to control the act of swallowing. In a low voice, he said, “Pei Zhao, don’t sit there. Move back a little. I—I…”
“Mm?”
Pei Zhao tilted his head. A faint trace of confusion crossed his eyes, and his lips, as carefully shaped as if outlined by a meticulous brush, parted to ask the most innocent question imaginable.
“Am I heavy?”
Qin Shu suddenly felt as though he was about to come back to life.
His heart began to beat.
Firmly.
Violently.
Again and again, chasing after the hand pressed against his chest as though it would never stop.
Then came a brief but intense sensation of suffocation as his blood circulation abruptly resumed throughout his body. His lungs were squeezed, his throat tightened, and he could not stop himself from taking several deep breaths. Oxygen saturated with the spiritual energy of the mountains once again became part of his body.
Qin Shu suddenly realized just how cold Pei Zhao’s hand was.
Like a block of dry ice laid gently against bare skin, so freezing that the sensation transformed into something almost scalding, producing the illusion of a burn.
Yet even the combined assault of all those sensations could not compare with what Pei Zhao did next.
Pei Zhao lowered his eyes toward him, gently lifted his chin with his fingertips, and openly studied Qin Shu’s features with a trace of hesitation in his gaze.
After considering it for a while, Pei Zhao bent down and kissed the center of Qin Shu’s forehead.
A soft, cold kiss.
Loose strands of hair fell with him, brushing and tangling against Qin Shu’s own hair. They lightly grazed his face and left behind a faint itch.
“…Pei Zhao, don’t…” Qin Shu’s voice abruptly stopped.
It was hoarse.
The broken, rasping sound coming from his throat was ridiculous, like some evil spirit being hanged by the neck while somehow still overflowing with vitality.
“You don’t like being kissed here?”
Pei Zhao’s lips moved away only for an instant before slowly pressing back down, carrying an intention and solemnity Qin Shu could not understand.
It was a maddeningly soft sensation, yet Pei Zhao delivered it with an infuriatingly innocent air, like a warm lotus petal resting over Qin Shu’s brow. His lips moved far too slowly as he murmured against him.
“Qin Shu, you should like it.”
Does that make any sense?!
“…No. That’s not—” Qin Shu discovered that his breath was hot enough to burn. Gritting his teeth, he raised both arms, gripped Pei Zhao’s narrow waist, and pushed him in the opposite direction. “Don’t sit on my lap. Don’t trap my waist with your knees. Don’t get that close. I’m alive again… Back. Move back.”
“…”
Pei Zhao’s expression stiffened slightly as he gradually understood what Qin Shu meant.
He genuinely had not understood at first.
Not until he met Qin Shu’s eyes.
The way Qin Shu stared at him looked almost as though he wanted to strip him alive.
That familiar hunger.
Distant, yet unmistakably familiar.
Pei Zhao lowered his head and very quickly glanced down. The corner of his mouth twitched. He immediately released all the strength in his body and allowed Qin Shu to shove him backward.
His knees rubbed against either side of the bamboo lounger, making it rock and creak repeatedly. The strange sounds tangled with Qin Shu’s barely restrained breathing, producing an absurdly heavy sense of heat.
Now Pei Zhao was kneeling on Qin Shu’s shins.
A perfect safe distance.
Healthy.
Harmonious.
Refreshing.
Everyone could breathe.
“…Happy birthday, Qin Shu.”
Pei Zhao was very good at regulating his emotions. His gaze only wandered for several seconds before, unbelievably, he became the first of them to calm down.
His two potentially lethal hands moved uncertainly, apparently unable to find anywhere appropriate to rest, before finally settling lightly on Qin Shu’s knees.
“Who I am doesn’t matter. I’m not anyone important.” Pei Zhao spoke softly. “What matters most to you is seeing clearly who you are.”
“Who says you don’t matter? You almost killed me. Just—just now!” Qin Shu glared at him and retorted one word at a time with no politeness whatsoever. “I nearly died from happiness, then died from fright, then died of embarrassment. I don’t even know whether my heart is supposed to be dead or alive anymore.”
Pei Zhao blushed slightly when he heard this.
But only slightly.
His expression was still perfectly serious, barely different from his usual cool appearance. In that gentle voice that was currently both infuriating and capable of making Qin Shu’s heart race, he slowly soothed him. “Your body reacting to me wasn’t my intention. But it isn’t strange either, and there’s no need to make too much of it. You’re eighteen now. Feelings and desire are naturally—”
“Stop, stop! Fine, I was wrong, okay?” Qin Shu hurriedly cut him off. In his panic, he grabbed Pei Zhao’s wrist. His voice was still wrapped in uneven breaths. “Fine, fine, Teacher Pei. Let’s talk about who I am now. I’m extremely curious. I genuinely want to hear it.”
“Touch your forehead. You’ve been too distracted tonight. You still haven’t noticed?” Pei Zhao said seriously.
“You—I mean, you were doing all that. How was I supposed to concentrate… Hm?” Qin Shu continued complaining even as he obediently raised a hand and smacked his own forehead.
The rest of his complaint stopped instantly.
Cold.
Sharp.
Hard.
And curved at precisely the right angle.
Something he had never expected suddenly collided with his palm and fit against it perfectly.
“…Is this—is this the beast horn I grew in Living Water Village?!” Qin Shu abruptly grabbed the extra black horn on his head, startled and delighted at once. “Hiss. If I squeeze it hard, it actually hurts!”
“Mm. This isn’t something you grew in Living Water Village.” Pei Zhao’s lips curved. “It was always part of you. It’s one of your organs. Of course squeezing it that hard hurts.”
“My organ…”
Qin Shu repeated the words quietly, and a faint chill of horror arose in his chest.
He abruptly remembered the nightmares he sometimes had whenever he slept poorly over the past few months.
Bloody dreams.
Painful dreams.
Dreams in which he tortured other people.
Dreams in which he tortured himself.
Dreams he really did not want to remember.
He seemed to be some kind of monster.
He also remembered the City God once half-jokingly telling him that he definitely had not been anything good in his previous life.
Would Pei Zhao know?
The things in his dreams…
Qin Shu could not help asking, “Does my mom have one of these on her head too?”
Pei Zhao looked at him speechlessly. “…No.”
“My dad?”
“No.”
Qin Shu was beginning to get a headache. “Then, Zhaozhao, you don’t have a beast horn either? Are we not the same species? Does that mean there’s reproductive isolation between us?”
The final question made Pei Zhao freeze.
His clear, glasslike golden eyes took on a faint shadow beneath the moonlight. He murmured very quietly to himself, “…You always like asking that.”
“Mm?”
“Nothing. Back to the point.” Pei Zhao lowered his eyes slightly and took Qin Shu’s hand. His cold fingertips rested over the strongly beating pulse in Qin Shu’s wrist and traced several strange strokes. “The coming-of-age gift I’m giving you is the ability to look inward and truly see yourself. It’s knowledge.”
Qin Shu was about to speak when his voice once again stopped short.
A strange sensation traveled from his wrist toward the center of his brow, circling the base of his beast horn and producing a cool feeling like springwater flowing across it.
It was extremely comfortable, instantly clearing away the agitation that had filled his body. And the moment Qin Shu unconsciously relaxed, knowledge barged into his mind in an exceptionally domineering fashion and floated directly before his eyes.
Far too advanced.
Pei Zhao did not need to teach him one word at a time.
Through this strange but extraordinarily efficient method of transmission, Qin Shu immediately began to understand exactly what his horn was.
The beast horn was a genuine organ and an important part of his body. It could indeed be controlled by his thoughts. But Qin Shu would need to practice regularly, and until he could truly make it appear and withdraw exactly as he wished, he would have to maintain the highest possible degree of caution.
Otherwise, one stray thought could either turn him into a self-propelled humanoid unicorn in the middle of a crowd or, worse, cause some small but irreversible disaster.
From Qin Shu’s perspective, this thing seemed a little like a dog’s tail.
Mm.
Specifically, the tail of a Labrador.
If he became too emotionally excited, it might lose control, attack something on its own, or even drag Qin Shu’s entire body straight toward whatever it wanted.
“Looks like I’ll need to practice a lot these next few days and completely master it before we go back to Jiangcheng. Otherwise, going back to No. 2 High School like this would be seriously embarrassing.” Qin Shu was deeply shaken and abruptly felt a much stronger sense of urgency.
“You’re very intelligent. Once you’ve looked through it a few more times, you’ll know what to do—how to control your horn, how to use it, and how to hide it.” Pei Zhao explained patiently. “Treat it as the weapon that fits you best. From now on, your ability to protect yourself will improve significantly.”
After finishing his explanation, Pei Zhao finally climbed off Qin Shu’s lounger.
Qin Shu did not particularly want him to leave, but at a time like this, he had absolutely no idea how he could ask Pei Zhao to… sit back down on his lap.
It would sound strange.
Yes.
Far too strange.
Pei Zhao had no idea what ridiculous struggle was happening inside Qin Shu’s head. He picked up the forgotten can of Sprite from the tea table and took a sip. “Offense is the best defense. That principle has never changed. Once you become stronger, I’ll be able to worry less when I let you go running around on your own.”
Qin Shu froze. “You came with me to Phoenix Village because you were worried about me? And all those times before when I dragged you around to play—was that also because…”
“Mm. That was part of the reason. But I liked it too.”
Pei Zhao stepped closer and rested a hand on Qin Shu’s head. He gently brushed the hair from his forehead and carefully stroked the dark, dangerous horn with remarkably soft movements.
“Besides, if I really am the anomaly A-Bu spoke of, then sooner or later I would have come here anyway. Getting dragged into all of this was only a question of when.”
“Is that the whole karma-and-fated-ties thing? That mysterious sort of explanation?” Qin Shu caught Pei Zhao’s wrist, not to move his hand away but to guide him into touching more safely, avoiding the razor-sharp tip of the horn. “Daoist Xu likes talking like that too. He believes in all of it. I don’t want to.”
Qin Shu continued, “I think that kind of belief makes people passive. I refuse to accept that my life is controlled by fate, my fate pattern, or some kind of predestined connection. There are a lot of things I choose because I genuinely want to choose them. So naturally, I’ll also accept whatever consequences come from those choices.”
Pei Zhao froze slightly, then heard Qin Shu continue softly, “Taking responsibility for the consequences of my own choices isn’t some mysterious form of karma either. It’s just… life. Right? That’s what life is.”
“Mm. You only need to believe what you believe.” Pei Zhao’s lips curved upward. He seemed to be in a very good mood and apparently liked hearing Qin Shu say these things, because his voice was softer than usual. “That is your Dao.”
Taking advantage of how agreeable Pei Zhao currently seemed, Qin Shu wrapped an arm around his waist and directly pulled him back onto his lap.
This time, Pei Zhao sat sideways, leaning against the crook of Qin Shu’s arm with his shoulder against Qin Shu’s chest. There was none of the strange tension from earlier.
Mm.
Much safer.
Qin Shu rested his chin on Pei Zhao’s shoulder until there was practically no space between them. “So why did you suddenly wait until I turned eighteen before teaching me any of this? Is there some kind of special rule?”
“Only adults need to take responsibility for their own lives.” Pei Zhao lowered his eyes. “Starting now, you have the right to control all the power you possess, and you also have to take responsibility for it. Just as you said… whatever you choose to do with it, I won’t interfere.”
“Interfere with me.”
“…Hm?”
Qin Shu laughed quietly. The arm around Pei Zhao’s waist secretly tightened as he shamelessly muttered, “Nobody ever managed me before anyway. Nobody wanted anything to do with me. So all I can do is hold on to you and refuse to let go… Pei Zhao. Teacher Pei. Master Pei. Manage me.”
Pei Zhao said nothing.
He leaned against Qin Shu’s chest somewhat dazedly and allowed Qin Shu to use him as a human body pillow, Qin Shu’s nose nearly touching his ear with every warm breath he exhaled.
He was thinking.
Weighing the advantages against the disadvantages.
Caught in a whirlpool where desire and reason opposed one another, Pei Zhao often found it extraordinarily difficult to choose.
“My personality is very extreme.”
After a long while, apparently worn down by Qin Shu’s persistence, the first thing Pei Zhao offered was a warning.
“Is it?” Qin Shu sounded genuinely confused. “Zhaozhao, I’ve never met anyone gentler than you. Seriously.”
“…That’s you deceiving yourself.”
Pei Zhao paused before continuing quietly, “Qin Shu, I really wouldn’t be a good teacher. We can have any kind of relationship, but we can’t truly become master and disciple.”
“What happens if I insist?” Qin Shu tightened his arms around him, showing absolutely no intention of letting go.
“You would carry my karma, and I would carry yours.” Pei Zhao paused. “Right. You don’t believe in karma… Then I’ll put it another way.”
Pei Zhao shifted slightly and looked directly at him. “You would become responsible for many things that originally had nothing to do with you. You would be responsible for every choice I make in the future. You would have to bear the consequences of those choices together with me. And the reverse would also be true.”
Qin Shu thought about it. “So we’d basically be two grasshoppers tied to the same rope?”
“Mm.”
“And ‘the reverse would also be true’ means that if I accidentally poke a hole through the sky someday, you’d have to help clean up after me and haul bricks around with me to patch Heaven back together… right?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds great. I accept.” Qin Shu’s lips immediately curved upward, his earlier worries vanishing instead. “Zhaozhao, I’ve changed my mind. I believe in karma again. I want us bound together!”
Pei Zhao watched every subtle shift in Qin Shu’s expression. Almost without appearing to do it deliberately, he moved closer and closer until their breaths intertwined.
Those beautiful golden-amber eyes trembled before Qin Shu like slow-flowing honey capable of bewitching the heart. Yet the owner of those eyes remained impossible to read, his voice as cool as snow.
“Qin Shu, if you get in too deep, you won’t ever have true freedom again.”
“You think I’m afraid of that?”
Qin Shu lightly bumped him with his horn.
“I’m only afraid you’ll secretly go kill someone behind my back and forget to call me over to help you bury the body.”
“…”
Pei Zhao froze.
He touched the faintly reddened spot on his forehead where Qin Shu had bumped him and, for a moment, had absolutely no idea how to respond to such a… somewhat extreme statement.
Because Qin Shu usually was not like this.
Qin Shu genuinely was not normally like this.
He should not have been.
Meanwhile, Qin Shu was practically blooming with delight inside. He desperately suppressed the upward pull at the corners of his mouth so he would not grin like an idiot and tried his best to remain serious.
He coughed lightly and looked at Pei Zhao’s slightly stiff, adorable expression. In the end, he could not completely suppress the tiny hint of triumph in his voice. “Zhaozhao, thank you for warning me about all of this and explaining so many things I should watch out for. Seriously, I feel much better now. So… so you don’t have a sense of security either. Hahaha.”
“…What do you mean?”
“You’re afraid I’ll regret it. You’re afraid I’ll run away halfway through. You’re afraid that someday I won’t want to be tangled up with you this deeply anymore. And you’re afraid I’ll blame you.”
Qin Shu narrowed his eyes. “That’s why you told me all the bad parts and all the drawbacks before anything else, then handed the decision completely over to me and let me choose. That way, you can’t do anything wrong. I can’t resent you for it. I asked for everything myself, and even if I regret it someday, it’ll already be too late. Mm? Isn’t that right?”
“…”
“But I’m willing to get in too deep.”
Without waiting for Pei Zhao to answer, Qin Shu answered himself.
“I couldn’t be more willing.”
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