Volume 6: Crushing Defeat

As dusk fell, Wangji still made his way to Xiao Jiu’s room. The person inside was breathing evenly, already deep in slumber, yet Wangji couldn’t help but wonder—could Xiao Jiu really converse so easily with strangers?

He sat down at the edge of the bed, slipped his hand beneath the quilt, and clasped Xiao Jiu’s hand in his own. Still as warm as ever. Wangji gently lifted a corner of the blanket, pulled the sleeping Xiao Jiu into his embrace, and pressed a soft kiss to that ink-black hair. Holding Xiao Jiu close, he gradually drifted off to sleep.

Even in dreams, Wangji remained vigilant, so at the first stir from the person in his arms, he opened his eyes instantly.

Xiao Jiu’s body was burning, his breath ragged and harsh, both arms clinging tightly to Wangji as he curled in on himself. Alarmed, Wangji quickly shook him awake.

Xiao Jiu woke with tear-filled eyes, looking helplessly at Wangji, choking out, “Old Fox, I feel horrible! So uncomfortable!” His whole body felt as though it were being consumed by fire, his clothes already drenched in sweat.

Wangji pressed a hand to Xiao Jiu’s forehead; the fever seemed to ebb a little. Instinctively, Xiao Jiu clung to Wangji’s hand, rubbing against it as if the touch itself could soothe him. Wangji’s cool palm was blissfully comforting; Xiao Jiu’s muddled mind could only focus on seeking relief.

With a rip, Xiao Jiu tore open Wangji’s clothing. Pressing against Wangji’s chest, he finally felt a slight lessening of the burning inside, but it didn’t last long. The fire within him only flared more fiercely.

He grasped blindly, tugging Wangji down, gaze clouded and unfocused, fixated on a faint, elusive shape. Annoyed, he simply bit down, lips meeting lips. The fire receded a little, and he stopped moving.

Unable to resist Xiao Jiu’s provocative actions, Wangji cradled his head with one hand, drawing him closer, and parted Xiao Jiu’s tightly closed lips with his tongue, exploring, conquering, entwining with Xiao Jiu’s own. Only when Xiao Jiu was breathless did Wangji let go.

For once, Xiao Jiu took the initiative, holding Wangji tightly. Their bodies pressed together, fitting perfectly. Wangji, of course, felt the unspeakable heat at his waist, and a memory flashed in his mind—the voice of the man who had approached Xiao Jiu that day.

Damn it, so the drug was administered then? Wangji checked Xiao Jiu’s pulse—his inner energy was in chaos, qi unstable, even showing signs of going berserk. Such a vicious poison...

Burying his face in Wangji’s chest, Xiao Jiu suddenly began to sob. “Why does it hurt so much? I want my mother... I want to go home...”

Wangji’s body jerked at his words; his agitated heart suddenly stilled. He lifted Xiao Jiu’s chin and asked gently, “Do you really want to go home, Xiao Jiu?”

Tears blurred Xiao Jiu’s vision completely. At the question, he nodded at once, unable to hold back a whimper.

Wangji sighed softly, wiping away Xiao Jiu’s tears. “Are you afraid of me, Xiao Jiu?”

Choking, Xiao Jiu’s tone was tinged with dependence, his senses clouded. “I really like Wangji...”

As the drug’s effects intensified, Xiao Jiu trembled uncontrollably. Wangji’s own chest shuddered in pain. The one he cherished so dearly was suffering like this—all because of his own carelessness.

Wangji tore a strip from his clothing, folded it, and gently covered Xiao Jiu’s eyes. He could not bear to delay any longer, unwilling to face the consequences if he did.

Tenderly, he slipped Xiao Jiu’s underclothes down, kissing every treasured inch, every place he had kept to himself for so many years...

The person beneath him offered no resistance; instead, he responded, sending Wangji reeling, losing all restraint. He entwined his fingers with Xiao Jiu’s, and that night, it was as if they spoke every word of love they could ever utter in this life.

As dawn broke, the town’s roosters began to crow. Xiao Jiu, exhausted, slept deeply. But outside the window, a shadow flashed past. Wangji quickly followed the sound. The figure stopped near the tavern.

Mo Zhu turned with a smile. “Ye Min, it’s been a long time. Did you enjoy the wedding night I prepared for you?”

That voice was all too familiar. Even after so many years, Wangji recognized it—the beggar from the old temple. That tone, that subtle familiarity. The man from yesterday—it was him!

Wangji’s face darkened. He struck out with his palm, but Mo Zhu dodged easily, sneering, “With skills like that, you’re still at the top of the assassin rankings? If Ye Feng were still alive, you’d never have made it this far!”

Chill crept into Wangji’s hand. In a flash, an ice sword formed, identical to the one he always wielded. Perhaps his own body could hardly withstand the cold, for a layer of frost began to form on his clothes.

Mo Zhu’s eyes widened slightly, a strange smile curling at his lips. “Now, this is interesting.” With those words, he attacked first, and for a moment, Wangji was evenly matched with Mo Zhu.

But the stalemate didn’t last. Mo Zhu’s eyes grew darker, his smile colder. Empty-handed, he lunged straight for Wangji’s sword. With a shattering crack, the ice blade broke apart.

Wangji stood tall, but blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Mo Zhu took out a kerchief and wiped his hands. “Trying to injure yourself along with me? Foolish! How could Ye Feng have a son like you? What a disappointment...”

Mo Zhu’s mind shifted, the original plan changing. His face regained that enigmatic smile. Suddenly, he said, “Ye Min—no, Wangji—shall we play a game?”

Mo Zhu clapped his hands. Instantly, a group of men in black appeared. Some of their presences were so well concealed that even Wangji hadn’t sensed them.

Wangji said nothing, but Mo Zhu didn’t care. “The rules are simple: you just have to make a choice.”

He leaned in, circling Wangji, studying him from head to toe. After a moment, he whispered in his ear, “I’m quite curious. Between Xiao Jiu, just one person, and the entire town of Qinghe, whom will you choose to save?”

Wangji trembled from head to toe. He was about to strike when Mo Zhu subdued him. “What’s the rush? I’ll give you time to think it over. As a token of my sincerity, tomorrow I’ll send you a special gift...”

Watching Wangji’s face turn deathly pale, Mo Zhu was immensely pleased. With a snap of his fingers, he vanished in the blink of an eye.

Wangji stood frozen, silent as a ghost as he made his way back to the room. At the bedside, he gazed quietly in Xiao Jiu’s direction. He remembered the lesson taught to him during his training with the Xiao family: when facing an overwhelmingly powerful foe, what should you do? The instructor had uttered just one word—run.

If you can escape, it’s fortune; if you cannot, it’s fate.

From as early as Ye Min could remember, life had always been powerless—unable to strive, to choose, to protest. Until he came to the Xiao family, where he glimpsed another way of living. And he was grateful, above all, to have met Xiao Jiu.

That distant, familiar sense of helplessness welled up inside again. Wangji didn’t even have the will to resist. When he heard Mo Zhu pose the choice, his heart already knew the answer. From the moment he left the Xiao household, he understood that what was coming would come—it was only a matter of time. But before fate arrived, there were still things he wished to do.

He felt something wet on his face. Startled, he touched his cheek—was he crying? Yes, he could weep. He had wept before. This time, though, it was for a vague, unnameable emotion in his heart.

Once the tears began, they wouldn’t stop. At last, he admitted it—he could not bear to let go. How could he? Though they were separated by only a short distance, a great chasm yawned between them. And more than anything, he could not bear for Xiao Jiu to cross that chasm, battered and bruised, just to reach him.

Hadn’t the truth been clear from the start? Without Ye Min in his life, Xiao Jiu would be just fine.

Wangji returned to his own room in a daze, changed his clothes, and donned that familiar, serene smile. Without a word, he descended the stairs.