The late morning light streamed through the open window, bathing the room in a gentle glow. The crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke, swirling in through the open shutters. Xue Laohu stepped inside, his boots barely making a sound against the wooden floorboards. His eyes swept over the room before settling on the figure curled up beneath thick bundles of blankets.
Xue Tuzi lay fast asleep, his breathing steady but faintly troubled, his brows furrowing now and then as if caught in the remnants of an uneasy dream. The cold breeze stirred the edge of the covers, ruffling his disheveled hair. With a quiet sigh, Xue Laohu moved toward the window, pushing it closed with a soft click, muting the distant sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves.
Turning back, he approached the bed, pulling a chair closer before sinking into it. He reached out, fingers brushing aside the strands of hair that clung to Xue Tuzi's forehead. His skin was warm beneath his touch, fever finally gone, though his face was still pale.
How am I going to make this work? Xue Laohu thought, his stomach twisting with unease.
Before he could dwell on it further, Xue Tuzi stirred, his nose scrunching as his brows knitted together. Then, with a sudden gasp, his eyes flew open.
"Xiao Jiao!" he cried, voice raw with panic, his gaze darting frantically around the room.
"Hey, good morning," Xue Laohu said softly, his voice laced with calm. He lifted a hand, gesturing toward the wooden cradle nearby. "Xiao Jiao is right here."
Xue Tuzi's wide eyes snapped toward it. The child lay nestled beneath layers of soft blankets, his tiny chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. A deep sigh of relief escaped Xue Tuzi, his body collapsing back against the mattress.
"Shizun…" he murmured, pressing the back of his arm over his face. "How long have I been out?"
"Ten days."
Xue Laohu drummed his fingers against the nearby table, his mind already spiraling into the tangled mess of problems before him. He needed to figure out a way to fix things between Xue Tuzi and Shudu, but how?
A memory loss potion, maybe? His thoughts flickered to the system, imagining the cold, mocking text flashing before his eyes. He could already see it—wasting precious life points on something like "Forget Me Not," only for Xue Tuzi to wake up and despise Shudu all over again. Worse, he'd probably take one look at him and sneer, "Ew. A bug."
And if that happened… if Xue Tuzi forgot everything, that meant forgetting Jiao Jiao, too.
Xue Laohu's gaze drifted toward the cradle, watching the child snore softly, his tiny hands curled into fists. He exhaled sharply. No. He couldn't do that. And even if he wanted to, he didn't have enough life points to waste. The pink hearts that once flickered with warmth had all turned pitch black. The romance that had once blossomed between them had withered away, fading like the last breath of summer.
A soft murmur broke his train of thought.
"Shizun…" Xue Tuzi's voice was quiet, almost delicate, but the weight behind it was anything but. "I intend to kill that demon."
Xue Laohu stiffened, his stomach flipping violently as his head snapped toward him. Xue Tuzi's expression was unreadable at first—calm, composed. But then he turned his face, and Xue Laohu caught a glimpse of something far more dangerous beneath the surface.
Shit.
Xue Laohu cursed internally, his fingers twitching as he pulled out his fan, snapping it open to shield his face. His mind raced for something to say, some way to stop this before it spiraled further out of control.
"Shizun," Xue Tuzi continued, his voice growing sharper, "you can't stop me."
He gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles turning white. Xue Laohu saw the way his chest rose and fell, the barely contained rage simmering just beneath the surface.
"A-Tuzi—"
"No!" Xue Tuzi snapped, cutting him off before he could say another word. "He—he tried to feed me to his disgusting demon wife!" His breathing turned uneven, fury curling his lips in disgust.
Now, now… that's not exactly true, Xue Laohu thought, rolling his eyes behind his fan.
"He—he used me," Xue Tuzi continued, his voice trembling with something raw and bitter. He reached for his shoulder, fingers digging into the bandages wrapped around his bare skin. His nails pressed in too hard, leaving red crescents in his own flesh.
His hands curled into fists, shaking.
"Shizun," he whispered, and this time his voice was laced with something dangerously fragile. "He benefited from the massacre. Do you not care?"
Xue Laohu hesitated, his grip tightening around the fan.
It wasn't that he didn't care. It was that Xue Tuzi was completely, utterly misunderstanding everything.
Biting his lip, he scrambled to find something—anything—to say.
"A-Tuzi, killing him won't bring the orphanage back," Xue Laohu finally spoke, his voice quiet yet firm as he reached out and pressed a steadying hand against Xue Tuzi's bleeding shoulder.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, all at once, Xue Tuzi let out a deep, heart-wrenching sob. The sound tore through the room, raw and unrestrained, loud enough to stir Jiao Jiao from his sleep.
"Mama!" the child wailed, throwing off his blankets as he scrambled upright in the cradle, his tiny hands grasping the wooden bars. His big, round eyes were glossy with sleep, confusion flickering across his delicate face.
In his haste, Jiao Jiao attempted to climb out, but his little limbs were uncoordinated, and with a soft thud, he tumbled down.
Xue Tuzi instantly shoved the blankets aside, rushing to scoop him up. "Xiao Jiao, where does it hurt?" he asked, his voice a soothing coo as he cradled the child close, running his hands over him to check for any sign of injury.
Jiao Jiao sniffled but didn't cry. Instead, he buried his face into Xue Tuzi's chest, his small hands gripping onto his soft skin as he sought comfort. Then, instinctively, he began nuzzling against his skin, searching to feed. Xue Tuzi shifted slightly, allowing the child to bite deep into his collar bone.
Xue Laohu, who had been watching the entire exchange in stunned silence, finally spoke. "…You still feed him?" His voice wavered between disbelief and something unreadable.
When Jiao Jiao had been just a tiny Gu worm, it had been amusing—almost endearing—to see the little larva latched onto Xue Tuzi's skin like some oversized leech. But now that he had a human form, it looked… strange. Oddly intimate.
Jiao Jiao, oblivious to Xue Laohu's bewilderment, continued feeding happily. That was, until his curious fingers tugged once more at Xue Tuzi's dangling jewels.
Swiftly, Xue Tuzi swatted his hand away.
The reaction was immediate. Jiao Jiao's pout deepened, and before Xue Tuzi could stop him, the child bit down—hard.
Xue Tuzi winced sharply, his breath hitching. "Xiao Jiao!" he scolded, but the child merely kicked his little feet, throwing a tiny but stubborn tantrum while remaining latched on. With practiced ease, Xue Tuzi bounced him a few times, rubbing his back in slow, soothing motions to settle him down.
Xue Laohu cleared his throat, folding his fan shut with a decisive snap. "You can't kill Shudu," he repeated, his tone more serious now. "You'd be killing Xiao Jiao's father."
"I am his father," Xue Tuzi cut him off, his voice low, sharp. He held the child closer. "I am all he needs. He doesn't need that demon."
Xue Laohu's fingers twitched. "A-Tuzi—"
But again, he was interrupted.
"Why does Shizun always side with him?" Xue Tuzi demanded, his voice rising with fury. His breath was uneven, his entire body trembling with barely contained emotion. "He has caused so much suffering. He has indulged in the blood of innocent children. He burned down your sect, slaughtered countless disciples, and yet—you still wish to spare his life. Could it be that—"
"Nonsense!" Xue Laohu's patience snapped. His hand came down on the table with a loud, resounding bang.
Jiao Jiao, nestled tightly in Xue Tuzi's arms, stirred at the sudden noise. His small body tensed, one eye cracking open to peer drowsily up at Xue Laohu.
Xue Laohu exhaled harshly. His mind raced, searching for something—anything—that could put an end to this conversation before it spiraled further out of control.
He turned his gaze toward the window, and in that instant, a blur of movement caught his eye. A shadow—small, swift—scattered across the ledge and disappeared.
Xiao Zongzi.
His heart pounded, but his face remained composed as he finally spoke.
"I told you that you can't kill him because…" He hesitated for the briefest of moments before continuing, voice steady despite the sweat forming at his temple.
"…Because he's already long gone."
The lie slipped out smoothly, but Xue Laohu felt the weight of it settle heavily in his chest.
If you can't fix it now, just put a bandage on it and come back to it later, he told himself, his grip tightening slightly on his fan.
But even as the words left his lips, he knew this wound wasn't something that could be so easily patched up.
Xiao Zongzi skittered swiftly across the rooftops, her many legs barely making a sound as she raced back to Shudu's quarters. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, her usually composed demeanor shaken. As she reached the window, she hesitated for only a second before slipping inside, her long, spindly limbs curling inward as she landed softly on the wooden floor.
"Master," she called, her voice hushed but urgent.
Shudu turned at the sound of her entrance, his sharp crimson eye shining flicking up from where he sat on the edge of his bed. He had been fastening the last of his armor's leather straps, but now, sensing her tension, he straightened, reaching for the comb on his bedside table. With practiced ease, he gathered his long, inky-black hair and began braiding it into a single plait down his back.
"How bad is it?" he asked, his voice calm, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath his words.
Xiao Zongzi swallowed hard. Sweat glistened on her thick brow, and she wrung her legs together, trying to compose herself before delivering the news. "It's…" she hesitated, shifting her weight from one leg to another, searching for a way to soften the blow. "Second Master—he… he wants you dead."
Shudu sighed, rolling his shoulders as if the weight of those words were nothing new. "Of course, he does." His voice was dry, almost amused. He placed a hand on his hip, standing with the grace of a warrior long accustomed to bad news. The golden light of the late morning sun streamed through the open window, illuminating his tan skin, casting sharp shadows along the hard lines of his muscular frame.
"But surely, if Master explains himself to Second Master, if you just—"
Shudu cut her off with a small shake of his head. "You know him, Xiao Zongzi. He's stubborn. Once his mind is set, it takes nothing short of a miracle to change it."
Xiao Zongzi's mandibles twitched anxiously, but she nodded. It was true. Xue Tuzi had always been like this—unyielding, driven by his emotions, unwilling to bend once he deemed someone an enemy.
Shudu turned away, crossing the room in a few long strides. He grabbed a loose blue shirt from the chair near his bed, shaking it out before slipping it over his broad shoulders. As he buttoned it up with deliberate, steady movements, he asked, "How is Xiao Jiao?"
"When I arrived, he was feeding," Xiao Zongzi answered quickly, eager to offer something—anything—that could be seen as good news. "It seems Second Master still holds him dear, so surely—"
"That buys us time," Shudu murmured, finishing the last button and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. "But not much."
He moved toward the small desk near the window, grabbing a canteen and slipping it into his belt. His gaze flickered toward Xiao Zongzi, unreadable yet determined.
"We leave now," he said firmly. "Best we depart before he notices."
Xiao Zongzi hesitated for only a fraction of a second before bowing her head. "Understood."
Without another word, she turned, her many legs moving in perfect synchronization as she climbed back out the window, vanishing into the bright daylight.
Shudu followed a moment later, but before he left, he cast one last glance toward the distant building where Xue Tuzi and Xiao Jiao remained. His fingers briefly tightened around the edge of the window frame.
Then, exhaling softly, he let go and disappeared into the morning sun.