The scene shifted to the inner sanctum of the Lanxie Clan.
Língxi lay upon the bed, his complexion starkly contrasting with the darkness of the room. Surprisingly, he was paler than fresh snow, a fragile porcelain doll broken by unseen hands. His pulse was silently racing, a rapid, frantic thrumming visible against the thin skin of his throat. Beneath his translucent eyelids, his eyes darted restlessly, trapped in a waking nightmare.
Even his favorite calming aroma—a blend of rare sandalwood and cold mountain herbs—could not coax him into a peaceful slumber that night.
His long, beautiful white hair was half-wet, fanned out like spilled milk against the black silk bedsheets. Gone were the heavy, luxurious ceremonial robes he had donned before departing for the temple. Instead, he wore only a single, thin inner robe of white silk, loosely wrapped around his body.
Even the temple gem embedded in his forehead, usually a vibrant symbol of his power, looked dimmer and paler than before. His deteriorating condition felt like the result of a storm that had arrived without thunder—unexpected and devastating.
Beside him sat Lànhuā.
She was still recovering from her own deeply traumatizing experience at the temple, yet this new blow—seeing her invincible father so reduced—left her silently shaken. She had held herself together physically moments ago, but her mounting worry for Língxi now threatened to undo her fragile recovery.
Her father wasn't fully awake... not yet. She was grateful, at least, that he was alive. Today was supposed to be a day of serenity, a celebration of peace. Instead, it had been a catastrophe disguised in silence.
Lànhuā reached out and checked Língxi's pulse. It felt weakly fast, a fluttery, inconsistent rhythm. To an outsider, he might look peaceful, but Lànhuā wasn't naive enough to be reassured by appearances.
She swallowed hard, pushing down her own panic. She reached for the damp towel she had prepared moments ago, sitting on the low, black-gold marbled stool. She squeezed the excess water from the cloth and gently placed it over Língxi's burning forehead.
"You are still burning hot, Father. I don't understand," she whispered to herself, her eyes fixed on his face. She needs to make sure the clan's stability remains, just as Língxi has always done until now.
Hiss.
Língxi recoiled sharply at the sudden coldness of the fabric on his skin.
Coldness used to be his comfort zone—he was a creature of ice and winter, always preferring the chill over the heat. But tonight, with his spiritual veins in chaos, the towel felt like boiling water thrown onto raw nerves.
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his lips parting with a weak, pained whimper. His breathing hitched, becoming ragged and shallow, silently soaking his neck and collarbone with a thin sheen of cold sweat.
"No... don't touch... my temple gem..." Língxi whispered, his voice cracking. He turned his head sharply away from Lànhuā, burying his face in the pillow. "Don't touch me... my skin... it is getting... old again..."
Lànhuā gasped softly, the towel slipping from his forehead to the sheets.
"It is alright, Father... it is alright. No one is touching your forehead gem, nor your body... you are perfectly fine. Your skin is as flawless as it was meant to be."
Lànhuā quickly moved to comfort him, her own awful memories of the day shrinking in the face of his desperate, delirious plea. She knew Língxi was a person, yes, but to her, he had always been a god—the one who prioritized her protection when no one else was left.
Língxi had lived a long time... an almost never-ending life. Someone, perhaps, had given him a painfully real reason to go on, even when it hurt. Hearing him fear aging, fear being touched, made her heart ache.
"Father, don't strain yourself. Your fever is rising, but everyone is fine," Lànhuā echoed softly, placing a gentle, respectful hand over Língxi's tense right shoulder to ground him.
His shoulder visibly seized up under her touch, pulling away from the pillow. Lànhuā's light-blue eyes looked drained—almost a colorless gray in her worry. She parted her lips to speak again.
But before she could, Língxi suddenly jolted upright.
He sat up with a gasp, straightening his spine instinctively. He panted heavily, his royal-blue eyes flying open, wide and unseeing for a moment. His chest heaved. He looked like a panicked bird that had just broken free from a cage, or a wild animal cornered by hunters.
His hands trembled violently, a mix of physical weakness, fever, and head-spinning dizziness.
But as he sat there, clarity began to bleed into his panic. He looked down at himself.
He was wearing nothing but a single, thin silk robe. This was his underlayer. If he wasn't wearing his formal robes... his whole attire had been changed.
Then... who changed him?
Lànhuā? No, she wouldn't dare. She was a grown woman, and Língxi was her father. It would be highly inappropriate for his daughter to strip him and dress him, especially given his strict adherence to propriety.
A servant? No. It was his standing order that no servant was ever to touch him for intimate tasks such as changing clothes. He guarded his privacy like a dragon guarded gold.
So now, only one name roamed in his head, echoing off the four walls of his mind.
Kage Ou?
Did that mean his oldest friend... that shadow-cloaked man... saw everything? Everything he kept secretly hidden? The scars, the marks, the truth of his body that he never let anyone see?
The single thought sent a chilling shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the fever. His face burned with a sudden, overwhelming embarrassment. His throat felt dry as dust, his voice abandoning him completely.
He looked at Lànhuā. Her face was flushed now, mirroring his own embarrassment. He looked like a white bird dipping its beak into red wine.
"L... Lànhuā... who—" his voice barely rose above a whisper. It was tight, shaky, filled with shame and disbelief.
Lànhuā cleared her throat. She placed a comforting hand over Língxi's trembling fist, smiling nervously as if preparing to say something that might make him faint all over again.
Língxi exhaled shakily through his mouth, his beautiful white hair falling messily over his eyes in a way that was imperfect, yet breathtaking. One hand gripped the silk at his thigh; the other tightened around Lànhuā's hand, bracing for the impact.
"Yes... Uncle changed your clothes..." she whispered.
She paused, biting her lower lip, her eyes darting away before falling back to her father. Língxi was looking at her with wide, horrified eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"It was... urgent. Your condition might have grown worse, and you couldn't rest comfortably like that, all soaked in sweat and rain. I am not allowed to do it... nor are the servants... so... only Uncle could do it carefully for you," Lànhuā breathed out, her words tumbling over each other.
She saw her father's face turn as red as a beet. He froze completely.
"Wh... What!?" he gasped.
He looked away sharply, slapping a hand over his face to hide the burning shame.
"Earth of God, please take me away!" he groaned into his palm, his voice muffled but heavy with mortification.
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Kage Ou really did see everything... everything.