Wùji's chest burned with the memory—every disgusting thing he had seen Mìng Yào's mother do with his father, back when his family was still whole. The fact that Mìng Yào was still allowed to stand here, within these walls, was itself unbelievable.
"Why? How?" Wùji asked, his voice tight with silent anxiety. He needed to know how he had been exposed so easily. Had he been followed? Had Mìng Yào overheard him talking with Lǐhán?
Mìng Yào said nothing at first. He only uttered a single, chilling sentence: "Wherever you go… I'll follow you. Dead or alive."
Wùji swallowed hard.
The answer was too bold,too final—leaving no room to climb down from or justify.
He parted his lips to argue, but no sound came out.
So he stayed silent.He didn't speak, didn't move. Not now, while the entire situation coiled around him, tight as a serpent.
His head felt like a heavy rock. His legs like dried-out leaves. His heart and lungs were hollow, as if all the water had been scorched from inside.
All he could think about was the downfall he would face if Mìng Yào said anything to his father. Yet, he couldn't make himself believe his father would take his side. Right?
He was the real son. Why would a servant's word hold the same weight?
He shut his eyes so tightly that a single tear was forced out—just as Mìng Yào pressed closer, leaning his weight against him in a show of dominance.
The tear was not born of fear, but of pure exhaustion. It was not allowed to fall peacefully. Mìng Yào slowly caught it with his tongue. The touch was slow. Hot. Wet.
Wùji's breath hitched faintly, his jaw clenching. The humiliation burned like spices rubbed into an open cut. Disgust—for the act, for the person—raised goosebumps across his neck.
"I said—" Wùji hissed, but his voice died before he could finish, crushed by the heavy, suffocating pressure in his chest.
Silence.
Wùji didn't want to speak with a broken voice.He refused to look weak.
And Mìng Yào…
Wùji wasn't sure of his actual motive.
Was the man even in his right mind?
Mìng Yào only sighed, his hot breath ghosting over Wùji's skin. His other hand came up to cup Wùji's face—a gesture that felt caught somewhere between dominance and a twisted mockery of tenderness.
Wùji jerked his face away sharply and grabbed Mìng Yào's shoulder, his grip so tight it felt like he could tear the flesh from the bone. He couldn't take it anymore. All his composure was cracking—he could feel it splintering.
"Move," he finally spoke, the word barely a whisper.
"You ruined it," he whispered next, the sound harsh and bitter. He looked at Mìng Yào with watery, bloodshot eyes. "You ruined everything I had."
Mìng Yào's lips curved into a smirk too faint to decipher—bitter? Predatory? Wùji's head wasn't working. The servant tilted his head slightly, as if ready to listen to Wùji's every word, or his silence.
It made Wùji's anger boil over. "Stay away from me! I have always hated you, and I always will—even if you follow me dead or alive!" His yell was sharp enough to express his inner struggle, yet low enough to keep the secret contained within these four walls.
He clenched his fist. The already-cut palm bled anew as he shot his hand out and grabbed Mìng Yào's throat. His own blood painted a stark mark against the servant's skin. "If you try to do anything… anything with that information… I'll be the killer. Your own Hàngwō master, the one who ends you!"
Mìng Yào still didn't pull away. He just looked at him—and then covered Wùji's bloody hand with his own. Their fingers tangled together as if they belonged that way.
"It would be my pleasure… if it were by your hand," Mìng Yào purred. "But as I said before… lies can never stay hidden. They will find the killer, today or later. And then?" His tone was pure predator. "Your own father will be the one cutting off your head. Isn't that… much worse than anything you're hiding now?"
Wùji's head pounded with the memories. The slaps across faces. The helpless cries. The visions were eating him alive. His breath quickened silently; his eyes could no longer hold back the tears now flooding his vision.
He shook his head slowly, eyes wide. "What do you want from me? What is your problem?" Wùji's voice was thick with years of old exhaustion.
"You're not asking because you care," Mìng Yào said, his tone a mocking, affectionate whisper—soft, gentle, and utterly wrong. "You're asking because you feel helpless right now."
"I don't care," Wùji said bitterly, staring at nothing. His eyes still stung with tears he no longer seemed to notice. "What I cared about was what you destroyed. Now, only my Zhú fù and Sūjīn Gēge are left."
"That's the problem," Mìng Yào murmured into his ear, the words feeling like needles. "If you had cared… we could have had something more tonight. How sad."
"S-shut up and leave me. Stop pressing yourself so close like that," Wùji said, his voice tired. He felt as though his already colorless world had now lost even its shades of black and white.
He tried to pull away again, but Mìng Yào held him tighter against himself, as if his own life depended on it.
"It wasn't my fault for what happened. Why do you still blame me?" Mìng Yào's voice held a thread of raw desperation.
"I saw what they did," Wùji said, his eyes finally meeting his. "You were their son. Aren't you the same?"
Mìng Yào swallowed hard. He forcefully cupped Wùji's cheeks again. Pain, humiliation, and pride all melted into a single, searing liquid. "Why are you judging everything without listening to me even once?!"
"YOU'LL LET GO OF ME OR—" Wùji didn't even finish his words. Instead, he snatched up a sharp, broken piece of his small ornamental crown from the marble table and stabbed it deep into Mìng Yào's upper arm.
His body's strength was failing, but his overflowing feelings were hyped up beyond care.
Mìng Yào hissed in pain, letting go and stumbling back to land heavily against the opposite wall. He lowered his gaze, cradling his injured arm, and pulled the sharp fragment out.
"I… I never meant to make things… this way," Mìng Yào said. Unseen, boiling tears dropped to the floor, mingling with the spatters of Wùji's blood.
Wùji let out a shaky sigh, as if he could finally breathe. His feet could barely hold him. He slowly looked at Mìng Yào, now utterly confused about what to feel, do, or say.
But the breath fled his lungs entirely when he saw something he had prayed never to see again.
He saw the curse—System Tearstone. Here. Right behind Mìng Yào like a dark, clinging shadow. Its mouth hung wide open as if it had no jaw. Teeth were bared; a venom-dripping tongue lolled out.
The curse chuckled faintly, its voice double-layered and haunting.
"First him…then others… and you… just like them…"
Wùji didn't know if it was an illusion or not. He only knew he could hear and see this thing again—here, inside his own clan.
His already overwhelmed heart and mind could take no more.
"No…I haven't unsealed you…" A faint, broken whisper escaped his lips.
Mìng Yào froze.
Wùji's vision darkened, tunneling to nowhere. His eyes rolled back. His body crumpled from its standing position.
Mìng Yào's eyes snapped to him, all earlier distress forgotten. "Wùji!" he hissed.
That was the last thing Wùji heard before everything faded out.
He fell into the large, violet clam-shaped tub filled with cold water. Mìng Yào lunged after him, catching him. They were both soaked instantly.
Mìng Yào cradled Wùji's head, saving it from another impact against the tub's hard edge.
"Wùji!Wake up!" Mìng Yào hissed, his hands trembling as he tried to rouse him. He looked around frantically—no one else was there.
Then why did Wùji look as though he'd seen something he shouldn't have? Mìng Yào didn't know.
Or perhaps,he didn't know what he knew.
Wùji's face was pale with something unknown, wet with water. His whole violet robe clung to his body too tightly.
Mìng Yào gathered him into his arms, lifting him in a bridal hold. Water dripped from them both. He looked down at Wùji, his expression deeply, thoughtfully conflicted.
*
The first morning light felt like a gentle snowfall over the rooftops—almost too gentle. It made one realize how long and dark the night had been, even if not everyone knew what their young master had endured.
Wùji's eyes felt too heavy to lift. He was almost afraid to open them, terrified the curse's illusion would be waiting to traumatize him again. His eyeballs moved restlessly beneath his lids. His pulse raced a silent, frantic rhythm under his skin.
"Wùji… are you alright?" Sūjīn's soft, worried voice was the first thing he heard. A gentle hand rested on his forehead, holding a lightly damp cloth. His brother's soothing qì flowed into him, a gentle current trying to anchor his comfort.
He had a fever. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. Just as he was about to open his eyes, he heard a cold voice.
His father's voice. Suspicious. Deadly.
"Have you done something wrong there,Wàngjī?"
Wùji felt his heart rate spike again. God… that means… Mìng Yào hasn't said anything yet? What had happened after he fainted? His robes were dry and perfect.
Who had changed him?And the biggest question now burned in his mind: Why did the unbreakable seal on System Tearstone almost open so easily to his accidental blood?
For now, Wùji stayed quiet. He didn't open his eyes. He hoped his father wouldn't realize he was awake. He didn't have the strength to face him now. He kept pretending to sleep.
"Zhú fù, don't be so strict with him right away. He's truly sick," Sūjīn said politely to their father, trying to stave off his anger. "Mìng Yào said he was found fainted in the washroom."
Wùji opened his eyes just a sliver to survey the room.
He saw his father and brother before him.In the corner, Mìng Yào stood silently, as if he had seen or heard nothing beyond a simple fainting spell.
His eyes…
They were still fixed on Wùji.But this time, last night's predatory golden light was nowhere to be seen.
Nor was any hint of the real reason for his collapse.
The arm where Wùji had stabbed him with the crown fragment was neatly bandaged—a stark, silent reminder of the previous night's violence.
"I will go there to check," his father declared, the words a cold stab.
Wùji felt his breath quicken silently, despite his best efforts to stay calm.
"If things are as they should be, good. And if even a little is wrong…" His father's gaze bored into Wùji, the green in his eyes too bright, too harsh for the soft morning. "You will be the first heir of Hàngwō to die by my own hands."
Mìng Yào swallowed hard and silently stepped forward, his usual subservient self, offering a large hand fan to cool the Dàozǔ.
Sūjīn quickly stood, placing a firm, respectful hand on his father's shoulder—a privilege only the eldest child possessed. "Zhú fù, please. Wùji hasn't done anything. If he had, chaos would have erupted outside by now. Everything is normal."
His father's eyes snapped to him—a cold fire that burned, then softened just a fraction. The Dàozǔ took a deep breath and let it go. "Fine. But mark my words. I never lie. Not to anyone. Not even to myself."
Then he turned on his heel, dusted off one sleeve as if brushing away his anger, and strode from the room, leaving Wùji with Sūjīn and Mìng Yào.
A gentle, fragile silence filled the morning. Sūjīn sighed, his expression softening as he looked at Wùji.
Wùji finally opened his eyes fully. His heart still raced with a frantic, gnawing worry. The question echoed: What if the curse was too clever this time? What if it didn't bring immediate chaos, but something far more dangerous, slowly and surely?
Sūjīn's voice broke through his inner panic. "You're awake. How are you feeling?" He smiled softly, leaning closer.
Sūjīn gently stroked his softly dried violet hair. Wùji's own eyes softened. At least my gēge knows… I'm not evil, just because I'm curious and emotionally dry.
But his eyes snapped to Mìng Yào when the servant stepped closer to take the damp cloth from his forehead to re-wet it. Wùji's reaction was immediate, his body still tense.
Mìng Yào's eyes met his briefly before looking away.
Sūjīn blinked, not quite understanding the silent exchange passing between the violet and gold gazes.
Then something made Wùji's eyes go wide.
"You should really get along with Mìng Yào," his brother said with a gentle, almost proud smile, placing a hand on the servant's shoulder. "He was the one who changed your robes after you fell in the washroom."
Mìng Yào offered a faint, polite smile and nodded once to Sūjīn. Then, like a cherry on top, he added, "Always ready to serve, your Highness."
Wùji blinked, then breathed out, "W-what??" He looked from his brother to Mìng Yào and back. His eyes burned dry, yet his shock was so profound it momentarily overrode everything else.
Everything was already a tangled mess, and Mìng Yào's dual-faced behavior was making it impossible to navigate.
Sūjīn didn't press the topic. He just fixed Wùji's hair lightly before saying, "Your meal will be sent here. No classes today. Just rest. I heard you hit your head—do not move too much. I'll manage the rest."
Wùji parted his lips to speak, then closed them and simply nodded, letting out a resigned sigh. He turned toward the window, eyes half-lidded, his hair brushing gently against his face.
Sūjīn released a relieved sigh of his own, stood straight, and ordered Mìng Yào, "Yào, come with me to fetch Wùji's meal. Help him eat as well."
Mìng Yào nodded and bowed once, his usual polite smile in place. "As you wish, Làrà Kùmsūn."
Sūjīn walked out of the room. Mìng Yào followed—but paused for a moment in the doorway.
Wùji looked toward where his brother had disappeared.
Mìng Yào's eyes met his once more.Something unusual flickered in them.
Sharp,yet soft.
Mocking softness?The remnant of last night's ego? Or something more? It definitely couldn't be anything pure.
He was always the one who acted perfectly around everyone else, yet was nothing but a creeping shadow to Wùji.
Wùji's cheeks flushed faintly at the thought: He changed my clothes. That means he saw… everything. Did he… do something more?
Mìng Yào just smiled a little wider—a smile that still didn't reach his eyes—and then he was gone, his footsteps fading down the hall.
***
Meanwhile, in Lìng's house, chaos reigned.
Lìng was utterly confused about what to wear. He couldn't just go to meet a Dàozǔ without looking like a proper gentleman.
His two birds perched on his shoulders, deftly dodging the articles of clothing he was throwing from his shelf in frustration. He couldn't find his new light blue robe—his favorite, and by far his best one.
Dūdò was nestled contentedly in his freshly combed brown hair, eyes closed.
"A-yōng! Have you seen my light blue robe?!" Lìng called, his voice muffled as he rummaged deeper into the shelf.
"Which one?" his brother called back, distractedly playing with one of the other birds Lìng raised for sale. "The one Dàdà brought or the one Jiějie brought?"
Lìng huffed, rolling his royal blue eyes. "Same thing! They brought them together! Now, where are they?!"
"Gone the way of the flowerpot you just broke," his brother replied airily. "It was my favorite, you know."
Lìng froze for a second at the mention of the flowerpot—the same one that had fallen and shattered into six perfect pieces for no reason at all.
"I didn't break it! Maybe a bat got in and knocked it over! There's a bat cave nearby, you know! Now, will you just tell me where it is?"
"Oh, right, I remember now!" his brother said, a mischievous lilt in his voice. "Mámá washed them earlier. And Ťitō… well, he just had his business all over it~"
Lìng groaned and covered his face with his hands. "You know Ťitō is messy! And you still gave him my new robe to play with?!"
"He couldn't sleep without your scent~" his brother sing-songed.
"Shut up! You're just getting revenge for the pot, aren't you?!" Lìng's yell made Xīdo hop up onto his head, nestling close to his half-done bun, while Dūdò nuzzled deeper into his hair.
Lìng groaned again, raising his hands as if he wanted to strangle the air, then let them drop in defeat. He couldn't believe his perfect robe was ruined right before the most important day. Now he had nothing suitable to wear.
His sister glided into the chaos and wrapped her arms around him. "What's wrong with my Lìng?" she asked affectionately.
"Jiějie… my robe…"
"Why don't you wear the red one? It's beautiful too," she suggested softly, a mischievous wink making his cheeks burn.
"N-no, not that one. It looks too much like wedding attire. I'll look like a lunatic with a bird on my shoulder," he insisted.
His sister cupped his face. "Oh no, you'll look magnificent in it today. Who knows… perhaps he'll be so impressed, he'll even agree to attend my wedding? I would love to see a Dàozǔ as a guest."
Lìng blinked thoughtfully. A comfortable, considering silence fell.
Then,a faint, determined smile touched his lips. If his sister wanted it, he would do it. A wedding was special—first and last.
Not something done twice.
"I'll wear it then," he said softly. "For the sake of your happiness. Perhaps… I might even invite him directly."
His sister's eyes lit up. She hugged him tight and kissed his forehead. "That's my Lìng Lìng."
As she left, Lìng turned to the modest shelf holding his few fine garments. His fingers brushed the fabric of the red robe—simple in cut, but dyed a deep, passionate crimson that seemed to hold the last light of sunset. It was beautiful. And dangerous.
A soft, nervous flutter rose in his chest, unrelated to the birds on his shoulder.
Today, he wouldn't just be delivering a songbird.
He would be walking into the dragon's den, dressed in the color of luck, celebration…
and perhaps a warning too .
***