Chapter 48
Wuming's gaze shifted to him then—not surprised, not impressed, but attentive in that quiet, measuring way of his.
"You're fairly perceptive," he said.
Xie Zheng's smile widened instantly. "Thanks for the compliment."
"That wasn't a compliment," Wuming replied as he straightened the edge of his robe, adjusting his cuffs with precise fingers. "It was a statement. There's a difference."
The correction came without edge, yet it still landed.
Xie Zheng huffed lightly, though the amusement in his eyes remained. "Fine, fine… statement then. Still counts."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow against his knee, his tone turning more thoughtful. "She had pink hair… but not just pink. It was like… a Yinghua blossom in full bloom. Dark pink, soft, but not fragile. And her eyes…" he paused, searching for the right words, "…teal. Like a deep emerald sea. And her presence—"
He stopped.
Then tilted his head.
"…somewhat like mine?"
Wuming, now fully dressed, moved toward his boots, his expression unchanged as he bent slightly to slip them on. "No," he said plainly. "She doesn't have a presence like you."
Xie Zheng blinked once.
"…Oh?"
"You intrude," Wuming continued, fastening the last strap with quiet efficiency. "You occupy space without permission. She doesn't."
He straightened then, his gaze briefly meeting Xie Zheng's again.
"She observes. Waits. Understands when to act. And when not to."
A pause.
"Patience is not absence. It's control."
Xie Zheng stared at him for a moment.
Then narrowed his eyes slightly.
"…Are you calling me small-headed?"
The question came half-serious, half-amused.
"One moment you're acknowledging me, the next you're dissecting me," he continued, folding his arms loosely. "That's a strange way of speaking, big brother. Hard to even get offended when everything you say makes sense… and doesn't at the same time."
Wuming didn't respond to that.
Instead, he moved past it entirely.
"You said she carried me?"
The shift was subtle—but intentional.
Xie Zheng caught it, but didn't push further. "Yeah," he replied, leaning back into the chair near the desk, settling into it comfortably as if he had already decided he belonged there. "She did."
Wuming went quiet.
Just for a moment.
Not long enough to be noticed by most—but long enough for something to pass through his thoughts.
She went that far…?
What an idiot.
His gaze lowered slightly, unfocused, as if replaying something only he could see.
If she continues like this… she'll be used.
Kindness without caution is just another form of weakness.
A faint exhale.
…I'll thank her tomorrow.
The thought ended there.
Sealed.
He lifted his head again, his expression returning to its usual stillness. "And the boy with blond hair?" he asked. "The one carrying another?"
Xie Zheng perked up slightly. "Oh, that's Weiyang," he said easily. "Nice guy. Loud, but not annoying. He was carrying a girl too—black hair. Looked exhausted. I guess that was your maid from what i heard, from other maids."
"She's not maid, she's a ….teammate." his voice carried hesitation.
Wuming's gaze flickered faintly.
So she managed… again.
A brief, almost imperceptible shift crossed his mind.
Saved by the same person twice…
…and carried as well.
A pause.
Then—
What a life.
Not bitter.
Not mocking.
Just… acknowledged.
And strangely—
Not unwelcome.
A faint, quiet thought followed, almost detached from everything else.
Women are strong.
…unpredictably so.
He stood up fully then, adjusting the final fold of his robe, his posture returning to that composed, distant stillness as if nothing had interrupted it.
"So we have guests?" he asked.
Xie Zheng nodded, already half-risen from the chair. "Probably. The rest of your team went back. Everyone's in the hall, I think. Talking… or pretending to."
Wuming's gaze shifted briefly toward the door.
"My mother?" he asked.
"And father?"
Xie Zheng smiled lightly. "Most likely there as well. It looked like one of those long conversations adults enjoy more than necessary."
A faint pause.
Then—
"Want to go?"
Wuming didn't hesitate.
"Sure."
And with that, he moved toward the door—not waiting, not leading, but simply walking as if the path ahead had already been decided.
Xie Zheng followed.
Because some distances—Once crossed—Don't return to what they were before.
The corridor stretched ahead of them in long, quiet lines, the lanterns casting a dim, steady glow that barely disturbed the stillness of the night. Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor, measured and unhurried, yet carrying a presence that did not go unnoticed—even by the silence itself.
Wuming walked ahead.
His hands rested behind his back, one clasping the other just as in the posture Xie Zheng had seen—controlled, composed, almost effortless. His shoulders were straight, his spine aligned with an unnatural precision, his movements neither rigid nor relaxed, but something in between… something refined through habit rather than thought. There was no wasted motion in him, no excess, no hesitation.
It was not just a way of walking.
It was an aura.
Cold.
Distant.
Untouchable.
Xie Zheng followed beside him, though his attention had long stopped observing the path ahead. Instead, it lingered on Wuming—on the way he moved, the way he carried himself, the quiet dominance in something as simple as posture. There was no arrogance in it, no display, no attempt to impress—
And yet it did.
Naturally.
Without effort.
Xie Zheng narrowed his eyes slightly, then straightened his own shoulders, pulling his back upright, attempting to mirror the same composure. He clasped his hands behind him as well, adjusting his stride to match, trying to replicate that same calm authority.
A few steps.
Then another.
And then—
He faltered.
Not visibly to most.
But enough.
"…How do you walk like this, huh?" he muttered, the faint frustration slipping through despite his attempt to maintain the form.
Wuming did not look at him.
But he heard.
Of course he did.
And in that moment, his thoughts moved—not outwardly, not visibly—but inward, as they often did, threading through something deeper than the present.
People say they can change. They can't. The corridor passed quietly around them. It's in their heart… and blood.
His gaze remained forward, unfaltering.
You can change your expectations. You can set boundaries and decide how much of yourself you give. You can refocus your attention. You can practice acceptance… and learn to let go.
Their footsteps remained in sync—though one was natural, the other forced.
But you can't mold someone into what you want them to be. You can't force a shift before they're ready. You can't ask them to become something other than what they truly are.
A faint pause.
Not in his steps.
But in his thoughts.
You shouldn't have to.
The lantern light flickered slightly as a soft wind passed through the corridor.
And that…
That is a painful truth.
Xie Zheng huffed quietly beside him, still trying to adjust his posture, still failing in small, irritating ways.
Wuming did not acknowledge it.
Not yet.
Because his thoughts had not finished.
But that doesn't mean people don't change.
His eyes remained steady.
There are two kinds. Those who never do…And those who are shaped by time itself.
Another step.
Another breath.
Time changes everything. So never assume you know someone. People shift… constantly.
They are never still.
A silence settled within him then—deeper than the one around them.
I wonder…
If I will ever change.
Beside him, Xie Zheng finally gave up maintaining the posture perfectly, his shoulders dropping just slightly as he let out a small, annoyed breath. Then, almost childishly, he pouted.
"Tell me?"
The question came out half-demand, half-curiosity.
Wuming's steps did not slow.
His posture did not break.
But this time—
He answered.
"It's hard," he said calmly, his voice carrying no weight, yet settling heavily all the same. "It comes after many years… of stoic discipline."
The words were simple.
But they were not empty.
Because behind them—
Lived something unspoken.
A memory.
Not of this life.
But of another.
Cruel.
Impatient.
Merciless.
A version of himself that did not walk with restraint—
But carved through everything in its path.
The contrast lingered only for a moment.
Then vanished.
Just as quietly as it had appeared.
They kept walking.
Side by side.
One trying to understand.
The other already too far ahead to explain.
That was all.
But it was enough to carry weight.
Xie Zheng stared at him again, then suddenly shifted, his curiosity changing direction entirely. "Have you read all the books of the Xuan clan?" he asked, his tone rising with interest. "All twelve volumes… and the mantras too? Those are mostly for the heir… right?"
"Yes," Wuming replied.
Just that.
No pride. No emphasis.
Just truth.
Xie Zheng froze for a second, then his eyes lit up instantly, like a drop of water falling into still water—ripples spreading outward, bright and alive. He clasped his hands together in excitement, stepping slightly closer.
"Oh my god… it's just like my father and Uncle Katsuro," he said, his voice almost glowing with realization. "The way my father looks at him—as someone ahead, someone to admire, someone to reach… I think… I see you the same way."
Wuming's steps slowed slightly.
"I am no one's competition," he said.
Xie Zheng blinked, then laughed lightly. "Competition? Who would even compete with you?" he said without hesitation. "I don't want to compete. I want to stand beside you. The way my father stands beside yours."
For the first time, Wuming turned his head and looked at him properly.
"Why?" he asked.
There was no mockery. Only a quiet, direct question.
Xie Zheng smiled, unshaken. "Why not, look for something bigger than that?" he said. "My father finds peace in it. Pride too. Standing beside his elder brother—that's enough for him. And you know… he's the only one in the empire who can stand as your father's rival… and still be his closest ally."
He paused for a moment, then added casually, "And our mothers are best friends too."
Wuming stopped walking.
"What a strange arrangement," he murmured.
Then, after a brief pause, something else surfaced in his thoughts—unexpected, uninvited.
Weiyang.
He glanced forward again. "You met Weiyang."
"Yes," Xie Zheng replied immediately. "He's… a really nice person."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
Then, as if remembering something, Xie Zheng added, "He said something strange though… about his parents. He said they're in heaven. Do you know what he meant?"
Wuming stopped.
Completely.
For a brief moment, even the air seemed to pause with him.
"He said that?" he asked.
Xie Zheng nodded.
Wuming turned his gaze away and resumed walking.
But something had shifted.
Inside.
What a monster.
The thought came not with hatred—but with something far more complex.
He let out a quiet laugh, barely audible.
All this time… I thought he had everything.
A proper family.
A normal life.
Something stable.
Something… ordinary.
For a fleeting moment, he had even felt something close to jealousy.
How ridiculous.
It seems… we are not so different after all.
Two sides of the same coin.
One bathed in light.
The other… shaped by shadow.
And yet—
Both broken in ways the world would never fully understand.
Wuming fell silent after his own thoughts, the faint echo of them still lingering within him like something unresolved, something unfinished. Then, almost absently, he spoke, his voice low yet steady, as if stating something obvious rather than profound. "It seems… We have three monsters in my team. Lin Yi… and Yinghua—their true power is still unknown. Who knows what kind of monstrous group people have created."
Xie Zheng turned his head toward him, studying his expression carefully, as if trying to determine whether those words carried pride, fear, or something far more complicated. But Wuming's face revealed nothing. It never did.
By the time the silence settled again, they had already reached the hall.
End of 48