Soon A week had passed
Life continued in its slow snail paced crawl, the academy elder talked and talked and talked until all that spewed from his mouth was empty chatter and Fang Zheng thought his ears might bleed—if only the elder would stop talking and let him go home, he could finally sleep.
"Right now you are all Rank one Gu masters…"
There were around 57 blur-faced bodies surrounding Fang Zheng in the lecture hall, all seated and listening attentively to the elder's droning voice, unfortunately Fang Zheng at the first row while Fang Yuan was slumped over on his desk sleeping in the corner by the window.
"Elder sir, i've heard this ever since i was young that there are Rank one Gu masters, Rank twos and so on, may you explain more?" A young teen stood up and asked, his voice cracking halfway through.
The elder nodded and waved for the young man to sit back down. He cleared his throat, adjusting his robes with a practiced flick of his wrists. "There are nine ranks, Rank one going up to Rank nine, Rank one Gu masters are mere fledglings—children dipping their toes into cultivation. Each rank is is considered a big realm spread into 4 smaller realms, initial, middle, upper and peak stage—"
The elder's lecture dissolved into static as Fang Zheng's peripheral vision caught Fang Yuan shifting—just a slight tilt of his head, the barest adjustment of his posture. It sent a jolt through Fang Zheng's spine like a live wire. He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached, forcing his eyes forward while his pulse thundered in his ears. The elder was drawing crude diagrams in the air with his gu worms now, luminous trails of energy illustrating cultivation stages, but the shapes might as well have been chicken scratch for all Fang Zheng could focus on.
"—As for Rank A talents…the primeval sea is plenty, this kind of talent in a person is most gifted and most suited for a Gu Master's cultivation…"
After saying this Fang Zheng felt multiple sets of eyes land on him, filled with envy and jealousy, however naturally some wandered to Fang Yuan too who was sleeping carelessly.
"Look at him, he's still sleeping…" someone whispered from behind him,
"Hes been sleeping continuously for a week now. How is he still tired?"
"Well I heard he was awake all night wandering at the edges of the village."
"Apparently he holds a wine jar dead drunk—wandering at night like that. I wonder how he hasn't gotten into an 'accident'."
"Well that's because the village surroundings have been cleared clean, lucky for him.."
The fellow classmate's gossiped voice dripped with thinly veiled malice, whispering here in there with their buzzing voices surrounding Fang Zheng's ears—itching at him, crawling under his skin like ants. Fang Yuan, wandering drunk at night? Since when did his brother drink? Since when did he care enough about anything to drown it in alcohol? The thought hooked into Fang Zheng's ribs and twisted. He should know these things. He would know, if they hadn't—
Once again the noise felt like cicadas gnawing at Fang Zheng's skull—he wished he could crack his own head open and scrape them out. The elder's words blurred into meaningless sounds, indistinguishable from the whispers behind him. He really never liked cicadas…
"Ah well the blow was just too big, who could blame him? To be surpassed so thoroughly by his own brother..."
"Hailed as a genius only to end up as a mere C rank, Pfft at least he didnt end up D rank, what a waste."
In the classroom, as the chattering got louder and louder the academy elder's brow also furrowed, the teens were all gigging and showing liveliness while Fang Yuan was slumped over and Fang Zheng was staring at nothing.
The academy elder's voice cut through the murmurs like a dull blade. "Enough. Silence." The command landed flat, but the students' whispers died instantly—not out of respect, but because the elder's fingers had begun glowing with the faint green light of a discipline Gu. Fang Zheng watched the threat passively, his own fingers twitching against his thigh. He could still feel the phantom imprint of Fang Yuan's wrist in his palm—that awful, lifeless coldness.
Fang Zheng's fingers dug deeper into his thighs until the fabric of his robes threatened to tear. The elder droned on about "primeval essence circulation," but the words evaporated before they reached his ears. His gaze kept slipping sideways—toward the window, toward the slumped figure bathed in late afternoon light.
Fang Zheng's head started to hurt.
The elder's voice was still droning on about something—rank advancements, and aperture, Fang Zheng wasn't really listening when he felt it. That prickling sensation at the base of his neck, like someone had dragged a knife point lightly across his skin. He didn't need to turn his head to know Fang Yuan was staring at him, and it felt like cold water had been poured on him, snapping him from his daze instantly.
Just that thought alone was enough to get Fang Zheng's hopes up, his heart skipping a beat before logic crushed it flat. Fang Yuan stared in the way one might watch ants scurry before stepping on them. Still, that thought his brother was looking near his direction at all was enough to make his body feel light and bubbly and filled with nice sensations he didn't yet have the words to describe.
His lips twitched, fighting a stupid smile before Fang Zheng forced himself to look back at the lecturing elder—he couldn't look desperate. He couldn't let Fang Yuan know how pathetic his younger brother really was, how much power he had over him with just a glance.
But really, the ringing in his ear was becoming bothersome…
The lecture hall's wooden floor creaked under Fang Zheng's sudden movement as he stood—too abrupt, too loud. The elder's words stuttered to a halt mid-sentence. Fifty-six heads swiveled toward him, but Fang Zheng only saw the fifty-seventh—Fang Yuan, the way his loose hair curtained his face like a funeral shroud while he laid down again.
"Excuse me i—i don't feel well, forgive me."
The words tumbled out before Fang Zheng could stop them, shaky and too loud in the sudden silence of the lecture hall. The elder's eyes narrowed—calculating, weighing whether to press the issue—but Fang Zheng was already moving, his chair scraping against the floorboards like a wounded animal. The whispers started up again behind him, hushed and hungry, but he didn't care. His pulse hammered in his throat as he ran out of the suddenly crowded room, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Outside, the afternoon sun blazed down, blinding in its intensity, casting long shadows across the academy courtyard. Fang Zheng staggered forward, his vision swimming at the edges, until his knees slammed into the rough ground. A surge of nausea gripped him, and saliva pooled in his mouth as a wave of sickness overtook him. Within moments, he was vomiting violently—acid searing his throat. But there was little to expel since he had been too nervous to eat that morning, only clear, white mucus dripped from his lips.
The courtyard tiles burned against Fang Zheng's palms as he spat the last bitter threads of bile onto the ground. His breath came in ragged, wet pulls—each inhale scraping his throat raw.
"Fang Zheng?!" A voice cracked through the courtyard's oppressive silence—sharp, familiar, and laced with something Fang Zheng hadn't heard in years: concern. He lifted his head slowly, strands of sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead, and there stood Gu Yue Qing Shu, his now technically 'senior brother'
Gu Yue Qing Shu's boots scuffed against the courtyard tiles as he knelt beside Fang Zheng, his hands hovering uncertainly over his junior's shaking shoulders. The scent of bile and sweat hung thick between them. "You're burning up," Qing Shu muttered, pressing the back of his hand to Fang Zheng's forehead—a gesture so startlingly tender that Fang Zheng flinched away instinctively, only his brother Fang Yuan was allowed to do that.. Qing Shu's fingers curled into a fist mid-air before dropping to his side.
"Come on." Qing Shu's voice hardened, slipping back into the familiar cadence of a senior disciple ordering around a junior. He hauled Fang Zheng upright with more force than necessary, his grip tight enough to bruise. "The infirmary. Now."
Qing Shu's grip was firm as he dragged Fang Zheng through the winding paths of the academy, his footsteps purposeful despite Fang Zheng's weak attempts to pull away, "Shixiong—I'm okay, I swear." Fang Zheng really didn't know if he was supposed to be calling Qing Shu that but it was the only title that seemed logical since they both had the same master now.
Qing Shu's fingers dug into Fang Zheng's forearm like iron clamps, his stride unrelenting as they passed beneath the shadow of the infirmary's gnarled plum tree. "You're not okay," he hissed through clenched teeth, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "You've been shaking like a leaf since the ranking ceremony, and now this—what in the nine hells is wrong with you?"
Fang Zheng's knees buckled again as they reached the infirmary steps, sending him sprawling against Qing Shu's chest. The older boy caught him effortlessly, his breath warm against Fang Zheng's temple—too close, too familiar. For a heartbeat, Fang Zheng could swear he felt Qing Shu's pulse stutter beneath his skin, rapid and uneven.
"Sorry—I don't know whats wrong with me these days everything seems so loud…" Fang Zheng mumbled against Qing Shu's shoulder, his breath hitching as another wave of dizziness crashed over him. The world tilted dangerously, and suddenly Qing Shu's arms were the only thing keeping him from face-planting into the dirt.
Qing Shu's grip tightened around Fang Zheng's waist, his breath coming faster than before—like he'd run a mile rather than just walked the short distance to the infirmary. The scent of plum blossoms mixed with the lingering bile in Fang Zheng's nose as Qing Shu half-carried, half-dragged him up the steps. "Loud?" Qing Shu echoed, his voice oddly strained. "Perhaps you're just tired, already pushing yourself so hard."
The infirmary smelled of bitter herbs and the faint metallic tang of blood. Qing Shu deposited Fang Zheng onto a cot with surprising gentleness, his hands lingering for a heartbeat too long before he stepped back, clearing his throat. "Lie down. I'll fetch the healer."
Fang Zheng's fingers curled into the rough linen sheets as Qing Shu turned away. He wanted to protest—to insist he was fine—but the words dissolved into a dry cough. His gaze drifted to the window, where sunlight filtered through the leaves of the plum tree outside, casting shifting shadows across the floor. Somewhere beyond those branches, Fang Yuan was still slumped in the lecture hall, indifferent as ever. The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through him.
Maybe it really was his brother, Fang Zheng jokingly thought it was because the heavens had finally severed the karmic thread that tied them together.