Chapter 59: No Matter What You Become, Do You Still Remember Me?
Shen Songhe discarded the spirit grass in his hand and dispersed the spirit beasts at his feet with a single glance. He then raised his hands to hold Feng Shi’s waist, helping him steady himself.
“Be careful when you run.”
As soon as the words fell, his body suddenly went rigid.
Feng Shi twitched his nose, smelling the scent on Shen Songhe. Then he looked up and said cheerfully, “Shizun, I’ve chosen my sword.”
However, Shen Songhe lowered his eyes and did not look at him. Instead, his gaze landed on the Wu Cheng sword on Feng Shi’s back.
Fine beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead at some point. His thin, moist red lips trembled slightly, and his long eyelashes fluttered, concealing the emotions churning in the depths of his eyes.
“Shizun…”
The corners of Feng Shi’s mouth, which had been turned up, slowly and uncontrollably turned down. His arms around Shen Songhe’s waist tightened unconsciously.
Feeling the increased strength, Shen Songhe suddenly reached out and shoved the person from his embrace with abrupt force. His voice was freezing cold: “Who told you to choose this sword!”
Feng Shi stumbled back a step from the push. A sharp pain stabbed his heart, and the corners of his eyes quickly dampened.
On the way back, he had anticipated countless outcomes.
Whether Shizun was happy or unhappy, he was prepared. But when the man actually scolded him because of another person, the sadness was overwhelming.
A bloodthirsty red filled Shen Songhe’s eyes. His usually indifferent expression became slightly twisted, his breathing heavy.
For a moment, Feng Shi even felt that Shizun wanted to kill him.
His face paled, and two tears fell in grievance.
A living person fighting against a dead one—he feared he would never win.
With this Wu Cheng sword in his hand, no matter how beautifully he wielded it or how great a name he made for himself, he would forever carry another person’s shadow.
Although Feng Shi liked Shen Songhe, the arrogance in his bones hadn’t vanished. He bit down hard on the soft flesh inside his mouth, trying his best to stop more tears from falling.
He bit through the corner of his lip, and the metallic taste of blood spread in his mouth.
Seeing that piercing streak of red at the corner of Feng Shi’s lips, Shen Songhe finally regained a shred of rationality. Suppressing the violence in his heart, he frowned and pulled the person close.
Feng Shi struggled a bit but couldn’t break free.
Shen Songhe’s attitude was forceful. Trapping the person in front of him, he reached out to wipe away the blood at the corner of his mouth. Then he pressed his hand against his throbbing head, closed his eyes, and asked in a low voice, “Does it hurt?”
Feng Shi wanted to say it hurt, but he didn’t speak.
The red in Shen Songhe’s eyes hadn’t faded, but his reason had returned.
He knew Feng Shi was angry. Pursing his lips, he pinched Feng Shi’s cheek somewhat helplessly, then apologized unskillfully, “Alright, Shizun was… wrong.”
Feng Shi still didn’t speak, but his heart felt sour and soft, making him feel even more wronged.
Shen Songhe had a splitting headache, his face pale, yet he patiently coaxed, “Shizun really knows he was wrong.”
“Since this sword has chosen you, then keep it.”
Hearing this, the tears Feng Shi had been holding back finally couldn’t be stopped. He grabbed Shen Songhe’s lapels and buried his head against them, his tears silently soaking into the fabric.
Shen Songhe finally suppressed the Heart Demon that had nearly seized his mind. He let out a breath and raised his hand to stroke Feng Shi’s soft, slightly cool hair, offering silent comfort, though his thoughts began to drift far away.
The Wu Cheng Sword was forged by the Wu Cheng people. It recognized only one master in its lifetime; if the master fell, the sword would inevitably shatter along with them.
Only when the previous Wu Cheng Sword perished would the Wu Cheng people forge a new one.
However, a hundred years ago, when the master of the Wu Cheng Sword, Liu Yi, died, the sword did not break. Instead, it flew back to the Hidden Sword Pavilion on its own and plunged into the Sword Pool.
It was as if… it was waiting for someone to awaken it again.
This not only sparked much speculation in the cultivation world back then but was also one of the hopes that kept Shen Songhe going, making him firmly believe that Liu Yi would return.
Now, the Wu Cheng Sword had acknowledged a master again.
An appearance that was becoming more and more similar, the identical scar, the overly intimate gestures and behaviors.
Every single sign pointed to the same result.
Shen Songhe had no reason not to believe it.
Or perhaps, he had long held the answer in his heart, but the hundred years had been too long, breeding a feeling akin to fear near one’s hometown. He dared not acknowledge it, fearing everything was just a delusion born of mad longing, a hollow bubble.
But now… Shen Songhe’s fingertips trembled slightly. His gaze intently traced Feng Shi’s brow and eyes. After a long while, the corners of his lips hooked up into a faint smile.
No matter what you have become, or if you remember me… as long as you are back, it is enough…
That night, Feng Shi didn’t return to his own quarters.
Although he had never been in a romantic relationship, he understood that people were given mouths to speak and communicate. If you didn’t speak up, you deserved to have no wife.
So, even though his heart had been hurt in the afternoon, Feng Shi didn’t turn around and leave. Instead, he chose to give himself another chance.
In the room, Shen Songhe asked him to take Wu Cheng off his back.
Feng Shi asked cautiously what he was going to do.
Shen Songhe was amused by his sour little expression, but he quickly suppressed the smile so Feng Shi wouldn’t see.
“I kept Wu Cheng’s scabbard all these years. Now, I give it to you.”
Feng Shi was thinking wild thoughts, so he was stunned upon hearing this. He took Wu Cheng off his back and asked in a low voice, “Does Shizun still think I’m unworthy of Wu Cheng…”
Shen Songhe took out the scabbard. Hearing this, he ruffled Feng Shi’s hair without hesitation. “No.”
Feng Shi took the scabbard. It was made of fine sandalwood, pitch black throughout. The tail was carved with floral patterns, and the top was embellished with emerald jade; it matched Wu Cheng perfectly.
“Wu Cheng originally had no scabbard, but someone said a good sword needs a proper resting place, so they made this scabbard with me.”
Feng Shi didn’t need to guess to know who “someone” referred to. But before he could get jealous, Shen Songhe raised a hand and covered his eyes.
Before his vision was blocked, Feng Shi was startled to realize he had seen Shen Songhe smile.
Not a faint smile, but a full, relaxed blossom of a smile, like a white jade orchid on a solitary branch suddenly blooming, fragrant and unforgettable.
Feng Shi blinked blankly, his jealousy vanishing without a trace.
The back of his neck burned red.
Is Shizun… just teasing him?
He smiled so beautifully, yet he didn’t want me to see!
Feng Shi couldn’t control his little heart. Reacting quickly, he lifted both hands to remove Shen Songhe’s slightly cool palm, only to find the expression on the other’s face had long returned to normal.
He felt some regret and disappointment, but in the end, he lowered his head and happily planted several forceful kisses on Shen Songhe’s fair, calloused palm. With curved eyes, he praised, “Shizun looks really good when he smiles!”
Shen Songhe’s palm was wet. Hearing this, his ears quietly turned red. He withdrew his hand and changed the subject rather unskillfully, “I need to nap for a moment. You…”
Feng Shi’s eyes lit up. “Can I join you, Shizun?”
Shen Songhe subconsciously wanted to cover his eyes again. His Adam’s apple rolled, and finally, he gave a hum of assent.
Feng Shi didn’t need rest, but Shen Songhe often needed to sleep for a while due to his physical condition, so Feng Shi lay down with him to keep him company.
In the end, Shen Songhe didn’t fall asleep, but Feng Shi drifted into a groggy dream, his hands tightly clutching the other’s clothes.
The bed wasn’t large to begin with, so the two lay very close together.
Wu Cheng and Yan Luo were placed on a low table not far away. Old friends reunited; it was clear that Yan Luo was thoroughly suppressed by Wu Cheng.
Shen Songhe placed a gentle kiss on the sleeping Feng Shi’s forehead, thinking: What about after half a month?
Will Feng Shi stop clinging to me then?
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