Sulking

But He Zhuoming was thick-skinned, completely immune to passive-aggressive remarks. If she had transmigrated into a court intrigue novel instead of this unconventional xianxia story, she probably wouldn't have survived the first episode.

Fortunately, she was stuck in an unconventional xianxia drama, and so far, the most passive-aggressive person in the world was her boyfriend.

So He Zhuoming didn't even notice Tang Shuyu's sarcasm—she shook her hand to ease the sting in her palm while saying seriously, "We need to go fish Feixian out."

Tang Shuyu said, "She's already safely back at her lodgings."

He Zhuoming couldn't believe it: "Really?"

Tang Shuyu: "Of course it's true."

He grabbed He Zhuoming's wrist and pulled her hand up to examine it closely—fortunately, her palm was only slightly red, not even swollen.

Tang Shuyu breathed a sigh of relief, then lifted his gaze to He Zhuoming's slightly dazed face—she was still thinking about Xu Feixian, her expression distant.

Tang Shuyu pinched her palm; her hand was warm, which made his fingers feel all the colder by contrast.

He Zhuoming snapped back to attention, leaned in closer to Tang Shuyu, and eyed the tangled red threads in the room warily, asking, "What are these? Last time I was here... this room wasn't like this."

Tang Shuyu lowered his eyes, a faint smile habitually on his face, but his dark pupils beneath the shadow of his long lashes were fixed on He Zhuoming—because she was scared of the strange red threads filling the room, she pressed close to him, almost leaning against his chest.

She had crawled through tunnels, her hair was messy, and her face was dirty—though he had been wiping the grime off her face with his sleeve, the dried blood wasn't easy to remove, and He Zhuoming didn't have much patience; before he could finish, she pushed his hand away.

Her dirty face was adorable, the most adorable thing he had seen since his eyes could see again.

And Xiao He hadn't cried herself unconscious like last time; instead, she had trustingly grabbed his arm.

At this moment, despite his many complaints about the main body, Tang Shuyu had to admit that last time, Xiao He had indeed been scared by him. But that certainly wasn't his fault—how was he supposed to know Xiao He was such a coward?

He wasn't even scary back then; he had eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Well, his eyes were a bit different from others, but it was still fine. He didn't understand what Xiao He had been so afraid of...

He Zhuoming waited a long time for Tang Shuyu's answer, then looked up puzzled and bumped his chest with her elbow in mild annoyance. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Tang Shuyu snapped out of his daze, slowly coming back to himself, and said, "I was thinking."

He Zhuoming asked nervously, "Are these red threads dangerous?"

Tang Shuyu: "Not really."

He grabbed He Zhuoming's wrist and walked straight ahead. When a red thread blocked their path, he reached out and brushed it aside—He Zhuoming timidly cowered behind Tang Shuyu, peeking out half her face and looking around.

The sharp red threads seemed to soften like silk in Tang Shuyu's hands, sweeping away easily.

They looked harmless enough.

He Zhuoming was staring at the threads, so she didn't notice Tang Shuyu pause as he crossed the threshold.

In that moment, all his joints twisted momentarily. An invisible force dragged his bones backward, and strands of red thread wound around the spaces between his bones, tightening, pulling, cutting.

A faint creaking sound came from beneath Tang Shuyu's skin.

He Zhuoming was almost pressed against his back, whispering, "Qingyun, Qingyun, did you hear a strange noise?"

Tang Shuyu: "What noise?"

He Zhuoming said, "Like, a creaking sound, the kind that makes your teeth ache."

Tang Shuyu stepped over the threshold and said casually, "No, you must have misheard."

He Zhuoming rubbed her ear, tilting her head suspiciously to listen—but the faint sound had already vanished.

Outside, the evening glow was brilliant; the late afternoon sunlight spread across the stone steps, casting a hazy gold-red sheen over the crabapple trees on either side.

He Zhuoming was blinded by the sudden brightness, and tears seeped from her eyes.

She suddenly remembered the living souls lining up on the stairs at night. Back then, Tang Shuyu had told her they were coming to share the Earth Immortal's karma at the shrine... He had also told her not to go near the shrine casually.

But tonight, Tang Shuyu had appeared inside the shrine himself.

He Zhuoming felt something was off, but she couldn't quite figure it out. She had no sixth sense for things that weren't dangerous; her intuition flickered like a shooting star, unstable.

It wasn't until Tang Shuyu led her down the steps that He Zhuoming took a step and gasped: "Wait, wait—"

Tang Shuyu stopped and looked back. She crouched down, hugging her knees, and said pitifully, "My ankle hurts..."

Walking on flat ground had been fine, but when she needed to go down the stairs, the joint at her ankle seemed to come alive, throbbing with pain.

Tang Shuyu crouched in front of her and said seriously, "That's why I was asking you earlier..."

He Zhuoming: "I don't want to walk down the stairs."

Tang Shuyu: "I was asking about your ankle..."

He Zhuoming: "Carry me!"

Their eyes met. He Zhuoming's expression was pitiful, and she stretched out her arms to him.

Tang Shuyu's unfinished words stuck in his throat, his mind blank for a moment. When he came to, he realized he was already carrying He Zhuoming down the stairs.

The setting sun stretched their overlapping shadows long. He Zhuoming rested her head on his shoulder, and her damp skin occasionally brushed against Tang Shuyu's ear.

She was used to being carried; as soon as she climbed onto Tang Shuyu's back, she found the most comfortable position, wrapping her arms around his neck and speaking softly, "I want to go see Feixian."

Tang Shuyu looked down at the shadow on the ground and replied, "Let's check your ankle first."

He Zhuoming: "I'm worried Feixian might have aftereffects. She said she heard a terrifying sound... but I didn't hear anything."

Tang Shuyu: "People with good cultivation talent are more likely to hear the voices of ghosts and gods."

He Zhuoming was shocked: "Why have I never heard them? So I don't have cultivation talent? But I think I'm pretty capable!"

Tang Shuyu smiled and comforted her: "There are exceptions. You're one of the rare few."

He Zhuoming easily accepted this explanation, pressing her dirty face against Tang Shuyu's clean one, and said cheerfully, "I knew it. I learned swordplay so fast—I think I might also have talent for talismans."

"Sigh, I want to replace my wooden sword with a real one."

Tang Shuyu agreed quickly: "Sure."

He Zhuoming continued, "But I want to keep the wooden sword too, because you gave it to me!"

Tang Shuyu: "...Whatever you want."

There was a subtle displeasure in his tone, but it was expressed very vaguely.

In general, even if his displeasure was expressed vaguely and subtly, it was still easily noticed by others—after all, those who could see him were willing to spend days and nights studying his emotions, trying to please him.

But clearly, He Zhuoming was not among them.

Because in the next second, she was chattering about something else, "You know about those living souls randomly occupying bodies, right?"

Of course Tang Shuyu knew, but since he didn't care, he answered casually, "It's not really random. The attendants who serve the Earth Immortal all have their own bodies, but they've been dead for too long—a dead body is like a piece of clothing; anyone can wear it."

He Zhuoming was stunned by the analogy, then said, "So... they put the bodies side by side..."

Tang Shuyu smiled lightly, his voice cheerful: "More like a wardrobe."

He Zhuoming: "...But Feixian isn't dead!"

Tang Shuyu: "Although the living souls swap clothes among themselves, dead clothes all end up the same after a while. When they see fresh clothes, they get tempted. But attacking the living is indeed wrong, and the Earth Immortal will punish them."

In reality, Tang Shuyu didn't think it was a big deal.

The main body wouldn't think it was a big deal either.

If He Zhuoming hadn't insisted on going in to find Xu Feixian that night, a missing disciple from a small sect would have been like a butterfly falling into the sea, causing no ripples.

Tang Shuyu's words made He Zhuoming uncomfortable. She pouted, sulking for a moment, then angrily bumped her head against Tang Shuyu's a few times.

But Tang Shuyu was unmoved, and He Zhuoming ended up dizzy and in pain.

She held her head and said, "Why is your head so hard!"

Tang Shuyu was confused. "Why did you bump your head against mine?"

He Zhuoming: "...I don't want you to carry me anymore! Put me down!"

Tang Shuyu found it strange, turning his head and asking, "Your ankle doesn't hurt anymore?"

The angle of his neck twist was actually a bit exaggerated—a normal person twisting like that would probably have a sprained or broken neck.

But Tang Shuyu's neck was already broken; it had just been hastily reattached recently.

And He Zhuoming...

He Zhuoming didn't notice.

She had never broken her neck, and she was extremely careless. More importantly, she wasn't afraid of Tang Shuyu at all. Even if she occasionally felt a vague sense of dissonance, she would quickly ignore it because there was no danger.

He Zhuoming was the kind of person who was good at protecting her mental health, just like when she was first sold into the village; as long as she was locked up, she wouldn't think about what might happen to her, only about how to escape, occasionally worrying about her empty stomach.

It wasn't until the villagers dragged her out and put on the phoenix crown, when she was hungry and had no strength left, that she would think about the terrible outcomes and conclude that it would be better to just die quickly.

It was the same now.

There was just a slight dissonance, just a little doubt, but these fleeting intuitions weren't enough to make He Zhuoming suspect Tang Shuyu.

She suddenly straightened her back, no longer leaning on Tang Shuyu's shoulder, and held her upper body as straight as a bamboo pole, keeping her distance from him. "I don't need you to worry about me. Put me down!"

Tang Shuyu let go. He Zhuoming jumped down, hopping twice, and nearly lost her composure because of the swelling pain in her ankle—fortunately, after taking two deep breaths, she managed to keep her expression neutral.

She limped and half-hopped down the steps.

Tang Shuyu couldn't understand, walking beside her, his eyes fixed on her tense face.

Going down steps was easy to slip on, especially for someone with a limp.

He Zhuoming jumped a few steps and naturally missed one, letting out a shriek—Tang Shuyu naturally wouldn't let her fall; he grabbed her arm quickly and pulled her up.

He Zhuoming steadied herself and her first instinct was to pull her arm away from Tang Shuyu's grasp.

But Tang Shuyu didn't let go. He Zhuoming tugged a few times, and the two of them went back and forth like a tug-of-war.

Tang Shuyu tilted his head. "Xiao He, why are you angry?"

He Zhuoming said stiffly, "None of your business!"

Tang Shuyu told the truth: "If I don't care, Xiao He will fall down the steps and die."

He Zhuoming: "..."

It was the truth, but the truth made her even angrier.

For the rest of the way, He Zhuoming didn't speak to Tang Shuyu, just walked sullenly toward the bottom of the steps. She couldn't get her arm free from his hand, so she had to let him support her.

The steps seemed long, but somehow they reached the bottom quickly—this was, of course, due to Tang Shuyu's interference—but He Zhuoming wouldn't think about that; she just thought that humans truly had unlimited potential, and that anger could make even a limping person walk this fast.

She was angry, but Tang Shuyu was merely puzzled.

He racked his brain, recalling every word he had said to He Zhuoming, and still couldn't figure out why she was angry.

Then it must not be his problem—maybe Xiao He was angry at her girlfriend, or at that nightmare.

Tang Shuyu thought this way and completely understood why He Zhuoming was angry. Because he sometimes felt the same way; he'd get angry at things without any reason.

Walking onto the corridor, He Zhuoming was about to go straight, but Tang Shuyu pulled her arm and turned a corner—the path subtly changed, and she noticed for the first time that this straight corridor actually had a bend.

He Zhuoming wanted to ask Tang Shuyu about it, but she opened her mouth, then remembered she was still angry with him, so she shut it firmly.

She wasn't going to speak to him first.

They followed the fork to the end, where there was a hot spring palace. The delicate buildings were surrounded by exquisite rockeries and flowers—no longer crabapple trees, but large peonies of various colors.

The open-air hot spring pool in the courtyard was steaming, looking like it would make your head spin with heat.

He Zhuoming looked around warily, saw no white-clothed maids, and breathed a sigh of relief.

She had just escaped from the den of crowding living souls, and after hearing Tang Shuyu's clothing analogy, she now had a psychological shadow over those attendants with gentle appearances and friendly smiles.

Tang Shuyu pushed open the palace door and took out a box of various porcelain bottles containing medicinal ointment—of course, he had never been to this place, but within the Divine Palace, as long as the main body didn't interfere, wooden puppets given enough power had a portion of omniscience.

Even places they had never been to, they could easily know what was happening there.

He Zhuoming moved over, rolled up her pant leg, and, maintaining her sulky expression, obediently propped her injured leg on a chair.

They were quarreling, but not breaking up; applying medicine was still permissible.

Tang Shuyu raised an eyebrow slightly at her unusual compliance, his smiling face showing a hint of surprise.

He sat down beside her, gently squeezed her ankle—the slight swelling pain suddenly turned into a sharp sting, and He Zhuoming couldn't keep her stern expression, gasping in pain.

Tang Shuyu: "Does it hurt a lot?"

He Zhuoming nodded with tears in her eyes: "So much."

Tang Shuyu nodded, still smiling. "It hurts for a reason. A cripple's leg wouldn't hurt. The pain means your leg still has feeling, Xiao He. That's a good thing."

He Zhuoming felt dizzy hearing that. "Is... is that so?"

Tang Shuyu said firmly, "Of course."

He spoke so lightly, so casually, like everyday conversation, and in a few words he had He Zhuoming's thoughts following his topic.

While He Zhuoming was mulling over his words, Tang Shuyu put some force into his hand and snapped the dislocated bone back into place; his movements were too fast, and He Zhuoming froze in shock, then tears started streaming down her face as she cried out in pain.

Tang Shuyu pressed down on her trembling knee and poured ointment over her ankle, his tone cool: "Xiao He, I didn't know you were such a kind-hearted person. You carried a stranger so far with a dislocated bone."

"If only you'd be that kind to me too."