AT YUE CHENQING'S CRY, Jiang Yexue whipped around to look toward Murong Chuyi, while Mo Xi turned to Yue Chenqing. "Is he having a nightmare?"
Curled up beneath the greatcoat, Yue Chenqing was still asleep with only a small wisp of black hair visible. His voice was choked with tears. "Fourth Uncle…don't be mad…" he sobbed. "Don't blame me, don't ignore me…"
Murong Chuyi wasn't one for emotional confrontations, so even though Yue Chenqing was clearly calling for him in his dream, he pretended not to hear. He closed his eyes and began to meditate where he was.
Yue Chenqing continued to mumble; the nightmare seemed to be torturing him. By the end, the confusion and heartbreak in his tone was almost tangible. "Fourth Uncle…" the still-childish youth whimpered tearfully.
Murong Chuyi knitted his brows and was silent a moment. When he could bear it no longer, he rose with a sweep of his sleeves and swiftly sat beside Yue Chenqing. He lowered his head to look at the young man. His elegant face, like moonlight on a frozen lake, showed an unmistakable reluctance and impatience, yet still he moved the coat aside and brushed jade-like, porcelain fingers over Yue Chenqing's forehead.
With that single touch, Murong Chuyi's expression changed.
"How is he?" Jiang Yexue asked.
"He has a high fever," replied Murong Chuyi.
Fevers and colds were little more than nuisances to cultivators; a single dose of medicine was usually enough to cure them completely. Nevertheless, Yue Chenqing's condition was dismaying.
Jiang Yexue maneuvered his chair over to them. First he carefully tucked the greatcoat around Yue Chenqing, then reached up to check his temperature. He was immediately alarmed. "So hot…"
"He shouldn't have a fever." Murong Chuyi gazed down at Yue Chenqing's ruddy face. "When I rescued him, I used the Sacred Heart Technique."
Mo Xi looked up at Murong Chuyi in surprise. Wasn't the Sacred Heart Technique—
Jiang Yexue was also aghast. "Xiaojiu, how could you…"
"What?" Murong Chuyi retorted coldly.
"That's a forbidden technique!"
"So?"
Jiang Yexue was silent. Expecting Murong Chuyi to abide by Chonghua's laws was like expecting a fish to live on land: completely impossible.
The Sacred Heart Technique was a forbidden healing spell. It could rapidly mend a grievously wounded body while ensuring that the patient would not catch any kind of cold or fever-like illness that might weaken them. It was a powerful, simple, and crude technique that a cultivator could easily grasp even without any specialty in medicine.
And yet such a miraculous healing technique was nowhere near commonplace. Just as no person was perfect, no spell was infallible. Sacred Heart had a terrifying drawback: it made extreme requirements of the spellcaster's mind. The wielder's so-called "sacred heart" needed to be pure and holy, free of any blemish. And while the cultivator was casting the healing spell, their mind must remain pure, without the slightest stray thought. A single faltering ripple and the spellcaster's heart vein would suffer damage. A mild case would greatly diminish their vital energy; a severe case would result in instant death.
Jiang Yexue knew any attempt to reason with Murong Chuyi to be futile, so he ventured hesitantly, "Then, your body…" Murong Chuyi ignored Jiang Yexue's concern, instead lowering his head to check the pulse at Yue Chenqing's neck.
After a few seconds, he opened his phoenix eyes and said, "The Sacred Heart Technique can prevent all common colds and illnesses, but Yue Chenqing still has a high fever."
"Is it because of the gu worm?" Jiang Yexue asked.
Although Murong Chuyi didn't respond, he frowned slightly. This couldn't be caused by anything other than the gu. However, a poisonous insect that even the Sacred Heart Technique couldn't suppress was sure to be enormously difficult to deal with. At the moment, they were completely in the dark as to the characteristics of the worm; all they could do was wait for Gu Mang to come back with some information that would help.
"Let's wait." Murong Chuyi laid his hand on Yue Chenqing's forehead, smoothing the mussed hair at his temples. "Wait for Gu Mang to return."
They had no other choice. The three of them stood guard over Yue Chenqing, meditating and recovering their strength as they silently sat inside the cave and waited for Gu Mang.
Mo Xi's innate power was the strongest in their group. On top of that, the Time Mirror had only consumed his spiritual and vital energy; he hadn't been physically wounded. He had mostly recovered before a shichen had passed.
When Mo Xi opened his eyes, he found that Murong Chuyi and Jiang Yexue were both still weak and nourishing their qi. Murong Chuyi's condition seemed especially poor—his elegant face was like frozen jade, his lips not merely bloodless but tinged a sickly green.
Something was wrong. Mo Xi rose and walked over to Murong Chuyi, getting on one knee to look at him. "Murong-xiansheng?"
Murong Chuyi didn't respond. Spiritual energy clashed between his knitted brows; he looked faintly pained.
Mo Xi extended a hand and started in shock—Murong Chuyi's spiritual energy was so turbulent it showed signs of an impending qi deviation. He reached out at once to press two fingers to Murong Chuyi's temple, passing him spiritual energy.
A long interval passed before Murong Chuyi slumped forward and hacked up a mouthful of filthy blood. Emerging from his meditative trance, he slowly opened his eyes and found Mo Xi's face with his unfocused gaze. Swiftly, he looked down and wiped at the bloodstains. "Many thanks," he said, voice rough.
Mo Xi knew Murong Chuyi was cold and antisocial. He didn't want to say too much, but he still pressed his lips together upon seeing Murong Chuyi so unwell. "You should have felt it yourself. When you attracted the fire bats singlehandedly and then used the Sacred Heart Technique soon after, you damaged your heart vein. If you recklessly meditate under these conditions, you'll fall prey to inner demons. Why didn't you say something?"
"There's nothing to say," replied Murong Chuyi.
Mo Xi stared pointedly.
"I ask Xihe-jun not to speak of my injuries," Murong Chuyi continued. "I don't want more people finding out, whether it's Yue Chenqing, or…" He paused, shooting a glance at Jiang Yexue, who had entered an energy-gathering state. "Or him."
This was slightly strange. Everyone said the Ignorant Immortal was cold and aloof, unaffected by matters of the mortal world. He spent most of his days in seclusion, and rarely showed his face in public. Mo Xi had previously only understood that he treated both his nephews poorly. In these recent interactions, however, he'd realized there was a marked difference in how vicious Murong Chuyi was to Jiang Yexue in comparison to Yue Chenqing.
Murong Chuyi tended to ignore Yue Chenqing and didn't like to waste words on him. But if Yue Chenqing really clung to him, acted pathetic, and went overboard with praise, Murong Chuyi might spare him a glance or a few words as his elder. Furthermore, Murong Chuyi was willing to use forbidden techniques to save Yue Chenqing, even sustaining injuries in the process. Which was to say, when all was said and done, Yue Chenqing at least had a small place in Murong Chuyi's heart.
But it was different with Jiang Yexue. Jiang Yexue's mother had been married to the same man as Murong Chuyi's adopted sister, Murong Huang. So perhaps Murong Chuyi was hostile toward Jiang Yexue because Murong Huang had been mistreated on account of Jiang Yexue's mother. But there was more than hostility; there was also hatred. There was even… Mo Xi couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt there was some hidden adverse emotion filling Murong Chuyi's eyes.
"Fourth Uncle…it hurts…"
Yue Chenqing called again in a weak voice, muttering helplessly in his fevered delirium. "My head… It hurts…"
Murong Chuyi looked at the child curled up in the corner. Yue Chenqing called for him several more times, whimpering. Then he mumbled another hoarse name: "Mama… Mama…"
Murong Chuyi stiffened. He was always aloof and indifferent whenever Mo Xi saw him, unaffected by the vicissitudes of human feeling, whether in life or death, joy or fury. That face clear as white jade rarely showed a ripple of disturbance, but now, Murong Chuyi's face seemed to be tangled in a thousand emotions. He gritted his teeth, looking hateful and angry. "Always so disappointing and disobedient. What right do you have to call for her?"
But still he took hold of Yue Chenqing's trembling hand. The youth's temperature was terrifyingly high. Murong Chuyi grasped Yue Chenqing's fingers tight, his severe expression flashing with a hint of tender sorrow. In the end, he stiffly tried to soothe him: "It's all right, it's okay."
Yue Chenqing mumbled in his sleep, "It hurts…"
"I'm here, it'll be okay."
"It hurts so much…"
Murong Chuyi's swordlike brows drew together sharply in anger. His patience had reached its limit. "Bear with it!"
Mo Xi found himself speechless.
Time passed like this. Eventually, Jiang Yexue recovered most of his spiritual energy and woke from his trance. He looked around. "Has Guxiong returned?"
"Not yet," said Mo Xi.
Jiang Yexue went to Yue Chenqing as well, but with Murong Chuyi present, there was no place for him—nor was he the one who ought to be holding Yue Chenqing's hand. His status in the Yue Clan had always been thus. It was the same before he left the family, and it remained so now. Whether with his uncle or his brother, he was always the one pushed to the sidelines. He was the expendable one.
Jiang Yexue had long grown used to it. His wistful gaze paused only briefly on the hand Murong Chuyi was holding before he spoke up. "If his fever continues…why don't I use the Sacred Heart Technique this time? Maybe—"
Swift footsteps outside the cave trampled the rest. "We're back, we're back, we're back!"
Gu Mang charged into the cave. Following hesitantly at his heels was a half-transformed little demon, hiding behind Gu Mang and looking around in curiosity.
Unbelievable. When Gu Mang left, he distinctly said that he would catch a demon—but this little creature seemed to have followed him back instead. Not only was it trailing Gu Mang of its own volition, but it had even curled a fuzzy brown claw tightly around Gu Mang's sleeve, as if it had entered a tiger's den and Gu Mang was its trusted protector.
Were Yue Chenqing awake, he would've definitely asked, Bro, did you drug it?
But none of the three present would ask such a thing. Mo Xi stared at that delicate claw. He'd caught just a small glimpse of the little demon when it entered the cave—after that, it stuck close to Gu Mang, keeping its small body pressed behind him and refusing to show its face.
"Sorry for the wait," Gu Mang sighed. "There are many demons on the island, but only a few who know anything of importance. Wuyan is searching all over for us, so it took some time—how is our young Yuegongzi?"
"He has a fever, probably caused by the gu worm." Murong Chuyi paused, eyes flicking to Gu Mang's back. "Who's this?"
"Oh." Gu Mang smiled, then waved a hand to show them the little claw hooked around his sleeve. "Rongrong, come out. These are the people I told you about."
After a lengthy silence, a little face peeped out from behind Gu Mang, then quickly shrank back. Gu Mang turned and said consolingly, "Don't worry, no one's going to hurt you."
Only then did this little demon slowly and shyly step out from behind Gu Mang. She was a young female demon—though her exact age was difficult to discern, her figure resembled that of an adolescent human girl. Upon closer examination, she wasn't a bat, either; the fuzz that covered her dainty little body was tawny bird down.
"Her name is Rongrong. She's a little bird spirit, not a demon," Gu Mang explained with a smile. "Rongrong, this is Murong Chuyi, Murongxiong. This is Jiang Yexue, Jiang-xiong. This is…" He glanced at Mo Xi and held his gaze this time. "This is Mo Xi, Mo-xiong," he said, still smiling. "They're all good people. Why don't you say hi?"
Rongrong seemed to be very timid; she'd kept her head down all this time. Only after Gu Mang prompted her did she gently raise her eyes. Her features possessed a blossoming beauty, shaming flowers and moon alike. Upon her delicate face were a pair of beautifully soulful eyes and naturally scarlet lips; her pale forehead was marked with a red pistil.
"I-I'm A-Rong," she murmured bashfully. "I'm not a bird spirit, I'm just…a half-immortal from the feathered tribe of Mount Jiuhua…"