Chapter 8#
Hubby, Don’t Touch His Undershirt!#
In the faint candlelight, the night was hazy and indistinct.
Yan Jianxiao opened his eyes and instinctively looked toward the source of the sound by the bedside. He raised his hand, propping himself up to sit, only to discover that his right hand was wrapped in a thick bundle.
Not only that—there was also a piece of gauze stuck to his forehead. His pretty little face was completely drained of color, leaving only a pallid white.
He was already small to begin with, and now he looked even more fragile. Ying Qingye’s heart clenched at the sight, guilt surging over him like a tide. He reached out and clasped Yan Jianxiao’s uninjured left hand tightly. “Yan Yan… I’m sorry.”
Yan Jianxiao parted his lips slightly, tilting his head with a question mark practically materializing above it.
He raised his hand and wrote in Ying Qingye’s palm, “Why are you apologizing?”
Ying Qingye said, “If I hadn’t wanted Cang Xiao to examine you, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
Hearing this, Yan Jianxiao grew a little anxious. He half-rose, clumsily gesturing, wanting to write that that wasn’t it at all—but his movement accidentally tugged at Ying Qingye.
Ying Qingye had been squeezed onto the edge of the bed the whole time, waiting for him to wake. Jerked like that, a wince flickered across his handsome face, as if he were enduring pain.
Yan Jianxiao: “???”
“What’s wrong with you?!” Yan Jianxiao gestured frantically, shock written all over his eyes.
Could someone actually manage to injure Ying Qingye, even with the protagonist’s heaven-defying luck?!
Ying Qingye’s expression remained unchanged. He pressed Yan Jianxiao back down. “It’s nothing. Master gave me two slashes on the back with his sword.”
Yan Jianxiao froze, and a fire immediately blazed up in his heart.
He knew Tan Cang. Tan Cang was a villain!
In the original book’s plot, it was written that Tan Cang stabbed Ying Qingye in the back when he reached the Nascent Soul stage!
“How could he?!!”
Yan Jianxiao was absolutely livid. He raised his hand to gesture furiously, forgetting that one of his hands was wrapped up like a rabbit’s foot that had been stung by bees. The sight was both ridiculous and adorable.
No one else would have been able to understand what he was signing, but Ying Qingye miraculously did. He caught Yan Jianxiao’s wrist.
It was a strange feeling—as if this was the first time someone had worried over him like this.
And that someone was a mute little thing with no spiritual power at all.
“I’m fine.” Ying Qingye soothed him. “Your problem is bigger than mine.”
Yan Jianxiao stiffened, thinking he’d been found out for being a man in disguise. He instinctively looked down to check if his chest was still there.
…It was. He hadn’t been changed out of his clothes.
Then what big problem could there be?
Yan Jianxiao looked up in confusion at Ying Qingye.
“Your forehead got whacked by a spirit crystal ball and swelled up into a big lump. Your hand’s injured too. It’ll take several days to heal.”
Oh. What’s the problem with that? Yan Jianxiao blinked.
Seeing his utter indifference, Ying Qingye frowned deeply. The moment he frowned, the pressure around him seemed to drop, making him look terrifying—like a massive beast looming by the window.
Yan Jianxiao couldn’t help but retreat deeper into the bed, trying to avoid him.
But Ying Qingye kept a cold face, reached out, seized his wrist, and dragged him back over.
Yan Jianxiao let out a tiny, frightened whimper. “Ugh…”
“What are you hiding for? Come here. Medicine time.” Ying Qingye said coldly.
Yan Jianxiao stopped whimpering. He blinked. Then something was suddenly pressed into his intact left hand—a writing brush.
A trace of spiritual power pulsed through the brush, carrying the aura of a metal spiritual root.
It was Ying Qingye’s.
“I had someone make this little trinket. As long as I’m by your side, you can drive it with spiritual power and write with it. The words you write will float in the air.” Ying Qingye explained with a cold face.
Yan Jianxiao had no idea what he’d done to offend him. All he could do was look at Ying Qingye’s frosty expression. He bit his lower lip and blinked up at him.
Having figured out how the brush worked, Yan Jianxiao suddenly gave it a little shake and wrote:
“…Are you scolding me?”
White characters floated in the air, like phantoms of spiritual power.
It was like getting a brand new toy. Yan Jianxiao’s childish nature, fitting for his age, came bubbling out. He swished the brush around, scribbling—
“Why the cold face ￣へ￣”
“Are the wounds on your back better? I want to see Woo X﹏X”
“Ying Qingye Ying Qingye Ying Qingye Ying Qingye >3<~”
“So magical (°ー°〃)!”
Though they were only words, it was as if countless little sparrows were fluttering around the bed, covering the entire wall in a dense swarm.
One brush had achieved the effect of ten people chatting at once.
Ying Qingye: “…”
He hadn’t expected Yan Jianxiao to be so lively. He picked up the white porcelain cup he’d prepared earlier from the table and pressed it into his hands.
Inside the cup was a lotus leaf stem, serving as a straw.
Ying Qingye: “Drink.”
Yan Jianxiao had no time to write now. He sniffled, bit down on the lotus stem, and obediently sat on the bed, cradling the cup as he blinked up at Ying Qingye.
A mortal body with five mixed spiritual roots, having never gone through Qi refinement or drawn spiritual energy into its meridians, was fragile beyond belief. Even a scraped wound would turn red and swollen, and the injury on his forehead needed dressing changes every shichen.
Seeing him calm down, just sitting there staring with those wide eyes, Ying Qingye found himself feeling a little unaccustomed.
If Yan Jianxiao weren’t mute by heaven’s decree, his voice would probably be very pleasant to listen to.
Yan Jianxiao sipped at the half-sour, half-sweet concoction. Halfway through, it finally occurred to him to ask in silent lip movement: “What is this?”
Ying Qingye’s tone was cool. “…Isn’t it a little late to ask now, sis?”
Yan Jianxiao still didn’t understand why he was keeping that cold face. He looked at him with slightly bewildered eyes.
“It’s medicine.” Ying Qingye explained. “Won’t kill you. Helps wounds heal faster, and fills your stomach.”
Yan Jianxiao blinked. Well, obviously he knew that.
If Ying Qingye wanted him dead, killing him would be the easiest thing in the world.
The medicine was soon finished. Yan Jianxiao picked up the brush, gathered his courage, and wrote: “Why the cold face QAQ Did I do something wrong?”
Ying Qingye paused, lowered his eyes, and said nothing.
His attitude made Yan Jianxiao feel anxious and uneasy, like a frightened little rabbit. He stared at him, and soon his eyes reddened.
Ying Qingye had just organized his words when he looked up—and was startled into widening his eyes slightly.
“?!”
“Why are you crying?”
Yan Jianxiao wrote: “Don’t give me the cold face Woo Woo Woo .”
Ying Qingye: “…”
Ying Qingye thought he was made of water, crying at the drop of a hat. He said helplessly, “I’m not giving you the cold face!”
Yan Jianxiao wrote: “You are! You were being mean!”
Ying Qingye touched his nose, not knowing how to explain. The truth was, he’d only put on a cold face because he felt Yan Jianxiao was being too reserved with him.
He didn’t understand why Yan Jianxiao, having suffered such serious injuries, neither cried nor made a fuss—and even acted like it was no big deal.
Was it that he didn’t care about his own body, or that he was treating Ying Qingye like an outsider?
Divorce was a matter for the future, wasn’t it?! Why was he already treating him like an outsider now!
Ying Qingye’s lips moved. “I really wasn’t being mean!”
Yan Jianxiao raised his hand to wipe at tears that weren’t there.
He kept his head low, and being much shorter than Ying Qingye, all Ying Qingye could see from his angle was him wiping his eyes. Ying Qingye immediately fell into the flustered panic of someone his age. “I-I wasn’t! Really! Please don’t cry, okay?”
Yan Jianxiao wrote: “Then take it off. Let me see the wound.”
The brush was truly miraculous. Even at a short distance, the characters materialized directly before Ying Qingye’s eyes.
The brilliant young protagonist took one look and, without even realizing that his thoughts had been completely led by the person in front of him, pulled open his robes and crouched down—
The boy’s sturdy, powerful back was revealed before him. Two deep sword wounds were indeed carved across it. Though medicine had already been applied, they remained a mess of purple bruising and red-tinged flesh.
Yan Jianxiao hadn’t expected it to be this severe. The instant he saw the wounds, he froze, then knit his brows and cursed Tan Cang viciously in his heart!
Damn villain, to think he’d beaten the protagonist up like this!
Yet his hand moved quickly, raising a finger—
[Heal].
This was something Yan Jianxiao had been able to do since he was little. He might not be able to handle big wounds, but minor hurts like these were well within his power.
Ying Qingye couldn’t see what he was doing. He only felt the wounds on his back grow faintly warm. He said in a hoarse voice, “Done looking? It’s really nothing… Don’t cry anymore, alright?”
Yan Jianxiao wasn’t crying at all—it was just that his skin was sensitive, and any firm rubbing turned it red, making it look like he’d been weeping.
Only once the word “alright” floated up before Ying Qingye’s eyes did he rise, dress himself, and turn to look at Yan Jianxiao.
Yan Jianxiao’s eyes were red, but he truly wasn’t crying anymore.
Ying Qingye let out a relieved breath, then felt a twinge of discontent.
It seemed that in the future, after the divorce, he’d have to make Yan Jianxiao bring his new husband over for inspection first—so he wouldn’t marry the wrong sort, end up being made to cry by his husband every day, and show up before him with a pair of walnut eyes.
Yan Jianxiao, naturally, had no idea his thoughts had drifted that far ahead. Remembering the events of today, he felt something was strangely off and wanted to share it with the protagonist.
He wrote: “That spirit crystal ball today was very strange. It seemed to jump up only after it imprinted on my blood.”
At this, Ying Qingye’s expression also grew somewhat grave.
He remembered that in the novel he’d read, there was a similar situation… but that was of the negative kind.
Ying Qingye didn’t want to say too much to Yan Jianxiao and shake his confidence.
So, in an encouraging tone, he asked, “What are you trying to say?”
Yan Jianxiao wasn’t entirely sure either. He instinctively raised his hand to touch the birthmark on his neck.
He remembered that the birthmark had been burning for a very long time today—so long that he couldn’t tell whether he’d been knocked out by the ball, or burned unconscious by the birthmark.
Ying Qingye’s gaze followed reflexively, but from this angle, he couldn’t see the birthmark. All he could see was…
…the white ribbon on his neck, which looked like it belonged to an undershirt.
In the darkness of night, Ying Qingye’s ears suddenly flushed, as if scorched by fire. He quickly averted his gaze.
Yan Jianxiao didn’t notice this little movement. He was a bit thirsty and wanted water, so he looked at Ying Qingye with pleading eyes.
He wrote: “I want to drink water.”
Ying Qingye got up to fetch the teapot from the table and poured Yan Jianxiao a cup of water. He watched as the boy lowered his head and took small, careful sips.
The warm candlelight cast a gentle glow over both of them, and it truly looked like a husband caring for his frail, sickly wife.
Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. It was Feng Shili.
“Qingye, I need to talk to you about something—”
“!” Ying Qingye jolted. Without thinking, he instinctively reached out—as if seized by a hint of possessiveness—and smoothed Yan Jianxiao’s clothes.
Yan Jianxiao hadn’t even registered what he was doing. He only felt a chill at his neck, as if something had been tugged at. Bewildered, he looked up at Ying Qingye: “?”
What’s the matter?