Chapter 16#

A Substitute#

Yin Yuheng had just coughed up blood and was badly weakened. The cold wind of the Guoshi Manor drained what little color remained from his face. But he paid it no mind. His brow creased with genuine concern. “Shidi is hurt? I’ll go see him.”

Zhu Anning’s courtyard was lined with warm hearthstones, as always pleasantly heated. Peach blossoms pressed against the accumulated snow outside the courtyard walls, their colors bleeding together into something strange and beautiful.

Yin Yuheng pushed open the door, qilin horn in hand, and found Zhu Anning lying on the bed with his eyes closed. The white-robed sword cultivator sat at his bedside — his face carrying an expression Yin Yuheng had never seen on it before.

Worry.

The Penglai Divine Lord, renowned across a hundred years of history. The untouchable legend of the sword cultivation path. And yet, even he could feel worry.

Yin Yuheng had never once seen Li Guanghan make this expression. In his memory, Shifu was always cold, always distant. The way he looked at Yin Yuheng was no different from the way he looked at a flower.

Everything in the world, held at arm’s length. Nothing ever let in.

Yin Yuheng had assumed Li Guanghan would simply always be this way — and today he realized he had been wrong.

Li Guanghan could be moved. Just not by him.

In his arms was the qilin horn he had gone to such lengths to find. Its overbearing spiritual aura pressed against his own, sending ripples of faint pain through his meridians. The old wound on his heart meridian began to stir — something sweet and metallic rose in his throat, and he forced it down.

Li Guanghan did not look back at him. Yin Yuheng felt, suddenly, that he shouldn’t go closer. But in the end he stepped forward anyway and said, his voice coming out rougher than intended: “Shifu.”

Li Guanghan’s gaze was fixed on Zhu Anning. It seemed to take him a moment to register that Yin Yuheng was there at all.

“Keep your voice down — don’t wake him.” Li Guanghan brushed his fingers gently through Zhu Anning’s hair. “Anning’s old injuries are flaring. He’s frightened of pain.”

“…All right.”

The taste of blood lingered on his tongue. Yin Yuheng said nothing. He set the box quietly on the table.

He had intended to present the qilin horn to Shifu with a smile — to soften his voice the way Zhu Anning did, to lean into it a little, and say: Shifu, do you like it?

But he understood, in this moment, that Li Guanghan was in no state of mind for any of that. He had always been perceptive. He knew that even if he held out the qilin horn, Li Guanghan would only be irritated.

While his little junior brother lay in that bed, there was no room for anyone else in Shifu’s eyes.

Yin Yuheng thought of what he had originally planned and almost laughed. What had he been thinking — trying to imitate Zhu Anning, reaching for a little of Shifu’s warmth?

And now, with Shidi ill and bedridden, here he was — feeling, perhaps, just the faintest thread of envy.

What a dark thing to feel.

Disgusting.

A wave of nausea and self-contempt rose through him so quickly it took his breath away. He had to lean against the table, fingers pressed hard into the edge, knuckles white.

He held himself upright and asked, in as steady a voice as he could manage: “Shifu, what happened to Shidi?”

“An old wound to his spiritual veins.” Li Guanghan’s voice was faintly tired. “It’s festered over the years into something chronic. Difficult to treat.”

Yin Yuheng listened in silence. After a moment he said quietly: “Shifu, you’re exhausted. Go and rest — I’ll keep watch here.”

“No need.”

Yin Yuheng smiled despite himself. “You’re not going to find a way to cure Shidi?”

Li Guanghan was quiet for a beat, then let out a tired breath and stood. “Stay here then.”

Yin Yuheng nodded and sat down at the bedside, tucking the blanket snugly around Zhu Anning’s shoulders.

The room was empty now except for the two of them.

The hearthstones kept the air warm. A gentle warmth drifted through his collar. Somehow it only made the coldness inside him feel more complete.

“Shixiong.”

The voice came suddenly, faint and weak. Yin Yuheng startled — wrenched out of his fog in an instant, suddenly at a loss.

Zhu Anning had woken at some point. A pair of deep, still eyes regarded him quietly.

“Shidi?” Yin Yuheng summoned a smile and reached over to touch his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Zhu Anning’s gaze rested on Yin Yuheng, studying every expression, every small movement with careful attention.

Then he smiled, soft and plaintive. “Shixiong — it hurts.”

His voice was gentle and yielding — weak in a way that almost sounded like a plea.

Yin Yuheng thought, unbidden: no wonder Shifu likes Shidi more. Unlike himself — dull in temperament, never soft or endearing, never knowing how to be liked.

The self-contempt deepened. He said nothing, and quietly took Zhu Anning’s wrist, sending a thread of spiritual energy into him.

Zhu Anning felt a warmth gentle as water surge through his limbs, swiftly easing the pain that had suffused his body.

The last trace of color drained from Yin Yuheng’s face. Fine beads of sweat appeared at his temples.

Watching Yin Yuheng look so thoroughly undone, Zhu Anning let a smile tug, imperceptibly, at the corner of his mouth.

This illness had been deliberate — calculated down to the details. He had used medicine to trigger the flare of old wounds in his spiritual veins on purpose. Zhu Anning knew that the attack looked alarming, but a period of bed rest would be enough to set it right.

He reached out and closed his fingers lightly over Yin Yuheng’s wrist. He asked, though he already knew the answer: “Shixiong, are you in a bad mood?”

“I’m worried about you,” Yin Yuheng said quietly.

Zhu Anning looked at the genuine concern in his eyes, and let out a short, involuntary laugh.

I am in the process of taking everything you value, piece by piece. By now you’ve learned to feel jealous, haven’t you? And yet all you do with that jealousy is turn it against yourself. You still can’t bring yourself to resent me. You’re still sitting here, caring about me.

The more you’re like this, the more I want to make you suffer.

You’re so clean. I can’t help but want to see what it looks like when something pristine gets covered in dust.

In truth, Zhu Anning had originally come planning to find an opportunity to kill him — but he had changed his mind. He wanted Yin Yuheng alive. He wanted him to suffer.

Zhu Anning said, his voice soft: “Shixiong — I told you once, I have an old friend. A very, very good person. I called him gongzi. Sometimes gege.”

Yin Yuheng wasn’t sure why Zhu Anning was bringing this up now. He assumed it was the vulnerability of illness making him reach toward memories of someone dear. He listened quietly.

“But later he died. And I forgot what he looked like. I can never find him again.”

Zhu Anning’s voice grew low and heavy.

“Shixiong — can you give him back to me?”

Yin Yuheng blinked. “What?”

Zhu Anning smiled suddenly. “Never mind… what I mean is — he’s already gone. Would it be all right if I thought of you as my gongzi? My gege?”

Zhu Anning’s breath quickened slightly. The glee and excitement rising inside him had no clear source. My gongzi died because of you. You deserve to be his replacement. You deserve every bit of what’s coming.

Yin Yuheng didn’t know what was running through his mind. He only said gently: “Of course. As long as you get better — think of me as whatever you need.”

Something in those words struck Zhu Anning harder than expected. He seized Yin Yuheng’s hand and held it tight, laughing under his breath, his voice rough. “All right then, Shixiong.”

Since you say so — I want your blood. I want to make you my blood slave. Is that all right?

Soon, Shixiong. Very soon.

Yin Yuheng started to say something else — then, as if something had finally overwhelmed him, his whole body began to shake. “Shidi,” he managed, “I need to step outside for a moment.”

Zhu Anning gave a magnanimous nod and watched with a cold, satisfied smile as Yin Yuheng’s steps faltered on his way out the door.

…

Yin Yuheng emerged from Zhu Anning’s room and leaned against the wall outside, pressing a hand to his chest, all strength gone.

He had pushed himself through the journey, taken a blow from the qilin horn’s forceful aura, and just now channeled a significant amount of spiritual energy into Zhu Anning. He was nearing his limit.

He stood shivering inside a heavy white cloak — the fox-fur had been forced on him by Lu Yan earlier. But the cold was coming from inside his chest, and no amount of fabric could touch it.

Yin Yuheng braced himself against the wall, refusing to slide down.

The old wound in his heart meridian surged with force. Yet Yin Yuheng seemed not to feel it. He was still smiling somewhere inside.

“Shidi is interesting,” he said. “Hates me and is drawn to me all at once. Wants me to suffer but won’t kill me. Even broke out the substitute routine — that’s just him finding justification for feelings he’s already caught. He’s really something.”

Xiao Bai’s anxiety peaked. “Heng-ge, none of this was in the original plot!”

“I know,” Yin Yuheng said, smile unchanged.

The original novel was nothing more than a poorly-reasoned angst fic. Zhu Anning had been a fairly ordinary white lotus male supporting character who liked Li Guanghan and simply wanted to oppose “Yin Yuheng.” Nothing more complicated than that.

Xiao Bai fell silent.

It thought: the Zhu Anning of right now, if anything, was less fixated on Li Guanghan than he was consumed by Yin Yuheng — dizzied and tangled up, equal parts hatred and something else entirely.

Xiao Bai could see it clearly. Every bit of this had been engineered by Yin Yuheng’s own hand.

Every look, every gesture, every word — all of it deliberate, all of it layered, drawing people in without them ever noticing they were sinking.

Every smile, every gentleness — calculated indulgence, warmth deployed with intent. And in the end, everyone still believed he was clean and luminous as the moon.

Yin Yuheng suppressed the urge to cough and said, without particular concern: “As long as the outcome stays the same, does the process matter? My good little Shidi — he’s always been after my blood. That hasn’t changed.”

“And watching me suffer with jealousy and inadequacy…” Yin Yuheng’s smile turned wry. “He must be delighted. Shidi is quite talented.”

Xiao Bai: “…”

“But he’s not quite there yet,” Yin Yuheng continued, “if he thinks he can play with my heart.”

“He wants something — I’ll perform it for him. I’ll wait and see who ends up suffering, jealous, inadequate, and bitter in the end. I hope my dear Shidi doesn’t disappoint me.”

Yin Yuheng suddenly bent forward and coughed up a mouthful of blood.

“Heng-ge!” Xiao Bai was frantic. “Stop pushing yourself — today’s plot is done, just go back to the palace!”

It knew what Yin Yuheng was like. He could be terrifyingly careless with himself, willing to take a hundred points of damage to deal eighty — a rational facade over a genuinely reckless core.

Yin Yuheng shook his head.

“I’m not going yet. The things that weren’t in the plot — those are exactly what I want to do.” He smiled quietly. “Shifu’s coming back.”

He spotted Li Guanghan’s silhouette in the distance.

Yin Yuheng let out one deep, violent cough of blood — and then his legs gave out, and he slid slowly down the wall to the ground.