Chapter 32#

Vanishing#

“Wrong answer.” Mijin withdrew his hand. “Would someone who can swim be afraid of falling into water?”

“Answering a question with a question to avoid answering.” Shaque was still looking at him. “Looks like I guessed right.”

“I’m actually quite surprised.” Mijin’s shoulders had gathered white snow. He examined Shaque from this distance, his gaze obscure. “You actually understand what ’lifesaver’ means.”

Of course Shaque understood. As long as he was given a clear reason, he could understand even the strangest things.

“These four characters aren’t that hard to understand.” Shaque tilted the umbrella’s surface and gently shook off the accumulated snow. “You’ve been following me this whole way — what for?”

“Aren’t you familiar with me?” Mijin’s expression didn’t change. “Keep guessing.”

“You engineered the exit from the city because you had no one on hand. Going to the palace hall today was presumably to recruit people, but you might not trust the people of the old capital.” Shaque closed the umbrella. “I heard Tian Ruping has returned. He should be bringing prisoners from Yuanzhou.”

Mijin said, “Anything else?”

“Prisoners entering the capital are all guarded by the Imperial Guard.” Shaque speculated, “You want to use my father’s face to get people from Yuchi Liang.”

“If that were the case, shouldn’t I have gone directly to Duke Jinxiu?” Mijin raised the umbrella’s rim, his tone neither warm nor cold. “It would just take a few words. Would I really need to wait here until midnight?”

He stepped out from under the umbrella, snow falling all over his body. The former crown prince couldn’t be bothered with it. He took a few steps, threw away the extinguished glass lantern, then turned back around.

Shaque didn’t understand why. He watched Mijin duck back under the umbrella and murmured, “What exactly do you want…”

Mijin carried the cold of deep night with him: “Sha Sanqing.”

He called him, but then stopped there.

A long time later, Mijin suddenly and roughly pulled up Shaque’s hand, rolling up his sleeve. Cold wind ran up inside the sleeve tube, and Shaque’s fingers curled inward again. But Mijin said nothing. He wound the whip, circle by circle, back around Shaque’s forearm.

“Mi Wuye.” Shaque hooked the whip. “What are you angry about?”

“You think you’re so clever. You think you understand me so well.” Mijin raised his eyes, staring at Shaque. “Sha Sanqing — do you think I truly don’t know why you went to save me?”

Naga, the wound hurts very much.

The effect of this sentence was obvious. Shaque had thought seriously about why these words would be so effective. If he had known Mijin for many years, he certainly wouldn’t have had this question — but he had only known Mijin for a few months.

Mijin had once been a child of destiny. His surname granted him honor and prestige. He dared to gaze at the world with eyes full of desire because he had been born sleeping among golden flowers. Shaque had little interest in people of this sort, but Mijin was slightly different — he was very interesting. He was someone who couldn’t cry out in pain.

Miluo had taken away Mijin’s right to cry out in pain with his very skull. Mijin’s true emotions were locked into the crevices of power from then on. This was the cruelest part of patricide. But Mijin was terminally ill; his wound had festered severely, all of it deeply etched into his spirit. So he could only harm himself.

When Mijin was harming himself, he encountered Shaque. But Shaque had no sense of pain. He couldn’t comprehend Mijin’s suffering; he could only understand Mijin through doctrine. And it was precisely this understanding that made Mijin so very interesting.

One couldn’t feel pain; the other didn’t know pain. If Heaven were merciful, it should have let them stumble through life together. But Heaven had to take Shaque’s life instead.

“Why did I go to save you?” Shaque ignored the biting wind. “Because you were the crown prince. Because you were a bargaining chip. So what if you know? What about me — aren’t I your bargaining chip too? Mi Wuye, do you think I didn’t want to be born into a better life? Do you think I didn’t want to be a normal person?”

The reason Shaque was still here wasn’t because Yuan Bocheng was so great — it was because he couldn’t break free from the Nine Heavens!

After the Chaos of Chunshao, Shaque lived in the southwestern border markets. That was the first time he’d left. He had run away. If it weren’t for that pouch haunting him like a ghost, Shaque should have vanished into the crowds long ago.

Whether following Nie or opposing Nie, Shaque didn’t care. Over these years, Shaque had heard too many impassioned speeches. He had gradually come to realize: every word they said was aimed at exterminating each other. A mother’s love was no different. Brotherhood was no different. Even ideals and morality were no different!

What more could Shaque do? He was the only one alive among all those brothers and sisters. Was he at peace here? Yuan Bocheng could play his fake father today and become his real King of Hell tomorrow. Where was he supposed to run?

He had no Xiangling Plain. He was just an assassin. Among the Luan clan, he was an outcast. Among people, he was still an outcast.

“Then you can make everyone in the world become Mi Wuye!” Mijin mocked himself. “Let’s see if that life is really a good one!”

“Then let’s trade.” Shaque suddenly threw away the umbrella. He couldn’t understand him — he yanked up his own whip. “What do you think this is? A reward? This is my lifesaver! I use it to—”

He suddenly lost his voice. Shaque clenched his jaw tight. He couldn’t say it. This was his greatest secret.

“What are you—” Sha Sanqing.

then Shaque bit him.

Mijin’s knuckles ached. He pried open Shaque’s teeth. Sha— wine banners flapped. Shaque’s body couldn’t withstand the wind, sleeves billowing. He could barely stand, only.

“What do you have to be angry about?” Shaque grabbed Mijin’s chest against the wind, wildly twisting his head away, not letting Mijin pinch him. “What do you have to be…”

Mijin pulled Shaque to him. Wind and snow hurried past. With one hand, he turned Shaque’s face back around, saying: “You think I’m a fool? You think I don’t know? Shaque — don’t I owe you a life!”

Go. Shaque stood in the snow. His cheeks were pinched red by Mijin, and soon, even the tip of his nose turned red.

“You…” Shaque ate the wind. He shivered slightly. “What nonsense are you talking…”

“Is there any divine physician in this world,” Mijin’s eyes were pitch dark, he leaned in, asking Shaque word by word, “who can cure a knife wound through the heart?”

Shaque trembled in Mijin’s palm. He wasn’t afraid of people knowing — he was just cold. Ever since he’d lost that life, Shaque had become terribly susceptible to cold. But this was only one change among many. There were others he couldn’t speak aloud.

For example, dreams. Shaque was afraid of dreaming because he had never had one. In the first few days, Shaque kept confusing truth and fiction. He would lie on the soft cushion, no longer able to wake clear-headed the moment he opened his eyes, as he once had.

Fusheng had disappeared, and Shaque’s uniqueness had disappeared with him. He was finally no longer an outcast. But what was he supposed to do to be considered normal?

Naga, the wound hurts very much.

It was precisely this sentence that made Shaque realize: the wound that couldn’t take form in Mijin, through that massacre, had transferred to his own belly. He could hook that thread — before even understanding its purpose — and play the gamble between them to his heart’s content.

But Xueke. Shaque asked himself: how is this any different from Shisanniang?