Chapter 62

Tianlang-jun and Zhuzhi-lang stood frozen solid in the center of the chamber, two obsidian-tinged ice sculptures wreathed in dark energy. Luo Binghe strode inside, tendrils of frost-white mist coiling up his black boots only to be crushed mercilessly underfoot. He aimed a palm strike at each frozen figure, spiderwebs of cracks snaking across the solid ice.

Shen Qingqiu leaned against the stone wall, his voice tired. "It's useless. Crystal ice this dense won't shatter easily, and even if it did, you wouldn't harm them inside. We should use this time while they're sealed to get out of the Sacred Tomb."

Luo Binghe whirled around and marched back toward him.

Seeing him awake, a mix of shock and relief surged through Shen Qingqiu. He’d been planning to drag himself back to the stone coffin anyway. To find the man already up and about—he almost blurted out a question about how he was feeling. But the words died in his throat. Luo Binghe’s expression was pure, unadulterated fury.

"Didn't I tell you not to go with them?!" Luo Binghe’s voice was a whip-crack, nearly a shout.

Already dizzy, Shen Qingqiu felt his eardrums throb. It was like being doused with icy water. He stared, stunned, before a hot, nameless anger ignited in his chest.

His reply came out flat. "Are you better now?"

"Better?" Luo Binghe’s tone was still sharp, hostile.

He certainly sounded energetic enough. Probably fully recovered.

Well, that was something. At least he’d repaid a fraction of the debt. Maybe he wasn’t a complete scumbag after all.

Shen Qingqiu gave a stiff nod. "Good." He turned and started walking blindly down a random passage.

Truthfully, he had no idea where he was going. Leaving the Sacred Tomb required both the Xin Mo sword and Luo Binghe himself. Missing either meant wandering these halls forever. But after exhausting himself dragging the man halfway across the tomb, getting yelled at was the last straw. Hanging around feeling sorry for himself was pointless.

He hadn't gone ten steps when a dying candle in a wall sconce flickered to life. Its ghostly flame illuminated half his profile.

A hand shot out and grabbed his arm. "...Are you crying?"

The question made Shen Qingqiu freeze.

Crying?

Was he crying?

How could he possibly be crying?!

He lifted his left hand—the good one, which had been clamped around Luo Binghe until now—and swiped at his cheek. His fingers came away wet. Damn it. Really wet. Disgusting.

Then he remembered. These were the tears that had sprung up when he’d ripped those damnable threads of affection from his leg.

How pathetic.

All the fire had drained from Luo Binghe’s voice, replaced by stunned confusion. "So... what I thought I heard while I was out... it really was Shizun crying?"

A flush of embarrassed anger heated Shen Qingqiu’s neck. "Who’s crying? I don’t know what you’re talking about!" He tried to wrench his arm free and walk off, but Luo Binghe immediately wrapped his arms around him from behind.

Of all the luck, his grip landed directly on Shen Qingqiu’s right arm—the one currently hosting a garden of embedded threads. Shen Qingqiu bit back a scream, a pained grunt escaping instead. Luo Binghe instantly released him, keeping only a gentle hold on his left hand, pulling him closer to the candlelight for inspection.

The more he looked, the paler his face became. There was hardly an inch of Shen Qingqiu that wasn’t a mess of wounds, dried blood, and grime. A truly pitiful sight.

Luo Binghe remembered clearly: before he lost consciousness, Shen Qingqiu had been perfectly fine. His voice trembled. "All of this... was for... me?"

Shen Qingqiu wanted to cough up blood. Who else, you idiot?

He couldn't say that out loud. It sounded like he was fishing for gratitude. He forced out two clipped words: "Let go."

In a blink, Luo Binghe’s entire demeanor shifted, softening into something pliant and wretched. "I won’t. Shizun, don’t be angry. I was wrong."

He’d said that a thousand times before!

Shen Qingqiu shoved him away. They needed to move. The blind corpses were closing in. This was no place for a scene.

Luo Binghe peeled away only to stick right back to his side, clingier than ever. "Then hit me, Shizun. Beat the anger out of your system. Please?"

Someone come quick, there’s a masochist here who needs to be locked up—

Shen Qingqiu walked faster. Luo Binghe kept pace, babbling the entire way. Shen Qingqiu knew this routine by now. The brat had long since figured out he was immune to threats but helpless against this kind of pathetic pleading. After what felt like an eternity of it, Shen Qingqiu sighed in defeat. "...You’re always like this. Apologizing in tears, then doing the same thing all over again. What’s the point?"

Luo Binghe sounded on the verge of actual sobs. "I’ll change. I promise. Just don’t abandon me."

Looking at his miserable face, if not for the lump on the back of his head—the one Shen Qingqiu had put there—he’d have smacked his forehead a few times for good measure. What had gone wrong with his teaching methods? How had he raised such a crybaby? The idea of the fearsome Luo Binghe, the scourge of the realms, sniffling and clinging to his master’s robes… who would ever believe it?

Even Ning Yingying cried less than this!

"I’m not abandoning anyone!" Shen Qingqiu snapped, exasperated.

"When I was unconscious," Luo Binghe said, his voice dropping, "I held onto a sliver of awareness. I fought so hard to wake up. And when I finally did… I was alone in a coffin. Shizun was gone. I… I lost my head. I thought you’d left me behind again. That you’d rather go with them than stay with me..."

Waking up alone, "abandoned" in a coffin… Shen Qingqiu could see how that would sting. He cleared his throat, a twinge of guilt pricking him.

"I didn’t mean it," Luo Binghe continued, quieter now. "I don’t know why. I don’t want to be like that, I don’t want to say those things to you, but sometimes… I just can’t control myself around Shizun. I know it’s ugly. Shameful. But you didn’t leave me. You were protecting me the whole time. It wasn’t a dream. I’m just… so happy."

Who was ugly and shameful here?

Two grown men hugging and sniveling in a tomb—neither of them was winning any awards for dignity!

Perhaps because he was too happy, he couldn’t muster any grander words, just repeating "happy" and "glad" like a broken record. Shen Qingqiu’s eye twitched. He rubbed his temples and let out a long, deep sigh.

Forget it. This wasn’t the first time. Even Meng Mo had said it: this kid’s nature was just like this. All cool arrogance on the surface, probably weeping into a handkerchief in private. What was the use of getting worked up over it?

Then again, he wasn’t much better. Throwing a fit over such a minor misunderstanding. He was just as ridiculous as this troublesome disciple.

He took a steadying breath. "So you’re really alright now? No after-effects?"

Luo Binghe nodded vigorously. "I’m fine."

He’d been burning up with fever before. Now he was completely fine? Shen Qingqiu was skeptical. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to Luo Binghe’s forehead. It was cool and smooth. When he tried to pull away, Luo Binghe’s own hand came up to cover his, trapping it in place. The eyes gazing up at him from under their joined hands were shining.

That expression was painfully familiar. It was the same look the well-behaved, sheep-like youth from Qing Jing Peak used to give him, following him around all day.

It made Shen Qingqiu’s skin crawl, but he couldn’t bring himself to yank his hand back. Doing that when someone was practically glowing with joy would be like slapping them in the face.

"You’re sure you’re alright?" he pressed. "No dizziness? Your spiritual power and demonic energy are circulating normally?"

"Perfectly," Luo Binghe said, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "Better than ever."

As they spoke, they reached a burial chamber on the eastern side. Luo Binghe drew his sword and slashed diagonally through the air. A dark, void-like spatial rift split open on the stone wall.

His broken arm was miraculously healed. His leg was fine. The blood was gone from his face. Even the unruly Xin Mo sword seemed docile in his grip.

Shen Qingqiu decided he didn’t want to know. He made a ‘let’s go’ gesture and stepped through the rift first.

Outside the tomb, the light was bright. Luo Binghe offered a steadying hand, which Shen Qingqiu, after a brief hesitation, accepted.

It had been a long time since they’d interacted so… normally.

The thought had barely formed when Shen Qingqiu glanced at Luo Binghe. He did look refreshed, vibrant. He really was "better than ever."

And here I was, terrified I’d doomed the protagonist again, breaking my back to protect him… and he was just taking a nice nap to recharge his plot armor.

As this sour thought settled in, Luo Binghe spoke again. "Though, besides hearing Shizun… I mean, besides hearing someone… there was another strange sensation."

Shen Qingqiu’s concern instantly resurfaced. So there were after-effects. "What kind of sensation?"

Luo Binghe shook his head slowly. "...It’s hard to describe."

"Did it hurt?"

"No, it was… pleasant." He trailed off, a look of profound confusion crossing his features as his gaze drifted downward.

Shen Qingqiu’s face went utterly deadpan. This time, he genuinely wanted to slap him all the way back into the Sacred Tomb.

Hello, Heavenly Pillar. Goodbye, Heavenly Pillar!

The conversation died an abrupt death.

Tianlang-jun’s voice, smooth and relentless, caught up to them from the tomb’s entrance. "Peak Lord Shen, why such a hurried departure? The two of you have nearly turned my ancestral sanctuary upside down. Leaving without so much as a farewell gift seems rather… discourteous, don't you think?"

With each word, the voice grew closer. Soon, the man himself appeared in their line of sight. Shen Qingqiu wearily rolled his eyes. Still, the ancient ice magic of the Mobei clan had held them long enough to get clear of the tomb. That was more than he’d hoped for.

Luo Binghe, already displeased at failing to shatter the ice earlier, now saw their appearance as a welcome opportunity. The knuckles of his clenched fist gave a sharp crack. His gaze fixed on Zhuzhi-lang, his voice dropping to a deadly chill. "You dared to feed your blood to my master."

Zhuzhi-lang glanced at Shen Qingqiu, his expression tinged with shame. Tianlang-jun remarked, "Don't say such things with that look on your face. Did you not feed him your blood? If not, whose is the other blood parasite within Peak Lord Shen?"

Upon hearing this, Luo Binghe stiffened, his fists clenching.

Shen Qingqiu merely lifted the hand holding Xiuya Sword. Luo Binghe immediately spoke, his voice low. "Master need not intervene. I alone am sufficient."

And just like that, the fight was on!

Three pillars of black energy erupted skyward, churning like a tempest. Watching from the sidelines, Shen Qingqiu gained a deeper understanding: demons and humans were truly different races.

The disparity in destructive power was immense!

And Luo Binghe had indeed leveled up. His protagonist's cheat codes had been renewed! Barely over an hour ago, he had been beaten senseless without the strength to fight back. Now, it was clear the halo of the male lead still shone brightly over Luo Binghe's head.

As he observed, a crimson bone-eagle circled overhead, its wings dipping as it sought an opening to plunge into the chaotic fray. Luo Binghe, fighting one against two, seemed oblivious to the clearly malevolent creature, but Shen Qingqiu saw it clearly. Just as he was about to shout a warning, the bone-eagle suddenly dove, streaking toward Luo Binghe's head.

An ambush?

Shen Qingqiu reversed his grip on Xiuya Sword, narrowed his eyes to aim, and hurled it with force.

The snow-white blade shot forth like an arrow, piercing through the bone-eagle in a flash of lightning.

Before he could even sigh in relief, the eagle's body did not fall. Instead, it disintegrated into thousands upon thousands of droplets that flew straight toward Shen Qingqiu.

On the other side, Tianlang-jun abruptly withdrew, leaping out of the combat circle with a laugh. Seeing the scattered blood droplets in the air, a flicker of panic crossed Luo Binghe's face.

Shen Qingqiu suddenly realized—this bone-eagle had been formed and condensed from Tianlang-jun's own blood! He had deliberately let it ambush Luo Binghe, all to lure Shen Qingqiu into striking it down!

The realization dawned just as a torrential rain of blood drenched him from head to face.

The Great Blood Deluge technique—blood packs, two cents a bag, buy one get two free, no charge!

Tianlang-jun smiled faintly, raised a hand, and made a gentle grasping motion in the air. Shen Qingqiu instantly felt his heart stutter, as if a hand had truly seized it within a palm, kneading it with malice.

There had been too much blood. Though he had clenched his mouth shut, the faint taste of iron still rose on his tongue. It seemed he had been hit after all.

Shen Qingqiu could only laugh inwardly, a bitter, silent chuckle.

Who else had chugged Heavenly Demon blood like it was an energy drink? Who else had ingested the blood of three different Heavenly Demons?

Screw this! I'm done! I quit, okay?!

Luo Binghe's eyes were frantic with worry, burning red. But with Tianlang-jun's blood now inside Shen Qingqiu, he dared not act rashly, fearing a sudden violent activation of the blood parasite. He could only grit his teeth and say, "...Stop!"

Seeing Shen Qingqiu's face alternate between pallor and ashen hues, Zhuzhi-lang couldn't help but plead, "My lord, show mercy..."

Tianlang-jun shrugged. "That depends on what our other young friend decides to do."

The three blood parasites within Shen Qingqiu's body churned like stormy seas, locked in a fierce, inextricable struggle. Among them, Luo Binghe's blood was primarily focused on protecting Shen Qingqiu's organs and meridians, steadily suppressing Zhuzhi-lang's blood while barely holding its own against Tianlang-jun's. Dividing its attention three ways, fighting one against two, it was inevitably constrained. The one that could operate with the most freedom and reckless abandon was Tianlang-jun's blood parasite, for he had absolutely no reservations.

He said to Luo Binghe, "Think carefully. If this continues, who will break first?"

The anxiety and helplessness in the depths of Luo Binghe's eyes grew increasingly intense. Finally, he yielded.

He said, "You withdraw first!"

Tianlang-jun displayed not a shred of elder's magnanimity in conceding to a junior. Instead, he countered, "You first."

Luo Binghe immediately said, "Fine."

Tianlang-jun smiled, his meaning unclear. "As expected..."

He turned to Zhuzhi-lang. "What to do? For some reason, seeing them gives me an extremely unpleasant feeling."

Zhuzhi-lang nodded silently.

After so many years, someone outside Cang Qiong Mountain Sect had finally experienced the blinding, gut-churning displeasure.

Shen Qingqiu accepted his own misfortune but didn't wish to drag others down with him. One hand pressed to his chest, he struggled to keep his expression neutral. "Do as you wish with me, sir. As you said, after drinking it so many times, I should be accustomed to it. But if you want Luo Binghe's physical body, don't even think about it."

In his life, Shen Qingqiu detested nothing more than playing the role of a hostage, a bargaining chip. He'd rather die than play the part of a liability.

Luo Binghe was both furious and helpless. "Master..."

Shen Qingqiu said, "You shut up."

Tianlang-jun looked puzzled. "Who said I wanted his body?"

Shen Qingqiu was left speechless.

Tianlang-jun continued, "His looks are inferior to mine. Why would I want his body?"

Who said you were more handsome than him?

Who certified that?

Who said it? Who? Who?

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky himself wrote that Luo Binghe was peerless, unprecedented and never to be surpassed, captivating all ages, the number one most handsome man in the entire book, okay?!

Disdainful of Luo Binghe's impure bloodline?!

Shen Qingqiu's face was a network of black lines. "...Then what exactly do you want?"

Zhuzhi-lang said, "What my lord wants is that sword."

Tianlang-jun affirmed, "Correct. The gift I intend for the human realm cannot be complete without that sword."

Hah. Want the male lead's golden finger?

The thoughts "wishful thinking" and "overestimating oneself" had just formed in Shen Qingqiu's mind when he saw Luo Binghe raise a hand and Zhuzhi-lang lift an arm. In an instant, the transfer was completed.

Swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation!

Shen Qingqiu stared, utterly dumbfounded.

You prodigal son!