Chapter 73

The young master took his time, strolling to Shen Jiu’s side before circling him halfway.

Shen Jiu’s face was tight, lips pressed thin. Though his expression was dark, his shoulders trembled faintly—clearly terrified, yet forcing himself to remain still.

Suddenly, Young Master Qiu lashed out with a kick, striking squarely between Shen Jiu’s shoulder blades. Shen Jiu’s face slammed into the floor.

“Well?” Young Master Qiu sneered. “Not going to hit back this time?”

Shen Jiu, his nose full of dust and blood, whispered, “Spare me, young master. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Didn’t know?” Young Master Qiu’s voice dripped with contempt. “You dare cross me even without knowing?”

A backhanded slap sent Shen Jiu crashing down again, his forehead thudding dully against the boards. Two trails of blood seeped from his nose, tracing lines down his chin. The young master seemed to derive immense pleasure from it, treating Shen Jiu like a ball to be bounced, again and again.

Shen Qingqiu watched silently.

This guy has some sadistic tastes, doesn’t he? The twisted joys of a twisted mind—each to their own brand of misery.

After dozens of such repetitions, Shen Jiu finally couldn’t hold back. “What do you want from me?!” he shouted.

Young Master Qiu’s smile was venomous. “You belong to our family now. I’ll do as I please.”

Suddenly, a soft, melodic voice called from beyond the door. “Brother? Are you in there?”

At the sound of his sister’s voice, Young Master Qiu’s expression shifted instantly. He untied the ropes binding Shen Jiu and hissed a threat. “Wipe your face. One wrong word, and you’re dead.”

Shen Jiu’s eyes burned with a mixture of hatred and fear, a dangerous glint flashing within them. He swallowed his rage, scrubbing roughly at his face to clear away the blood and grime. By then, Young Master Qiu had already adopted a gentle expression, opening the door with a spring-like smile. “What brings you here, Tang’er?”

So this is where the original goods learned his two-faced nature—all smiles in front of others, a dagger behind their backs. Probably picked it up from watching this young master.

Qiu Haitang stepped inside, dressed in a pale violet robe and white satin boots. “I heard you bought a servant,” she said cheerfully. “I came to see what he’s like.”

Noticing the boy standing in the corner—head bowed, shoulders hunched, yet with strikingly delicate features—her eyes lit up. She approached, smiling warmly. “You must be Xiao Jiu?”

Shen Jiu remained silent, his head lowered. Young Master Qiu stood behind his sister, his eyes promising retribution, but his tone was light. “He’s not much of a talker. A bit odd, really.”

Qiu Haitang took Shen Jiu’s hand. “Why won’t you speak? Talk to me, won’t you?”

Her voice was sweet, her manner innocent and inviting. Few could resist such a gentle request. Even Shen Jiu’s stony expression softened slightly under her coaxing, and he turned his face away.

Watching this, Shen Qingqiu felt a flicker of understanding. The young Qiu Haitang really does resemble Ning Yingying. So this has always been his type.

Delighted, Qiu Haitang clapped her hands. “Brother, he’s so interesting. I quite like him.”

Young Master Qiu’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I like him very much as well.”

At the word “like,” Shen Jiu shuddered involuntarily.

At that moment, the entire scene dimmed abruptly.

Everyone present vanished into nothingness. Shen Qingqiu paused, then understood—this was one of the memory gaps the Dream Demon had mentioned. Fragmented and incomplete, the original’s memories would fracture often. One segment had ended; another was beginning.

The room remained the same. This time, Shen Jiu wasn’t bound. He lay face-down on the floor, bruised and battered, his fingers clawing desperately at the carpet fibers until they were stained with blood.

Then, two soft knocks sounded at the door. A boy’s hushed voice called from outside, “Xiao Jiu? Are you there?”

At the sound, Shen Jiu scrambled forward, pressing his face to the keyhole. “Seventh Brother!”

“Quiet,” the boy outside whispered. “I sneaked in.”

Shen Qingqiu hadn’t guessed who might be outside, but then it struck him—Shen Jiu’s name came from being the ninth child in the trafficker’s hold. Naturally, there would be a first, second, third… up to an eighth.

Still, it was surprising that Shen Jiu had a friend. Someone he spoke to with such familiarity.

A rattling noise came from the door, as if someone was shaking it from the outside. “It’s no use,” Shen Jiu said bitterly. “There are five or six locks, inside and out. The windows are barred too.”

“Did they hurt you much,” the boy asked worriedly, “after you failed to escape?”

Fury surged in Shen Jiu’s chest. “Hurt me? Are you stupid? They’ve had me locked in here for two days, broke both my legs. What do you think?!”

Shen Qingqiu could see clearly—though beaten badly and unable to walk, Shen Jiu’s legs were intact, not broken at all. But the boy outside couldn’t see inside and seemed to believe it. “It’s my fault,” he said, voice thick with guilt.

“Damn right it’s your fault!” Shen Jiu snapped. “All of it! We didn’t even know those new kids. So what if they stepped on us? Why did you have to stand up? You think our lives are too precious to be trampled? If you hadn’t stood up, I wouldn’t have helped you. If I hadn’t helped, I wouldn’t have crossed him. If I hadn’t crossed him, that Qiu bastard wouldn’t have bought me! If he hadn’t bought me, I wouldn’t be here—beaten like a dog every other day!”

The boy outside kept apologizing. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”

Of course, Shen Qingqiu mused. If someone like Shen Jiu had a friend, they’d have to be impossibly patient.

After several rounds of apologies, Shen Jiu’s anger finally subsided. “Forget it. I’ve never believed in loyalty in this life. Consider this my one and only act of it—for you.”

“I know,” the boy said gratefully. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Shen Jiu sniffed, his tone gloomy again. “What future? Stuck with the traffickers forever, you’ll end up one of them someday.”

“Xiao Jiu,” the boy said, “that’s why I came. I’m leaving. I wanted to say goodbye.”

Shen Jiu jolted upright. “Leaving? Where?”

“I can’t stay here,” Seventh Brother said. “The Qiu family’s power in this city is too great. We can’t fight them, and we can’t run. But there are so many cultivation sects out there. I’ll find one, learn their arts, and come back for you.”

A brilliant, desperate hope ignited in Shen Jiu’s eyes. “Seventh Brother, I heard of an immortal mountain in the east. They recruit talented disciples every year. Will you go there?”

“I don’t know,” the boy admitted. “But I’ll try them all. One of them will take me.”

“If I weren’t locked in here,” Shen Jiu murmured, jealousy flickering across his face before he sighed, “I could go with you.” After a pause, he added, “Seventh Brother, you have to stop being so impulsive. It always makes things worse. I was unlucky this time, but if you join an immortal sect and still act like this, what then?”

“I’ll remember,” Seventh Brother said, chastened.

Shen Jiu struggled to sit up straighter, his voice now fervent with hope. “Seventh Brother, you have to remember your promise. You have to come back for me!”

Seventh Brother’s voice was firm, as if nodding vigorously. “I will! Endure it a little longer. Once I’ve mastered their arts, I’ll take you away!”

A silence settled between them, separated by the thick wood of the door. “Are you still there?” Shen Jiu asked finally.

“I’m here,” the boy replied quickly. “I’m listening.”

“Seventh Brother,” Shen Jiu said, his voice softening, “come closer. Let me see you through the crack. Who knows how many years it’ll be before we meet again.”

“Alright.”

Shen Jiu shifted painfully, pressing his eye to the narrow gap in the door. Curious, Shen Qingqiu leaned in as well, peering through the same sliver of light.

…What the hell?!

It wasn’t the boy’s face that sent Shen Qingqiu reeling. That would have been fine. The problem was—the boy outside had a face blurred into a pixelated mess!

Like a censored mosaic!

The Dream Demon had warned that blurred faces and memory gaps were possible, but actually encountering one filled Shen Qingqiu with the overwhelming urge to cough up blood.

Oh, great Dream Demon, couldn’t you have patched this bug?!

He desperately wanted to know what that face looked like!

Just as Shen Qingqiu considered phasing through the door to see if proximity would clear the blur, the memory fractured again.

This time, the scene was the study.

Young Master Qiu was writing at his desk. Shen Jiu stood silently beside him, grinding ink.

This Shen Jiu was no longer a scrawny boy. He had grown tall and slender for his age, standing with a cold, scholarly air as he performed his duties.

As Young Master Qiu neared the end of a sheet of paper, Shen Jiu spoke, eyes lowered. “Young Master, there is something…”

Without looking up, Young Master Qiu said, “You want to talk about that charlatan in the city, don’t you?”

“That Senior is no charlatan,” Shen Jiu defended.

Young Master Qiu set down his brush, frowning. “Just stay quietly in this house. Be a good husband to my sister and live a proper life. Why fill your head with such fantasies?”

A heavy silence fell. Then, suddenly, Shen Jiu gritted out through clenched teeth, “…A proper life… I don’t want this life!”

Finally, Young Master Qiu lifted his gaze. With a cold glance, he kicked out, striking the back of Shen Jiu’s knee.

Shen Jiu collapsed face-first to the floor.

Have these two been stuck in this same pattern all these years?

Young Master Qiu rose from his seat, sneering. “All these years of teaching you, and you’d trade it for the cheap tricks of some roadside fraud?”

Shen Jiu, his nose bloodied and his pride bruised, muttered into the floorboards, "It's not some trick. It's immortal arts."

Young Master Qiu crouched down beside him, giving his hair a familiar, mocking tug. "Immortal arts?" he cooed, his voice dripping with false affection. "What, you think a little bastard like you could ever cultivate immortality?"

Shen Jiu tried to turn his head away, but Young Master Qiu wouldn't allow it. He patted the side of Shen Jiu's head slowly, deliberately—a gesture more insulting than any blow. "You're barely even a person," he chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "And you dream of becoming an immortal?"