Chóng Fēi's face snapped sharply to the left.
The handprint of Lìngxiāo's upper side if the palm was vibrant red over his pale skin—like a seal no one had seen coming. His eyes were wide, frozen, his mouth parted in disbelief, a few strands of hair falling messily over his face.
His hand slowly rose to his own cheek, still glaring at Lìngxiāo. His gray eyes had darkened—not just with rage, but with something deeper. Humiliation.
"Now.. did you have just slapped me?" He asked in a strangely calm tone, but it clearly carried the emotions Lìngxiāo could already guess.
Lìngxiāo breathed slowly—deep, tight, controlled. His chest rose and fell visibly, his eyes wide and fixed on Chóng Fēi, trembling with both annoyance and the dawning realization of what he had just done. He had slapped the man who unofficially ruled this clan.
'Oh Lord..no..''
'If he tells his zhù fù right away.. problems would rise again.'
'B-but he was pushing me since the day I stepped inside. I cannot compromise like before.. I have already done more than I should have..'
He said nothing.
That was certain—something was going to land on him in return, because Chóng Fēi was not the kind to let go easily. At this point, apologizing would only make him feel smaller than humble. Letting the news spread was another problem entirely. He just wanted to finish this here, without anyone else knowing.
"I asked something.." Chóng Fēi called coldly, his tone flat but burning at the edges. "Have you forgotten your place here?"
Lìngxiāo was long used to those words. They didn't cut him anymore. Nor did he have any good friendship with Chóng Fēi to actually feel hurt. It only kept the room hotter, his core ruthless and struggling not to slip out and create more chaos.
Though as a peace lover, seeing no other choice, he thought of trying the apology—even though a moment ago he had reminded himself not to lower himself. "Apologies... Gōngzǐ.. i—"
"That you got carried away again?" Chóng Fēi clipped, suddenly too close again—now taking out a knife from his robe. "An explanation for your rude behavior takes you avoiding and slapping?"
He caged Lìngxiāo into his arms. Just one step of space between them. The other hand now holding the knife near to his throat, near to the faintly pounding vein at his neck.
"Should I remind you something..?" He muttered darkly near to Lìngxiāo's ear.
Lìngxiāo didn't move. His gaze fell over the clean sharpness of the small knife—enough to seriously injure him. An unexpected shiver ran down his spine.
He just couldn't react properly out of his shock, his core threatening to act with full force while his steady self tried to keep it buried. The result was his poor, stumbling reactions.
When he finally moved, he took out a needle and held it near to Chóng Fēi's throat. His hand trembled faintly. He didn't use it—just threatened, so that at least for the sake of his phobia, he would give him space.
"Should.. I remind you something too, Gōngzǐ..?" Lìngxiāo muttered back. Almost a whisper. Soft, cold, less kind—but still as sharp as the blade in Chóng Fēi's hand.
Chóng Fēi shut his eyes tightly at the sight of the needle—but stubbornly refused to move away. His voice was steady, though a flicker of weakness mixed with rage bled through as he ordered, "Put it down."
"Why do you not simply put down your knife and take a step back, Gōngzǐ..?" Lìngxiāo muttered, tilting his own chin up higher, his own eyes shut lightly too. His smile was dark, awkward, and strangely amazed by Chóng Fēi's dedication—facing his fear of needles just to threaten him.
At least his nine-tail fox core was creating less chaos now, letting him speak properly...but still burning inside him as if begging for space.
"You started. So you would end it." Chóng Fēi almost hissed. "Put it down. Or I have more ways which you might not even like."
But Lìngxiāo didn't take it seriously.
That guy who blushed just from eye contact and cried out at the sight of needles or ghosts—doing something truly horrifying? It almost made Lìngxiāo want to laugh at him.
He wasn't even crule enough to be this harsh with him. But this man seemed too much twisted to be kind.
'He just needs bitter medicines.'
"You know, Gōngzǐ.. this needle is only ten inches. I have another.. it is thirty inches.. wish to see?" Lìngxiāo threatened lightly—but truthfully.
He did have those dangerous sizes of needles.
"Shut up.. put it down. You are testing my patience, Lìngxiāo.." Chóng Fēi didn't put down the knife. His ego was on top. He just leaned lower, so that his nose sometimes brushed against Lìngxiāo's ear or hair. "I would just forget it without letting zhù fù know. I don't like standing in front of him either. And perhaps you already know—he dislikes you."
Lìngxiāo looked up through his lashes, silent, listening. 'He has a point. I wish those never existed..'
As if he felt his gaze, Chóng Fēi opened his eyes too, looking back at him. He continued, "Perhaps kicking you away without being able to solve this case is even more dangerous than my few tiny questions, isn't it?"
Lìngxiāo still didn't find any proper reason to hold onto, to believe him. This guy was naive, yes. But he also lived with his cruel father. His blood carried that coldness and obsession for power. So of course he could be cruel—but also a victim of cruelty himself.
So his needle didn't lower.
"So you don't believe me?" Chóng Fēi didn't look at the needle—only at Lìngxiāo. He took the knife and brought it near to a lock of Lìngxiāo's hair, slowly tangling the blade around it.
Lìngxiāo blinked, looking at him and his hair with wide, disbelieving eyes.
'Is he going to do what I am thinking?'
The lighter bit of a dangerous shiver crawled into Lìngxiāo's chest: fear of losing the comfortable, casual appearance that was his dignity. His hair wasn't just brown locks—it was like a brown veil he wore to hide his reality. And Chóng Fēi—was now threatening that too?
'How could he just—?!'
The needle slipped from his hand, falling to the floor with a tiny, hollow clatter before going silent.
"Fēi Gōngzǐ—" Lìngxiāo's voice cracked at the edges like a plea, but he was trying hard not to show how shaken he had become. His eyes looked watery, genuinely frightened.
"You should have thought about it before even thinking to slap me.." Chóng Fēi muttered, holding the lock of hair just as Lìngxiāo's own hand trembled near his mouth.
"M-mn...!" Lìngxiāo shut his eyes tightly, trying to pull away from the rough handling—which felt far more shameful than any blade could.
'I hate being seen this fragile..'
Chóng Fēi was holding the hair around the blade much higher. But after seeing the rising panic in his eyes—the way his pulse pounded, his hands clenched, his breathing labored far too much—
"Fuck.." Even he blinked in disbelief. "Don't tell me you have a freaking phobia of your hair getting clipped rather than your throat, damnit.." But he didn't let go.
Instead, unexpectedly—
The strings ruffled down as the blade was guided softly without pressure—and clipped just a small lock. Long enough to hold, and short enough to be noticed.