If Chóng Fēi had known that a few strands of hair would cost him these repeated tiny heart attacks, he would have rather taken a few more slaps—and slapped back—but still not this.
"D-don't you step on it thinking it's something in your way, you dumb, stubborn fox!" He quickly caught Lìngxiāo by his arm.
When he pulled him back to the other edge of the corridor, Lìngxiāo spun back to him like a slow, unconscious ballad—graceful even in his daze.
But he also gave a free slap with his long brown hair, making Chóng Fēi shut his eyes and blink to clear his vision. "Even your hair seems to be revenging on me shamelessly." He muttered with a faint exhale, pushing back his own hair as it fell across his face.
Lìngxiāo ended up pressed against his chest, his back against the wall. His brows softened, his mouth parting with relief. He opened one eye to glance at the corridor. Still thankfully, no one was there. No one had seen their strange, embarrassing push-and-pull ballad.
'Oh.. he didn't seem to react that dangerously the whole time I had to hold him by his back or hand. Is he..?'
He slowly looked over his shoulder—not really his shoulder, but just below his jaw—to see Lìngxiāo. The way he was struggling to stay conscious made him wonder if Lìngxiāo's senses had dimmed from the possible pain at his head, or maybe something more than panic. But he wasn't paying attention right now—that was for sure.
He found Lìngxiāo trying not to shut his eyes or give in, his gaze fixed on him with an unreadable expression. The corners of his eyes were a little watery, making his lashes sparkle. One hand gripped Chóng Fēi's arm, the other rested on his shoulder for support. The grip was weak yet stubborn, determined. Perhaps hurt too.
Chóng Fēi struggled to hold his gaze. His eyes made him feel more like a criminal. The worst part was—he had been daydreaming for days with that face of Lìngxiāo, thinking maybe it could be him. Yes, he had changed dramatically, almost unrecognizable in his characteristics... but he still couldn't help but wish for it. He felt like that friend of his was really hurt and angry at him—not submissive anymore.
He felt the need to speak, but he wasn't good at apologizing. He always found words for arguments or logic, but this was far harder.
He lightly cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking in a lower, softer tone—meant only for Lìngxiāo's comfort, no other ears. "Are you.. a little finer than before..?"
Lìngxiāo blinked tightly, slowly. He took a few more seconds before answering—just by shaking his head: no. He looked away from him, his face pressing against Chóng Fēi's shoulder. His body was both tight and relaxed at the same time, a little unresponsive.
The way Lìngxiāo looked away clearly said he was somehow hurt and angry. He wondered if it was from the questioning alone, or the hair clipping.
So instead of speaking, he slowly guided Lìngxiāo toward his room and laid him down.
**
The room was neat and clean, though Chóng Fēi had last seen it open ten years ago. Lìngxiāo seemed to have decorated this place as his own—just as a home should be. Not too gorgeous, not too cozy.
The skull was left in front of the small table near his bedside. The lifeless thing meant for investigation even looked like part of the space. He couldn't help but recall all the moments around that skull—and that robe.
At the time, he hadn't paid attention to whether Lìngxiāo was lying or telling the truth. But now he had a feeling that Lìngxiāo himself wasn't sure what had just happened—and that robe wasn't something he had worn because his own robe was torn.
But since this topic fell under his father's territory and the investigation of Lìngxiāo's ghosts—something he wasn't truly interested in—he let it go and focused on fixing his little sin.
"New record." Chóng Fēi mumbled like a silent announcement to Lìngxiāo as he brought him closer to the bed, his expression slightly pouty, dry, and not serious with the words at all this time.
"I, Chóng Fēi, have just pulled a half-conscious guy back to his room after a slap of hand... and slap of hair... the one I kinda clipped." He added.
Lìngxiāo still didn't answer. Just when the bed was within reach, he quickly moved away from Chóng Fēi. His movement was slow but firm—like a gentle creature that had made humans fall for its charm and help, then ran back into the forest as if it had never known them. His eyes fluttered shut with a faint sigh, sinking into the blankets, covering himself whole.
"What a record. I didn't even receive a thanks." He huffed faintly.
His arms crossed, one fist punching his own shoulder—the one that had been carrying Lìngxiāo all alone. His lips parted thoughtfully, watching Lìngxiāo totally ignore him, as if he had thrown his politeness out the window and Chóng Fēi was nothing bigger.
'I can just pick up heavy swords. Nothing more. Perhaps I should exercise more often. My poor lungs are working overtime to get me air.'
He tilted his head when he saw Lìngxiāo not moving an inch—like a dead body covered by the white fabric.
'Is he going to sleep in the morning? Well... he has been locked in the temple for a week... who knows what happened there... I have pushed him too much from the start too. Maybe he should sleep—since he is also human.'
He moved closer to the bed carefully and sat down, a hand resting near Lìngxiāo's as he leaned in. That was strangely comforting—just to sit here and feel his faint breathing. Another strange thing: he was feeling less heavy since taking the five needles. The ghostly presence that always kept him on edge—especially close to this chamber—had grown weaker than before.
His eyes drifted toward Lìngxiāo's right hand, slightly out of the covers—the thumb marked with multiple tiny holes, like cursed marks, by the needle snake he balanced.
It only reminded him why he had started to become more curious about him. He wanted to know how a human like him even existed—someone who felt familiar on the surface, yet not. He didn't usually get curious about anyone. This was new, fresh, exciting, and unexpectedly real to ignore.
So when this sudden coldness touched him, it felt like a betrayal of everything he had been thinking like an alive human.
'It might get worse if it's still open..'
He raised his palm and drew a harmless cut over his own skin. His nail left a faint white line. When he raised his thumb over that palm, the faint line grew with a faint bluish-gray glow—and rose up like a tiny, thin snake.