'What could it possibly be?'
He was furious about Lìngxiāo not having roots—but still.. perhaps he really didn't know. He had said as much as he could. It satisfied him just a little. But the more dangerous feeling was that he was getting friendly with the man his father had been glaring at the whole time.
And he knew that glare at least this much: those reddish-blue eyes could bring unwanted problems. But he wondered if it was because of Lìngxiāo's overconfidence, or because the people were recently worshiping him more than his father.
But he decided to let him ask—since.. he had made him sick.
'He deserves it.. he tried to satisfy my freaking curiosity enough.. I should return it too. At least at the cost of those shiny locks which he seems to adore, like they were made of brown gold dust.'
"Go on.." His voice came out smaller than he wished, bracing himself for whatever came his way.
Lìngxiāo's gaze was heavy but careful on him. Almost.. apologizing? He didn't know—but maybe he was overthinking, since he had barely seen people around him give this look. He just guessed it with pure instinct.
But he wasn't sure if Lìngxiāo was any of that kind of book which could be understood easily.
His eyes narrowed back to Lìngxiāo's face when he caught a faint movement. Lìngxiāo lightly shook his head, signaling: first, lower yourself.
Chóng Fēi blinked silently.
Being gently ordered like this was the last thing he expected from the man who had slapped him so hard he was glad no teeth came out. Shouldn't he be more angry about the hair?
Nothing was clicking into place.
Strange thoughts ran through his head. His chest tightened with curiosity, fear, and excitement—all tangled together.
'W-what is he going to do??'
'Another slap?'
'Another heart attack?'
'A real one this time maybe..'
"F-fine." He finally managed to mutter awkwardly.
"You better not cause any more trouble while zhù fù can come in anytime if he suddenly wakes up wondering where his son is. He.. doesn't show discipline if his mind says I'm up to something he dislikes.." He added like a soft warning, his cheeks flushed faintly.
He slowly lowered himself. His ponytail fell over his shoulder. The bluish-gray strands painted the white sheets with their own icy dark color, right beside Lìngxiāo's locks of hair.
Their eyes met with a quiet willingness—to fix both of their mistakes, even if perhaps not only Chóng Fēi himself, but Lìngxiāo also didn't know how to bridge it—or why they should even try.
Lìngxiāo's weak smile softened at his words. Still an expert at keeping mystery, until his mouth parted with this exact intention. "And.. as for your question.. the simple answer is: you are what you truly wish to be. The rest is performance, confusion, or.. forced."
Chóng Fēi pressed his lips lightly. Those words gave an unexpected fleeting relief. They felt flexible, smart, and totally real. No sugarcoating. And now it made him wonder if what he had been doing earlier was any of the ones Lìngxiāo had listed as fake.
He couldn't deny the answer was beautiful. He liked it enough to write a poem about it.
He watched Lìngxiāo silently take the wet towel. Then, with unexpected gentleness again, he pressed it over Chóng Fēi's cheek—the one he had just slapped.
The cold gentleness burned over his tender skin.
Chóng Fēi's eyes widened in surprise before one eye shut, his hand rising from the bed toward his cheek—just close, but not touching. A soft, pinched hiss escaped.
'He can't be serious.. is he really forgiving me.. or something.. so easily?'
"It still hurts.. careful." He muttered, trembling faintly but controlled.
He hoped this thin, poor layer of his drama wouldn't make him look like a fool—the aggressive tiger he had been earlier. He patiently waited this time, letting Lìngxiāo ask what he wished.
The small silence and the gentle stroke of the fabric strangely made his heart rate rise and locked his nerves so hard he couldn't even move from his position.
Lìngxiāo was nothing but a thoughtful bird right now—getting sleepy, thoughtfully tilting his head upward. He was always so thoughtful that Chóng Fēi wondered what interesting things he had to think about, which always just let the moment ground them and breathe so peacefully, like he wasn't the most demanded exorcist but just a normal person.
While Chóng Fēi had trained himself to stand in his father's place when he turned twenty-three, Lìngxiāo was demanded by many clans for much higher posts—yet he moved on his own way, like a man who didn't need a power house at a fixed place.
He couldn't wrap his head around it.
That was sure—he was going to have a hard time keeping balance with him as a cultivation friend, because both of them were everything the other avoided, disliked, or feared.
He hadn't even managed to keep proper relationships with his own few brothers before they all died. He couldn't even accept it. Not even his cousin Zì Hāo—a brat and also a free teacher for socializing—whom Chóng Fēi had failed like a backbencher.
Then suddenly, like the softest 'slap' Chóng Fēi could ever imagine having today—right after what he had done and realized late—Lìngxiāo said:
"Apologies.. actually I did not mean.. to hurt you. You have been just asking professional questions." His eyes softened with a mix of guilt and acceptance as he gently pressed the fabric all over Chóng Fēi's cheek, the cloth soaking away his sweat.
Chóng Fēi parted his mouth to answer immediately.
But nothing came out.
He was facepalming mentally for acting like he didn't even have words to describe it. But all he knew was that this man—this man was giving him a Xiǎo Lìng vibe. Perhaps he was trying to swallow down his old guilt too, the one he barely remembered—but something heavily pressed down on his chest.
A guilt that if he hadn't tried to be a hero—just maybe his friend Xiǎo Lìng wouldn't have been driven away like that.