Xue Yanluo's grip tightened on the parasol, making it creak under the force. His eyes wavered as his neck flushed scarlet, the color climbing quickly toward his face.
Before turning to face Ruan Xueling, he looked at the drawings painted on the parasol one last time. His turn was slow, without hurry or enthusiasm. If he could, he would have liked to close the parasol right there and avoid the subject entirely.
Ruan Xueling's face looked as cold as always, but Xue Yanluo caught a small twitch at the corners of her lips, close to a smile.
"I don't want a tan. I spent too long in the sun yesterday."
"I see. Is my old parasol comfortable? It suits you better than it ever suited me." She said in a mocking tone, holding back a laugh.
"Everything suits me well. You don't need to tell me that too."
Ruan Xueling frowned slightly and fixed him with a sharp look. A few seconds later her face relaxed again, and now she was examining Xue Yanluo. You look different. With that, she decided to move closer to get a better look at him.
Xue Yanluo tensed and stepped back instinctively each time she advanced. She had no cultivation, but she knew him far too well and might notice he wasn't quite himself. As he retreated, he tried to stop her by hiding his nerves behind commanding words — "Stop," "Wait…," "What are you doing?," "Don't come any closer." None of it worked.
With only a few feet between them, Xue Yanluo caught an irresistible smell rising from in front of him—a rich smell he had only encountered once before at a grand banquet with His Majesty.
The smell grew stronger with every step Ruan Xueling took toward him. Xue Yanluo's mind clouded, and his steps slowed, then stopped altogether.
His free hand trembled, opening and closing repeatedly, his fingers cracking under the force.
Ruan Xueling was just over a meter away from Xue Yanluo, inspecting him with growing intensity. Her hands were clasped behind her back, balancing her body as she leaned forward, leaving no part of him unexamined.
At that moment the smell became unbearable, and his thirst for blood was unstoppable, driven further by all the exhaustion and resistance he had lost during the transformation. His free arm rose, set on seizing the food in front of him. It was then that he managed to claw back a shred of rationality and shoved Ruan Xueling hard away from him. "Get back!"
Ruan Xueling hit the ground, stunned, not knowing how to react, staring only at Xue Yanluo. Her hands had scraped against the floor, a thin layer of blood rising to the surface.
That little blood struck at what little rationality Xue Yanluo had left, fighting to snuff it out and drag him under. Not wanting that, he squeezed his eyes shut, turned, and ran. He sprinted out of the courtyard with no direction, no destination.
He ran until he was spent. Likewise, he'd had to wrap part of his clothing around his head, since the parasol had fallen when he shoved her and bolted.
He looked around him—eunuchs were watching him on all sides, murmuring among themselves. He walked a little further, out of the palace grounds, and headed into the city.
He didn't know what to do and had covered his nose entirely with cloth, but he could still smell the fragrant scent that poured off the people around him. On the verge of losing his mind, he ran toward a small alley and collapsed there to recover.
A soldier had been tipped off about a strangely covered man behaving oddly. After searching for him, he caught a glimpse of him slipping into the alley and followed silently. "Don't move. Remove the cloth from your head and give your name and family," the soldier ordered, his hand closing around the hilt of his saber.
Xue Yanluo looked for a way out—there was none. The only exit was where the soldier stood. He got to his feet and readied himself to shove past him, fight briefly, and run; he knew there was no avoiding it.
The young soldier read Xue Yanluo's intentions and drew his saber outright. They closed the distance slowly, and Xue Yanluo was unusually on edge—he had lost his cultivation. Even so, with this strange new body of his, he felt he could hold his own against a regular imperial soldier.
His fist shot out, and the soldier deflected it, but it was a feint; his real strike hit the soldier's side, doing little damage against his armor.
The soldier slashed with his saber, aiming to take Xue Yanluo's arm, missing by inches, then quickly launched a kick at his side.
The kick was impossible to avoid, and he could only twist his body, softening the blow and landing in a position to strike back. It hurt badly—he bore it through clenched teeth and threw a punch at the soldier's groin.
He would rather not spend another second fighting. Every moment was unbearable; a ravenous thirst dragged through every part of his body, roaring for blood. He had to fight to keep that thirst under control, or he would lose his mind and go for the first person he found.
The soldier covered his groin by reflex and stopped the blow, readying a counterattack, but Xue Yanluo used that opening to rush him and bring him down. The soldier hadn't seen it coming and ended up on the ground.
Both men went down together, rolling, and it ended with Xue Yanluo on top, the soldier's hands and body pinned beneath him. He raised his fist, ready to beat him unconscious, when a sweet smell reached him.
At some point during the struggle, the soldier had scraped his face, and small crimson drops were forming, sliding down his cheek.
There was nothing to keep it out—during the fight, Xue Yanluo had lost the cloth around his head, and the alley had the luck of receiving no direct sunlight.
His mind went dark, and his hands moved toward the soldier, one pressing against his face and tilting it to the side, leaving his neck exposed. His thirst was beyond stopping. The soldier tried to resist—he didn't know what was happening, what the man on top of him was thinking—and fought to pull free.
The soldier felt Xue Yanluo's ragged breath on his neck; it seemed to hang there a few inches away, suspended—then all at once he felt the bite, two points driving into his flesh, and the pull, as though something was drawing his body out through the wound.
Xue Yanluo drank until he was full and wiped his lips with his hand, a sour, metallic aftertaste lingering on his mouth and fingers. His mind was coming back to him, and he looked blankly at the dazed soldier beneath him—above all, his eyes fixed on the two holes in the soldier's neck and the blood seeping from them.
He stood up in alarm and, before leaving, gathered the cloth he had used to cover his head and left immediately, feeling a strange sensation resonating with the soldier. Stepping out of the alley, a crowd had gathered after hearing the noise, and Xue Yanluo had to push through them to get away.
The fragrant smell coming off the people around him no longer seemed as strong nor as tempting, and he felt his body quite full, buzzing with energy.
He seemed to have quieted his bloodthirst with that soldier. That brought him some relief, but if things kept going this way, it wouldn't be long before he was found out—and if that happened, he couldn't say with any certainty what his fate would be, only that it would not be good.
He kept wandering the city, learning to bear the smell and the hunger it stirred. When he felt he had a decent hold on himself, he decided to go back to his courtyard. As he walked, he heard a few eunuchs whispering to each other that an intruder had been discovered inside the palace that morning and had fled.
Xue Yanluo's legs stopped, and he looked around nervously—crowds of people moved without pause, whispering among themselves, but he felt their eyes on him at every turn, felt that every whisper was about him, that they were about to come for him, that he was dead.
He bolted and went straight to his courtyard, sealing the door shut behind him, and leaned against the wall, steadying his ragged breathing and wiping his damp hands on the small cloth he always kept on him.
He was spent. He dragged himself to his bed and threw himself onto it. He closed his eyes, worn out by the world, and fell asleep at once. Night came, and his body was in full revolt, refusing every attempt to stay asleep.
Outside, the moon fell directly on him, and Xue Yanluo felt his body growing stronger. The muscles in his body tensed slightly under the surge, and his body was brimming with energy.
He sat on the floor and turned his attention to his new body. The reddish crystal, now slightly translucent, released energy in a steady stream, which drove itself into his muscles and bones. The spiritual energy entering his body moved toward his heart and was turned away at the threshold. It seemed he could not use it fully for cultivation—only to replenish.
While he explored the crystal, he felt a strange connection beginning to form between himself and another being—the soldier, he thought. He was the only person with whom he had shared something deep since being turned. The connection was still weak, strengthening slowly, and he watched as the crystal grew a little more translucent.