Xie Lian would rather die of pain while holding Hua Cheng close than die of pain while thinking of Hua Cheng all alone. The more it hurt, the harder he hugged.
Face covered with fine beads of sweat, Xie Lian said in a staggered, broken voice, “Wait for a moment, just a moment, I’ll be all right in a minute. I’ll get used to this in a minute. I’m very good at bearing pain. If you’re by my side, I can stand it. If you’re gone, then it’ll…hurt unbearably…”
Hua Cheng stilled when he heard this, completely shocked. It was a minute before he said in a low voice, “Oh, Your Highness…”
His voice came out like a sigh, an agonized hiss—as if he was being tormented even worse than Xie Lian.
Xie Lian held him hard, waiting for the wave of pain to pass. While he tried to calm his breathing, he suddenly heard a voice from behind.
“Did you forge that by smelting your mask?”
Amid his dizziness and blurred vision, Xie Lian finally noticed that they were in a gloomy, desolate graveyard. It was a site known as the State Preceptor’s Tomb, one that he had just visited days before. There was someone else here, standing behind them: a tall, strapping young man. It was Lang Qianqiu.
Xie Lian was already delirious when he made it here, so naturally he didn’t notice the third person present. Now that he had, he didn’t have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed.
Just then, Feng Xin and Mu Qing caught up with him. After getting smacked to the ground so hard he’d been unable to rise, Mu Qing was so furious that the veins bulging on his forehead might never disappear again.
“Why did you run off?!” he barked. “Two people and four hands can’t even keep you down! And what the hell is this place? It looks like a graveyard or something!”
Feng Xin surveyed the area. “I think this is a graveyard. And one that’s been dug up too. Is this the tomb of State Preceptor Fangxin? Why is His Highness Tai Hua here?”
“I heard there was suspicious activity at the State Preceptor’s Tomb the day before yesterday, like a graverobber had visited,” Lang Qianqiu replied in an ill temper. “I came to take a look.”
And he wound up bumping into Hua Cheng and Xie Lian in the process. Something was on his mind, and he wasn’t in the mood to offer pleasantries or give explanations.
“Did you forge that longevity lock using your silver mask?” he asked again, staring at Xie Lian. “Did you come back here the day before yesterday to take it?”
Xie Lian hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
When he took the position of state preceptor in the Kingdom of Yong’an, he wore a silver mask year-round. The mask was made of a rare type of metal—it was forged from half a catty6 of silver yao. Aside from hiding one’s face, its much more extraordinary use was its ability to reflect magic and shield the wearer’s body and life. After State Preceptor Fangxin “died,” the mask was placed inside the same coffin as a burial effect.
A present must be something that the giver cherishes. After racking his brain, Xie Lian finally remembered that he had once possessed that unique treasure. It was incredibly useful and had helped him on multiple occasions; the mask was something he had hated to part with, as he hadn’t managed to bring it with him when he dug himself out of the coffin. Thus, he traveled through the night to the tomb of State Preceptor Fangxin, dug up his own grave, and unearthed the mask. He then melted it into liquid silver and reforged it as a longevity lock.
Everyone was wearing odd expressions. No one had ever visited the tomb of State Preceptor Fangxin to pay their respects—Xie Lian didn’t even bother to sweep his own grave when he came back, and the weeds had grown over a meter tall. He’d even desecrated it by digging it up… There was honestly no one else who could’ve done something like this!
The awkward silence lasted for a moment. When he saw Lang Qianqiu’s strange expression, Xie Lian finally spoke up and explained.
“That mask wasn’t taken from your family. It was refined from a silver yao that I once subdued…”
Had it been something that belonged to the royal clan of Yong’an, he never would have considered making Hua Cheng’s birthday present out of it. He also hadn’t known that Lang Qianqiu was still keeping an eye on the State Preceptor’s Tomb—he’d been under the impression that Lang Qianqiu had stopped caring after he buried him. Otherwise, he would’ve at least refilled the burial plot to keep Lang Qianqiu from being alerted and coming to check.
Lang Qianqiu was taken aback, then immediately got angry. “I wasn’t going to fuss about that!”
Hua Cheng shot him a chilling glare, and Lang Qianqiu’s expression hardened. Xie Lian, meanwhile, frowned as he looked at the silver lock, like something had occurred to him. His eyes met Lang Qianqiu’s, and he discovered that they had likely come to a similar conclusion.
Hua Cheng, of course, would not have missed this exchange. “Is there a problem with the longevity lock?” he asked. “Your Highness, have you figured it out?”
Xie Lian did have some idea what had happened, but he didn’t know how to say it. With a grim face, Lang Qianqiu spoke for him.
“The problem is him,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Hua Cheng demanded coldly.
“Qianqiu!” Xie Lian quickly cried.
Lang Qianqiu glanced at him but continued nonetheless. “After the Gilded Banquet, I was the one who brought him here.”
“Don’t say any more,” Xie Lian said.
Lang Qianqiu glanced at him again and shut up. He probably didn’t know how to explain what came afterward, but even though he didn’t continue, the others could piece it together themselves.
After the Gilded Banquet incident, the Crown Prince of Yong’an, Lang Qianqiu, seized State Preceptor Fangxin. In an act of revenge, Lang Qianqiu drove a thick wooden nail into his heart, sealed him in a coffin, and then buried the coffin in the wilderness and forbade anyone from mourning or paying their respects—not that anyone would’ve in the first place.
Xie Lian’s heart was pierced by the peachwood nail, and the blood that flowed from the wound dyed the silver mask in the coffin red. Thanks to its unique properties, the silver yao’s lingering qi absorbed the blood and maintained its vitality even after it left Xie Lian’s body.
When Xie Lian returned two days ago and dug up his own grave to retrieve the mask made from the silver yao and forge the longevity lock, he had roused the remnant blood on the mask, which took the opportunity to reenter his body.
No wonder they could find nothing amiss even when Xie Lian and Hua Cheng both examined his body repeatedly. It was because the thing causing the problem originated from him—his own blood! Of course there was nothing amiss about that.
Hua Cheng made to move, and although Xie Lian couldn’t see his face, he quickly held him back.
“San Lang!” he cried.
Lang Qianqiu had killed him for revenge, and Yong’an’s old king had certainly died at Xie Lian’s hand. Nailing Xie Lian into the coffin was an eye for an eye. As another wave of excruciating pain washed over him, Xie Lian gasped a few more times and groaned aloud despite himself.
Desperate concern blazed in Hua Cheng’s expression once more. “Your Highness?”
Lang Qianqiu hesitated briefly at the sight of Xie Lian’s face, which was as white as a sheet. “Do you…need my help?”
Xie Lian knew what Lang Qianqiu was like and what he might think. “No, it’s fine, Qianqiu, there’s no need,” he replied quickly. “This has nothing to do with you; it’s not your problem. I’m the one who wasn’t careful. You can leave it be.”
Mu Qing could see that Lang Qianqiu was in a very awkward position, being both a victim and a murderer. “That’s right, Your Highness Tai Hua. You can leave him to it. Go back.”
After a brief silence, Lang Qianqiu replied, “All right.”
Despite his answer, he still didn’t leave. The group didn’t have time for him, though, because Xie Lian was writhing in pain again—yet even so, he held on to Hua Cheng with a death grip and refused to let go.
“Let’s resolve this first!” Feng Xin cried. “Your Highness? What’s wrong?!”
Xie Lian was still thrashing, but he suddenly calmed when a crisp cracking noise rang out. Head drenched in cold sweat, he lay still and silent in Hua Cheng’s arms.
Hua Cheng returned his unyielding embrace in equal measure. “It’s done, Your Highness,” he said softly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”
It was only then that the group realized Hua Cheng was holding a handful of shimmering silver powder. As for the longevity lock that he had kept so precious and close to his heart—it was gone.
With the longevity lock destroyed, the wisp of blood in Xie Lian’s heart that had been tainted by the yao’s qi would slowly calm on its own. Thus, Hua Cheng had gripped his gift in his fist and shattered it with a light squeeze.
Xie Lian’s breathing slowed and calmed. As he turned his head, he saw the silver scattering and flowing from Hua Cheng’s fingertips, then his eyes met Hua Cheng’s. For some reason, he felt another tiny wave of heartache.
“Mmm…it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he mumbled.