Chapter 3:
A Game
“YOUR NAME is Shen Qiao. You were a disciple of our Huanyue Sect, and you suffered a great injury somehow. Fortunately, I happened to pass by and find you, and we managed to save you just in time. The enemies who hurt you were from Hehuan Sect—I was no match for them on my own, so I brought you here first. Once you’ve healed up and recovered your martial arts, we’ll go back and take revenge on them.”
Yu Shengyan rattled off this nonsense with a straight face, but Shen Qiao listened to it all, solemn and intent.
At the end he asked, “Then…how should I address you?”
“My surname is Yu, Yu Shengyan. I am your shixiong.”
These words defied all decency. Yu Shengyan was in his early twenties. While Shen Qiao’s appearance didn’t show his age, he was Qi Fengge’s disciple, and he’d led Xuandu Mountain for five years. How could he possibly be younger than Yu Shengyan?
It was an obvious ploy on Yu Shengyan’s part, taking advantage of Shen Qiao’s blindness to earn an undue address.
But Shen Qiao followed his lead obediently. “Greetings, Shixiong.”
Looking into that kind and honest face, Yu Shengyan inexplicably felt the smallest twinge of guilt.
He tried to brush aside the topic. “That’s a good boy. Since you can’t get up yet, just stay on your back and recuperate. Once you’re healed, I’ll bring you to pay respects to our master.”
“All right,” said Shen Qiao.
He closed his eyes but then reopened them a moment later. His eyes didn’t focus, so they appeared vacant, his gaze spiritless. “Shixiong…?”
“Is there something else?”
Yu Shengyan knew he had a soft spot for beauties. When he saw Shen Qiao—the glorious sect leader who’d sat at the helm of the world’s Daoist sects—fallen into such dire straits, he thought again that it was such an awful misfortune. Shen Qiao was truly pitiful. If the past him were here instead, with his sect in hand and his martial arts at its peak, how majestic would that be?
“I wish to drink some water…”
“Don’t drink any water for now, the medicine will be ready in a moment. For the time being, you must take medicine as your water.”
Just as he’d said this, a maid came over with the medicine. Perhaps the wild backstory he’d woven for Shen Qiao just now had aroused his rare sense of guilt, because Yu Shengyan took the bowl in hand, asked the maid to prop Shen Qiao’s neck up with a pillow, and then personally fed him the medicine, spoon by spoon.
Though Shen Qiao’s bones weren’t completely shattered, they came close. His muscles, tendons, and meridians were all gravely injured, and he’d been on the verge of losing his life. It was only on account of his strong foundations that he awakened in less than a month. He’d have to stay in bed for three more months if he was to have any hope of recovery.
Yu Shengyan had endured much hardship beneath Yan Wushi when it came to training, but outside of training, the disciple’s lifestyle was no hardship at all. Demonic sects were always extravagant, so his food, clothing, and spending rivaled that of a rich family’s young master. Spoon-feeding medicine to someone was far out of his wheelhouse. No matter how careful he was, the occasional drop still splattered onto Shen Qiao’s lapel, but Shen Qiao continued to drink spoonful after spoonful without any expression of dissatisfaction. Once he was finished, he even smiled in gratitude. “Thank you, Shixiong.”
Gentle and well behaved, handsome and amiable.
The curve of his smile wasn’t broad, but it was enough to tint his pale face with warmth. The maid at his side flushed quietly and quickly averted her eyes.
Shen Qiao didn’t ask any questions, and that’s what Yu Shengyan found strange. If he’d been the one to wake up without his memories, while blind, injured, and unable to get out of bed, then even if he managed to keep his spirit from breaking, he certainly couldn’t have stayed this calm.
“Why haven’t you asked me when you’ll recover?”
“With Shixiong and Shifu around, you must be rushing about here and there, running yourselves ragged over my situation.” Shen Qiao coughed several times, the movement tugging on his wound and eliciting a frown. “If I asked, wouldn’t I simply trouble you further?”
Yu Shengyan found himself tongue-tied. Perhaps it was because he’d never seen someone so considerate and thoughtful, or perhaps because he really did feel a little guilty when he looked at that face, but he didn’t know what to say. Only after a long moment did he speak again. “Then you should rest properly first. I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll return tomorrow to give you more medicine.”
“Thank you, Shixiong. Please send Shizun my regards as well.”
“I will.” Yu Shengyan didn’t want to drag out the awkwardness any longer. He rubbed his nose, said these words, and left.
He had some doubts about whether Shen Qiao was faking his amnesia, but he visited Shen Qiao daily, and his patient was always the same as when he’d first awakened: gentle, optimistic, and full of gratitude toward Yu Shengyan.
Whatever Yu Shengyan said, Shen Qiao accepted it all without question, as honest and straightforward as a blank sheet of paper.
Once he was able to get out of bed and move around a little, Shen Qiao even proposed to personally visit his “shizun” Yan Wushi, to thank him.