Ji Chun slung a bamboo basket over his shoulder, took two daggers, and made his way up the mountain. At the summit stood a dense forest, its canopy shrouded in gloom—unlike the usual sunny skies. Occasionally, a gust of wind rustled through the trees, the sound whispering through the branches. He moved slowly among the woods, his mind lingering on Su Ran's indifferent expression when he had left earlier. Even when prey darted past, he paid no heed, as though he had come only to clear his thoughts.
Suddenly, the grass trembled, and a hare leapt out, startling Ji Chun from his reverie. Instinctively, he reached for the dagger at his waist—but at the last moment, he withdrew it and gave chase instead. After a brief pursuit, he caught the creature. Its fur was soft beneath his fingers, its eyes wide with fear. A pang of guilt struck him, and he released it, watching as it bounded away. His hands were empty now, just like his heart.
Confusion weighed on him. He wandered the forest for hours but found no suitable prey, returning home empty-handed. The door was still shut, just as he had left it. Su Ran hadn't returned—it was already noon. Perhaps he had gone out with the Liang family's child and stayed for a meal. Given Su Ran's recent coldness, Ji Chun couldn't bring himself to seek him out. Instead, he slipped inside quietly, prepared a simple meal, ate a few bites, and lay down on the bed.
The scent of Su Ran lingered on the sheets, a painful reminder of last night's transgression. After Su Ran had fallen asleep, Ji Chun had given in to impulse and kissed him. Now, he could no longer pretend their relationship was the same. Sharing a bed every night, he wasn't sure he could resist doing it again—nor what Su Ran might do if he discovered the truth. Resolute, he decided to chop wood later and craft a new bed. He would move to the east room, sparing them both further shame.
Exhausted from a sleepless night, he soon drifted off. The wind howled outside, carrying an unusual chill. Half-consciously, he reached not for his own quilt but Su Ran's, pulling it over himself. The fabric carried Su Ran's faint scent, enveloping him completely. In his dream, Su Ran was no longer angry—just smiling at him, head tilted mischievously. Ji Chun reached out, cupping his cheek, and when Su Ran didn't resist, he drew him close. Their bodies pressed together, and Ji Chun leaned down, capturing Su Ran's lips, savoring the taste that was his alone.
He woke startled half an hour later, disoriented. For a moment, he believed the dream was real—that they had reconciled. But as reality settled in, his chest ached with loss. He folded Su Ran's quilt neatly, guilt gnawing at him. When had he become this person—stealing intimacy like a thief?
Seeking penance, he washed his face in the river and returned to the mountain. By the time he came back, he was dragging three thick logs. Borrowing a knife from a neighbor, he scraped off the bark in the empty east room, working tirelessly. The labor kept Su Ran's image at bay, if only slightly. His hands bled, his clothes clung with wood chips, but he didn't stop. The rhythmic scraping of the blade soothed him.
If I finish the bed quickly, we can keep our distance. Once the child is born, we'll find Di Mang. After that… His throat tightened. I'll take the child to Shaolin. Su Ran will remain the exalted Demonic Cult leader, and I'll return to being a nameless disciple. Our paths may never cross again. The thought sent a sharp pain through his chest. Something wet splashed onto his bleeding palms—whether sweat or tears, he couldn't tell.
Time slipped away unnoticed. When he finally glanced outside, the sky had darkened unnaturally. The wind howled, rattling the doors and windows. Rain? He set down his tools, stepping into the yard just as the first drops fell. The clouds churned ominously, foretelling a storm.
Why hasn't Su Ran returned?
The memory of Su Ran's cold expression flashed in his mind, sending a jolt of panic through him. He wouldn't leave, would he? He recalled that night months ago—Su Ran drinking alone in the tavern, later shivering with fever. Now, with his belly growing, he was even more vulnerable to the cold.
Ji Chun couldn't bear the thought. Snatching an umbrella, he bolted out, the gate slamming shut behind him. He didn't bother locking it—just ran, the rain lashing harder with each step. The sky was a void of black, the storm unrelenting.
By the time he reached the Liang family's door, he was drenched. He pounded on the wood, breathless.
Doctor Liang opened it, startled. "Ji Chun? What's wrong?"
"Is Su Ran here?" Ji Chun blurted, rainwater streaming down his face. His voice was raw with fear.
"Su Gogzi isn't here with me. Didn't he return home?"
Doctor Liang frowned, then explained, "Zheng'er told me last night that Su Gogzi accepted him as an apprentice. He went to your house early this morning and returned with Su Gogzi at noon. After that, Su Gogzi left for home—or so I assumed. Has he…has he not come back?"
"No," Ji Chun's voice was low and rough, his expression dark. "I'll go find him. Forgive me for the intrusion." Without waiting for a response, he turned and plunged back into the rain, umbrella in hand. Doctor Liang opened his mouth to call after him, but Ji Chun was already gone, swallowed by the storm. The old man sighed, watching his retreating figure he reflected: When hearts intertwine, what difference lies between two men or a man and a woman? Yet why must the mortal world begrudge them?
Ji Chun scoured every corner of the village until, at last, he spotted the familiar silhouette in the shadows of a derelict, abandoned house. Su Ran stood there, his swollen belly unmistakable even in the dim light. Ji Chun's pulse roared in his ears as he strode forward, rainwater slicing down his face, his clothes soaked through. When he stopped before Su Ran, his expression was thunderous.
Su Ran stiffened. There was something unsettling in Ji Chun's gaze—a ferocity that sent a flicker of unease through him. But pride won out. He lifted his chin, meeting the monk's glare with defiance, refusing to betray even a hint of guilt.
The sight of him—whole, unharmed—unclenched the vise around Ji Chun's chest. Relief crashed over him, but it was quickly swallowed by anger. Without thinking, he yanked Su Ran into his arms, crushing him against his chest. His grip was iron, his heartbeat wild against Su Ran's body, as if to confirm he was real.
Su Ran didn't resist. He could feel the tremor in Ji Chun's hands, the raw fear beneath the fury. The cold front he'd meant to maintain wavered, then dissolved. The monk's robes were drenched, icy against his skin.
"Why didn't you come home?" Ji Chun finally rasped, pulling back just enough to see Su Ran's face.
The question reignited Su Ran's irritation. He'd been ready to let go of their quarrel—until now. "Since when do I answer to you?" he snapped, tilting his head back. "Who do you think you are?"
Ji Chun's jaw tightened. That tone—that infuriating, dismissive pride—it was the same as in Liuyun Manor. The memory of those desperate hours searching for him, the gnawing terror of not knowing where he'd gone, surged fresh and bitter.
His fingers dug into Su Ran's shoulders, pinning him against the wall. "From now on," he growled, "you will return home before dark. And you will tell me where you go."
Su Ran barked a laugh. "You're joking." He twisted, but Ji Chun's grip was unyielding. Su Ran's eyes blazed, he hissed, "What right do you have to order me around?"
Ji Chun's breath came harsh and uneven. Arguing here was pointless. Instead, he seized Su Ran's wrist and hauled him toward the door, snapping the umbrella open with his free hand. "We're going home," he bit out, leaving no room for protest.
Su Ran bristled but allowed himself to be dragged out. The wind howled, the rain needling their skin. The flimsy umbrella shuddered against the storm, offering little shelter. Instinctively, Su Ran shifted closer, seeking warmth—then froze.
Ji Chun's entire left side was soaked. He hadn't been keeping his distance out of spite. The fool had been shielding Su Ran from the rain the whole time.