Xue Tuzi spent the rest of the night precariously stitching a face veil, his delicate fingers fumbling with the needle as Jiao Jiao, hovered nearby, offering its clumsy assistance spinning his threads. The dim lamplight flickered across the room, casting jagged shadows as the hours dragged on. By the time the first golden rays of dawn pierced through the papered windows, Xue Tuzi had slumped over the desk, exhaustion claiming him. His head rested awkwardly on his crossed arms, his breath slow and steady. Beside him, Jiao Jiao lay sprawled on the desk, a tiny bubble of snot forming and bursting beneath its snout with each rhythmic exhale.
As sunlight warmed the room, Xue Tuzi stirred, stretching his stiff arms with a low groan. His eyes fluttered open, first landing on the still-sleeping Gu worm before sweeping across the disheveled chamber. He straightened up abruptly, noticing the absence of Shudu. The demon had bolted out of the room in the dead of night, despite his injuries. The shattered window and faint scent of blood lingering in the air only deepened Xue Tuzi's unease.
Pacing back and forth, he couldn't shake the image of Shudu's wounds. Though demons possessed a self-healing mechanism, the gash Xue Tuzi had tended to was alarmingly deep, the flesh torn as though something had tried to rend him apart from the inside. Worse, the wound had barely begun to close, defying the natural resilience of his kind. Xue Tuzi clenched his fists, frustration and worry bubbling to the surface.
"Ugh!" he exhaled sharply, the sound startling Jiao Jiao awake. The little creature leapt to its feet, its tiny nubs poised for battle, only to blink in confusion as it realized the outburst had come from Xue Tuzi. Seeing him distressed, Jiao Jiao puffed out its chest protectively.
"See if I care," Xue Tuzi muttered irritably, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He turned away shedding his wrinkled robes and slipping into a fresh set. His movements were brisk, his face set in a mask of quiet determination. Carefully, he tied the newly stitched veil under his eyes, concealing most of his face before striding toward the door. Jiao Jiao scrambled to keep up, clinging to the hem of his robes as they swept down the hallway.
As Xue Tuzi entered the courtyard, the bustling atmosphere stilled. Heads turned, conversations faltered, and curious whispers filled the air. Even partially hidden beneath the veil, Xue Tuzi's beauty was undeniable. His large, round doe eyes, framed by thick lashes, only added to the air of mystery that surrounded him.
"Who's that beauty?" someone whispered, their voice tinged with awe.
"I'm going to introduce myself," another disciple declared boldly, puffing out his chest as he stepped forward.
One by one, they approached him, their attempts to engage met with little more than a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Please, accept me as your dual cultivation partner!" one particularly desperate disciple pleaded, falling to his knees and clutching at Xue Tuzi's robes.
Xue Tuzi stared down at him, unimpressed, before rolling his eyes and kicking the man aside. He continued walking, the crowd parting in his wake, leaving a trail of broken hearts and tear-streaked faces behind him.
"Ugh, they're all disgusting," he muttered under his breath, his pace quickening. "What happened to a simple 'hello' or 'good morning'?" He groaned, his irritation mounting as he stalked down the corridor, the murmurs and longing gazes of his fellow disciples doing little to improve his mood.
"Good morning, A-Tuzi," a sweet, familiar voice called out from behind him. Xue Tuzi turned, startled, to see Li Zhameng standing in the courtyard, a broom in hand as he casually swept.
"You… recognized me?" Xue Tuzi asked, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.
Li Zhameng tilted his head, a puzzled look crossing his delicate features. "Who else is beautiful enough to leave a trail of men sobbing on their knees?" he teased, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Please, don't flatter me," Xue Tuzi sneered, glancing disdainfully at the group of disciples still sprawled outside the courtyard, tears streaking their faces as they whimpered pathetically.
Li Zhameng leaned against his broom, placing a hand on his hip as he gestured toward Xue Tuzi with a casual flick of his wrist. "Besides, you're the only one I know with hair like that. It's unmistakable."
Xue Tuzi arched a brow. "Hair like what?"
Li Zhameng smirked, pointing at him. "Pink."
"It's not pink," Xue Tuzi huffed, running his fingers through his hair. The silky strands fell over his shoulders, catching the light. To his dismay, faint pink highlights shimmered amid the brown.
"If you keep sticking so many needles in your head, it might as well be pink," Li Zhameng said matter-of-factly, shrugging as he resumed sweeping.
"Anyway, I'm off to clean Shizun's room," Xue Tuzi declared, his voice soft yet deliberate, as though it were an unassailable truth. His eyes crinkled with a faint, amused smile as he clasped his hands neatly behind his back, a picture of calm determination. With an air of nonchalance, he pivoted on his heel, his robes sweeping elegantly around him. "That way, when he comes back, it won't be covered in dust."
Li Zhameng's pout was immediate and dramatic, his lips pushing forward as his brows knitted into a deep frown. He stomped his foot, the faint echo of the motion reverberating through the courtyard. "But I was going to clean Shizun's room!" he protested, his voice rising with indignation.
Xue Tuzi paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder with a look of serene disinterest. "But you're sweeping," he replied simply, his tone calm yet dismissive, as though the matter were already settled.
Before Li Zhameng could form a rebuttal, Xue Tuzi turned back around and resumed his casual stride, heading toward Shizun's chambers with a leisurely grace. His pace was measured, his hands still clasped behind him as though he were strolling through a serene garden rather than plotting to steal someone else's task.
Li Zhameng let out an exasperated huff, clutching his broom tightly as he scrambled to follow. "Wait! You can't just—" he began, but Xue Tuzi, unfazed, kept walking, his calm demeanor unwavering.
Trailing just a step behind, Li Zhameng muttered under his breath, trailed after him, broom still in hand.
When Xue Tuzi reached the door, he placed his hand delicately on the doorknob, twisting it with care. The door creaked open, and the sight that greeted him made him freeze. His expression hardened into one of pure horror.
The room was a catastrophe. Clothes were scattered everywhere—some hanging off furniture, others crumpled on the floor. Half-eaten fruit, long since spoiled and now crawling with maggots, sat rotting on plates. Chopsticks were strewn about carelessly, and on the desk, a partially eaten bowl of noodles sat abandoned, the broth thickened into an unappetizing sludge. Papers were sprawled far and wide, stained with ink and food. The stench was unbearable—a suffocating blend of must, rotting food, and unwashed clothes that hit them like a brick wall.
Li Zhameng gagged, clutching his nose and mouth as he stumbled backward. "Oh heavens, Shizun lives like this?" he choked out, his voice muffled.
"Open the windows," Xue Tuzi managed to say, his face pale as he fought back the urge to retch. Li Zhameng immediately scrambled to comply, flinging the windows open one by one to let the rancid air escape.
Together, they set to work. Xue Tuzi moved methodically, gathering the garbage into a basket while Li Zhameng swept the floor. They gathered the clothes—whether clean or dirty it was all thrown together—into piles for washing. Xue Tuzi stripped the bed, yanking off the soiled sheets with a grimace, determined to replace them with fresh linens before his Shizun's return.
As Li Zhameng mopped the floors, Xue Tuzi tackled the corners of the room, dusting diligently and polishing the mirrors and windows until they gleamed. He gathered the scattered papers from the desk, attempting to decipher their contents. The handwriting was a chaotic mess, most of it illegible, though a few words stood out here and there. He sighed, shaking his head, and stacked the papers into a neat pile.
"Meng Meng," Xue Tuzi called softly, glancing toward his martial brother. "Can you do the laundry?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying a flicker of hesitation. He hated doing laundry. Memories of his childhood in the orphanage surfaced, of his small hands raw and red from endless scrubbing as punishment.
Li Zhameng blinked, then smiled warmly, nodding without a hint of protest. "Of course," he said cheerfully, gathering the overflowing basket of clothes and heading toward the laundry quarters.
Xue Tuzi exhaled a quiet sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from his brow. He hoisted a tray of dirty dishes, the weight making his arms tremble slightly, and began the trek to the kitchen. The room was far from perfect, but by the time Shizun returned, it would at least be livable.
Li Zhameng fumbled his way to the laundry quarters, his arms trembling beneath the precarious tower of clothes he carried. His footing faltered as he tripped over a stray rock, sending the entire pile cascading down on top of him in an avalanche of fabric. A group of female disciples nearby giggled behind their sleeves, their laughter ringing through the air as they watched him struggle.
"Are you alright, Li Shixiong?" one of them asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
Li Zhameng's head popped out from beneath the pile, his face flushed with embarrassment but otherwise unscathed. "I'm fine!" he called back, forcing a sheepish grin as he scrambled to gather the clothes once more.
Once he reached the washing area, he rolled up his sleeves with a determined huff, his fingers already aching at the thought of the labor ahead. He plunged his hands into the soapy water, meticulously scrubbing away the dirt and stains on his Shizun's white robes. The fabric shimmered in the light as he worked, his strokes careful and deliberate.
Hours passed, the sun inching higher in the sky, as Li Zhameng's dedication never wavered. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples, but he pressed on, ensuring every trace of grime was banished. His movements faltered, however, when he reached a smaller, more intimate bundle of laundry—his Shizun's undergarments.
Li Zhameng froze, his face turning crimson. A pile of neatly folded underwear sat before him, radiating an almost divine aura in his infatuated eyes. He swallowed hard, his breath catching as his imagination ran wild. His fingers trembled as he reached for them, his mind overwhelmed by forbidden thoughts.
"Meng Meng, come," the phantom voice of the underwear whispered, seductive and honeyed.
"Touch me," the undergarments called.
"Smell me," they murmured, their siren song pulling him closer.
Li Zhameng shivered, clutching at the fabric. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mouth went dry as he gulped. His eyes shimmered like starlight as he finally gave in, burying his face in the pile of undergarments and inhaling deeply, savoring his Shizun's scent like a mad man possessed. His cheeks burned with an intense, almost unholy fervor, his thoughts spiraling further into infatuation.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Xue Tuzi hummed a soft, cheerful tune as he scrubbed dish after dish. The warm water splashed gently against his hands, and bubbles floated lazily in the air, shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the window. Jiao Jiao, scuttled along the counter, gleefully pouncing on the floating bubbles, popping them with playful chirps.
As Xue Tuzi worked, a few stray strands of hair slipped loose from his hair, falling into his face. He paused, brushing them back with a small huff of annoyance. Just as he turned back to his task, a low growl rumbled from behind him.
"Hey," a rough voice called out.
Xue Tuzi stiffened, his wide doe eyes shimmering with a fleeting hope. For a moment, he thought—hoped—that it might be a certain someone. He turned quickly, only for his expression to falter as he was met with the sight of Yi Kumquat.
Yi Kumquat, the oldest disciple at Sect Mount Dingbu, was an unfortunate figure. At the age of 56, his cultivation level was pitiful, barely surpassing that of a novice child. Despite decades of diligent effort, his progress remained mediocre at best. He struggled in every aspect of training, his lack of talent the subject of whispered jokes among the disciples.
His appearance did little to bolster his image. Over half of his hair had long since fallen out, leaving him with a sad comb-over that failed to conceal the obvious bald spot atop his head. Deep wrinkles etched his weathered face, and his scraggly facial hair could hardly be called a beard. Compared to the likes of Sect Leader Mao, whose striking features and full beard commanded respect, Yi Kumquat looked woefully unkempt.
Yet, despite his shortcomings, Yi Kumquat's eyes lit up whenever they fell on Xue Tuzi, a beauty so radiant it seemed almost otherworldly. From the moment Xue Tuzi arrived, Yi Kumquat had harbored a secret infatuation. But he dared not confess his feelings, having witnessed the countless disciples who had approached Xue Tuzi, only to be dismissed and left heartbroken in the "Assembly Line of Broken Hearts."
The day before, Yi Kumquat had sought counsel from his Shizun, Elder Kuoyu, a stern man whose gaze could pierce through the soul. The elder stood on the mountain's edge, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the horizon.
"Yi Kumquat," Elder Kuoyu said, his tone sharp and unyielding.
"Shizun," Yi Kumquat replied, dropping to his knees in reverence.
"How long have you been my disciple?"
"Forty years," Yi Kumquat murmured, his voice laced with shame.
"And in those forty years, what have you achieved?" Elder Kuoyu asked coldly, his words cutting deep.
Yi Kumquat clenched his fists, his head bowing so low it touched the ground. The weight of the question pressed heavily on his chest, his failures replaying in his mind.
Elder Kuoyu turned to face him, his expression disdainful. "That disciple of Grandmaster Xue," he began, his voice dripping with contempt.
"Xue Tuzi?" Yi Kumquat whispered, lifting his head slightly.
"Yes, that little fox," Elder Kuoyu sneered. "If you were to dual cultivate with him, even once, it would elevate your pitiful cultivation. Beauties with natural talent are only good for one thing: dual cultivation."
"But, Shizun, how could I—" Yi Kumquat stammered, his voice trembling with fear.
"Silence," Elder Kuoyu snapped, reaching into his sleeve and producing a small flask. He handed it to Yi Kumquat, a sinister smirk playing on his lips. "A single drop of this, and he will be madly in love with you. If you had an ounce of courage, you would have already laid with that fox and ascended your cultivation long ago."
Yi Kumquat hesitated, staring at the flask in his hands. Elder Kuoyu's words echoed in his ears, tempting him with the promise of power—and something darker.