Chapter 55

Song Qingshi stood before the tavern, listening to the proprietor’s fervent sales pitch.

“Who comes to the Flower Festival and doesn’t drink flower wine? Don’t misunderstand, sir—I’m not talking about those vulgar sorts,” the owner quipped, assuming it was a joke all men would appreciate. But when he saw Song Qingshi’s serious, unsmiling face, as if he hadn’t quite grasped the humor, he quickly changed his tune. “Our South Sea City is renowned for its flowers. This wine, brewed from eight different blossoms, is called ‘Beauty’s Delirium.’ It’s sweet and exquisitely flavored, sold only during the Flower Festival, and in limited quantities. Once it’s gone, it’s gone for good.”

Sweet wine? And a limited edition?

Men’s resistance to limited editions often wanes.

Song Qingshi immediately produced Spirit Stones and purchased a jar.

He had ventured out to settle a matter with that shameless artist. Now that his business was concluded, he wished to return swiftly to the inn to find Yue Wuhuan. However, the buildings in South Sea City all looked alike, flowers bloomed everywhere, and his mind had been preoccupied as he walked. He took a wrong turn at an intersection and inadvertently found himself in the night market.

The Flower Festival’s night market was a vibrant spectacle—opera on the left, monkey shows on the right, and countless novelties he had never encountered.

So this was what South Sea City looked like at night?

Unable to curb his curiosity, Song Qingshi mused that he might never witness such a sight again after returning to Medicine King Valley. He lingered, only to fall prey to insistent vendors, ending up with a medley of odd purchases: glittering gemstones, beautiful red fabrics, a legendary talebook about Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign, and even had a dough-figure artisan sculpt a charming little phoenix for him.

For some reason, most of the night market’s visitors were couples, hand in hand, laughing and teasing, displaying unabashed intimacy.

After buying the wine, Song Qingshi couldn’t help but ask the owner.

The owner was amused. “Don’t you know? The Flower Festival night in South Sea City has another name—the Lovers’ Festival.”

Song Qingshi shook his head. This detail was absent from the travel guide he had compiled.

Night Rain Pavilion was growing negligent. He would have to reprimand Immortal Lord Ye Lin for his unprofessional conduct upon his return.

“It’s an ancient tradition of the Flower Festival. The daytime festivities are for everyone’s revelry, but the night market belongs to lovers. Our city is a sleepless city. If you lack a companion, you can find one. With your good looks, it would be quite easy. Would you like me to introduce you?” the owner suggested warmly. “Find a beauty, share ‘Beauty’s Delirium,’ and let the sweetness seep into your very bones.”

At the mention of a beauty, Song Qingshi inexplicably thought of Yue Wuhuan’s face.

A flush of panic rose within him, and he quickly refused, “No need. I already have a companion—a very beautiful one. Not… not the kind of companion you mean.”

Whenever his thoughts became muddled, his words followed suit.

The owner grew increasingly confused and leaned closer, trying to discern his meaning. “What kind of companion? Male? Female?”

Before he could finish speaking, several blood-red vines descended from the rooftop, tearing through the ground and violently separating the two.

Yue Wuhuan stood high on the roof, his dark hair disheveled by the night wind. His sash was undone, the collar of his inner robe askew, and the hem of his red brocade robe bore several creases, shattering his usual image of meticulous composure. Behind the golden-winged mask, his phoenix eyes held a trace of barely suppressed madness, his vibrant lips pressed tightly, twitching slightly as if attempting to conjure his usual gentle smile, yet failing to do so.

The Blood King Vines writhed on the ground, each branching into countless tendrils, growing denser and more profuse. The people of South Sea City had witnessed these terrifying entities on the city walls before, and their hearts were filled with lingering dread.

The tavern owner collapsed onto the ground in fright, scrambling away on all fours, desperate to escape.

The other patrons also sensed the impending danger and fled in a panic.

Song Qingshi, clutching the wine jar, tried to reassure everyone, “It’s alright.”

His words had no effect. In an instant, everyone had vanished.

The Blood King Vines rose from the ground, swiftly coiling around his limbs and body, intertwining densely, binding him layer upon layer, like countless furious spider silks ensnaring prey in a web, wrapping him tighter and tighter, as if fearing his escape.

Song Qingshi instinctively thought of summoning his Inner Fire to burn through the restraints, then suddenly remembered that the Blood King Vines were connected to Yue Wuhuan’s soul—severing them would cause him pain and injury. He quickly withdrew the flames, allowing the vines to lift him into mid-air, dragging him like an offering before Yue Wuhuan, and delivering him into his embrace.

“Master,” Yue Wuhuan murmured, lowering his head to nuzzle his neck before slowly tracing upwards, his tongue lightly teasing Song Qingshi’s sensitive earlobe as if savoring a delightful taste. Yet his voice was filled with profound hurt. “I woke up and couldn’t find you. I was so worried.”

Song Qingshi earnestly explained, “I just went out to handle some business and bought a few things.”

The Blood King Vines around him tightened further, growing denser, as if trying to isolate him from the outside world.

Yue Wuhuan’s voice grew even more aggrieved. “Master, the nights here are full of filth. Please don’t wander off. Don’t leave my side, alright?”

The more he traveled outside, the more he felt the entire world was tainted. If not for his apprehension of An Long and the necessity of resolving this troublesome matter, he would not have allowed his master to leave Medicine King Valley for a single step, lest some unforeseen accident occur—whether harm from unscrupulous villains or falling into mire.

Song Qingshi wished to pat his shoulder in comfort but was unable to move. He could only nod slightly and say, “Alright.”

The night wind blew, and Yue Wuhuan gradually calmed, adjusting his breathing. He realized the mistake he had made.

One by one, the Blood King Vines loosened, releasing Song Qingshi…

Yue Wuhuan’s face was pale, his body trembling slightly as he whispered an apology, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Qing Luan had once warned him that his love was too fervent, his emotions too extreme, far exceeding the bounds of normalcy. It would cause distress, and she had advised him to restrain himself, lest he harm both himself and others.

He had agreed to Qing Luan’s counsel, then learned to dissemble, lest his master grow to despise him.

Now, his true emotions had been exposed…

Yue Wuhuan was utterly terrified.

“It’s alright,” Song Qingshi said lightly, pressing the wine jar into his arms. “It was my fault. I left without telling you. It’s normal for you to worry when you woke up and couldn’t find me… Don’t be sad. This is on me, my mistake.”

When he had first awakened, seeing Yue Wuhuan free of self-harming tendencies, behaving as gently and considerately as ever—even more so than before—he had assumed that breaking the Pleasure Seal and embarking on the immortal path had refined his mind and body, and that his condition had improved. At the time, his own unexpected paralysis had filled him with panic, leaving no room for other thoughts.

Then, Yue Wuhuan had brought him wave after wave of joy, and he had become immersed in happiness, his judgment once again dulled. Following this, An Long’s arrival, their conflict, and their injuries had plunged him into tension. He had instinctively perceived the volatile An Long as the dangerous element, while Yue Wuhuan had appeared docile and quiet. This contrast had brought him a sense of security, causing him to completely overlook that this, too, was not a normal reaction. Yue Wuhuan was merely achieving his goals through subtle means.

The illness in his heart had never truly healed. Left untreated, it had grown rampant once more, transforming into a colossal beast, finally sprouting fangs and claws, ready to attack the entire world.

How vast was this beast?

Song Qingshi suddenly recalled the Thousand-Bead Snow Lotus he had once encountered in the snowy mountains—its enormous, terrifying root system intricately interwoven, spanning the entire mountain range for thousands of miles. Yet all that had met his eyes was the delicate, pitifully beautiful little flower blooming atop the pristine white snow.

Wrong…

Everything was wrong…

If it was wrong, he would reflect. If it was wrong, he would start anew.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m here,” Song Qingshi pulled the trembling Yue Wuhuan into his embrace, gently stroking his long hair, repeating the answer again and again. “Don’t be afraid. I will never abandon you…”

Don’t be afraid…

Whether it was the taste of the fruit, the arrangement of actions, or being confined by his side—everything would be as he wished.

The butterfly had seen the spider’s web, and it would willingly fly into it.

…

After comforting him for a long time, Song Qingshi finally calmed Yue Wuhuan’s breathing and restored his tranquility.

He accompanied Yue Wuhuan, hiding in the shadows of the rooftop, sitting in a daze. The tavern owner, believing the troublemaker had departed, quietly returned to clean up and welcome new customers. Perhaps couples enjoyed sharing a drink on such nights—before long, the tavern was once again filled with flirtatious banter.

The Lovers’ Festival was truly a chaotic spectacle, fit only to sully his master’s eyes.

Yue Wuhuan somewhat regretted having feigned excessive obedience earlier—he should have persuaded Song Qingshi to choose a different travel destination. He also hadn’t anticipated that Song Qingshi, who usually spent evenings obediently in their room reading with him, would sneak out. Now, it was too late to conceal the matter of the Lovers’ Festival. He needed an excuse…

After a moment’s thought, he adopted a relaxed expression, then pointed to the secluded Ninefold Pagoda in the distance, asking expectantly, “Master, I think sitting up high, watching the human world’s lights under the moonlight, would be truly beautiful.”

“Okay,” Song Qingshi looked at him, a bright smile on his face. “I also think it’s too noisy here.”

He took Yue Wuhuan’s hand, leaving the bustling crowds behind, and headed toward the Ninefold Pagoda. The Ninefold Pagoda was one of South Sea City’s renowned sights, rumored to house a portrait of the Divine Lord. However, its gates were perpetually locked, leaving its true appearance a mystery. Surrounded by a sea of bamboo, the scenery was picturesque, yet during the Flower Festival, it couldn’t compete with the riot of blossoms, remaining quiet and desolate.

Deep within the bamboo grove, a young couple hid, locked in an impassioned kiss, unable to part. One murmured about the sweetness of the other’s lips, the other praised their softness—their breathless whispers were almost cloyingly sweet.

Song Qingshi couldn’t help but sneak a few glances.

Yue Wuhuan gently turned his head back, while the Blood King Vine silently slithered towards the couple, its terrifying aura startling the lovebirds into fleeing. Then, summoning his sword, he carried Song Qingshi to the top of the Ninefold Pagoda. After cleaning the area and scanning it with his Divine Sense to ensure solitude, he finally relaxed.

Tonight’s moonlight was indeed beautiful, bathing the Ninefold Pagoda in its glow. No candles were needed—everything was clearly visible. Sitting atop the tower felt like transcending the mortal world, gazing upon its bustling splendor—the night market snaking like a river of lights, the scattered glimmers of homes where people dwelled, lost or lucid.

Song Qingshi didn’t want to be lucid, but he had no choice…

He pulled out the items he had bought one by one from his Mustard Seed Bag, handing them all to Yue Wuhuan. Though the silver-tongued vendors had swayed him into purchasing quite a few silly things, it didn’t matter—the thought behind them wasn’t foolish.

When Yue Wuhuan saw the wooden toy bird whistle, he couldn’t help but chuckle, bringing it to his lips and blowing into it a few times.

The tiny whistle unexpectedly produced a melodious sound, as if a hundred birds were singing in unison.

Song Qingshi’s heart stirred faintly…