Chapter 13: Happy Vacation

Chapter 13: Enjoy Your Vacation

Before dawn, Ling was already practicing with his blade in the courtyard.

The Tang Heng Dao cut sharp arcs through the morning mist, each strike heavier than usual, as if trying to slash through some intense emotion. Sweat dripped along his tense jawline, splattering on the bluestone floor, breaking into droplets.

Xiaoyao leaned against the porch pillar, arms crossed, watching quietly for a while before speaking: "Senior, your blade work is off."

The blade halted mid-air. Ling stood with his back to him, the lines of his shoulder blades clear under the sweat-dampened fabric.

"Is it because of last night?" Xiaoyao asked bluntly.

Ling spun around, eyes as sharp as a knife: "Shut up."

Instead of backing off, Xiaoyao stepped right up to him. They were about the same height, their eyes almost level. Ling's breathing grew noticeably heavier, the veins on the hand gripping the blade bulging.

"It was just an accident," Xiaoyao said, looking him straight in the eye. "What are you hiding from, Senior?"

With a loud *clang*, the blade embedded itself in the bluestone. Ling grabbed Xiaoyao by the collar, conflicting emotions swirling in his eyes. Their noses almost touched, breaths intertwining.

"You don't know anything." Ling's voice was low, ground out between clenched teeth.

Xiaoyao didn't flinch, even curling his lips into a slight smirk: "Then tell me, Senior."

Ling's pupils contracted sharply.

The next second, Xiaoyao's world spun upside down—Ling executed a clean shoulder throw, pinning him to the ground with a knee pressed against his lower back, one hand holding Xiaoyao's wrist above his head.

"Even ten of you wouldn't be a match for me." Ling's voice was cold, but his breathing was clearly ragged.

Pinned and at a disadvantage, Xiaoyao only laughed more boldly: "Then why is Senior so nervous?" He deliberately twisted his wrist. "Your palms are sweaty."

Ling jerked away as if scalded, stumbling as he stood up—the combined effects of a hangover and high fever caught up with him. Xiaoyao seized the opportunity, flipping up and grabbing his shoulder from behind.

The two wrestled in the morning light until, with a *bang*, they collided against the osmanthus tree. Petals rained down, covering their shoulders.

"Enough." Ling turned his head away, coughing a few times, his voice hoarse. "I..."

Suddenly, Xiaoyao reached out and wiped the corner of his mouth—the wound from last night's accidental knock had bled again. The gesture froze them both.

The morning mist dispersed as sunlight pierced through the clouds.

Breakfast was eerily quiet.

Ling mechanically chewed his plain porridge, his eyes always fixed on the table corner. Xiaoyao tapped the bowl's rim: "Senior, you need to stir the pickles in before eating."

The chopsticks paused. Ling finally looked up at him: "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Last night." Ling's Adam's apple bobbed. "You could have pushed me off."

Xiaoyao put down his bowl and met his gaze directly: "Because I didn't want to."

Ling's chopsticks clattered to the table.

"I like you, Senior." Xiaoyao said it plainly, as if stating the most ordinary fact. "Not as a partner."

From outside the courtyard came the sound of a tofu vendor's wooden clapper, growing closer, then fading away.

Ling's knuckles were white from gripping, but his voice was eerily calm: "Do you know anything about my past?"

"No," Xiaoyao refilled half a bowl of porridge for him. "But I want to."

(I'm not sure if Ling's past is like this. If the official version later mentions it, I'll change it.)

"I've killed people."

Ling stood under the eaves, his back straight as a blade. Sunlight cast a long shadow behind him, its edges blurred, as if it might vanish at any moment.

"I first drew blood at twelve, went on solo missions at sixteen. The Supernatural Company took me in only because I could kill monsters."

Xiaoyao walked over to stand beside him, their shoulders lightly touching: "Well, what a coincidence. I joined the company to find antiques."

Ling frowned: "That's different."

"It's really different," Xiaoyao smiled. "You did it to survive, I did it for fun. But we're both standing right here now, aren't we?"

A breeze swept through the courtyard, and osmanthus petals fell in a shower. Ling's fingertips twitched, but in the end, he didn't pull away from that faint touch.

In the off-road vehicle on the way back, Ma Mianren scrutinized them from the rearview mirror: "Enjoy your vacation?"

"Very much," Xiaoyao said with a grin, handing over a jar of osmanthus honey. "A local specialty for you."

Ling gazed at the scenery racing past the window, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

As the car crossed the river bridge, sunlight streamed through the glass, casting a small patch of light on the back of his hand. Xiaoyao's hand crept over, their fingertips touched, warm and dry.

Ling didn't pull away.