Chapter 37: Homecoming and Hidden Jealousies

Upon Su Zhuozhi’s return home, the entire Su residence was overjoyed, preparing a table of his favorite dishes. Regardless, they all unanimously felt he had grown thinner.

Under the watchful eyes of his family, Su Zhuozhi unintentionally ate a bit too much. He let out a burp, and the fox ears atop his head trembled, drawing everyone’s gaze.

Though they had already learned of this from Su Zhuozhi’s previous letters, seeing it in person was a completely different experience.

His father, mother, grandmother, and elder brother couldn’t resist—their hands itched, and they reached out to touch.

Su Zhuozhi obediently didn’t dodge, tilting his head to let them touch.

Su Huailang looked into his watery eyes and couldn’t help but smile. Then, remembering something, he frowned with concern. “Has anyone bullied you because of this?”

Su Zhuozhi lifted his chin, quite proud. “How could that be? They’re all jealous.”

“Is that so?” Amusement flickered in Su Huailang’s eyes, and he felt relieved.

After the meal, Su Zhuozhi excitedly grabbed his brother’s hand and ran all the way to the courtyard. He wanted to show off what he had learned at the Ten Thousand Swords Sect. The coolest thing, of course, was sword flight—after all, who hasn’t dreamed of flying?

He led Su Huailang onto the blade of the sword, and with a thought, the spirit sword slowly rose into the air.

It was Su Huailang’s first time flying, so he couldn’t help but be nervous. He appeared calm on the surface, but his hands inside his sleeves were already clenched tight.

“Brother, are you scared?” Su Zhuozhi turned his head and grinned mischievously.

He couldn’t show weakness in front of his younger brother. Su Huailang said lightly, “Not really.”

“Then let me show you something more exciting.”

Before he finished speaking, the spirit sword under their feet suddenly changed direction and shot forward at high speed.

Su Huailang’s heart tightened. Seeing a tree ahead, he quickly warned, “We’re going to hit it!”

Su Zhuozhi didn’t slow down, only swerving dangerously at the last inch from the trunk. It was all about the thrill.

“Exciting, right?”

“Exciting.”

Su Huailang nodded, and as soon as they landed, he gave Su Zhuozhi a flick on the forehead.

Su Zhuozhi covered his forehead, his eyes curving into crescent moons, and giggled.

Besides his brother, he also took his parents and grandmother for a ride—though each one was slower and gentler, not to scare them.

After they descended, Su Zhuozhi said sweetly, “See? I’ve learned a lot out there. You don’t need to worry about me~”

He shared his experiences at the Ten Thousand Swords Sect—about cultivation, friends, gossip, and so on. Much of it had already been said in letters, but saying it in person to his family felt different.

He complained, grumbled, and acted spoiled, but in the end, he assured them easily that he was very capable and they could rest assured.

His grandmother beamed with kindness. “Our Zhuozhuo has grown up.”

Of course, a vacation meant going out to play.

Apart from his family, what Su Zhuozhi missed most from the Ten Thousand Swords Sect were his group of friends.

After two days at home, he invited them to meet at Drunken Immortal Pavilion for a meal.

In his imagination, after so long apart, they would eagerly throw their arms around each other’s shoulders and give big hugs.

But when Su Zhuozhi walked into the private room, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. There was none of the usual laughter and talk; instead, everyone wore long faces, as if someone owed them millions of silver.

Su Zhuozhi blinked, puzzled. “What’s wrong with you all?”

Jiang Yangyu snorted coldly and turned away.

The others struck similar poses, arms crossed, looking displeased.

After asking several times with no response, Su Zhuozhi grew annoyed. Huffily, he said, “I finally come back, and you don’t want to see me, right? Fine, I’ll leave! I won’t stay here and be an eyesore!”

With that, he really turned and walked away, not hesitating for a moment, not even looking back.

Jiang Yangyu couldn’t believe it. He whipped his head around and shouted, “I haven’t even said anything, and you’re already angry?!”

Su Zhuozhi turned back indignantly. “You’re all giving me dirty looks, and I’m not allowed to be angry?”

Su Zhuozhi shouted back, not backing down. “Didn’t I write to you?”

“Only once a month! I’ve only received a few letters. Count them yourself. And they were so short—anyone would think you couldn’t afford paper.” Jiang Yangyu’s face was cold, his tone sarcastic.

Meng Yuanzhou chimed in from the side, his voice sour. “Made new friends over there, huh? Cultivators—they must be so much more impressive than us.”

“He’s completely forgot about us,” Ye Huahui said with a sneer, crossing his legs.

Su Zhuozhi was so exasperated he almost laughed. He opened his mouth several times but couldn’t get a word out.

“Guilty, are you?”

Unable to hold back, Su Zhuozhi strode over and slammed both hands on the table. “How childish! I went to the Ten Thousand Swords Sect for a reason!”

He walked so fast that his cloak slipped off, revealing the fox ears on his head.

Jiang Yangyu and the others suddenly widened their eyes, dumbfounded, forgetting to be angry.

They were all startled and hurried over, anxiously asking, “Zhuozhi, what happened to you?”

Su Zhuozhi rolled his eyes. “Still giving me dirty looks now?”

Jiang Yangyu pursed his lips, but worry overrode other emotions. Seriously, he said, “You’d better explain clearly.”

Su Zhuozhi sat down, took a sip of tea, and then slowly recounted the whole affair, leaving out many details but covering the main points.

“Still mad at me now? Brother.” Su Zhuozhi tilted his head and smiled at Jiang Yangyu. The smile was sweet, but it carried a faint chill.

Jiang Yangyu, hearing that rare ‘brother,’ felt a surge of joy. Knowing that Su Zhuozhi had kept it from him for a reason, he couldn’t stay angry. He cleared his throat and turned away, letting the matter drop.

“Can I touch it?”

Jiang Yangyu reached out, indicating the fox ears, his fingers itching. He hadn’t realized that the little fox he’d seen at the Su residence was Su Zhuozhi himself—no wonder it was so beautiful.

Su Zhuozhi refused without mercy, pulling up his hood so they couldn’t even see.

The others were disappointed too.

But the most important thing was that Su Zhuozhi was safe and sound.

A group of youths ate, drank, laughed, and bantered, not estranged by their long separation.

In high spirits, Su Zhuozhi had some sweet wine. It wasn’t strong enough to easily get drunk, but his tolerance was low, and after a couple of cups, he was tipsy.

His cheeks flushed, his eyes glazed, and he couldn’t even hold his cup steadily. It slipped from his hand, about to fall.

But strangely, the cup paused in midair and then returned to his hand, as if someone had caught it and put it back.

Su Zhuozhi tilted his head, stared at his hand for a long moment, blinked slowly, and said softly, “Wow, I’m amazing.”

He didn’t know that in the private room, besides them, there was also a blurry black mist.

Having spent so long at the Ten Thousand Swords Sect, Su Zhuozhi no longer saw Xie Jue merely as a personal guard but as a friend. For a rare vacation, he naturally didn’t want Xie Jue following him around without any rest. So he had given Xie Jue time off and didn’t bring him this time.

Xie Jue didn’t come, but the demonic energy did, sticking clingily to Su Zhuozhi, following him like a shadow.

Taking advantage of Su Zhuozhi’s drunkenness, Ye Huahui’s curiosity stirred again. He still wanted to touch those fox ears. So he walked over, gently lifted the hood, and reached out.

But suddenly, something splashed on him from above—a cup of wine had toppled over, soaking his clothes. He turned pale and had to go change, forgetting about the fox ears.

“How careless,” Meng Yuanzhou mocked him, then turned to another topic. “I was planning to take Zhuozhi to the Spring Breeze Pavilion to enjoy Mistress Xuehe’s dance, but it’s a pity.”

The Spring Breeze Pavilion was a famous den of pleasure and money-sink. The girls there were exceptionally talented and beautiful. Many were still courtesans who only entertained with their art.

Su Zhuozhi had never been there before, so Meng Yuanzhou had offered to take him.

No sooner had he said this than his body inexplicably tilted, and he flew forward, landing gracelessly on the ground.

Jiang Yangyu, bewildered, laughed. “Why are you bowing so deeply? Prostrating yourself like that?”

Meng Yuanzhou scrambled up angrily. “My stool suddenly tipped over! Someone must have kicked me!”

He turned to find the culprit, but everyone looked completely innocent, as if they hadn’t done it. Meng Yuanzhou didn’t believe them, so he ran over and kicked their stools too, causing mutual harm.

Su Zhuozhi sat watching the commotion, laughing heartily.

When it was time to leave, Jiang Yangyu, seeing how drunk Su Zhuozhi was, planned to escort him home. But just as he moved to help, a tall figure approached, stopping in front of Su Zhuozhi. With practiced ease, he wrapped an arm around Su Zhuozhi’s waist and pulled him close.

It was the personal guard he had seen countless times.

His features were cold and sharp, his brows dark and eyes deep. Neither humble nor arrogant, he said calmly, “I’ve come to take my young master home. No need to trouble the young masters.”

Jiang Yangyu recognized him and naturally felt comfortable handing Su Zhuozhi over. But a strange chill ran down his spine—he felt there was something odd about this guard, though he couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong.

Only after they had walked away did it suddenly hit him. It was just like how a doting husband personally comes to pick up his wife at a banquet, unable to bear even a moment apart.

As soon as this thought came, Jiang Yangyu felt ridiculous. What was he comparing? Master and servant—that could never be related.

Back at the Su residence.

When the servants saw the young master drunk, they immediately brewed hangover tea. Qingping wanted to attend to him, but Xie Jue wouldn’t let him, so he could only watch as Xie Jue supported his master into the room.

Su Zhuozhi was completely dizzy, his limbs limp. Walking felt like treading on cotton, and he would stumble if not careful. Xie Jue naturally wrapped an arm around his waist and placed a hand on his thin back, pulling him into his embrace. Even when they reached the couch, he didn’t let go.

In his haze, Su Zhuozhi didn’t struggle. His expression was lazy and dazed, his cheeks as pink as peach blossoms. He lay in Xie Jue’s arms, yawning sleepily, his eyes half-closed like a little kitten. Thick, curled lashes held a few teardrops, and he was obedient to an unbelievable degree.

Xie Jue relished this closeness, holding the boy possessively, his heart full of satisfaction, as if soaking in warm spring water.

But he also remembered what had happened in the private room.

His eyes darkened with suppressed jealousy.

Su Zhuozhi had called Jiang Yangyu ‘brother’ in a clear, sweet voice, smiling beautifully. The demonic energy watching had seethed with envy, a dark, low voice repeating endlessly: I want it, I want it, I want him to call me brother too.

If it were blood relatives, that was one thing. But why should a friend get Su Zhuozhi’s smile?

He didn’t want to see Su Zhuozhi smile at others.

He was his.

Xie Jue buried his face in the crook of Su Zhuozhi’s neck, taking a deep breath, sniffing him as if to detoxify. Then he slowly raised his head, reached out a hand, and pinched Su Zhuozhi’s chin, gazing intently at him. His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped low as he coaxed, “Call me ‘brother,’ won’t you?”

Su Zhuozhi’s reactions were sluggish. Even recognizing the person before him was difficult. He blinked slowly but didn’t speak.

Xie Jue moved his fingers upward, pressing against Su Zhuozhi’s lower lip, wanting to part his lips and make him obey just once. But the moment his fingertip touched that softness, his heart uncontrollably raced, pounding as if it would burst from his chest, aching with urgency, anxiety, desire, and boiling passion, greedily craving more.

The person he touched, however, was oblivious. Feeling thirsty, his lips dry, Su Zhuozhi unconsciously licked them to moisten them. Caught off guard, his tongue swept across the finger pressed against the seam of his lips, leaving behind a glistening trace of moisture.

Xie Jue’s throat moved. He withdrew his hand, curling his fingers, and asked hoarsely, “Young master, would you like some water?”

“Mm…”

Su Zhuozhi mumbled an assent, then licked his lips again.

Xie Jue quickly brought a cup of water and held it to his mouth. Perhaps distracted, he kept staring at those parted red lips. He tilted the cup too quickly, and before Su Zhuozhi could swallow, water trickled from the corner of his mouth.

The demonic energy could not restrain itself. It trailed along the water mark, licking and sucking upward, about to kiss the corner of his mouth and enter the gap between his lips…

Xie Jue suppressed his anger. With a thought, he mercilessly crushed the demonic energy.

But that wisp of demonic energy, instead of fearing him, let out an annoyingly satisfied sigh before vanishing.

Su Zhuozhi opened his eyes, puzzled, and rubbed his chin. It felt itchy, as if an insect had crawled over it, but aside from water, he felt nothing.

To Xie Jue, Su Zhuozhi’s slender white fingers rubbing the red mark left by the demonic energy’s sucking was extremely jarring. He wished he could kiss it fiercely, yet he also wanted Su Zhuozhi’s willing response when he was awake. What was the point of this sneaky behavior?

Su Zhuozhi felt a hand land on the back of his neck, gently kneading and stroking.

At first, he thought it was Xie Jue. But after a while, he noticed Xie Jue had one hand holding the teacup and the other supporting his lower back—so where was the extra hand?

Su Zhuozhi shuddered, instinctively lurching into Xie Jue’s arms. Whenever he encountered ghosts at the Ten Thousand Swords Sect, pressing close to Xie Jue would make them disappear quickly.

Sure enough, after a moment, the cold, sticky sensation on his neck left.

Su Zhuozhi clutched Xie Jue’s lapels, breathing a sigh of relief.

But in his dizzy mind, a thought suddenly flashed.

He had found it strange before, at the Ten Thousand Swords Sect.

Why was it that whenever the ghost appeared, Xie Jue was always right by his side, allowing him to lean on him?

Was the ghost targeting him, or Xie Jue?

Or was there some other…

Secret reason unknown to others.

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