WPCID 42: The Damp Seed

Shen Zhou fainted.
…

It is unknown how much time passed before his consciousness began to return.

It was quiet all around, with what seemed to be the sound of dripping water, though he couldn’t tell from where. He was lying on hard, cold stone, and his wounds burned like fire. He could feel nothing else; his five senses were as weak and muddled as they had been that day, making it impossible to distinguish anything clearly.

…There seemed to be someone beside him.

Something very bitter was stuffed into his mouth, and the person said in a low voice, “It’ll be better in a moment.”

Next, he should gently touch his ears and say, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you go up the mountain that day.

It’s a flashback of my life. Shen Zhou thought hazily.

He had trespassed into the Kunlun Ruins and been captured on the spot in front of everyone; he must be on the verge of death. He never expected that even the medicinal pill in his life’s final flashback would taste as bitter as it did back then, so bitter it made him sad.

He groggily half-opened his eyes again but saw nothing, only darkness.

So, I’ve arrived in the underworld after all.

He felt a bit cold, a bit tired, and longed to hide somewhere warm, pull some dry straw over himself like when he was a child, and sleep soundly.

When he woke up, the wounds would be healed, and the pain would be gone.

Another rustling sound. Shen Zhou’s eyelids trembled.

At first, he didn’t notice, but after a moment, he suddenly realized someone seemed to be taking off his clothes.

Shen Zhou: “…?”

He had never heard of the Underworld Guardians stripping souls of their clothes when they came to collect them. Although it was said you couldn’t take anything with you after death, he still wanted to be clothed for his reincarnation.

So he struggled a little.

“Don’t move,” said the Underworld Guardian.

Shen Zhou was startled.

The shock was enough to jolt his eyes open. He mustered some strength and laboriously lifted his head.

And then he saw that someone was indeed taking off his clothes.

“You’re awake,” Xie Xianqing said.

A dim oil lamp flickered nearby, casting the surroundings in shifting light and shadow.

Shen Zhou tried to sit up but didn’t have the strength. He just barely managed to pull his robe together with one hand, turning his head away to avoid looking at him.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over him.

The clean, bitter scent of medicine wafted past his nose. The willow-green sleeves were slightly translucent, like the green gauze curtains of an ordinary home, bringing a sense of peace.

He was helped up and leaned against the stone wall. Something soft was placed behind his head, ensuring there was not the slightest bump.

Xie Xianqing withdrew his hand.

“Don’t move,” he said, picking up a medicine box and dabbing some ointment on. 

“Although demonic cultivators don’t die easily, your injuries are too severe.”

Having just woken up, Shen Zhou’s mind was still sluggish. He blinked, and it took a long moment for the words to register.

He understood each word, but together, they made no sense.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Xie Xianqing,” he replied, then glanced outside the cell to see if anyone was coming. He lowered his voice, “Save your strength. The bleeding just stopped.”

Shen Zhou mulled over these two sentences a few times, thinking he might either be dead or insane to be having such a bizarre hallucination.

He continued to ask, “Where is this?”

“The dungeon.”

Shen Zhou glanced around, his eyes sweeping over the moss-covered stone walls. By the light of the oil lamp, he saw the shackles on his wrists.

The shackles were specially made, nailed to the wall, and they sealed off all the demonic energy in his body, leaving him like a fish on a cutting board, to be slaughtered at will. It wasn’t much different from being dead.

He closed his eyes again, feeling a bit weary, and didn’t ask about Lu Buzhu.

Xie Xianqing, however, was quite talkative, whispering beside him, “It’s quieter here. The incident today caused a huge uproar. A demonic cultivator infiltrated Xiaoyin Peak, implicating the Sect Master and the former Sect Master. The Elder’s Hall even sent people over. They’ve been arguing nonstop on Xiaoyin Peak. They even brought the founding ancestor of Kunlun Ruins’ Punishment Sword, said to be able to sever good and evil with a single strike. That thing hasn’t been brought out for at least eight hundred years. It gave me a scare.”

“In any case, Kunlun Ruins is temporarily sealed off, and it’s unclear when it will reopen. Chu Xuan still hasn’t returned; he’s probably in a lot of trouble. Then again, that guy wouldn’t fart if you hit him with a pole… I mean, say a single nice word. The Elder’s Hall is full of old foxes. It used to be Lu Buzhu who dealt with that bunch of old geezers…”

Shen Zhou frowned and opened his eyes. 

“You’re noisy.”

Xie Xianqing shut his mouth.

After a moment, he spoke again, “Thanks for the other day.”

The one being thanked hadn’t even reacted, but his wolf ears perked up instantly, full of surprise.

The movement was too big, pulling at the wound on his chest, and they drooped again in pain.

Shen Zhou was baffled by this sudden and out-of-the-blue “thank you.” He didn’t even notice his wolf ears had gone through a full cycle of movement. After a long pause, he said, “What?”

“That day, you… kicked me,” Xie Xianqing seemed reluctant to elaborate and glossed over it vaguely. 

“And told me to get lost. When I came back later, the room was full of blood. One was close to death, the other on the verge of demonic qi deviation. I was in a complete mess and didn’t think of it… forgot… anyway, thanks.”

As he spoke, he tied a butterfly knot on the gauze bandage, then pulled a box of healing ointment from his robes. 

“It was too chaotic then, I didn’t notice. It seems to have been crushed?”

Shen Zhou took the box of ointment, still warm from his body, and held it in his hands, unable to snap back to reality for a long time.

After a moment, he twitched his wolf ears, then twitched them again.

He thought it over and over but still couldn’t understand. There was only one possibility: “Am I about to die?”

Xie Xianqing raised an eyebrow.

“No,” he said. 

“Aside from your identity as a demonic cultivator, which can’t be cleared, Lu Buzhu has taken the blame for all the other crimes.”

The oil lamp flickered, its light dancing in the dead silence.

Neither of them spoke again.

Shen Zhou frowned in confusion, then relaxed. It seemed Xie Xianqing only intended to inform him of this and had no plans to continue. He lowered his head and focused on treating his wounds.

Without warning, the sound of footsteps, mixed with the soft clink of a scabbard, echoed from the other end of the dungeon.

After tying the last butterfly knot, Xie Xianqing packed up the ointment and gauze, left behind the bitter healing pills he had fed him earlier, and after a moment’s thought, took out a packet of licorice candy from his sleeve and placed it on the ground.

Hearing the sound, he turned and looked at the approaching shadow on the wall. He couldn’t help but frown and mutter to himself, “Why did he bring his sword?”

Shen Zhou wasn’t listening to him; he was just staring at the packet of licorice candy on the ground.

It had been opened, at least half of it was gone, and the paper packet was old. It looked like leftovers.

He moved slightly and pushed the candy away.

The movement pulled at his wound, causing him to hiss in a soft breath of pain. After a moment’s pause, he pushed the licorice candy again, pushing it far away.

“I don’t want it,” Shen Zhou said. 

“Take it away.”

Just as he finished speaking, the shadow of the swordsman reached the cell door and stopped, the scabbard making a loud sound.

Xie Xianqing stood up.

“The Elder’s Hall let you come back?” he said. 

“What did they say? Where’s Lu Buzhu?”

Chu Xuan didn’t speak, merely nudged him aside with his scabbard, revealing the half-demon gasping for breath behind him.

“What did the Elder’s Hall say to you?” Xie Xianqing grabbed his wrist, blocking the way again. 

“Didn’t you seal this sword for several months? Why did you suddenly take it out…”

“Get out,” Chu Xuan said.

“Make yourself clear.” Xie Xianqing’s expression also turned cold. 

“I just treated his wounds.”

It was a rule of Shuyu Peak that once a person was treated, there would be no questions of right or wrong, good or evil, until they recovered. They were simply a patient.

And as a patient, they would naturally receive the protection of the healer.

Chu Xuan sighed, glanced at the various beautifully tied butterfly knots on Shen Zhou’s body, and asked, “I thought you don’t treat demonic cultivators?”

“Rules are rigid, but people are flexible,” Xie Xianqing said. 

“I know what the Elder’s Hall is like better than you do. They’ll twist a single sentence eighteen ways. You’re straightforward and don’t usually interact with people much. I’m afraid you have no idea what kind of trap they’ve set for you. I’m not leaving until you explain clearly.”

The oil lamp flickered even more violently. The shadows on the wall moved back and forth, but the people in front of it did not stir.

Behind them, Shen Zhou opened the box of healing ointment, looked at it, and tucked it into his robes.

He looked up at Xie Xianqing again, but could only see his back, which was cast tall by the lamplight, blocking the way like a mountain.

Very few people had ever stood in front of him. Lu Buzhu was one, and now there was another.

If it had been before today, Shen Zhou would have surely treasured this memory.

Sometimes, when spring arrives too late, the seeds will not sprout. When the spring rain waters the barren land, the seeds that have long since rotted in one harsh, silent winter after another will only feel an uncomfortable dampness.

The damp seed averted its gaze, not knowing where to look. It circled twice before landing on the licorice candy.

After a moment, he hooked it over with the tip of his foot, took out a piece, and tried it.

I’m going to die anyway.

Soon, that back was pushed aside by the scabbard.

“I said, get out.” Chu Xuan’s voice was as cold as ever. He swiftly grabbed the other’s shoulder, pushed him out of the cell door, and blocked the way with his sword. Looking at Xie Xianqing who still refused to leave, he suddenly said, “When you call my name in your dreams, do you also think I’m the type to fall easily into traps?”

This statement was no small matter.

Xie Xianqing’s pupils dilated. He was pushed out abruptly, and even took a blow from the scabbard to his waist.

His soul was still scattered on the floor, not yet collected, when he heard Chu Xuan ask, “Who gave you permission to come and go freely in Xiaoyin Peak’s dungeon? Hand it over.”

“…What?”

“The Sect Master’s jade token.”

Poor Xie Xianqing, before he could even retrieve his soul, he had also lost the Sect Master’s jade token. His departing figure was one of utter panic, as if he were rushing to be reincarnated.

After dealing with the miscellaneous person, Chu Xuan turned to look at the half-demon huddled in the corner eating licorice candy.

The wolf ears, which had been perked up and swaying, drooped down again under his gaze.

Shen Zhou didn’t even spare him a glance.

He had found some powdered herbs at the bottom of the packet. It seemed this bag of candy was made by Xie Xianqing himself, packed in old paper, and not leftovers.

So he ate two more pieces.
…

That sharp, cold gaze, like a thorn in his back, never left him, nor did it interrupt him, as if watching a half-demon eat candy was a rare sight.

I heard they let you have a last meal before you die. Shen Zhou thought. To die at Chu Xuan’s hands in two lifetimes is really a bit nauseating. But the candy is still good.
…

As he was eating the third piece of candy, that gaze moved.

“A few days ago, why did you help repair the seal at the Myriad Bone Cave?”

Shen Zhou paused.

He had hidden his tracks at the Myriad Bone Cave very well and had never been discovered by Chu Xuan, nor had he mentioned going there. Only that puppet had been captured.

But… no one knew it was his puppet.

He was stunned for a long moment. The dungeon was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The other person also waited quietly for his answer.

He raised his head and looked into Chu Xuan’s eyes.

Unlike the crimson, chaotic eyes in the pouring rain of his past life, these were crystal clear, as bright as an autumn river like the blade of a sword, so bright in the dim dungeon that one couldn’t look away.

Shen Zhou suddenly remembered.

In his past life, this Sect Master had also been called “perceptive of the smallest detail.”

Seeing no answer for a long time, Chu Xuan lifted his robes and squatted down. He asked again, “That thing that can eat sword qi, is it your puppet?”