TDSDE 17

17. Don’t be in pain anymore… please…

Bai Yuanxiu lifted Xiao Qing into his arms—and suddenly felt like he was holding nothing more than a piece of paper.

That thought was so ominous it startled him, and he quickly shook it out of his mind. Shifting Xiao Qing to rest in one arm, he gripped his pitch-black refined iron sword in his right hand and brought it down hard on the iron bars in front of him!

A tremendous force rebounded up his arm. Pain exploded through his hand, and when he looked down, he saw that the web between his thumb and index finger had split open from the shock.

He looked at the bars—completely intact, not even a scratch.

Without stopping, Bai Yuanxiu turned and struck the walls, the ground, even the ceiling. But just as he’d suspected from the start, this prison was built without any weaknesses brute force could exploit.

He calmed himself, focused his energy, and stood before the bars again—pouring all his inner energy into another slash.

A deafening clang echoed like thunder through the silent prison.

Bai Yuanxiu’s eyes lit up.

A small dent—barely noticeable—had appeared on the thick iron bar.

It was a tiny mark, almost laughably insignificant compared to the size of the bars, but it gave Bai Yuanxiu a sliver of hope.

Again and again, he swung with all his strength. His right hand quickly became drenched in blood, hot droplets sizzling as they hit the ground before freezing into tiny red ice crystals that scattered across the dark floor.

And then, just as he raised the sword for another blow, he heard a faint, murmuring voice:

“Yuanxiu?”

He froze.

Before he could even look down, the person in his arms stirred violently. Afraid of dropping him, Bai Yuanxiu quickly crouched down.

But Xiao Qing was in such a hurry he lurched forward on his knees, landing hard on the ground. Before Bai Yuanxiu could catch him, Xiao Qing grabbed his right hand.

“Yuanxiu, Yuanxiu—what happened to your hand?” Xiao Qing’s feverish gaze was unfocused, but he clutched Bai Yuanxiu’s hand tightly, asking over and over, “Why is it bleeding? Does it hurt a lot?”

A sharp ache rose to Bai Yuanxiu’s nose. He pulled Xiao Qing onto his lap and gently coaxed him, voice soft: “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

Xiao Qing was soaked in sweat, like he’d just been pulled from water.

Sweat streamed down his face, mixing with tears until he looked completely disheveled. But he stubbornly held onto Bai Yuanxiu’s hand, refusing to let go, as if he knew Bai Yuanxiu would keep hurting himself the moment he did.

Bai Yuanxiu had no choice but to use his uninjured arm to draw Xiao Qing closer, wrapping him in his own warmth.

Xiao Qing cradled Bai Yuanxiu’s hand, gently blowing on it. In a dazed, muddled voice, he whispered, “If I blow on it, it won’t hurt anymore.”

Then he asked, “Yuanxiu, do you remember… the first time you got hurt?”

Of course Bai Yuanxiu remembered.

Though he’d started training in martial arts later than most, his talent had been extraordinary. He learned quickly, and his journey had gone smoothly overall. Even after leaving the Demonic Sect, despite keeping his strength hidden, he’d never run into real danger.

That time, he and Xiao Qing had passed through a remote mountain village known for their tea. As they arrived, they saw white lanterns hanging from a house at the entrance—some torn, left unattended.

They asked around and found out that tragedy had struck that household: the woman died in childbirth, the newborn passed soon after, and the grieving husband had lost his mind and taken his own life.

One tragedy was unfortunate—three in the same village? That was more than a coincidence.

They decided to stay the night at a farmhouse. That same evening, a man wielding dual blades attacked. Caught off guard, Bai Yuanxiu let him slip away.

Later, they learned that man had been behind all the murders.

He was a sadistic killer who targeted households where a woman had just given birth—slaughtering mother and child alike, then driving the husband to a gruesome suicide.

At the time, Bai Yuanxiu and Xiao Qing had disguised themselves as a married couple. Their bait worked.

Bai Yuanxiu fought fiercely, but to keep his identity as the Right Protector of the Demonic Sect secret, he couldn’t use many of his sword techniques or his full inner energy. The best he could manage was a draw.

But just as he found an opening to strike a fatal blow—the man’s shadow suddenly sprang to life and slashed at Bai Yuanxiu’s side.

One hit, and he knew it was bad—poisoned blade.

Realizing he couldn’t afford to delay, Bai Yuanxiu struck with a move “Hero Bai” would never use—piercing the man’s throat in one decisive blow.

Only then did he realize: it hadn’t been a shadow.

It was the man’s twin brother.

The two were identical in face, build, and manner. Under dim light, they moved like one, striking from the darkness as if only one person existed.

Many righteous heroes had fallen to this trick.

Bai Yuanxiu killed them both—but the poison in his body had already begun to act.

Normally, Bai Yuanxiu would’ve taken the risk, testing how far he could push himself, just for the thrill. But he couldn’t—because Xiao Qing was with him.

He’d thought, If I fall, Xiao Qing will be the next one to die at their hands. He couldn’t take that gamble.

The twins moved fast in the shifting shadows, and their blades carried a paralytic poison—get hit once, and the rest would barely register.

Bai Yuanxiu thought he’d been cut three or four times—Xiao Qing saw a man drenched in blood.

When Bai Yuanxiu finally woke, the first thing he saw was Xiao Qing cleansing the poison from his wounds.

Xiao Qing—who blushed at the mildest teasing, who would turn away the second Bai Yuanxiu removed his shirt—was now using his lips to draw poison from nearly every wound on his body.

He’d been too focused on saving him to care about anything else. But afterward, the memory embarrassed him so badly his ears and neck turned red.

At the time, Bai Yuanxiu had just begun to crack through Xiao Qing’s cold, aloof shell. Everything about him was so endearing he couldn’t help but tease—and then say, with a grin, that since Xiao Qing had seen him naked, he’d just have to marry him to make it right.

Every time, Xiao Qing would get flustered—but never truly angry. He’d just blush and press his hand over Bai Yuanxiu’s mouth, like a kitten batting with its paw, and Bai Yuanxiu adored him for it.

Later, when their relationship deepened, Bai Yuanxiu stopped teasing him that way.

Not because he was afraid Xiao Qing would get mad, but because he was afraid that if he said such things again, Xiao Qing would—eight or nine times out of ten—take them seriously.

He’d joked too much before, and now Bai Yuanxiu worried that Xiao Qing might accept him not out of love, but out of some rigid sense of moral duty, some faint affection twisted into obligation.

That would’ve gotten them together, yes—but not in the way Bai Yuanxiu wanted.

By now, it had been a long time since they’d last brought it up. The last time was around midsummer, back when feelings had already blossomed between them, and such words could be laughed off as playful flirtation.

But not now.

Not here, not in this place, not in this moment, when they were both hanging on by a thread.

Bai Yuanxiu didn’t know why Xiao Qing had suddenly mentioned it—but he immediately replied, “I remember.”

As soon as he spoke, Xiao Qing smiled. Then, with almost reverent care, he leaned down and kissed the wound on Bai Yuanxiu’s hand.

He spoke in faltering fragments: “Back then… I really didn’t mean to take advantage of you. I was trying to save you—that was real. Liking you… that was real too.”

“I heard once, that liking someone is the best medicine in the world. Just think of the person you like, blow on the wound, and it won’t hurt anymore.”

“But I just blew on your hand, and it still didn’t get better… so I thought, maybe I don’t like you enough.”

“Now I kissed you… will you stop hurting, please?”

Only when Xiao Qing, with his trembling hand, reached up to wipe Bai Yuanxiu’s face like he used to—only then did Bai Yuanxiu realize his face was soaked with tears.

He held Xiao Qing close, the other nearly limp in his arms, barely lucid—and couldn’t get a single word out.

The refined iron sword was cracked all over. Bai Yuanxiu had known by the second strike that they wouldn’t be getting out any time soon, but he didn’t dare stop. He was afraid if he paused for even a moment, he’d lose his mind.

He suddenly hated himself—how could he have been so timid, so cautious? Why hadn’t he just struck the boy’s leg the moment he caught up to him?

That little bastard wasn’t much older than a teenager. There’s no way he wasn’t afraid of dying. A bit of pressure, and he would’ve talked. Why had Bai Yuanxiu wasted so much time?

Now the boy had left, saying he wouldn’t be back for three or four days. The thought that he’d deliberately left them without food, leaving Xiao Qing to suffer alone, made Bai Yuanxiu’s hatred grow like weeds in the courtyard—fast, wild, uncontrollable.

But deep down, Bai Yuanxiu still blamed no one but himself.

He’d had so many chances. So much time to truly understand Xiao Qing, to learn everything. But he’d been too busy sulking, too proud to ask, too blind to see.

He held Xiao Qing tightly, whispering “I’m sorry” again and again, but Xiao Qing just pressed his burning face to Bai Yuanxiu’s hand, rubbing against it like a wounded animal.

In a voice so faint it was barely audible, he said: “Yuanxiu… can you… can you kiss me? I hurt so much…”

From the moment he’d met Xiao Qing, Bai Yuanxiu had cherished him deeply. After they got together, he always felt that any intimacy—anything beyond a hug or a tease—would feel like a transgression.

He’d always kept a careful distance.

But now—he finally kissed him.

And all he could taste was blood and tears.

In that moment, Bai Yuanxiu thought: he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care how much of Xiao Qing’s obedient, gentle mask had ever been real. He didn’t care whether Xiao Qing would still look at him the same after knowing who he truly was.

He just wanted Xiao Qing to live.

As the snow outside fell heavier and heavier, Bai Yuanxiu held him in his arms—his warmth fading bit by bit—and realized he had never, in his entire life, been so afraid of the cold.