WPCID 7: You Don’t Get Cold Sleeping Alone in Such a Big Bed?
by cloudiesIn the far north, where the world’s foremost sect, Kunlun Ruins, resided, a thousand miles of icy plains stretched endlessly. Only this enchanted mountain range remained untouched by frost, lush and green like a ribbon of emerald silk cutting through the snowy expanse.
Further north lay the dreaded Ten Thousand Bone Grotto, where sunlight reached only a few days each year.
At the sect leader’s residence, Hidden Peak, Chu Xuan sat quietly, sword in arms, studying a rubbing on the table. The rubbing’s edges were worn, hinting at age, and it bore a roughly sketched, incomplete map.
A knock came at the door, and without waiting for a response, someone strolled in.
“Still staring at that rubbing?” The newcomer, holding a folding fan, had peach-blossom eyes and a charming air. “You still haven’t given up?”
Chu Xuan glanced up. “Why should I?”
“It’s been nine years. If he wasn’t dead, he’d have returned by now.” The man leaned closer, counting on his fingers. “Your two grandmasters, two masters, your senior brother… every Kunlun Ruins sect leader has met a bad end. Nine out of ten vanished in the Ten Thousand Bone Grotto. Has any come back? And—”
“Xie Xianqing,” Chu Xuan cut in, too lazy to argue, tapping the rubbing with his index finger.
“Yes, yes, I know. Not long after Lu Buzhuo vanished, someone in Bian City used an emergency signal to send a message, but it cut off, leaving just this partial map. But what does that prove?” Xie Xianqing pressed, exasperated. “The grotto’s terrain is barely known. Plenty have sketched maps or stolen profane stones over the years. Are you sure this is your Senior Brother Lu’s work?”
Chu Xuan glanced at him again. “Draw one yourself, then.”
Xie Xianqing: “…”
He snapped open his fan, revealing the words Utterly Useless, and waved it. “I’m a medical cultivator. I don’t understand your Hidden Peak lineage.”
“You do know I到处
“I’m the sect leader.”
“Oh, Sect Leader.” Xie Xianqing sidled up, flashing his charming eyes and fanning Chu Xuan. “Enough with the sour face. I just refined a batch of miraculous pills and need someone to test—”
“No need. I haven’t finished your last batch.” Chu Xuan, unmoved, tucked away the rubbing. “I’m heading to the grotto. The seal’s loosening again.”
“…” Xie Xianqing froze, then shook his Utterly Useless fan. The grotto’s pervasive demonic aura, even with protective pills, could accumulate in the body over time, driving people mad. Every sect leader had a short life—seventy or eighty years, a century at most—before leaving behind the sect leader’s token and entering the grotto to die.
Nine years had passed since Chu Xuan became sect leader.
A chair creaked as Xie Xianqing snapped back, grabbing Chu Xuan’s sleeve. “Don’t go yet. This is a new pill to suppress demonic aura, not some random junk. Try it… Hey, don’t eat the old ones. Come back.”
Chu Xuan let himself be pulled back, sat down, and watched Xie Xianqing hype up the pill, raising a brow but not really listening.
After a moment, he held out his hand. “Let me try it.”
Xie Xianqing, delighted, handed it over, poured tea, and said, “I know your senior brother’s disappearance was unusual. He’d been sect leader less than a decade—too soon. I diagnosed him daily, refining rare elixirs, but his demonic aura grew too fast. He was reckless. Don’t follow his example.”
Chu Xuan took the tea and pill. “Senior Brother was a genius. He nearly fixed the seal array alone, something no other sect leader could manage.”
He shot Xie Xianqing a look. “I can’t compare.”
Xie Xianqing snapped his fan shut, smacking his palm. “Come on, I’m not trying to start a fight. You’re so protective of him. I’m not going to Bian City for you this year.”
Chu Xuan’s expression flickered. “The sect leader can’t leave Kunlun Ruins. If not you, who?”
Chu Xuan sighed, stepped close, tapped Xie’s chest with his sword hilt, and said softly, “Few know about the rubbing. Only you can do it.”
Xie Xianqing went quiet, then muttered, “Why only me?”
“Can you do it or not?”
“…Fine.”
“Wait, don’t rush off.” A jade token with a purple tassel flew toward him. “Spring stirs everything, including demonic cultivators. You’re the only medical cultivator in our sect. No mistakes. Take this.”
Xie Xianqing caught it, staring. “You can’t just give this away…”
He looked up, but Chu Xuan was gone. Pinching the token, he wrapped it in a cloth, tucked it away, and left for Bian City in the south.
In the south, spring’s warmth battled the lingering chill, and even doors turned to splinters.
Shen Zhou squatted, grimly eyeing the pile of broken wood. With a few loud smashes, he destroyed it completely, tossing it into the kitchen firewood pile to erase the evidence. He took a door from the storage room, but it was too short. Nailing on some bamboo strips, he made a hideous but functional door.
Task complete, Shen Zhou tossed the hammer aside, wandered the courtyard, and casually ended up by the fence, peering out. No sign of Lu Buzhuo.
The bamboo grove was carpeted with thick, damp old leaves and hidden bamboo roots. Shen Zhou looked away, thinking Lu might’ve broken a leg and couldn’t return. Lingering by the fence, he felt inexplicably restless and left.
He moved the brazier, stove, and bedding back to their original places, swept the floor, wiped the furniture, and did every chore he could, then drifted back to the fence.
…
Moments later, a black figure darted into the bamboo grove, moving lightly and silently like a nimble wolf hunting prey. Soon, he spotted a white figure sitting on the ground.
“Lu Buzhuo?”
The figure shifted aside, silent.
Shen Zhou approached. “Lu…”
In a flash, bamboo leaves swirled, and the white figure vanished like scattered snow. A chill touched Shen Zhou’s neck, like melting snowflakes, followed by a bone-deep killing intent. A soft sound came from behind as Lu Buzhuo stepped out. “It’s you.”
A belated shiver shot up Shen Zhou’s spine, his body tensing. He clutched his neck, retreating five steps, staring. His wolf ears flattened nervously.
Lu Buzhuo: “.”
Having learned most of the ear language over the past few days, he knew this meant fear. Tucking his hands into his sleeves to show innocence, he said, “I was lost in thought and didn’t hear you. It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Shen Zhou said coldly, “Liar.”
His ears perked warily, signaling disbelief.
Lu Buzhuo spread his hands. “I just drew a light-body talisman for safety.” He lifted his hem, showing the talisman on his boot.
The ears relaxed, twitching, but Shen Zhou stayed cautiously distant.
Lu Buzhuo raised a brow, sat on a cleaner spot, and said, “Shen Zhou, I sprained my ankle.”
“…”
Shen Zhou edged closer, stopping half a step away.
“Thanks,” Lu Buzhuo said, taking his hand to stand, adding two more “thanks” and asking, “Scared?”
“No,” Shen Zhou denied. “What’re you doing wandering this dump so long? Tired of living?”
Lu Buzhuo brushed off bamboo leaves, looking innocent. “You said I was in the way, so I left.”
Shen Zhou: “…”
“I didn’t tell you to come here and sprain your ankle.”
Amused by Shen Zhou’s serious tone, Lu Buzhuo chuckled, relenting. “I was working on the formation.”
Shen Zhou looked around, puzzled. “Where’s the formation?”
“Every blade of grass and tree in the grove is part of it. It’s everywhere,” Lu Buzhuo said cryptically.
“Speak plainly.”
“…I haven’t found the array’s core. Everything looks like the array.”
Clear enough. Shen Zhou nodded, pleased, and asked, “Didn’t you say seven days to break it?”
“It’s only the first day.” Lu Buzhuo glanced around, frowning slightly. “The array-maker’s style feels familiar.”
“You know them?”
“Maybe,” Lu Buzhuo said uncertainly, smiling. “Unless it’s me. Also, my ankle hurts too much to walk. Can you help me back? Please.”
Shen Zhou: “?”
“I really can’t walk,” Lu Buzhuo cleared his throat. “Shen Zhou—”
Shen Zhou dragged him back to the bamboo grove.
*
His ankle was indeed sprained, badly swollen, subsiding only after applying medicine. As he treated it, Lu Buzhuo chattered in that pleasant, accented tone, blaming Shen Zhou’s shoulder pat for startling him into twisting his ankle and requesting ear-pinching as comfort.
Shen Zhou: “.”
Clenching his fist, he said, “Want this?”
Lu Buzhuo immediately shut up, pretending to study the formation.
Shen Zhou couldn’t fathom why Lu was so fixated on his ears—ugly, hated things. His ears drooped, faintly aggrieved.
Lu wasn’t studying the array. He doodled a pair of drooping wolf ears in the corner of his paper, noting: Sad. After a pause, he added: Uncertain.
Later, he heard rustling by the window. Looking up, he saw Shen Zhou making a bed on the floor.
“You’re sleeping there tonight?”
“My room’s door is gone.”
“It’s too cold on the floor,” Lu Buzhuo said. “Sleep on the bed. It’s big enough for both of us, no touching.”
Shen Zhou ignored him, continuing, ears stubbornly upright, determined not to share.
Lu Buzhuo sighed, looked away, and sketched another ear diagram.
Rain fell at night, pattering in the bamboo grove, mingling with the sound of rain on the tiled roof. The earthy scent of mud seeped through the window cracks, the damp chill warmed by the room’s heat, lulling them to sleep.
A spring thunderclap woke Lu Buzhuo.
A dark figure loomed by the bed.
Lu Buzhuo: “!”
His heart raced. After a moment, he recognized the figure. “…Shen Zhou?”
It was Shen Zhou.
“Lu Buzhuo,” came a faint, trembling voice, trying to sound tough. “You… don’t get cold sleeping alone in such a big bed?”
Lu Buzhuo: “?”

0 Comments