After Ghost Marriage with My Arch-Rival - Chapter 19

Upon returning home and pushing open the living room door, the path led straight into Zhong Qinhuai’s mountainside villa.

Liu Xiangyi quickened his pace. Usually, Zhong Qinhuai would be curled up in that beanbag chair reading a book, but the chair was currently empty.

He hurried upstairs, only to find the master bedroom equally deserted. Liu Xiangyi’s brows knitted together. Did something actually happen to him?

He closed the bedroom door, and just as he was about to search elsewhere, a tall, upright figure caught the corner of his eye. Liu Xiangyi came to an abrupt halt.

Zhong Qinhuai was on the balcony.

He was leaning against the railing as if admiring the distant landscape—a picture of absolute serenity, as if nothing had happened at all.

Liu Xiangyi walked over, studying him intently. But as night had already fallen, Zhong Qinhuai’s form and expression were shrouded in darkness. Liu Xiangyi couldn’t discern a thing.

He hesitated for a moment, then asked with a hint of awkwardness, “Are, are you alright?”

Zhong Qinhuai turned his head and let out a soft chuckle. “Of course something is wrong.”

Liu Xiangyi’s heart instantly leaped into his throat.

Noticing his reaction, Zhong Qinhuai tilted his head, a flicker of playful mockery dancing in his eyes. “This afternoon at the seafood restaurant, President Liu scolded me by name. It caused me immense psychological trauma. Have you forgotten so soon?”

Liu Xiangyi: “…”

This kid! Still talking nonsense at a time like this.

He drew closer to Zhong Qinhuai, stopping only when a single meter remained between them. He leaned his back against the balcony railing, continuing to steal glances at the ghost from the corner of his eye.

The other man looked relaxed—his mood even seemed quite good. As Liu Xiangyi continued his silent observation, his stealthy gaze was caught by Zhong Qinhuai.

The corners of the ghost’s mouth curled into an involuntary smirk. He looked thoroughly satisfied as he spoke up smugly:

“Is President Liu really such a ‘love-brain’? You’re already this close, and yet it’s still not enough? You’re still peeking at me?”

Liu Xiangyi took a deep breath. Since the kid still had the energy to trade barbs, he was likely—probably—fine.

In the dead of night, Liu Xiangyi lay in bed. He rested his eyes for a while, then rolled over to stare at the empty side of the bed, lost in thought.

Ever since he’d moved back to his own room to sleep, that kid would usually follow him and sleep by his side. Yet tonight, he was uncharacteristically absent.

A faint sense of unease rippled through Liu Xiangyi’s heart. He sat up and glanced out the window. The towering trees of Mount Wu rose sharply into the sky, their branches interweaving so densely that the sky above the forest was a void of pitch black.

There wasn’t even a moon tonight.

Liu Xiangyi felt more uneasy than ever. Was it his imagination? He distinctly remembered seeing the moon before he closed his eyes.

Above the forest of Mount Wu, the sky was indeed ink-black. From a distance, it looked like a massive dark cloud blotting out the stars; but closer inspection revealed countless crows flying in from every corner of the woods, gathering and circling in the air.

Beneath this black cloud of thousands of crows lay a deep, sunless pool. Zhong Qinhuai was submerged in the center of the water, eyes closed as if resting. In the absolute darkness, his face was as pale as white jade—against the backdrop of the night, he looked like a bewitching phantom surfaced from the depths of the abyss.

Wisps of black mist drifted continuously from the heart of the forest. The stones at the pool’s edge seeped with dark vapor, and the crows circling above did the same. These threads of black mist converged from all directions, siphoning steadily into Zhong Qinhuai’s body.

Perched on a rock nearby, the little crow watched as Zhong Qinhuai absorbed the Ghost Qi. It puffed out its tiny chest with pride. “A-A-Huai is so amazing!”

On Mount Wu, every blade of grass, every tree, every stone, and every bird obeyed A-Huai’s command. This mountain was his domain. As long as he didn’t leave Mount Wu, A-Huai was invincible.

Then, the little crow remembered why A-Huai needed to replenish his energy in the first place—wasn’t it because he had given more than half of it to that human?

The little crow snapped to attention, its golden slit-pupils narrowing as it peeked at Zhong Qinhuai. “A-A-Huai, you’re helping that human so much. Are you in a r-r-relationship with him?”

On the other side of the woods, Liu Xiangyi still couldn’t put his mind at ease. He left his bedroom and searched through the dark forest. However, Zhong Qinhuai was too pale; even from a distance, he stood out clearly.

As Liu Xiangyi walked toward that splash of white, he heard Zhong Qinhuai’s soft laughter drifting through the air, sounding remarkably clear in the silent night:

“You mean that Ghost Qi? I simply saw that he had a ‘calamity of blood’ coming and didn’t want him dying so early, that’s all.”

He paused, then added a subtle explanation, “Isn’t it better to have a living human at our beck and call? Someone to do the things we can’t?”

Liu Xiangyi’s footsteps faltered. Just then, he accidentally stepped on a dry branch. At the slight snap, Zhong Qinhuai seemed to sense him. He opened his eyes instantly.

His gaze locked with Liu Xiangyi’s.

Liu Xiangyi gave a light cough and walked forward, feigning composure. As he watched Zhong Qinhuai continue to absorb the black mist from the forest, his heart skipped a beat.

As expected. Giving away his Ghost Qi wasn’t without consequence for Zhong Qinhuai.

Even though Zhong Qinhuai claimed he only wanted a servant, the fact remained that the kid’s energy had saved him from disaster today. Liu Xiangyi couldn’t just ignore that.

“Anyway, thank you.”

Though he felt a bit awkward saying it, his tone was solemn and sincere. Having made the start, the rest was easier to say. Liu Xiangyi didn’t hold anything back; he told Zhong Qinhuai everything the Taoists at the temple had said.

Finally, he rubbed his nose sheepishly.

“Sorry for misunderstanding you.”

Then, his tone shifted, and he arched an eyebrow. “But who told President Zhong to have such a ‘criminal record’? You’ve targeted me for so long; it’s only natural I thought you were pranking me, right?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Zhong Qinhuai’s eyes. Once he recovered, he replied frostily, “Oh, so it’s my fault for being too sensible this time? I’ve made things difficult for you by letting you misunderstand, haven’t I?”

Liu Xiangyi: “…”

Seeing him soaked in the pool, Liu Xiangyi wondered how much the loss of energy truly affected him. He asked what the ghost was doing.

Zhong Qinhuai replied with a smirk, “Does one have to be ‘doing’ something to soak in a pool?”

Liu Xiangyi: “…”

Understood. He’s refusing to tell me on purpose.

Since the ghost was unwilling to speak, Liu Xiangyi was tactful enough not to pry further. He turned to leave, but the edge of the pool was dark and slick. With a sudden slip of his foot, he tumbled directly into the deep water.

With a loud splash, water sprayed in every direction. He sank rapidly.

Zhong Qinhuai’s body had just begun to move when the little crow spoke up, its tiny face unusually solemn. “A-A-Huai, this human is fated to die young. Even if you save him this time, it’s useless; he won’t live past twenty-five.”

The crow, an expert in fate during its past life, continued: “You are a ghost. You no longer belong to the world of the living, yet you are interfering with mortal destiny. You will suffer a backlash.”

Zhong Qinhuai stared at the water’s surface, seemingly lost in thought.

In the late spring night, the water of the pool was freezing. Liu Xiangyi shuddered from the cold. He couldn’t swim; he could only struggle fruitlessly, but the more he thrashed, the faster he sank. The pool was filled with long, swaying water weeds. He grabbed for a strand, but it was slippery and slid right through his fingers.

His body continued to descend. Breathing became difficult. Liu Xiangyi held his breath, his hands grasping at the void, desperate for anything to halt his descent.

Suddenly, his hand struck something solid.

It was a hand. Just as cold as the water weeds, but far more powerful.

It gripped Liu Xiangyi’s hand firmly and gave a sharp tug upward. Liu Xiangyi stopped sinking. Instead, he was being pulled toward the surface. In the blur of the water, he saw a dark shadow. A pair of slender, powerful arms circled his waist, then pulled him in tight.

The next second, his body was pressed flush against the ghost’s, and their lips met.

On the verge of suffocation, Liu Xiangyi didn’t have the luxury of thought. Like a fish dying of thirst on a dry bank, he instinctively forced his way past Zhong Qinhuai’s lips and dove inside.

The moment his tongue curled around Zhong Qinhuai’s, the ghost’s eyes drifted shut. It was a silent indulgence, allowing Liu Xiangyi to desperately plunder the air from his lungs.

Zhong Qinhuai could have broken the hold with a simple push, yet he did the opposite—he pulled the man closer, his arms tightening around him with irresistible force.

Beneath the surface of the sunless pool, Liu Xiangyi was like a strand of waterweed—entwining him, clinging to him. Their bodies were locked together, their tongues tangled with a frantic, desperate intensity.

He was Liu Xiangyi’s lifeline in the truest sense; he was being craved, demanded, and taken with a primal ferocity.

His logic.

His kiss.

His breath.

All of it was being stolen by Liu Xiangyi.

This deep, suffocating kiss produced a rush so intense it made Zhong Qinhuai’s scalp tingle. He threw himself entirely into the contact.

He didn’t pull Liu Xiangyi to the surface until the man had lost consciousness in his arms. Even then, Liu Xiangyi’s hands remained looped around Zhong Qinhuai’s neck, clinging as stubbornly as vines. His forehead rested against the ghost’s shoulder, and his lips—flushed, swollen, and glistening with droplets of water—were pressed against the skin of Zhong Qinhuai’s neck, his shallow, warm breath fanning across the ghost’s skin.

He should have taken him back. But Zhong Qinhuai found he couldn’t let go.

The army of crows circling above had long since dispersed, retreating into the shadows of the forest. Without the birds blotting out the sky, the full moon was finally revealed, hanging high and brilliant.

The cool moonlight spilled down over them. From a distance, the two figures by the pool looked like a pair of swans with their necks entwined.

Liu Xiangyi remained unconscious, yet Zhong Qinhuai continued to hold him. With his eyes closed, he lingered, his lips grazing Liu Xiangyi’s cheek, his ear, and finally pressing into the curve of his neck with a deep, longing intensity.

His heart was pounding violently.

It was as if the one who had fallen into the pool and nearly drowned wasn’t Liu Xiangyi, but himself. His heart thrashed against his ribs as though he had died once and was only now experiencing the frantic rush of a survivor’s relief.

Zhong Qinhuai buried his face in the crook of Liu Xiangyi’s neck, slowly pulling the man into a tighter, more desperate embrace.

The silence of the night was suddenly shattered by a sharp, jarring cry: “Caw—!”

It was as if Zhong Qinhuai had been startled out of a trance. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the little crow.

By the edge of the pool, the crow’s golden slit-pupils went wide as they met Zhong Qinhuai’s gaze. Those dark, hollow eyes were still swimming with the remnants of an unquenched, surging tide of passion.

The crow had never seen A-Huai like this. He felt like a stranger.

Panic set in, and the crow asked with a stutter, “A-A-Huai, you, you don’t actually want a r-r-relationship, do you?”

This time, however, Zhong Qinhuai did not give an immediate answer. Instead, he lowered his gaze and stared quietly at the face resting on his shoulder.