After My White Moonlight Killed Me - Chapter 3

Unfolding with all the melodramatic cliché of a novel, Shen Yu had vibrantly and purely lost his memories.

He remembered nothing of the Cangxuan Sect or Mu Changfeng, and naturally, he did not remember Song Huaiyan either. His memories appeared to remain frozen in the time before he entered the Cangxuan Sect.

“How old are you… right now?” Song Huaiyan probed cautiously.

Shen Yu seemed to ponder this for a moment before whispering, “Seven.”

Absurd as this sounded, it was indeed quite absurd in reality. In other words, the current Shen Yu was mentally equivalent to a seven-year-old child?

When they had first met back then, Shen Yu was a ten-year-old child—thin and small, yet with a temper as cold and rigid as iron, carrying the airs of an old soul. But this Shen Yu curled up in the corner of the coffin, despite standing tall and looking to be in his early twenties, appeared incomparably fragile, resembling a startled young beast.

Song Huaiyan reached out, intending to test his forehead, but unexpectedly, Shen Yu seized his wrist and bit down savagely. Like a fierce beast attacking its prey, the strike was precise and ruthlessly lethal; his canine teeth sank deep into the flesh, and fresh blood trickled down the corners of his mouth.

In that instant of sharp pain, Song Huaiyan immediately suppressed his instinctive reaction, enduring the blow with a muffled grunt. Pressing his lips together, he maintained his posture without moving a single inch.

This habit of biting people remained exactly the same as it had back then.

A long while later, the pressure on his wrist loosened. He watched as Shen Yu released his arm, raising his head in a daze with his lips parted halfway while the tip of his tongue gently licked away the blood from between his teeth and the corner of his mouth.

Song Huaiyan quietly withdrew the paper talisman clenched in his left hand, staring at him for a moment before letting out a helpless, bitter laugh.

A Shen Yu looking like this was truly someone he could not bring himself to harm.

“Will you still buy me?” Shen Yu spoke up abruptly, his voice still low and hoarse, yet carrying a touch of childish naivety and bewilderment.

Song Huaiyan had never heard his junior brother use such a soft, gentle tone, yet his heart felt as though it had suddenly been pricked by a cold, sharp needle, throbbing with a fine, dense ache.

He looked at the scars on Shen Yu’s wrists—overlaid across those red marks were numerous new injuries, appearing as though they had been chafed over a long period by exceptionally heavy iron chains.

During those years when he and Shen Yu were like strangers, he had intentionally or unintentionally followed all news and even gossip related to Shen Yu. Among those rumors was one concerning his background.

Although the sect leader Mu Changfeng claimed that Shen Yu was a disciple he had taken from a pair of impoverished peasants when passing through Yunhe Town on his way down the mountain, the truth was that Shen Yu had been nothing more than the lowliest of livestock slaves. He had eaten and lived in a narrow cage since childhood, tethered by iron chains to be bought and sold like an animal, and raised and trained solely to please future masters which explained why his frame was frail and stunted, why he was unaccustomed to speech, and why he lacked human socialization.

Back then, he did not know whether the rumors were true… or perhaps, he simply dared not imagine that someone with Shen Yu’s aloof and proud temperament could genuinely have any connection to livestock slaves akin to pigs and dogs.

Yet reality would not simply vanish from trace merely because of his deliberate avoidance.

Seeing that he did not respond, Shen Yu tilted his head up to look at him, his disheveled long hair cascading down to reveal a handsome yet pale face alongside those pale gray eyes.

Song Huaiyan gripped his palm tightly for a long while before slowly and fearlessly reaching out to touch his soft hair.

“No one can buy you; you are free.”

His throat bobbed as he suppressed the tremor in his voice.

Shen Yu looked at him, his eyelashes fluttering slightly as he suddenly said, “You didn’t use to say it like that.”

Song Huaiyan was stunned for a moment before realizing: Could his memories be scrambled, causing him to mistake him for Mu Changfeng?

“The person from before wasn’t me.” He lowered his eyelids halfway, suppressing the unspeakable emotions in the depths of his gaze.

In truth, he wished that the person who had rescued him from the human traffickers back then had genuinely been himself.

“Who are you?” Shen Yu stared straight at him.

“My name is Song Huaiyan. I am your… Senior Brother.”

“Senior Brother…” Shen Yu widened his eyes, though he quickly lowered his eyelashes again.

After a long pause, he suddenly said, “I don’t have a Senior Brother anymore.”

His expression was desolate, unlike that of a child.

A sharp pang of sorrow stirred within Song Huaiyan’s heart, and he sighed softly. “Come out first and change into some clothes.”

He originally harbored ten thousand turbulent emotions and a thousand lingering questions, but confronting an injured, amnesiac person now felt like stepping foot into a pile of cotton rendering him both powerless and soft-hearted.

Perhaps Shen Yu’s amnesia was not a bad thing for either of them right now.

He silently reached out to undo the shackles for him.

Shen Yu’s upper body was bare, with the greater part of his torso wrapped in gauze. When Song Huaiyan returned to Liang Buyi in the dead of night to fetch herbs and tools, he had brought along several loose garments. He helped him change into a simple T-shirt and long trousers, layered with a white, bamboo-embroidered, double-breasted, frog-button long-sleeved shirt over top, before tying his long hair into a low ponytail at the back.

The current Shen Yu could be described as somewhat well-behaved, allowing Song Huaiyan to fuss over him without the slightest bit of resistance. Once dressed, he asked in a low voice once more, “Are you my Senior Brother?”

“Mhm.” Song Huaiyan straightened his collar and let out a low laugh. “Call me Senior Brother.”

Shen Yu, however, fell silent, merely lowering his head and pressing his lips together.

Figuring he shouldn’t pick a fight with a seven- or eight-year-old child, Song Huaiyan simply said, “Let’s go.”

He turned and walked toward the exit. After taking a few steps, he heard the person behind him call out: “Senior Brother.”

Song Huaiyan turned back, waiting for him to speak, but Shen Yu offered nothing further. Hesitating for a moment, he walked back anyway and took hold of his hand—just as he had first tentatively reached out to grasp that ten-year-old boy’s hand all those years ago.

He thought to himself that perhaps he ought to thank time for yet another “reversal.”

The current Shen Yu did not yet harbor that kind of deep hatred toward him.

Changning was a tranquil Jiangnan water town with a modest population, and the old street was especially quiet during weekdays. The street ran alongside the ancient canal; while many old residences had been torn down, the majority of the households and shops along both the eastern and western streets remained preserved.

At the eastern end of the street stood a traditional medicine shop named Liang Buyi. Although traditional Chinese medicine had declined in modern times, Liang Buyi kept pace with the times by breaking into the herbal milk tea market. Coupled with the fact that its proprietor possessed a honey-trapping, handsome “pretty boy” face, Liang Buyi had rapidly transformed into an internet-famous hotspot eagerly checked in by nearby college students.

At the western end of the street stood a funeral goods store named the Hall of All Affairs. Nowadays, no one bought coffins anymore, so it exclusively sold candles, joss paper, funeral wreaths, and paper funerary offerings, though its prices were extortionately wicked. It usually remained grimly shadowed, rarely opened its doors, and received virtually no patrons. Even the elderly who had lived in the town for the greater part of their lives had never laid eyes on the proprietor, whispered rumors claiming the shop was exceptionally jinxed and haunted.

Everyone knew that Song Huaiyan was the proprietor of Liang Buyi, but not a single person knew that the proprietors of the Hall of All Affairs and Liang Buyi were one and the same person.

The two walked eastward from the Hall of All Affairs along the small path hugging the riverbank, and soon arrived at Liang Buyi on East Street.

“Oh, Little Song, out and about so early today?” Neighbor Auntie Liu was chatting at her doorstep with a few elderly neighborhood women, waving cheerfully at them from afar. “My, who’s this young man?”

“He’s my junior brother.” Song Huaiyan glanced at Shen Yu, pointed at his long hair, and earnestly fabricated a backstory: “In his early years, he was also a disciple under Sister Xiuyue, and later went to Wudang Mountain to study the arts. See, he’s undergoing ascetic practice with unclipped hair; he just came down from the mountain recently and will be staying with me for a while.”

Fortunately, Auntie Liu didn’t find anything amiss about a Taoist priest practicing with unclipped hair, merely murmuring to herself, “Ah-Xiu had a younger disciple too, huh…”

Fearing she might let her imagination run wild, Song Huaiyan turned to Shen Yu and prompted, “Say hello.”

Shen Yu stood there with an expression of unwavering detachment, before finally opening his mouth to utter a single word: “Senior Brother.”

“…” Song Huaiyan redirected his head toward the group of gossiping neighbors. “Call her Auntie.”

Shen Yu promptly closed his mouth and reverted to playing mute.

The neighborhood aunties weren’t bothered by this either. Auntie Wu from the side sidled over for a closer look, offering a timely exclamation: “My, this young man is drop-dead gorgeous! Got a partner yet?”

“Hey, didn’t you hear Little Song say this is a little immortal from the mountain? How can you be so worldly!” Auntie Li chimed in from the side. Surveying the “immortal-air-emitting” Shen Yu, she abruptly shifted gears: “Little Daoist, know how to do Tai Chi? How about fortune-telling? Care to read this old auntie’s palm…”

Seeing that the local residents were about to swarm them, Song Huaiyan hurriedly offered a few excuses before ushering Shen Yu inside Liang Buyi.

Liang Buyi was a modestly scaled traditional medicine shop. Much like the other buildings on the old street, it dated back to the Ming and Qing dynasties, retaining its traditional Chinese architectural style even after renovations.

Entering the doorway, one was greeted by a long, dark solid-wood counter, while neat rows of seven-star apothecary cabinets occupied an entire wall, each drawer labeled with the name of a medicinal herb written in orderly regular script.

The flooring consisted of rustic gray bricks, and antique pendant lamps hung from the ceiling. A dashing, graceful piece of calligraphy was mounted on the left wall, inscribed with the words: “Do not anger easily, do not fall ill easily” which captured the very essence behind the name Liang Buyi (Neither Should Be). A wooden shelf beside it displayed various medicine bottles and jars. Mounted on the left wall as well was a large, page-turning chart of the Compendium of Materia Medica, while the bookshelves on the side stocked various volumes on Chinese herbal medicine.

Unlike other apothecary shops, Liang Buyi also offered distinctively crafted herbal tea beverages. Hanging from the counter by red strings were numerous bamboo slips inscribed with the names of various teas: Threefold Primordial Qi, Nine-Yang Ginseng Tea, Six-Meridian Ginseng Tea, Boundless Frost, Soul-Stirring Sorrow Water, Tianshan Plum-Plucking Brew…

A faint fragrance of medicine and tea drifted through the room, accompanied by a few simply arranged wooden tables and chairs for customers to rest while waiting.

Walking further inward led to a small courtyard where various medicinal herbs were laid out to dry. Beyond that lay the kitchen and living room, with a staircase leading upward to two bedrooms where Song Huaiyan normally resided.

He went to the kitchen to cook two bowls of light scallion and poached egg noodles. True to form, Shen Yu was entirely unpicky, finishing his bowl in silence before sitting quietly and watching him—prompting Song Huaiyan to freshly brew him another cup of Threefold Primordial Qi milk tea.

Given how much blood he had lost, a tonic was still in order.

He had spent the middle of the night searching high and low through cabinets for herbs and tools upon returning, leaving the shop in utter disarray that he hadn’t yet had time to clean up. Once Song Huaiyan finished tidying things away and emerged, he saw Shen Yu cradling his milk tea while sitting beside the front window, sipping it in tiny increments without shifting his position for ages.

Shen Yu’s appearance hadn’t changed drastically: his skin leaned toward fairness, with a high bridge of nose and thin lips, though his facial contours seemed somewhat sharper and more rugged than before. Beneath his striking brows sat a pair of slender phoenix eyes, their pale gray irises resembling a thin layer of ice and snow, naturally radiating a sense of aloof detachment and alienation.

Sitting there quietly at this moment clad in dark hair and white attire, unstained by worldly dust sunlight filtered in through the wooden window, casting a soft, gentle veil of pale golden light over him and dispelling much of the pale, gloomy sickly aura.

Seeing Song Huaiyan emerge, Shen Yu tilted his head slightly, his long, slender eyelashes batting gently. A rippling, shimmering light seemed to unfurl within his gaze, softening the chilling aloofness that surrounded him.

Song Huaiyan stared blankly for a fraction of a second before speaking up, “What are you thinking about?”

Shen Yu’s gaze locked onto him steadily: “You.”

Song Huaiyan choked slightly, his expression turning somewhat unnatural: “Thinking about me… for what?”

Shen Yu’s tone remained calm: “They said I must find a way to please you.”

They? Song Huaiyan realized he was likely referring to the human traffickers who had imprisoned and enslaved them in the past. Legend had it that livestock slaves were raised and trained from childhood specifically to please their future masters; if a master grew dissatisfied or tired of playing with them, they could even be slaughtered and consumed like beasts.

Thinking of this, his scalp prickled instinctively.

“Master…” Shen Yu murmured suddenly. His speech was currently disjointed and erratic, not quite fully amnesiac.

Song Huaiyan felt his blood run cold once more.

That’s right. In reality, the one who had rescued Shen Yu from the traffickers and brought him back to the Cangxuan Sect was Mu Changfeng. The person Shen Yu would try by every means possible to please… would only ever be Mu Changfeng.

Song Huaiyan walked up to Shen Yu, momentarily at a loss for words. He turned his head slightly and clenched his fingers tightly.

A “protagonist” like Shen Yu—was he really someone a cannon fodder character like himself deserved to feel heartache for?

Having lived for so many years, it was about time he learned his lesson.

The guy was merely amnesiac right now; once his memory returned, stabbing him right back through the chest from front to back would be a matter of mere minutes.

“Are you unhappy?” Shen Yu raised his face to look at him, sunlight spilling into his pale gray eyes and revealing a warm, glazed hue.

Song Huaiyan looked at that rare display of naive innocence within those normally calm and detached eyes, and a certain string in his heart plucked once more, inexplicable and rogue.

Since Shen Yu had lost his memories, he might as well play along with the amnesiac script.

He who missed the chance to exploit an opportunity was a fool.

He had actually considered inventing some identity to deceive him, but ultimately couldn’t bring himself to utter any other form of address.

Yet right now, he couldn’t help wanting to tease him a little.

“Have you figured it out then?” Song Huaiyan leaned in closer intentionally, dropping his voice very low as his breath, laced with warm air, brushed against Shen Yu’s face. “How are you going to please me?”

Shen Yu batted his eyelashes, reached out to lightly brush against his eyebrows and eyes so light and tender that Song Huaiyan felt as though he were being brushed by a small kitten, even bringing a slight tickle.

Then, Shen Yu lifted his chin, pressing his moist lips lightly against Song Huaiyan’s own.

“Is this okay?”

Song Huaiyan froze completely in place, taking several fierce steps backward a full few seconds later until the small of his back collided against the wooden table, barely halting his retreat.

“You don’t like it?” Shen Yu’s expression carried a hint of perplexity.

“You…” Song Huaiyan turned his head away to avoid looking at him, his complexion shifting from flushed red to stark white.

Distant memories came flooding back like a basin of icy water dumped straight over his head.

He regulated his breathing for a moment, lowered his voice to mask the tremor in his tone, and said:

“You must not do that!… Forget everything you were taught before, all of it!”

“You don’t like it?” Shen Yu asked earnestly once more.

Song Huaiyan gritted his teeth: “…Right.”

Shen Yu pressed his lips together and stated calmly:

“Then teach me something else.”