After My White Moonlight Killed Me - Chapter 4

Two hours later, Song Huaiyan finished cleaning up a shattered vase, three bowls and dishes, and a glass cup. He mopped up the spilled tea water from the floor, used packing tape to crudely patch together a broken broom, re-sorted the misfiled herbal medicines back into their appropriate seven-star apothecary drawers, and let out a long, weary sigh.

He concocted a cup of herbal milk tea and handed it to Shen Yu, who was sitting obediently on a stool “supervising” the work.

“Are you sure you’re trying to please me, and not coming to collect a debt?”

Shen Yu took the milk tea, took a tiny sip, and remained silent.

Two hours earlier, Song Huaiyan had successively asked him to help wash dishes, wipe tables, serve milk tea, sweep the floor, and sort herbs… Of these basic odd jobs, there wasn’t a single one he hadn’t completely messed up.

Clearly a kid who used to be quite clever, why did he genuinely become like a seven- or eight-year-old child after losing his memories, to the point where even his cognitive abilities seemed to have plummeted?

“It looks like my junior brother’s hands are noble and precious, suited solely for wielding a sword.”

Song Huaiyan shook his head helplessly, glancing at the large characters inscribed on the wall to remind himself that, in this mortal life, one ought not fall ill easily, nor should one anger easily.

“I can learn to do it well.” Shen Yu suddenly reached out a hand to grab his sleeve, his expression remaining detached and unreadable.

His fingers were slender and his knuckles distinct, the reddish-brown scars making his wrists appear all the more fair, slender, and fragile.

Song Huaiyan averted his gaze, putting on a stern, bantering tone: “Forget it, you don’t need to learn these things. I’ll find a temple to enshrine you; maybe that way we’ll draw massive incense offerings and get rich quick.”

In truth, he didn’t genuinely intend to make Shen Yu do manual labor and chores. It was simply that, whether due to his unhealed severe injuries or his amnesia, Shen Yu exuded an air of excessive paleness and lifelessness. He had hoped to give him tasks to do so he could soak up some of the hustle and bustle of ordinary human life.

Just as Shen Yu seemed on the verge of speaking, the archaic chime of the wooden wind-chime rang out at the entrance, and Ye Wan bustled excitedly into the shop.

“Old Yan, I heard a fortune-telling mystic came to your place?” Before she even finished speaking, she caught sight of Shen Yu clutching Song Huaiyan’s sleeve. “Woah, what kind of immortal is this? You rascal, sneaking off to enjoy such a fine piece all by yourself, are you?”

“——” Song Huaiyan hurriedly yanked his sleeve out of Shen Yu’s grip, correcting her, “This is my distant junior brother!”

“Alright, alright, a junior brother is fine too!” Ye Wan circled around Shen Yu twice, her eyes shining brightly. “You probably didn’t know this, but rather than master-disciple dynamics, I’m way more into shipping senior and junior brothers.”

“Go munch on your melon seeds!” Song Huaiyan shoved a plate of melon seeds into her hands, stepping sideways to block Shen Yu from view.

“Hah, shipping everything just keeps my nutritional intake balanced.” Ye Wan nibbled on a melon seed, chuckling as she continued to steal glances at Shen Yu. “Since Junior Brother is this drop-dead gorgeous, how did you manage to resist hiding him away for so long? Shouldn’t you announce it to the whole world and strap him to your belt wherever you go?”

She spat out a melon seed shell and nudged Song Huaiyan with her elbow: “If you don’t want to appear on camera, how about lending Junior Brother to me for a few days of live streaming?”

“My junior brother is a practitioner of the Dao,” Song Huaiyan refused, adding a threat, “And he knows martial arts.”

“Daoists can live stream too! Knowing martial arts makes it even more entertaining to watch,” Ye Wan shot Song Huaiyan a disdainful look. “Don’t tell me you’re just being possessive and unwilling to share?”

“Correct, I am indeed unwilling to share.” Song Huaiyan maintained a deadpan expression. “Junior Brother is the… mascot of Liang Buyi, so if anyone wants to look at him, they have to come right here.”

“Tsk! I never took you for such a scheming guy beneath that honest-looking face of yours!” Ye Wan scoffed dismissively. Pausing for a moment, as if struck by a sudden thought, she leaned close to his ear and asked in a low voice, “Old Yan, that story about senior and junior brothers you told me before it wouldn’t happen to be about yourself, would it?”

Song Huaiyan choked slightly, his expression remaining unflinchingly blank: “Do I look like someone who cultivates immortality?”

“You do.” Ye Wan stared intently at his dark eye bags. “You look precisely like someone who has spent several days and nights cultivating immortality without getting any sleep.”

“Right, that’s why I have no time to be trapped in romantic woes—because I’m exhausted every single day,” Song Huaiyan smoothly rolled with it.

“Whatever, you rarely speak a word of truth anyway. I’ve got a commission to run today and I’m pressed for time, so I won’t bicker with you. We’ll resume battle another day.” Ye Wan cast one final look at him, then at Shen Yu, and departed reluctantly yet whirlwind-fast.

Song Huaiyan shook his head helplessly. When he turned back, he saw Shen Yu still cradling his milk tea, appearing entirely indifferent to everything that had just transpired.

Yet Ye Wan’s brief visit had unexpectedly sparked a fresh train of thought for him.

“A-Yu, I have a job right now that suits you to a tee.”

Shen Yu turned his head to see Song Huaiyan gazing at him with an inscrutable, meaningful smile.

And just like that, cradling his milk tea by the window, he logically and smoothly assumed the role of the mascot for Liang Buyi.

After noon, visitors began trickling onto the old street. Being the weekend, the foot traffic was somewhat higher than usual, and the news that Liang Buyi had acquired a handsome young Daoist priest who could tell fortunes had long since spread like wildfire through the word-of-mouth chatter of the local residents.

Throughout the rest of the day, people came in a steady stream to gawk at Shen Yu. Female university students bought milk tea, crowded around him to request palm readings, and even asked to take selfies with him. While Shen Yu sat aloof and unmoved as a mountain, Song Huaiyan warmly welcomed all guests, handling everything on his behalf without turning anyone away.

Photos of Shen Yu were uploaded online, rapidly triggering a wave of discussions. Female students from nearby colleges flooded the comment sections, declaring their intentions to check in at Liang Buyi.

True to form for a little junior brother possessing a “protagonist halo,” he genuinely managed to draw all eyes no matter where he went.

Song Huaiyan propped his chin on his hand, watching the bustling crowd of visitors and the quietly seated Shen Yu. That morning, he had deliberately and brazenly brought Shen Yu back to Liang Buyi and allowed his photographs to be exposed precisely because he wanted to test whether this junior brother who had dropped out of the sky was genuinely an outsider to this world.

If Shen Yu’s appearance wasn’t entirely innocent, then he was currently in a state of “the enemy being in the dark while he was in the light,” leaving him with no choice but to “flush the snake out of its hole.”

Besides, even if Shen Yu was his junior brother, he couldn’t just freeload here forever; he needed to pull his weight and generate some value.

When it came to making a living off one’s looks, Shen Yu possessed far more capital than he did.

The afternoon passed in the blink of an eye, and evening arrived without a single anomaly occurring. Song Huaiyan couldn’t tell whether he should let his guard down or tense up further.

Cross the bridge when you come to it. After finishing dinner, the most crucial task was naturally taking a bath and going to sleep.

Because Shen Yu had injuries across his shoulders and back, Song Huaiyan prepared a medicinal bath for him in his bedroom. After running through the necessary instructions, he headed over to the other bathroom to take a quick shower himself. Just as he emerged towel-drying his hair, he heard the sound of shattering porcelain from the neighboring room, followed by a flicker of the lights before they died out completely.

Song Huaiyan’s heart tightened. Masking his aura, he advanced in the pitch-darkness toward the adjoining room; the interior was dead silent and pitch black, completely devoid of Shen Yu’s presence.

Suddenly, a chill sliced through the air beside his neck a sharp, rigid object was already pressed directly against his throat.

“Shen Yu?” Song Huaiyan spoke up.

The pressure weighing against his throat grew a fraction heavier.

Sure enough, quiet by day, demons by night.

Shen Yu no longer concealed his aura at this moment; his entire body’s spiritual energy spewed outward just as it had yesterday, causing the temperature inside the entire room to plummet instantly.

“Speak, what on earth are you trying to do?” Though held hostage, Song Huaiyan’s tone retained a measure of composure.

“Who… are you?” The person behind him breathed heavily.

Again with this question? Song Huaiyan was torn between exasperation and amusement: “Song Huaiyan.”

Shen Yu paused for a fraction of a second, muttering almost to himself: “You are not him… You are not Song Yan.” Pressing one hand against Song Huaiyan’s throat, he used his other hand to pinch his chin: “Who are you?”

It appeared the little junior brother hadn’t just lost his memory; his brain was fried as well.

“What do you want with Song Yan?” Song Huaiyan probed.

Shen Yu’s fingertips seemed to slacken for a split second, before rapidly re-imposing their force: “He is dead…”

The next instant, as though suddenly recalling something, he hissed out hoarsely: “The Illusory Phantasm Flower, return it to me!”

“The boundary between life and death… the Illusory Phantasm Flower.” Choked for air, Song Huaiyan forced the words out with difficulty: “What do you want… with this flower?”

The moment those words left his mouth, an unwarranted, forbidden spark of anticipation welled up from the bottom of his heart.

Yet Shen Yu refused to answer, merely roaring in a low, hoarse tone: “Where did you hide it?”

Tilt-headed, Song Huaiyan forced out his voice past the constriction, asking a reckless, death-defying question: “Whom do you… wish to save? …Is it Song Yan?”

Shen Yu suddenly burst out laughing a laughter cold and manic, the searing heat of his breath washing over Song Huaiyan’s neck as he spat out: “I hate him to the marrow of my bones.”

Song Huaiyan’s throat bobbed, grazing against the sharp porcelain shards, and a bead of blood trickled down along Shen Yu’s fingers. He seemed on the verge of laughing, yet no sound came forth. He truly admired his own tenacity; he had probed and tested time and time again, so why was he still incapable of giving up hope?

He was the one who had killed him with his own hands… How could it possibly ever be to save him?

“Then take a look who am I?” Drawing a sharp breath, he shouted at the top of his lungs: “Xiao Ai!”

“I am here.” A calm female voice responded from outside the hallway.

“Turn on the bedroom lights!” Song Huaiyan roared immediately after.

The sudden burst of sound caught Shen Yu off guard, causing a brief moment of distraction, while the abrupt glare of light flooding the room compelled him to squint instinctively against the darkness.

Taking advantage of that exact split second ignoring the porcelain fragments biting into his flesh—Song Huaiyan threw a heavy elbow backward to slam into Shen Yu’s chest, breaking free from the restraint and retreating rapidly toward the doorway.

Clutching his bleeding throat, he gasped softly for air. Once Shen Yu’s vision cleared and he recognized his face, his expression froze for a fraction of a second before twisting into even more violent hostility. His spiritual energy flared wildly once more as five fingers hooked out to claw straight at him.

“Is violence the only trick you people know?”

“What people?” Song Huaiyan was utterly bewildered, but current Shen Yu’s speech and actions were chaotic and disjointed, defying any rational logic.

Snatching a stick of red joss-stick incense from the cabinet beside the door, he snapped it into several fragments amidst dodging an attack, crushed them into powder, and scattered the dust directly across Shen Yu’s face.

Though Shen Yu managed a timely dodge, he still inhaled a portion of the powder. After exchanging a few clumsy blows of tangled combat, his footing wobbled, and he crashed heavily to the floor.

Sleeping powder proved reliable after all.

Song Huaiyan hoisted the person up and heaved him onto the bed. His bedroom was styled in a semi-traditional motif, furnished with dark solid-wood wardrobes and desks, and featuring carved wooden windows fitted with glass panels. The bed resembled a daybed, roughly a meter and a half wide, dressed with a minimalist beige four-piece bedding set.

Shen Yu was dressed in the set of rabbit-eared pattern pajamas he had prepared; at that moment, curled up sideways across the duvet, he looked somewhat pitiful.

Song Huaiyan checked his back once more, confirming that the wounds had indeed ruptured due to the violent movements earlier, with blood already seeping through the fabric. Feeling his forehead and testing his breath, he found both burning hot.

Shen Yu’s state earlier had been just as frantic and deranged as yesterday, closely resembling a cultivation deviation. He wondered if it stemmed from his severe injuries coupled with this world’s scarce spiritual energy, leaving his internal spiritual power in a state of perpetual instability.

Touching the still-aching wound on his neck, he let out a heavy sigh. Truly, a pretty face spells disaster; he had taken one blade after another.

By the time he finished re-dressing Shen Yu’s wounds and tidying up the room, it was nearly dawn. Turning off the lights, he pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. Although he had laid down protective talismans around Liang Buyi, Shen Yu’s current uncontrollable state meant he still didn’t dare lower his guard and leave him unattended. Smashing a few vases and teacups was one thing; if Shen Yu completely lost control, demolishing the entire street wouldn’t be out of the question.

He had truly picked up a scorching hot potato impossible to cherish, yet impossible to discard.

Perhaps to be safe, he really ought to lug him back to the Hall of All Affairs’ coffin tonight and lock him inside.

The person on the bed shifted, sleeping restlessly with knitted brows and teeth clamped tightly together.

Song Huaiyan raised his hand to form a hand seal, his fingertips radiating a faint white glow as he tapped lightly against the center of Shen Yu’s forehead, casting a soul-stabilizing and calming spell. Shen Yu’s expression slowly relaxed, and his lips parted, though they remained somewhat swollen and red from being bitten earlier.

His gaze flickered, and unconsciously, his fingers brushed lightly against Shen Yu’s lips, bringing back the vivid image of the unexpected kiss Shen Yu had planted on him earlier that day.

Junior Brother… did he use to “please” Mu Changfeng like that in the past, too?