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Jiang Zhou was the premier genius of the Qingxiao Sect, famous for his elegant tastes, aloofness, and reticence.
Every day, besides raising flowers and breeding plants, he practiced swordsmanship and cultivated. No matter who came to strike up a conversation, he either ignored them or his answers were forever limited to only those few words:
“Mm.”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
But in reality, he had an untellable secret. He wasn’t truly aloof, and he was even less truly elegant.
All of this was because he had intermittent aphasia, which made him pretty much more than half a mute. He either couldn’t speak at all, or if he spoke too much, he would stammer.
Just thinking about it felt humiliating.
In order not to be that humiliated, he pretended to be a flower on a high peak for his whole life.
Even when rolling on the couch night after night in passionate entanglement with his disciple, he would turn his face away, suppressing his low pants, unwilling to utter a single extra word.
Ji Yunlang was obsessed with his Master’s emotional arousal, yet hated his coldness to the extreme. Clasping tightly onto the wrist that bound him with a silver chain, he whispered affectionately in his ear: “Master, cry out.”
Jiang Zhou wanted to cry but had no tears.
He understood the rationale, but he really couldn’t cry out!
He had slept with this rebellious disciple for five years and had long since grown familiar with it, yet every single time he could only turn his head away in forbearance, letting a few drops of clear tears flow from the corners of his eyes.
Time after time, this provoked Ji Yunlang into an even greater frenzy.
Until one day, Ji Yunlang’s eyes grew dark. As always, he kissed away the tears at the corner of Jiang Zhou’s eye and whispered softly: “Master, don’t you ever think of leaving me.”
Jiang Zhou tightly pursed his lips, turning his head away with a face full of endurance.
Out of habit, he complained in his mind: Stop blabbering. Every two or three days you do this and don’t find it tiresome? If you don’t move soon, I’m going to lose all feeling.
Ji Yunlang, who was buried against his shoulder, stiffened.
Jiang Zhou continued: So annoying, asking and asking every single day. It’s only because I can’t speak. Wait until this Master brews it up well and calls you “husband” a few times, how will my beloved disciple handle it then?
Ji Yunlang let go of him, slowly rose, and sat down silently beside the couch.
Jiang Zhou looked at his back speechlessly, and continued to complain in his mind: It’s been five years, could he be tired of this? True, who doesn’t like a well-behaved, clingy little Dao companion, unlike this Master, who is both dull and boring. But what can this Master do? Did this Master want to be like this? Why are you just sitting there and not speaking, are you disgusted with this Master? On what grounds? I really want to give him a kick, draw a sword and stab him into a complete mess, then…
“Master.” Unable to bear it any longer, Ji Yunlang spoke.
You are too loud.”
Jiang Zhou moved his suddenly nimble lips.
Jiang Zhou: “Oh.”
So he had spoken all of it aloud.
Haha.
