PID Chapter 103

(5/5)

(っ˕ -｡)ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

 

---

Xiao Mo’s words had indeed been interrupted—but whether it was due to shock or simply being caught off guard, he pressed his tongue against his teeth and forced himself to finish what he had started saying: “…We can go together.”

 

The effort it took to squeeze out those few words left both of them in silence.

 

“‘No?’” Xiao Mo repeated softly, his throat feeling uncomfortably tight from being cut off so abruptly earlier. Still managing a faint smile despite the tension, he added lightly: “Then I’ll just go alone…”

 

Before he could finish that thought fully, Chu Jinglan interrupted again—this time much faster than before—as if trying to make amends: “Together—we’ll go together.”

 

Under the sleeve of his robe, Chu Jinglan’s hand clenched tightly, as though all the strength in his body had drained away. “…I’m sorry.”

 

Xiao Mo replied softly: “…It’s fine.”

 

His smile, which had already been forced, faded completely after those words.

 

The mountain wind blew past, and the morning sun warmed the flowers and grass in the courtyard. Yet between the two of them, a shadow seemed to fall. Xiao Mo’s fingers, bathed in sunlight, felt cold. Something inexplicable lodged itself in his throat—not unbearably painful, but like a thorn stuck there, making it hard to swallow.

 

Since their reunion, Xiao Mo had brushed aside many things. But when all those small doubts and unanswered questions began to pile up like grains of sand forming a tower, could he continue to ignore them so easily?

 

He tried to glean something from Chu Jinglan’s eyes, but Chu Jinglan avoided his gaze first, looking away.

 

The deliberate glance Xiao Mo had offered fell into emptiness. When something you reach for isn’t there, your heart feels hollow too. As they passed each other, Xiao Mo heard only a soft repetition near his ear.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Xiao Mo turned abruptly but saw only a closed door.

 

The conversation had ended in an unexpected way—not with slamming doors or broken cups in anger. Instead, after those two words—“No”—the atmosphere froze in place, suspended awkwardly between tension and silence. It was neither resolved nor left hanging properly. It wasn’t even like their youthful arguments from years ago when they’d argue openly and clear things up on the spot.

 

—

 

Back in his room, Xiao Mo found himself distracted. His thoughts wandered until a sharp pain brought him back to reality—the carving knife had missed the Xuan Ice Stone and cut into his finger instead.

 

Bright red blood quickly welled up and dripped onto the silver-blue stone. Xiao Mo immediately used a cleansing spell to wipe away the bloodstains and ensure the stone remained pristine.

 

With his unsettled mind, he couldn’t continue carving.

 

The knife had been infused with spiritual energy during use, so even though it was just a small cut on his hand, it bled for a while before stopping. Thanks to his Nascent Soul stage body’s regenerative abilities, the wound healed quickly and disappeared within moments.

 

But just because something is no longer visible—does that mean it no longer exists?

 

Three hundred years… During those three centuries, had Chu Jinglan experienced some great upheaval that he hadn’t spoken of?

 

Earlier at Du-E Sect’s gates, all Xiao Mo had done was leave the mountain—and it had been enough to make Chu Jinglan chase after him with oppressive force. At the time, Xiao Mo had been surprised but also secretly pleased, thinking that perhaps he held more weight in Chu Jinglan’s heart than he’d imagined—that Chu Jinglan simply didn’t realize it yet.

 

But… was that really the case?

 

If it were merely urgency to find someone, why would Chu Jinglan lose control of his aura so completely that Yan Chun and the others were left drenched in cold sweat? And just now—when he blurted out “No”—Chu Jinglan froze but wasn’t shocked by his own words. It was as if he wasn’t surprised at all that such a response would come from him.

 

Something was wrong—very wrong.

 

Xiao Mo slammed the carving knife onto the table and stood up abruptly. Pushing open his door with determination, he strode quickly into the courtyard.

 

Chu Jinglan’s room was silent—there was no sign of him cultivating or gathering spiritual energy. With his Return to Void stage cultivation, as long as he was awake, he would undoubtedly be aware of Xiao Mo’s every move.

 

Xiao Mo stared at the door to Chu Jinglan’s room for a moment before turning and walking step by step toward the courtyard gate.

 

Even as he reached the gate, there was no movement from Chu Jinglan’s room.

 

Xiao Mo clenched his hand into a fist. So this means he won’t stop me.

 

Fine.

 

With a tap of his toes, Xiao Mo leapt into the air, no longer walking but riding the wind out of the courtyard toward another mountain peak.

 

—

 

Flying through drifting clouds and past birds in the mountains, Xiao Mo headed directly for his destination: the dungeon where Fenxiu was imprisoned.

 

Last night, when Chu Jinglan had closed the dungeon door, Xiao Mo had set aside his curiosity about Fenxiu for the time being. But after what happened today, he didn’t want to wait any longer.

 

He had already tried asking Chu Jinglan for answers, but since Chu Jinglan refused to provide them, Xiao Mo could only turn to someone else—Fenxiu.

 

The dungeon door hadn’t been reinforced with any new restrictions. With a single palm strike, Xiao Mo pushed it open, shaking loose dust that fell in clouds around him. Sunlight poured in from outside, making Fenxiu squint against the brightness.

 

The blood on Fenxiu’s chest had dried, and his throat—blocked by force last night—was now clear again. He let out a low chuckle. “I knew you’d come back… But he actually let you come?”

 

Xiao Mo didn’t want to waste time on idle chatter. Fenxiu’s laughter carried no goodwill, and Xiao Mo wasn’t in the mood to entertain it. “You said Chu Jinglan asked you one question—what was the question? What was the answer?”

 

Fenxiu grinned darkly and replied: “After the Nine Secret Treasure Tower incident, I sent many people to kill him. For two hundred years, humans and demons clashed endlessly. I truly thought he valued righteousness above all else. But when he captured me, there was only one thing he wanted to know—”

 

His voice turned eerie and ghostly as he continued: “He asked me whether I killed his Dao companion.”

 

Xiao Mo’s eyes widened abruptly.

 

“You think his Dao companion was just a shield? That he didn’t care? Hahaha! He lied to you! He deceived you!” Fenxiu laughed maniacally as Xiao Mo’s heart pounded wildly in his chest. A growing sense of unease gripped him tighter with every word Fenxiu spoke. Still, Xiao Mo forced himself to respond coldly: “Nonsense.”

 

Though outwardly composed and logical, Xiao Mo tried to counter with reason: “Even if they were just a shield without romantic feelings involved, that person was close to Chu Jinglan—they were friends. Naturally—”

 

“That was his obsession! His obsession!” Fenxiu rasped loudly, cutting him off. Though kneeling on the ground, his hoarse voice carried through time itself like an unstoppable force pressing down on Xiao Mo without respite—each word striking heavily against his ears.

 

“He didn’t ask about a friend or a shield—he asked about a lover! He spoke of them as his beloved!”

 

Fenxiu seemed determined to make Xiao Mo see clearly: “His heart’s dearest died mysteriously and unjustly. He stubbornly needed an answer—but if there’s no enemy to hate, who else can he blame?”

 

Fenxiu’s laughter grew erratic until it left him gasping for air: “He could only blame himself.”

 

—

 

Boom!

 

The clear sky suddenly roared with rolling thunder—a bolt of lightning breaking through its serenity like an ominous omen. Xiao Mo felt dizzy and disoriented as if forced backward by an invisible weight. Staggering two steps away from Fenxiu, his surroundings blurred—the sound of Fenxiu’s voice seemed muffled by water and fog yet pierced through relentlessly. Each word clawed its way into Xiao Mo’s ears without mercy, refusing to let him escape.

 

“I remember the sword wounds Chu Jinglan left on me—I remember what he said.” Fenxiu sneered cruelly. “He said those wounds were for someone he had held in his heart since he was young.”

 

Since he was young? Since childhood?

 

Two hundred years old isn’t considered young, nor is one hundred. It could only mean that before Xiao Mo left—when Chu Jinglan still thought they were just friends.

 

Had Chu Jinglan started liking him even back then?

 

Xiao Mo felt as though he had been struck by a heavy blow, leaving him reeling and retreating step by step. He clenched his teeth, refusing to accept it immediately: “You’re trying to sow discord, so you’re making things up…”

 

Fenxiu tilted his head, his gaze carrying genuine disregard and audacity. “I am. I want you to break with him and let me out—so what? Even if I don’t succeed, I won’t let Chu Jinglan have peace. You can take my words to him and ask him to swear to Heaven’s Will whether what I said is true.”

 

Fenxiu’s malicious laughter echoed in Xiao Mo’s ears as he slammed the dungeon door shut with spiritual energy and stumbled away, almost fleeing down the mountain.

 

—

 

Xiao Mo had hoped that Chu Jinglan liked him—but not that Chu Jinglan had fallen in love with him three hundred years ago.

 

If Chu Jinglan had already planted the seeds of affection back then, how had he endured these three centuries?

 

Although Xiao Mo had left a letter behind, it contained no return date or destination. If Chu Jinglan had only regarded him as a friend passing through the mortal world, he could have trusted the letter’s words and greeted their reunion with a toast and a smile—a tale of old friends meeting again.

 

But if Xiao Mo were his lover, it would be entirely different. Because lovers are singular; they are home.

 

Xiao Mo himself was like a drifting waterweed, longing for a place to anchor. He understood deeply that being someone’s lover meant being their home.

 

A home is small but vital—it’s the most important place. Friends don’t belong exclusively to you; they can come and go freely. But a home is the light that accompanies you day and night—the refuge for those who walk alone in the dark.

 

For people like him and Chu Jinglan, it’s something worth protecting with all their might.

 

But the light beside Chu Jinglan had suddenly gone out.

 

Someone who once had light was cast back into darkness. He searched desperately, ran wildly—but ultimately found himself standing still because there was nothing left to find.

 

In the end, he was left with nothing. No one stayed.

 

Xiao Mo staggered and reached out hurriedly to steady himself against a tree trunk before he fell.

 

He thought he understood Chu Jinglan’s character but realized now that he hadn’t truly seen his heart.

 

He hadn’t known that Chu Jinglan had already built a home—one that included both of them inside it. He hadn’t known…

 

If Chu Jinglan truly loved him from the beginning, then after three hundred years… how broken must he be?

 

And yet Xiao Mo had rewritten his letter countless times, thinking he was being considerate. Whether there was such a letter or not—it was all his doing that pushed Chu Jinglan into an abyss.

 

Xiao Mo felt as though his heart was being torn apart.

 

He held Chu Jinglan in his heart but was also the one who hurt him most deeply.

 

—

 

Xiao Mo didn’t even know how he managed to return to the small courtyard at Du-E Peak. Passing through winding corridors, he found Chu Jinglan standing quietly in the center of the courtyard.

 

Chu Jinglan’s gaze swept calmly across Xiao Mo’s face before saying: “You went to ask.”

 

It wasn’t a question—it was a statement.

 

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait until after the Dao companion ceremony, or even ten or a hundred years later, to hear the answer?”

 

Chu Jinglan’s voice was soft, but every word Xiao Mo uttered felt like stepping on the edge of a blade. “So it’s true…”

 

“It is,” Chu Jinglan said calmly. “I’ve loved you—from my youth to now—for three hundred years.”

 

“It’s true.”

 

The last shred of hope in Xiao Mo’s heart was crushed as if an iron hammer had finally struck down on him.

 

Chu Jinglan stepped closer, his voice gentle, as though he were discussing tea and casual matters: “I also know that the one who tried to kill you wasn’t him. But the one who destroyed your inner demon identity… was me.”

 

Xiao Mo panicked, his voice trembling. “No, listen to me—”

 

“Heaven’s Will came to me, Xiao Mo,” Chu Jinglan interrupted him again. This time, Xiao Mo couldn’t find the words to interrupt back.

 

“I regained my memories—it was like watching a scroll unfold. The timing was too coincidental, and it left my consciousness unable to settle. I learned who you were, and I knew you hadn’t died then.”

 

“But you left me.”

 

And Chu Jinglan didn’t know if Xiao Mo would ever return. Though unspoken, Xiao Mo understood this unsaid truth.

 

Xiao Mo’s lips quivered as he struggled to meet Chu Jinglan’s gaze.

 

“I know you’re not at fault,” Chu Jinglan continued softly, standing directly in front of Xiao Mo. “But three hundred years… three hundred years, Xiao Mo. You came into my life only to leave me again.”

 

His voice emerged from beneath layers of ice—light and detached as though recounting someone else’s story—but it stabbed deeply into Xiao Mo’s heart:

 

“It hurt so much.”

 

Chu Jinglan raised his hand and gently wiped the corner of Xiao Mo’s eye. His fingers were cool, and they brushed against dampness. Xiao Mo shuddered as he realized—through Chu Jinglan’s eyes—that his own face was already streaked with silent tears.

 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Just recently, he had thought about how he might confess his feelings—nervous yet sweetly hopeful. He had imagined the most beautiful setting, a moment filled with joy and celebration. But never had he thought that even when their feelings were mutual, all he would see was a heart bleeding profusely before him.

 

It was his fault—it was him who hurt Chu Jinglan so deeply.

 

And so Xiao Mo wept too, his tears mingling with his guilt and love. Words of affection were like red threads but also double-edged swords—they pierced through both of them.

 

As Chu Jinglan moved to withdraw his hand after wiping away Xiao Mo’s tears, Xiao Mo grabbed hold of it tightly.

 

Taking a shaky breath, his voice trembling, Xiao Mo said: “Chu Jinglan…”

 

“I’m not the same Chu Jinglan from three hundred years ago,” Chu Jinglan replied quietly. “I’m not as good as I used to be.”

 

Xiao Mo shook his head desperately.

 

Chu Jinglan stood taller than Xiao Mo, and with the sunlight behind him casting a shadow over Xiao Mo, his expression grew darker and darker: “Let go.”

 

“No,” Xiao Mo said firmly. Instead of letting go, he tightened his grip on Chu Jinglan’s hand.

 

“Chu Jinglan, listen to me—I love you too. I know this isn’t the right time to say it now, but I need you to know.”

 

He feared that if he didn’t say it now, it would only be too late later.

 

Chu Jinglan’s face darkened further as he reversed their positions with a sudden movement—grabbing Xiao Mo’s wrist and pinning him against one of the corridor pillars. His voice turned cold: “Xiao Mo, I don’t want pity or sympathy from you. I don’t want your so-called feelings given out of guilt.”

 

Xiao Mo’s tear-filled eyes desperately tried to hold onto Chu Jinglan’s figure. “I wouldn’t love someone out of guilt, Chu Jinglan. I truly love you—please believe me, okay?”

 

Chu Jinglan’s gaze turned icy, and the dark currents he had been suppressing surged uncontrollably, twisting and turning within him. His eyes flickered with instability as he suddenly raised his hand and clasped Xiao Mo’s neck.

 

“Do you know what I want to do?”

 

The neck is a person’s lifeline, where the pulse beats vividly. Xiao Mo’s life and being were now in Chu Jinglan’s grasp—fully controlled by him at this moment.

 

The beast within him roared in celebration, wild and frenzied. As Chu Jinglan gripped Xiao Mo’s lifeline, a strange light burst forth in his eyes—a blade born from darkness, threatening to shred both himself and Xiao Mo to pieces.

 

Imprison him! Break him! Devour him! He’s yours—right here in your hands!

 

“I want to lock you away. I want to put chains on you and hide you where no one else can see you.”

 

Chu Jinglan leaned closer with absolute dominance, his scorching breath intertwining with Xiao Mo’s. Yet his words were cold and mad: “I want to break your wings, shatter your bones, so that you can’t go anywhere but my arms!”

 

“I want to give you unbreakable chains, the deepest pain—to suffer with me, to descend into hell with me, so that for eternity, lifetime after lifetime, you’ll never escape from my side.”

 

As he spoke these words, his pitch-black pupils locked firmly onto Xiao Mo. The smoky-red hue of Xiao Mo’s clothes reflected in his eyes, adding an eerie yet stunning brilliance that made his gaze terrifyingly profound.

 

“And still… do you dare say you love me?”

 

Chu Jinglan tightened his grip on Xiao Mo’s neck, feeling the warmth of a human pulse beneath his fingers. Yet his entire body was cold—the light of the world had long since stopped reaching his heart. He had buried himself in darkness.

 

Xiao Mo had become his obsession—a ray of light that had returned to him but remained out of reach. When he reached out for it, he found himself unable to touch it.

 

Because he was still trapped in the grave—unable to lift his decayed hand while watching Xiao Mo appear before him.

 

So he wanted to hide him—and didn’t want to hide him; he was both terrified and indifferent; he tried to conceal himself while also yearning to reveal his true self.

 

That was why he instinctively closed the dungeon door when Xiao Mo arrived but didn’t add any restrictions to it.

 

He was someone waiting for slow execution—and now the blade was finally about to fall.

 

Perhaps this was for the best. He couldn’t bring back the familiar Chu Jinglan that Xiao Mo once knew. He waited for Xiao Mo to wield the blade and kill him completely.

 

No one could love someone like him—not even Xiao Mo. Even if Xiao Mo said he loved him, it would only be the Chu Jinglan from three hundred years ago that he loved. Surely, Xiao Mo would fear or even despise who he had become now.

 

But then… Xiao Mo slowly lifted his still-mobile hand and placed it gently on Chu Jinglan’s face.

 

“I dare,” Xiao Mo said softly. “Chu Jinglan—I dare.”

 

The expression of someone resigned to death cracked slightly on Chu Jinglan’s face. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. His eyes shifted slowly as he struggled to read the emotions on Xiao Mo’s face.

 

…What?

 

“So stop crying, Chu Jinglan.”

 

Crying? Me?

 

It was obviously Xiao Mo who was crying. Chu Jinglan’s eyes were dry and parched—who said he was crying?

 

Xiao Mo tilted his neck upward in Chu Jinglan’s grip, actively leaning closer and pulling their already dangerous proximity even tighter. His tears fell onto Chu Jinglan’s hand, burning him with an unbearable sting. Through his sobs, Xiao Mo choked out: “Don’t you realize? You weren’t even choking me.”

 

Chu Jinglan’s pupils contracted sharply as he recoiled in shock, withdrawing his hand. Xiao Mo’s pale neck showed no trace of finger marks—not a single imprint.

 

A lifeline that could be severed with one squeeze, yet Chu Jinglan hadn’t been able to exert the force to do it.

 

That snow-white neck swayed before him, making Chu Jinglan’s eyes ache unbearably. Trembling all over, he clenched his own hand tightly. Where he had failed to leave a mark on Xiao Mo’s neck moments earlier, his nails now dug deeply into his own palm, drawing blood instantly.

 

He truly hadn’t shed tears—his emotions had long since dried up. All that remained to flow was blood.

 

Abruptly, Chu Jinglan turned away and tried to flee. This was what he always did—retreat to a place of absolute silence where he could meditate and circulate his spiritual energy for temporary peace.

 

Because he was Xianzun—standing above all others with unmatched cultivation—he could endure it. Even if it only treated the symptoms and not the root cause, this was how he had survived for three hundred years. And this was how it should continue from now on.

 

But this time, Chu Jinglan couldn’t escape into the shadows alone.

 

Because behind him was a warm body that crashed heavily into him.

 

Xiao Mo clung desperately to Chu Jinglan and embraced him tightly.

 

A Xianzun and a Nascent Soul cultivator—at this moment, it seemed neither remembered how to use spiritual energy or martial techniques. The collision sent them both tumbling into the vibrant flowers of the courtyard.

 

It hurt—a deep pain radiating everywhere—but Xiao Mo refused to let go. He wouldn’t let go ever again.

 

Chu Jinglan tried to pry Xiao Mo’s arms from where they were locked tightly around his waist. He wanted Xiao Mo to release him—but this time, not only could he not utter a single word, but even his strength seemed beyond his control. Though he intended to pull Xiao Mo’s hands away, instead their fingers intertwined in trembling knots—bound so tightly they couldn’t be separated.

 

Xiao Mo’s tears soaked into Chu Jinglan’s back as he used every ounce of strength in his body to hold him close.

 

“I’m sorry—I came too late. Chu Jinglan, I’ll pull you out of hell. If you can’t escape it in this lifetime, then I’ll go to hell with you.”

 

Three hundred years—the sickness of the heart had become an incurable affliction. The blade that had been drawn cut into both of them now, leaving them covered in wounds. But Xiao Mo threw himself onto the blade without hesitation and refused to retreat even a single step.

 

He couldn’t retreat because Chu Jinglan was already teetering on the edge of an abyss.

 

It was Xiao Mo who had realized it too late.

 

The love that had bloomed in their youth—when they were still innocent—had now spanned three hundred years.

 

He had learned about Chu Jinglan’s life from books and from others’ accounts—and had witnessed parts of it firsthand. He loved the boy who walked alongside him in those early days—but the person standing before him wasn’t just that boy from the past.

 

He loved Chu Jinglan—the man who existed here and now.

 

He would pull Chu Jinglan out of the storm and snow.

 

They say heart sickness has no cure—but Xiao Mo resolved to become that medicine himself. If he couldn’t heal him completely, then he would shatter alongside him. No matter what happened, he would never leave him alone again.

 

“I came back because you’re here. I want to be by your side.”

 

Xiao Mo’s voice, torn apart by his sobs, was hoarse and strained. “The you from before, the you now—you’re both Chu Jinglan. Wherever Chu Jinglan is, that’s where I’ll go. I won’t leave anymore. I really won’t leave.”

 

Xiao Mo felt Chu Jinglan’s trembling hands suddenly stop as he let go of him and broke free from his embrace.

 

The sudden emptiness in his arms startled Xiao Mo. Thinking Chu Jinglan was still trying to leave, he reached out in panic—only for Chu Jinglan to turn around and pull him into a tight embrace.

 

Xiao Mo’s outstretched hand froze midair before curling around Chu Jinglan even more tightly. His eyes widened in surprise, but then he buried himself deeper into Chu Jinglan’s arms. Both of them held on with such force that their fingertips turned white, and even the sound of their bones creaking could be heard.

 

Bones ground together, blood mingled—they wanted to crush each other into their embrace.

 

They used pain to remind themselves this wasn’t a dream.

 

Xiao Mo’s sobs could no longer be contained—they broke through the three hundred years of silence on Du-E Peak, shattering the stagnant passage of time.

 

Chu Jinglan’s bloodshot eyes burned dry and sore, unable to shed tears. Yet for the first time in centuries, he cried alongside Xiao Mo.

 

Their tears fell onto the grave that had buried Chu Jinglan for so long. The thick black soil shifted slightly, and the decayed ghost beneath it raised its head woodenly, looking up at the eternal darkness above.

 

It was an abyss where no light could reach—yet something was desperately trying to break through the long-sealed surface and come into view.

 

A familiar silhouette extended its hand, gently yet firmly wrapping around him.

 

After three hundred years, he smelled the familiar fragrance of flowers once again.

 

He waited for Xiao Mo to push him away and run—but Xiao Mo responded with an embrace instead.

 

Your home isn’t an abandoned grave—it’s my heart.

 

---

T/N: there will be more updates soon

1 Kofi = 1 Extra Chapter