“My grave.”
Song Xiaozhou froze where he stood, staring at the small stone tablet before him in disbelief. It was nameless, a simple mound of yellow earth. Such a grave would be considered too plain for any ordinary family, let alone for Lu Heng.
Moreover, the Lu family had their own ancestral cemetery where all family members were buried.
Suddenly, he recalled the day of Lu Heng’s funeral. He had a vague memory of it. That day, he was in the West Market, locked inside a cage, but from afar, he could hear the mournful music rising and falling, it was a grand spectacle.
“Tck, big families really are different. Even burying someone has to have all that pomp and circumstance.” Someone sneered.
Leaning against the iron bars, Song Xiaozhou spotted a heavy black coffin in the distance.
“Who’s that for?”
“Oh, that sickly young master of the Lu family,” came the mockery from lowly youths, their voices tinged with schadenfreude. “What good is being born rich if you’re just going to die young?”
Unmoved, Song Xiaozhou gave a slow “Oh,” then withdrew his gaze. He had never imagined he would have any further dealings with Lu Heng. Life was unpredictable.
Song Xiaozhou suddenly shivered and said, “But… weren’t you buried in the Lu family tomb?”
A slight curl appeared at the corner of Lu Heng’s mouth, the meaning unspoken but clear. Song Xiaozhou was furious and deeply pained. “How could they do this to you!”
Overcome by emotion, his vision blurred. He reached for Lu Heng’s hand but immediately felt something amiss. Touching it, he realized blood was streaming from his nose, and his face had gone pale.
He looked at Lu Heng in confusion. Lu Heng held his fingers tightly and lowered his eyes. “Xiaozhou.”
Song Xiaozhou wiped his nose and dryly muttered, “Maybe it’s the heat…” Before he could finish, his legs gave way and he collapsed, and Lu Heng caught him in his arms.
In a daze, Song Xiaozhou heard Lu Heng whisper, “Xiaozhou, I’m sorry.”
Sorry for what? What had he done? Song Xiaozhou felt lost and panicked, his heart heavy, as if crushed, and unable to breathe.
Song Xiaozhou dreamed.
In the dream was a long funeral procession, white paper flying everywhere, wails and cries echoing, and mournful music rising and falling dramatically. He was inside the iron cage. The coffin rolled by with a loud creak of its wheels. Lu Xuan then sneered, “You actually trust a ghost like that? Don’t you realize he’ll kill you someday?”
The scene abruptly changed. Shen Zhi stood with his sword raised, its cold gleam cutting sharply through the air. A shiver ran down his arm as he faced his opponent. Instinctively, he lowered his eyes, tracing the pale fingers on his wrist upward, and saw Lu Heng.
Lu Heng turned his head and said, “I’m sorry.”
Song Xiaozhou suddenly opened his eyes. Before him were trees shrouded in the night. He struggled to sit up but felt utterly weak, as if all his energy had been drained. He couldn’t summon any strength. A cold presence approached, and Lu Heng helped him up.
Unlike before, Song Xiaozhou didn’t immediately look at Lu Heng but stared blankly ahead. Around them danced tiny green lights, faintly glowing like miniature emerald flames.
“Those are ghost fires.” Song Xiaozhou murmured.
After a moment, he turned his face to look at Lu Heng. Their eyes met, and they fell silent for a while. Lu Heng raised his hand to touch Song Xiaozhou’s cheek, but Song Xiaozhou hurriedly pulled away, saying nothing.
Lu Heng said, “That jade you carry is my burial object.” “The yin energy and resentment on it are heavy,” he added. “I cast a curse on the jade.”
Song Xiaozhou felt a chill in his heart and looked into Lu Heng’s dark eyes, his fingertips trembling. “What curse?”
Lu Heng’s voice was deep and still pleasant, yet a strange harshness crept in as he slowly spoke: “My mother loved to read when she was alive. My father searched all across the land for rare books for her, covering everything. Among the legends and strange tales were some sinister arts.”
“When I was bedridden and idle, I read through all that my mother had left behind.”
That was a long, dark period. He watched helplessly as his body deteriorated, growing weak and frail, unable even to wield a sword, like a porcelain doll confined indoors. Filled with loneliness and despair that could not be relieved, he became silent, nearly mad. The only person who came to see him then was Lu Xuan.
At first, Lu Heng never suspected Lu Xuan, such a soft, harmless, rabbit-like person who always called him “ge.” Lu Heng was proud; though he disliked his half-brother, he never thought of harming him. Lu Xuan…
Lu Heng said, “That curse is a lost forbidden technique recorded in those books, using the living as a medium—”
Song Xiaozhou asked, “Was it cast on Lu Xuan?”
Lu Heng looked at Song Xiaozhou’s pale cheek and nodded slightly. Song Xiaozhou pressed his lips together, grabbed the jade pendant at his waist, pulled it off, and clenched it tightly in his hand. “So the protection is fake, but the curse is real.” He paused, recalling Lu Heng’s words—I’m really glad you came back. Closing his eyes, he said, “Not only was it cast on Lu Xuan, but on me too, right?”
Lu Heng was silent for a moment. Song Xiaozhou continued, “What if I hadn’t come back?”
Lu Heng suddenly looked up, staring intently at Song Xiaozhou. Song Xiaozhou said, “Would I die?”
Lu Heng’s expression was calm and cold enough to chill the heart. He said softly, “With a vengeful spirit clinging to you, you’d be dead within half a month.”
Song Xiaozhou felt a chill run down his spine. Suddenly he realized this person before him was truly a fierce ghost, deeply obsessed, full of cruelty. He vaguely wondered whether Lu Heng really cared for him or had some ulterior motive for being kind.
“Will I die?” Song Xiaozhou said blankly.
Lu Heng looked at him with a trace of gentleness in his eyes, and said softly, “No, you’re my Xiaozhou.”
“Your life is mine.” Lu Heng said slowly, with an honest tone that left Song Xiaozhou unsure whether to believe him or be angry.
Lu Heng lowered his eyelashes, grabbed Song Xiaozhou’s hand, and whispered, “Xiaozhou, I’m sorry… for using you like this.” There was a hint of pity in his voice.
Song Xiaozhou curled his fingers slightly and muttered gloomily, “Who apologizes while harming someone?”
Lu Heng lifted his head and looked at him. Song Xiaozhou glared back and said, “Looks like staring won’t help. Lu Jinzhi, you lied to me.”
“Sorry.”
Song Xiaozhou stared at him for a while, then pulled his hand back. He wanted to hit him but didn’t dare and couldn’t bear to either. Lu Heng’s face was impossibly handsome, refined, and elegant, and especially when he looked at him so intently, Song Xiaozhou couldn’t even summon any anger.
“You only get away with it because you’re good-looking,” he muttered sulkily, then pushed Lu Heng away. After a moment, he concluded, “Liar.”
“Bad ghost!”
