Chapter 38: Saving One's Own Wife

At midnight, two men scrambled out of the Red Sleeve Pavilion, crawling away in terror as if they had just encountered a ghost.

"What is going on? Why are you dragging your feet over hiding some medicine!"

A woman, seeing the two men tumble out of the back door, rushed up to them, impatient. "We need to get back to Yunjiang as soon as it's hidden... What happened to your eyes!"

The woman let out a shriek at the sight of one man’s face, which was covered in blood. This woman was Huazhao.

Prince Suping had originally thought he had dealt with Jiang Luan, but the boy was lucky; he hadn't died after falling off the cliff and instead opened a thriving restaurant in Greenwater Isle. Meanwhile, the prince had lost all contact with his own men. Prince Suping felt like grinding his teeth to dust. Unfortunately, the little wretch Jiang Luan was not under his thumb, but living quite comfortably in Greenwater Isle.

After returning to the Qi residence, Huazhao suggested a strategy to Prince Suping: rather than attacking his body, attack his mind. The more Jiang Luan wanted something, the less he should be allowed to have it. Since he was so devoted to his restaurant, they should ruin a similar business! Prince Suping nodded repeatedly, and thus, tonight’s scheme was born.

"What happened to you?" Huazhao asked, frightened, looking away, unable to bear the sight.

The man who had been injured inside the building now had eyes that had completely liquefied into pools of viscous blood, leaving two pitch-black, hollow sockets. In the gloomy night, the man crawled on the ground like a vengeful spirit. "Lady Huazhao, what happened to my eyes? My eyes..."

He had barely grabbed her leg before Huazhao kicked him away in disgust. "Take him and let’s go, quickly!"

Huazhao didn't dare ask what they had encountered inside; her heart was cold with terror, and she only wanted to leave this place. But the other man remained silent, mindlessly rubbing his own eyes. "It itches... it itches so much..."

"Why are you still sitting there?" Huazhao walked over, feeling a sense of dread, a grim premonition settling in.

"Lady Huazhao," the man rubbing his eyes lifted his face, asking in confusion, "what is going on... my eyes really itch so much..."

And then, Huazhao witnessed a horrific scene: the man dug his fingers into his own skin and gouged his eyes out.

"Ah!" Huazhao shrieked again, reeling from the bloody, visceral shock.

The man, holding his own blood-drenched eyeballs, crawled toward the sound of her voice. "Lady Huazhao, my eyes... what happened to my eyes?"

"Get away from me!" Huazhao, nearly driven mad by the sight of the two bloodied men, lifted her skirts and fled in a panic, unable to look back at the cursed scene.

Even with a thousand schemes, Huazhao could not fathom why her men were falling one by one, pair by pair. Why was Jiang Luan so wicked? Could the plan for tomorrow still succeed? Huazhao didn't dare think on it; she hurried back to Yunjiang City to report.

That night, Prince Suping was furious. Refusing to believe Huazhao’s account, he gave a strict order: she must hide the medicine in Jiang Luan’s residence. If she couldn't get into his room, she was to hide it in the restaurant. If there was no room there, she was to hide it in the Qingshan Eatery; after all, the owner of that place was in league with Jiang Luan. Was it not only right that friends share the blame?

...

Inside the Red Sleeve Pavilion, Qi Shaolin still faced an age-old dilemma. He could not understand why Jiang Luan would behave so strangely, but in this situation, he had no time to ponder.

"Fine, I'll lie down." Qi Shaolin feigned compromise and laid flat on the bed.

Jiang Luan was finally satisfied, crawling onto him while reeking of alcohol.

...Although it was uncomfortable no matter how he sat.

But it didn't matter. Men were possessive creatures by nature; when they liked something, they wanted to claim it entirely. He wanted to make the person before him his own, but his mind was so clouded by drunkenness that, not knowing how to proceed, he could only rely on instinct.

However, a drunk Jiang Luan was clearly at a disadvantage. He mumbled to himself, fumbling for Qi Shaolin’s sash, while his own outer robes were thrown wide open. Qi Shaolin abandoned all restraint, like a bloodthirsty wolf, and flipped Jiang Luan over. Jiang Luan, unaware that he had no chance of escaping, struggled to analyze in his drunken stupor why he had ended up on the bottom.

...

A short while later, the sound of Jiang Luan’s wailing could be heard throughout the Red Sleeve Pavilion.

"Good heavens, am I dying?" Jiang Luan was teary-eyed. Already weak from the alcohol, he now lay like a salted fish.

"Does it hurt?" Qi Shaolin had to stop, asking quite helplessly.

Jiang Luan breathed heavily like a stranded fish, unable to speak. Qi Shaolin watched his expression closely. "My wife?"

He called out, but Jiang Luan didn't respond. When Qi Shaolin tried to continue, Jiang Luan let out a fresh wail. "Am I going to meet the Buddha?"

"..." Qi Shaolin was left between laughter and tears.

Jiang Luan wailed as if the world were ending, calling upon the Jade Emperor, Guanyin Bodhisattva, God, and Jesus alike. Although Qi Shaolin didn't know who some of these figures were, seeing the tears at the corners of Jiang Luan's eyes made his heart ache.

"Forget it." Qi Shaolin wiped the tears from Jiang Luan’s eyes. "I'll stop. You should rest."

"..." Qi Shaolin sighed, held Jiang Luan, and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Go to sleep."

But this made Jiang Luan unhappy again; he leaned against Qi Shaolin’s neck, whimpering. Qi Shaolin misunderstood this unhappiness, thinking he couldn't sleep because he was in pain.

"Sleep, shall I sing to you?" Qi Shaolin asked.

Though Jiang Luan was drunk, he was still picky. He didn't know what he wanted, only that he felt agitated now that things had quieted down. "I don't want to listen."

"Then I shall play a tune." Qi Shaolin pulled an oval object from his clothes. It was a light-gray clay xun—not large, and no one knew where he kept it, as he carried it with him constantly.

Jiang Luan didn't really want to hear a tune either, but once Qi Shaolin put the xun to his lips and the sound began, he quieted down. The tone of the clay xun was low and haunting, lingering through the pitch-black night. It was an ancient melody—*The Phoenix Seeks Its Mate*.

The original tone of the xun was mournful and tragic, but as played by Qi Shaolin, it carried a note of carefree ease. Qi Shaolin sat on the edge of the bed, bare-chested, playing the xun while watching Jiang Luan. The melody was melodic, bringing to mind the long winds of the ancient roads and the waters of Dongting.

Night fell over the mountain passes; the bright full moon hung over the cliffs. Inside and outside the passes, countless people looked up at the moon, entrusting it with their hidden thoughts.

That same night, the same moonlight.

The moonlight poured over Qi Shaolin, his eyes filled with immense tenderness. Jiang Luan finally stopped fussing and drifted into a deep sleep amidst the music.

...

The next day, Jiang Luan woke up from his hangover, his entire body aching as if he had been trampled by a hundred elephants. But no pain compared to the headache.

As soon as Jiang Luan got up, he hissed, clutching the back of his head. He hadn't been able to resist drinking a few extra cups yesterday; who knew the wine brewed by these ancients was so potent? Half a jar had knocked him out. His last memory was of Ruibao taking revenge through drinking and constantly refilling his cup. Everything after that was a complete blank, so he naturally didn't remember his embarrassing behavior from the night before.

Qi Shaolin walked in with a basin of water. Seeing Jiang Luan awake, his expression was slightly nervous. "My wife, are you alright?" He set the basin down and stood by the bed. "Does anywhere hurt?"

"Tsk, you might as well ask me where it *doesn't* hurt." Jiang Luan patted his head, feeling as if he had forgotten something important.

After things had forcibly ended last night, Qi Shaolin had cleaned Jiang Luan up and gone out in the middle of the night to buy ointment for him. In truth, Jiang Luan was making a mountain out of a molehill; there was no damage at all, not even any swelling, but Qi Shaolin had applied it anyway, claiming it had soothing properties. During the application, a drunken Jiang Luan had been very restless. It was he who complained of pain and he who kept provoking him, leaving Qi Shaolin in a state of torment.

At this moment, Qi Shaolin asked with lingering unease, "Does it really hurt that much?"

"My head feels like it's going to explode," Jiang Luan said, pressing his temples. He suddenly sensed something off and looked at Qi Shaolin with suspicion. "Why do you keep asking if I'm in pain? Could it be..."

Qi Shaolin: "..."

"Did you..." Jiang Luan demanded fiercely, "beat me up while I was drunk last night?!"

Qi Shaolin: "..."

Jiang Luan pounded the bed and laughed out loud. Seeing Qi Shaolin’s strange expression early in the morning, he couldn't help but tease the boy.

Qi Shaolin, at a loss, lifted his robes and sat on the edge of the bed. "My wife, does your head hurt? Let me massage it for you."

"Mmm." Jiang Luan naturally laid his head on Qi Shaolin’s lap, letting him massage his temples, squinting like a cat basking in the sun