Xue Tuzi stood frozen, his breath shallow as he watched Shudu walk away, with Tuanzhu cradled in his arms. "Tuanzhu…" he murmured, lips trembling, the name barely escaping his cracked mouth. Then, like a marionette yanked back to life, he staggered forward. His bare feet slipped on the slick, rotting surface of the beast's stomach, the skin already blistering from the acid that coated everything. His brown hair stuck out in wild licks, matted with sweat and gore, and his robe hung half-off, torn and soaked, with a deep puncture wound near his heart seeping blood through the fabric.
The hand Tuanzhu had gnawed at still dripped steadily, the makeshift bandage he'd knotted from his sleeve already soaked through. A sudden plop of viscous slime landed on his cheek, sizzling as it burned into his flesh. He whimpered and rubbed at it with his sleeve, only to smear the pain further. Every inch of him ached; it felt like fire licked along the inside of his veins, his vision flickering at the edges. Still, he pressed on.
Shudu paused and turned slowly, his crimson eye narrowing, fists clenching at his sides. He had kept his distance, resisting the pull—resisting him. He didn't trust Xue Tuzi. He couldn't afford to. Not again. But then he saw it: Tuanzhu's wide, round eyes full of worry. She squirmed out of his arms and dropped to the slick, quivering ground, scuttling over to Xue Tuzi. Her nubs patted gently at his hair, her expression etched with quiet desperation.
"Tuanzhu," Shudu said firmly, extending a hand. "Come back."
But she shook her bulbous head, firmly refusing. She wrapped herself tightly around Xue Tuzi's neck, nuzzling against the angry burns on his cheek, her large eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Shudu's jaw tensed. He could feel Tuanzhu's affection, her devotion, as clearly as if it had struck him. No matter how many times he had warned her—he's dangerous, he's a liar, he's broken you before—she insisted on protecting him. Saving him. Loving him.
With a sigh that carried all the weight of betrayal and stubborn hope, Shudu stepped forward. Xue Tuzi, barely conscious, lifted his gaze. Their eyes met: one filled with cold fire, the other with quiet shame.
Without a word, Shudu bent down and scooped him into his arms. "Don't get comfortable," he muttered, turning his face away.
Xue Tuzi winced, instinctively turning his face as well, but he could feel it—the thunderous pounding of Shudu's heart against his ribs. It beat so furiously, like it might give out at any moment. He dared a glance upward. Shudu moved through the belly of the beast, the stench of rot and bile thick around them. Muscles twitched beneath his skin as he waded through strings of decaying tendons and quivering walls of flesh, his brows drawn tightly together as he searched for an escape. His grip on Xue Tuzi was strong, steady, as if he hadn't once vowed to never touch him again. Xue Tuzi's own heart began to hammer, echoing the same strange rhythm. He gasped quietly, clutching his chest.
"What's wrong?" Shudu snapped, glaring down at him.
Xue Tuzi turned his face, letting his hair fall forward like a curtain to hide the heat blooming across his cheeks. He bit the inside of his cheek hard, forcing himself to say nothing, to not act on the wild urge clawing at him—to reach up, cup Shudu's sharp face, and kiss him senselessly.
You don't deserve love, the words echoed in his head.
Tuanzhu's antennae twitched. She perched on his shoulder now, patting his cheek in quiet comfort, her tail dabbing away a tear before it could fall.
"If we don't find an exit soon," Xue Tuzi rasped, forcing his gaze to meet Shudu's again, "we'll become nothing but nutrients for this beast."
Shudu's eyes flicked to him, unreadable, before nodding once. His arms adjusted their hold—firmer, protective. With his other hand, he retracted his claws and began slicing through the pulsating wall of flesh. The nails sank in easily, but the moment it did, thick acid spilled from the wound, sizzling as it landed.
"No good," Shudu muttered, voice tight. "I tried that earlier. It just makes the thing spew more acid. At this rate, we'll drown in its stomach."
Xue Tuzi coughed, the fumes from the fish's insides scalding his lungs. Still, he could smell it—beneath the brine and decay, that clean, subtle scent that was uniquely Shudu. He trembled, lashes fluttering as he tried not to lean in.
He was broken. But he was still his.
He turned his head, breath ragged, his vision flickering from exhaustion—until it landed on something glinting in the distance. Half-submerged in the acidic mire was a wrecked ship, its wooden frame warped and blackened by time and rot. Corpses—some decayed to the bone, others grotesquely preserved—clawed at each other in a grotesque battle, as if still struggling to escape even in death. Their frozen snarls and twisted limbs suggested they had fought to the very end, not against an enemy, but against fate itself.
At the heart of the ruin stood a skeleton, slouched yet defiant, clutching a magnificent sword. The blade gleamed unnaturally, untouched by decay. Its hilt was carved of solid gold, angular and cruel, crowned with a flawless jade orb that pulsed faintly in the phosphorescent glow of the demon fish's belly. Even buried in hell, it retained its majesty. This was no simple weapon—it was forged for dominance, not just war. Its presence alone seemed to command reverence.
"There!" Xue Tuzi's voice cracked as he pointed. "Take me to that sword!" Shudu's eyes narrowed, his lip curling into a faint scoff. Still, he adjusted his grip and sprinted toward the wreck.
The gut walls began to shift around them, groaning and convulsing as a whirlpool formed, pulling the ship—and the sword—deeper into the acidic abyss. Xue Tuzi clung tightly to Shudu's soaked shirt, his injured hand trembling as the demon darted through cascading debris. Bones cracked underfoot, slime splattered across his shoulders, but Shudu didn't slow. With a final leap, he landed at the skeleton's feet just as the ship began to sink.
In one swift motion, Shudu tore the sword free from the skeleton's grip. The bones collapsed into dust the moment the blade left its grasp, as if the only thing anchoring it to the living realm had been that weapon. He stared at it for a moment. Despite a few nicks and scratches along the stealth-black iron, it remained unbroken—sturdy, grim, and full of latent purpose.
"Take it," Shudu said, shoving the hilt toward Xue Tuzi.
Xue Tuzi grasped it—and nearly dropped it immediately. The weight was staggering, denser than anything he'd ever held, his
arms strained under its burden.
He extended two fingers along the flat of it. A surge of concentration washed over him as he began channeling his qi into the weapon. His breathing slowed, deepened, his brows knitting in focus. Veins bulged at his temple as energy poured into the iron, and slowly, the blade began to glow with a golden luminescence. Tuanzhu poked her head out of his chest, violet eyes gleaming with fascination. She tilted her head to one side, her antennae quivering as she leaned in. Curious, she gave the sword a playful tap with the tip of her tail.
"Be careful!" Xue Tuzi scolded, barely able to hold steady. "You'll destabilize it."
Tuanzhu squeaked in apology, puffing out her cheeks in exaggerated remorse before curling up on his collar.
Once the sword's energy had reached its peak—vibrating in his hands, humming with stored power—Xue Tuzi shifted the blade, holding it upright before his face. His voice softened, almost tender.
"Tuanzhu," he said, "take a deep breath and hide in the qiankun pouch."
Tuanzhu sniffled, nodding solemnly. She puffed her cheeks again, then vanished with a wiggle into the small hidden pouch beneath his robes.
Xue Tuzi hesitated.
His eyes flicked to Shudu.
"You too," he murmured, almost too softly to hear.
The demon blinked at him. His face remained unreadable, stoic and still—but then, silently, he took a deep breath holding Xue Tuzi tightly in his arms. He took one last breath, his arms steady despite the tremble in his fingers. He turned, slashing the air with deadly grace. The blade connected with the stomach wall of the beast—and sliced through it like silk.
A howl rang out, deafening and shrill, as the demonic fish shrieked in agony. Its flesh ripped open, and a rush of seawater flooded in like a tidal wave, sweeping chunks of bile and debris out through the wound. Shudu dove into the torrent, vanishing through the jagged gash. The pressure pulled at him—flesh and water and gravity—but the sword held firm in Xue Tuzi's hand, glowing brighter than ever.
The moment the ocean split open with a gaping wound in the demonic fish's belly, blood and bile spewed like ink into the deep. The water churned black and green, reeking of rot, and the surrounding silence shattered as other abyssal beasts stirred—drawn by the scent of spilled innards. Lurking creatures, all slick flesh and gleaming fangs, squirmed through the murk, eyes glinting like molten coins in the dark. They came writhing through the currents—leeches the size of men, bone-snouted eels, things with too many teeth and not enough eyes—drawn to feast on the wounded beast and anything else in their path.
Xue Tuzi could barely keep his grip on the sword. Its weight dragged at his arms like an anchor, but he swung it anyway, slashing in sweeping arcs through the water. A golden trail of qi followed with every swing, illuminating the sea in brilliant flashes. One eel lunged—he cleaved it clean in half. Another tried to circle behind him—he turned, stabbed forward, and drove it back into the depths.
But each cut drained him. The qi he had channeled into the sword had already pushed him to his limits. The water pressed in on all sides, and his limbs grew heavier with every beat of his heart. His lungs screamed. He gasped—and salt water flooded his throat.
Everything tilted. His vision blurred. The last thing he felt was the rush of pressure and momentum as he broke through the surface of the sea—and then everything went white.
They crashed down hard on the slick deck of a ship, water splashing in all directions. Xue Tuzi choked, mucus and bile clinging to his skin, a sickly trail of it stretching from his chest to the side of his face. Beside him, Shudu landed on one knee, dripping with seawater and covered in gore, his hair plastered to his cheeks.
"A-Tuzi! Shudu!" someone shouted.
Xue Laohu came running, slipping once on the slick boards before regaining his footing. He was panting, his face pale with relief—behind him, Li Zhameng lay sprawled on the deck like a discarded rag, groaning and soaked in his own sick. Xue Tuzi tried to speak, but the moment he opened his mouth, he doubled over coughing violently. His chest heaved, lungs convulsing in spasms of pain as the tainted miasma and seawater mixed in his body like poison. His hands trembled as he clutched at his ribs. His head lolled back.
Shudu narrowed his eyes.
Without a word, he reached forward and tilted Xue Tuzi's face up by the chin. Before Xue Tuzi could flinch away, Shudu pressed his lips on to his. His eyes flew open, wild with shock. He pushed at Shudu's chest instinctively—but Shudu's breath was warm, clean, and full of life. Air filled his lungs. Slowly, the tension in his body eased. His arms dropped. His lashes fluttered shut. He drew in every breath Shudu gave him like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His hand rested lightly on Shudu's chest, feeling the rapid beat of the demon's heart beneath the skin. There was strength there—but something fragile, too. A rhythm that seemed just on the edge of breaking.
And then, just as abruptly, it ended.
Shudu pulled away, his expression stone-cold. "You should be able to breathe now," he said flatly.
He turned, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, as if ridding himself of something foul. His voice gave nothing away, but his steps were too brisk, too clipped. Xue Tuzi stared after him, chest still rising and falling rapidly. His lips tingled. The warmth lingered. It unsettled him more than the cold.
Xue Laohu stood nearby, his mouth agape, eyes stretched wide. "I—uh…" He looked between them, utterly dumbfounded.
Xue Tuzi blinked, then suddenly remembered. "Tuanzhu!" he gasped, jerking upright.
His fingers fumbled for the qiankun pouch tucked beneath his damp robes. He yanked it open. A puff of pink light erupted—and Tuanzhu tumbled out, coughing and wheezing dramatically. "GAHH!" she squeaked, her squishy body inflating and deflating with exaggerated breaths.
Xue Tuzi's lips trembled with a laugh that didn't quite come out. He cradled her gently in one arm, patting her gelatinous head. "You're okay. We're okay." Tuanzhu nestled into his chest, her little eyes narrowing into content slits.
Behind them, Xue Laohu hoisted Li Zhameng under the arms and winced as the poor disciple dry-heaved again. "The worst of the storm has passed," Xue Laohu said, his nose wrinkling at the smell. "But we'd better take cover before another wave drags us back into the sea. Into the cabin—now."
Xue Tuzi rose shakily to his feet, still cradling Tuanzhu, he picked up the sword offering it to Shudu. "This sword…" he said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. Then louder, "It suits you." But the demon ignored him his arms crossed as he stared into the vast ocean. As he turned to depart he watched Shudu's retreating back, silent and rigid before disappearing into the ship's interior.
Then, almost unconsciously, his teeth sank lightly into the soft swell of his lower lip.
He released it slowly.
As if savoring the last trace of Shudu's taste.
Xue Tuzi cradled Tuanzhu gently in his arms, her small body warm and trembling against his chest. The cabin was quiet save for the distant groan of the ship and the soft slap of waves against the hull. Lantern light pooled across the wooden floor, casting long shadows that flickered with every sway. He turned his head, eyes seeking out the familiar figure at the bow of the ship—Shudu. The demon stood alone, his posture rigid, gaze fixed on the dark sea as though it might speak back to him. Xue Tuzi's chest ached.
After rinsing the salt and bile from his skin in cold water, he had barely had a moment to breathe before his Shizun pulled him aside.
"Here," Xue Laohu murmured, producing a worn wooden box. "Let me see to those wounds."
"Shizun need not worry," Xue Tuzi said, though his tone lacked conviction.
"Let me be the judge of that." Xue Laohu's brow furrowed as he took Xue Tuzi's hand, calloused fingers brushing over the torn skin of his knuckles. "What happened here?" he asked, gently turning it over in the light.
"It's nothing," Xue Tuzi replied quickly, instinctively tugging his hand away to hide it beneath his sleeve. But Xue Laohu wasn't so easily deterred. He caught his wrist and opened a small tin of ointment, rubbing the cool, bitter-smelling salve into the raw skin with careful precision.
"Look at you," Xue Laohu sighed, voice low and threaded with concern. He dabbed a bit of the thick residue onto a rash on Xue Tuzi's cheek. The sting made him flinch. "Don't forget to reapply before bed," Xue Laohu added, handing him the flask of ointment. "And rest. You've done more than enough today."
Xue Tuzi nodded silently, moved by his Shizun's quiet care. He settled onto a wooden bench near the wall, exhaling slowly as he reached into his qiankun pouch. "Tuanzhu," he called softly.
A warm glow bloomed from within. The little Gu worm poked her fat head out with a sleepy yawn, her crescent-shaped eyes sparkling when she saw him. She squirmed her way into his lap, lifting her face expectantly for a kiss. But before she could reach him, he dipped a fingertip in the ointment and gently touched her swollen cheek.
"Eek!" she hissed, eyes narrowing into dangerous little slits. With an offended squeal, she swatted the flask from his hand with a flick of her heart-shaped tail.
"Tuanzhu…" Xue Tuzi sighed, guilt tugging at his heart. "I know it stings. But it'll help, I promise. Please?"
His voice softened to a near whisper as he tried to coax her back, but she turned her face away in dramatic protest and hopped off his lap, sulking as she darted across the floor. She didn't go far. In the corner of the room, Shudu had reclined on a chair, a dusty wine jar cradled in one hand. He said nothing as Tuanzhu climbed into his lap. The demon's arm wrapped around her protectively, as he gently patted her head without ever once looking at Xue Tuzi.
The contrast hit hard. The Shudu he knew—brash, sharp-tongued, endlessly teasing—was gone. Now, silence hung around him like a second cloak. He didn't call Xue Tuzi names, didn't whisper soft taunts or smirk when their shoulders brushed. He didn't chase after him anymore. And yet the absence of that fire didn't bring the peace Xue Tuzi once thought he craved. It only hollowed him out.
He picked up an apple from the basket on the table and began peeling it slowly, the skin curling in long red ribbons to the floor. With quiet focus, he sliced the fruit into delicate pieces and placed one between his lips.
"Tuanzhu…" he murmured around the sweetness, glancing toward the sulking Gu worm.
She peeked from Shudu's arm, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her lips twitched. When he took another bite, clearly savoring the juicy flesh, she couldn't take it anymore. With a determined wiggle, she scurried back to his lap and opened her tiny mouth wide in demand.
"There you are," Xue Tuzi smiled, offering her a piece. Her little head bobbed with excitement, eyes crinkling with each happy chew. She eagerly opened her mouth again, and he obliged, feeding her piece after piece.
But then her gaze wandered. She looked back at Shudu, still staring off into nothing, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of the empty wine jar. Tuanzhu glanced at the untouched apple slice still resting on the table and reached for it with her chubby nubs.
"Wait—Tuanzhu, that one's not cut properly," Xue Tuzi warned.
But it was too late. She'd already darted back across the room, holding the slice up to Shudu like an offering.
The demon blinked, slowly turning to her. For a moment, his expression cracked—just slightly—and the cool mask slipped. His eyes softened. He leaned forward and took the slice from her, biting into it without a word. The juice ran down to his jaw, glistening in the flickering lamplight. Xue Tuzi looked away. His heart fluttered traitorously in his chest, the sight of that single, wordless exchange striking deeper than any blade. Heat spread across his neck and ears, shameful and wistful all at once.
The moment shattered with a wet retch. From behind, Li Zhameng groaned and doubled over, coughing violently. Xue Tuzi sprang to his feet, instinct carrying him to his martial brother's side. "I've got you," he whispered, guiding Li Zhameng's trembling form toward a bed chamber. As they disappeared into the dark hallway, the scent of apples and wine lingered in the air.
Shudu remained seated, silent, the half-eaten apple slice still in his hand—forgotten.
Night swallowed the sky, the waves outside hushed beneath a blanket of stars. The ship creaked gently in the oceans cradle, its wooden bones groaning with every shift of wind. Below deck, the air had grown thick with the scent of salt, old wine, and exhaustion. Unable to sleep, and with no more wine left to dull the ache in his chest, Shudu wandered aimlessly down the cabin's narrow corridor. His steps were uneven, the floor swaying beneath his feet—not from the sea, but from the remnants of drink and something far heavier pressing behind his ribs. He reached for the wall, leaning against it for balance, his shoulder thudding softly against the wooden beam as he paused.
It was then he heard it—a faint, broken sound.
Soft whimpers. Pained, muffled moans bleeding through the seams of a half-closed door. Shudu turned his head toward the sound. A strange tightness twisted in his gut as he reached for the latch, pushing it open just enough to peer inside.
The room was dim, illuminated only by the flickering glow of a half-burned lantern. There, curled beneath a light blanket, Xue Tuzi tossed restlessly in his sleep. His limbs jerked in small, pained spasms, his brow furrowed deep with distress. He murmured through gritted teeth, voice caught somewhere between plea and despair.
"Don't leave me… please… don't leave…"
Shudu's breath caught. He stepped forward without thinking, knees dipping to the floor beside the bed. Xue Tuzi's face, so often guarded in the light of day, now lay bare in anguish. Tears traced slow, shimmering trails down his cheeks. His lips parted once more, trembling with another broken whisper.
"Shushu… don't. Leave…"
That name—spoken so softly, so intimately—it pierced Shudu deeper than any blade.
He reached for him slowly his fingertips trembled in the space between them. He paused just above Xue Tuzi's lips, as if the moment itself were fragile enough to shatter.
But he couldn't do it.
Instead, he leaned back, watching the way Xue Tuzi suffered within his dreams, haunted by memories or fears Shudu couldn't see. A faint squelch interrupted the silence. Tuanzhu peeked her gelatinous head from beneath Shudu's shirt, blinking her large eyes as she sensed the distress in Xue Tuzi. With a wiggle, she crawled free and nestled against Xue Tuzi's chest, her tiny body pulsing with warmth. She nudged aside the gems that hung loosely around his nipples, their soft clinking like wind chimes in the dark.
Without hesitation, she sank her razor-sharp teeth gently into the skin just above his heart. Xue Tuzi gasped softly in his sleep, the tension in his brow slowly unraveling as the little Gu worm fed—not on blood, but on the dense cloud of negative energy that clung to him like shadow. His breathing evened out. With the final tear spilling from the corner of his eye. Shudu reached out, brushing the tear away with his thumb. His touch lingered there, brief but unbearably tender. For a fleeting heartbeat, he allowed himself to stay in that warmth.
"If I don't leave," he murmured, so quietly it was meant for no ears but his own, "we'll both suffer."
His hand dropped.
And then, as silently as he had come, Shudu rose to his feet and walked away, the door whispering shut behind him.
Blah Blah Blah:
The yearning has begun. Ha ha ha ha