Xue Tuzi arched a brow and leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose with theatrical exasperation. "Do I look anything like the man in the poster?" His tone was dry, almost bored, but his eyes flickered with something sharper beneath the surface.
The noodle stall owner froze mid-motion, hand still holding the wrinkled flyer. His eyes darted from the poster to the man standing in front of him, back and forth—as if willing the lines of ink to change. It was uncanny. The jawline, the shape of the nose, the defiant tilt of the chin. For a moment, it was as though the sketch had stepped off the paper and materialized in the flesh.
But before the vendor could open his mouth, Xue Tuzi added with cool indifference, "Black hair."
The man blinked, lowered his gaze to the description at the bottom of the poster. Sure enough, jet black hair. He looked back up, squinting.
True, under the dark night, Xue Tuzi's curls could easily pass as black. But up close in broad daylight, his hair shimmered with earthy brown tones—and if one looked carefully, one might catch subtle pink glints dancing at the ends, like the last streaks of sunset clinging to twilight. It was the after effect of the Gu worms he'd come into possession of—transformative, strange, and very much not jet black.
"Hm. He's right," Xue Laohu mumbled from his place beside the cart, cheeks stuffed with noodles. He squinted at the flyer like it might shift into something legible with enough chewing. "Besides, this man's hair is sleek as ink. A-Tuzi's curls would never behave like that."
"Uh-huh," Li Zhameng nodded, slurping up the last of his broth and pointing his chopsticks toward Xue Tuzi.
Xue Tuzi shot his martial brother a glare, sharp enough to slice bone. Li Zhameng paled, immediately choking on a bit of noodle.
"Ack—!"
"My apologies!" the stall vendor blurted, bowing so quickly he nearly lost his cap. "Please, please, a bowl on the house to make up for the trouble!"
Xue Tuzi didn't respond right away. He studied the man for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a cold flick of his gaze, he sat down on the rickety stool and accepted the steaming bowl that was placed in front of him. The vendor, still sweating profusely, wiped his brow with his sleeve, then cautiously turned to look at the man perched like a shadow in the tree above.
There, hidden partly in silhouette, Shudu sat with arms crossed, muscles tense across his chest. The long black braid that fell from his nape swayed gently with the breezes. He had finally spat out the piece of straw he'd been chewing on and now stared down at the scene below with a look of vague irritation.
The vendor hesitated. Then, perhaps out of desperation—or superstition—he muttered, "Well, what's one more? Maybe this act of charity'll earn me good karma in the next life."
Louder, he called, "Gongzi, you must be hungry too. Come down. I'll serve you a bowl."
Shudu's eyes narrowed. He considered the offer for a beat, then dropped lightly from the branch, landing with barely a sound. "If you insist," he said, brushing a few leaves from his shoulder.
He took the seat directly across from Xue Tuzi.
Neither of them looked up.
Xue Tuzi stared intently into his bowl, blowing on the broth with just enough care to cool it for the Gu worm curled like a sleepy cat in his sleeve. Tuanzhu stirred, poking her tiny head out eagerly slurping a dangling noodle with surprising speed.
The vendor, eyes darting between the two men, ladled a hearty portion of golden broth and hand-pulled noodles into a fresh bowl and placed it in front of Shudu. The fragrance swirled into the air.
Silence fell.
Not a word passed between them. The hush was so complete it pressed against Xue Laohu's chest like a weight. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing back and forth between the two. They didn't speak, didn't look at each other, didn't even acknowledge the other's presence. Just sat, side by side, chewing.
How is this supposed to work? Xue Laohu thought bitterly, sweat forming at his temple. The system expects me to mend their hearts, but how am I supposed to do that if they won't even exchange a damn glance?
Then, another customer appeared—a traveler wrapped in a sun-faded cloak, hood drawn low. He sat beside Xue Tuzi, ordered a bowl in a gravelly voice, and waited quietly. Yet his gaze lingered far too long on Xue Tuzi. Too deliberately.
Coins clinked softly on the table.
The man finished his bowl in a few quick bites, then stood and left without a word. But not before folding the flyer—the same one with the wanted criminal—and slipping it into his lapel.
The man sprinted through the streets, heart pounding, cloak billowing behind him like a shadow in flight. He didn't slow, not even when he reached the looming iron gates of Lord Chanchu's manor. He shoved past startled guards, stormed through the opulent halls, and ascended the spiral staircase two steps at a time.
"My Lord!" he shouted breathlessly, bursting into the grand chamber above. "My Lord, I think I've found him—I think I've found Ai Chong!"
Lord Chanchu turned his head slowly, the light from the window casted long, greasy shadows over his bloated form. His face was a grotesque landscape of time and violence. A massive gash—poorly healed and puckered with thick, shiny scar tissue—ran diagonally across his face, splitting his features in two. The scar had pulled at his mouth, twisting it permanently into a cleft that made his words whistle and crack when he spoke. His skin sagged with deep wrinkles, folds swallowing the tiny glint of his beady eyes, almost invisible beneath the sagging lids.
He reclined in a high-backed chair that looked more throne-like than seat, surrounded by a peculiar entourage—men and women with strikingly similar features: porcelain skin, round, doe-like eyes, gently puckered lips, and the unmistakable beauty mark dotting the corner of their lower lips. They could've been sculpted from the same mold as Xue Tuzi.
Servants bustled about him like bees. One fanned him with a large fan. Another kneaded his chest rolls with both hands, her fingers sinking into his damp flesh. A third poured wine into an intricately carved goblet resting on a silver tray.
Without warning, Lord Chanchu slammed the cup down, the sound sharp and final.
The massaging servant flinched away. The fan paused mid-air.
He raised one of his bushy brows, deepening the trenches across his nearly bald scalp. "Speak," he growled, voice wet and gurgling. "You say you've found Ai Chong?"
The man dropped to his knees, breath catching in his throat. He knew Lord Chanchu's temperament—fickle and violent, quick to execute anyone who tested his patience.
"Yes, my Lord," he said quickly, bowing so low his forehead touched the floor. "Just as your flyer described. He's a vision—radiant skin like polished jade, large eyes like a startled deer, lips full and round, with the mole at the corner, just as you said. He was at a noodle stall outside the market square. I swear it, it's him."
Lord Chanchu leaned forward, his massive belly shifting like a slow tide. A few servants rushed to his side, grunting as they braced under his weight to help him up. He rose with effort, wheezing, one thick, greasy hand stroking the tangled mass of his beard.
"Bring him to me. Immediately," he rasped. A sinister grin spread across his scarred mouth, yellow teeth gleaming in the sun light. Gaps riddled his smile like broken tombstones, and a thick tar-like film coated the surviving teeth. The sour stench of wine and rot escaped his lips with every breath, enough to make the closest servants recoil, subtly raising their sleeves to cover their noses.
The kneeling man scrambled to his feet. "Yes, my Lord!" He bowed once more and fled down the staircase, breath catching with both anticipation and dread.
He returned to the noodle stall in a half-run, eyes scanning the empty seats with rising panic. The steaming pots were cooling now, the rush of the day long passed. The place was quiet. Still.
Xue Tuzi was gone.
The man approached the stall hesitantly, interrupting the vendor who was elbow-deep in a basin of sudsy water.
"Excuse me," he asked, voice tight. "The guests you had earlier—the young men—do you know where they went?"
The vendor paused, furrowing his brow as he rinsed a bowl and set it aside. "Hmm… Left not long after you did," he said thoughtfully, scratching his cheek. "Didn't have money, so they didn't linger. I suppose they might still be wandering around town. They didn't say where they were headed."
"Are you sure?" the man pressed, glancing down the road.
"They were quiet. Barely said a word. Just packed up and left." The vendor shrugged, going back to his washing.
With a muttered thanks and a short bow, the man turned and set off into the busy streets again, cloak flaring behind him.
He scoured the winding streets of the market, weaving through alleyways slick with damp stone, peering behind every corner, every stack of crates. He questioned fruit vendors, old beggars, stray children playing in the alleys—all shaking their heads, one after another.
"No, haven't seen him."
"No one like that passed by here."
"Try the other side of town."
The man's breath came faster now. Desperation began to gnaw at him. The man was nowhere to be found.
And Lord Chanchu did not take disappointment kindly.
Dusk melted into the bruised purple of twilight as the last golden rays slipped behind the town. Xue Laohu, Li Zhameng, Xue Tuzi, and Shudu had finally made it past the town gates, the lantern lights of the settlement fading behind them like dying fireflies.
Xue Laohu groaned, throwing himself dramatically on the grassy hill just outside the forest's edge. All day, he huffed to himself, dragging his hands down his face. All day, I've tried—tried!—to create romantic moments between A-Tuzi and Shudu but what do I get? Nothing.
Xue Laohu exasperated, "well, since we've no coin left," his voice grumbling, "we'll camp here for the night."
He began gathering sticks and leaves, building a modest fire under the shelter of a leaning willow. The forest around them hummed with the sound of cicadas, and the river nearby murmured its constant lullaby. Li Zhameng wandered down to the edge of the water, crouching to refill their jugs with cupped hands.
Xue Tuzi watched him go, gaze drifting to the quiet rippling of the river. A pang pulled in his chest—the same river, he remembered, where he'd first met Xiao Zongzi, and where fate had tied his heart, irrevocably, to Shudu's.
He lowered himself beside the fire as it crackled to life, the orange flames casting shadows that danced like ghosts on their faces. Xue Laohu curled up nearby, pulling his outer robe over his body like a blanket. Li Zhameng had already succumbed to sleep, his cheeks glowing pink from the firelight, breaths soft and even.
But Tuanzhu was not ready for sleep.
The little Gu worm had been squirming all day, her fleshy pink jelly-like head popping in and out from beneath Xue Tuzi's robe, utterly obsessed with the gemstones embedded in his nipples. Her stubby tail flicked at them with growing frustration, a faint clicking sound as she poked each gem like she was trying to dislodge them.
"Tuanzhu," Xue Tuzi murmured, glancing down with a sigh. She popped out again, clinging to one of the larger stones like a child refusing to part with a toy. "It's time for bed."
Her fuzzy antennae drooped instantly. She knew what 'bed' meant—confinement inside the qiankun pouch. Worse, she knew what came before bed: the ointment.
Tuanzhu narrowed her eyes into slits, her pudgy cheeks puffing in defiance.
"Please don't make this difficult," Xue Tuzi said softly, already pulling the small flask from his sleeve.
Tuanzhu hissed. It was a tiny, almost comedic sound, but she thrashed in protest the moment he reached for her. Xue Tuzi winced as her miniature fangs sank into the tip of his finger—again. But he didn't pull back. Instead, he held her gently, cradling her in one hand as he dabbed the pungent ointment onto her scarred cheek with the other.
She shrieked, writhing in his palm, the burning oil making tears spring to the corners of her glossy violet eyes. "I know, I know," he murmured, wrapping both arms around her and rocking her lightly, "but you're my brave girl, aren't you?"
He kissed the top of her squishy head. Tuanzhu sniffled dramatically, crossing her stubby nubs with a wounded huff. Still, she allowed herself to be tucked inside the pouch, curling up like a sulky dumpling.
With a tired sigh, Xue Tuzi leaned back against the trunk of a tree, rubbing his temples. His eyes drifted across the fire—Shudu was still awake, his figure standing tall near the clearing's edge, practicing his swordwork beneath the starless sky.
He watched silently. Shudu's movements were beautiful: each swing of the blade heavy and full of purpose, each step sharp yet flowing like water. The blade caught the firelight now and again, a silver streak cutting through the night.
Finally, Xue Tuzi's voice broke the quiet. "Your form is… impressive," he said, arms wrapped around his knees. "Have you trained before?"
Shudu didn't stop. He finished a final sequence, stabbing his blade into the ground before wiping sweat from his brow. He took a long sip from his water jug and turned only slightly.
"Why do you care?" he asked, coldly.
The words struck deeper than they should have.
Xue Tuzi blinked, then quickly looked away. He swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists atop his knees.
"I don't," he said quickly, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. He dusted off his robe with sharp, angry movements and turned to walk away.
Shudu finally turned, brow furrowed as he watched the retreating figure.
"Where are you going?" he called after him, voice no longer cold, just curious.
Xue Tuzi didn't turn around. He flicked his hair with a small flourish and gave a sharp "Hmph."
"Why do you care?"
And with that, he disappeared down toward the riverbank, the fire crackling in his absence and the tension between them hanging like fog in the dark, starless night.
Xue Tuzi knelt by the river, the cold water lapping at his fingertips as he cupped it to his face. The shock of it helped shake the heaviness in his heart—but only for a moment.
The river's surface trembled, then slowly stilled.
And in the black mirror of the water, a face stared back at him.
Lord Chanchu.
His bloated, misshapen visage loomed in the reflection—a nightmare given flesh. A jagged scar split his face from brow to jaw, vanishing into the greasy tangle of his beard. Where his left eye should have been, only a sunken pit remained, the skin around it puckered and twisted. His other eye, small and glinting with malice, locked onto Xue Tuzi with the stillness of a predator.
His scalp was a mottled expanse of bare, waxy skin, save for a few thin, greasy strands clinging to the back of his skull. His cleft lip curled in a grotesque imitation of a smile, yellowed teeth peeking through like broken tombstones. Deep, sagging wrinkles framed his mouth, each crease shadowed in the starlight.
In one meaty hand, he clutched a white cloth—pristine, innocent, deadly. His fingers, thick and gnarled, bore crescents of black filth beneath the nails, as if he'd clawed his way up from the earth itself.
He leaned closer.
The water trembled again—not from the current, but from the weight of his presence. The cloth twitched in his grip, ready.
Xue Tuzi's breath caught.
"So this is what she meant by 'beware of familiar faces.'" Xue Tuzi's hand froze halfway to his hair ribbon as Lord Chanchu's shadow loomed over him, the old man's breath hot with triumph. The silk cloth—drenched in something sickly-sweet—fluttered like a death moth in his grip. "Very well." Xue Tuzi bared his teeth. "I have scores to settle with you, old man." The cloth struck faster than a viper. It smothered his words, his breath, his vision—And suddenly his ribbon fell to the ground.
Blah Blah Blah:
Xiao Ming Mini Theatre
Mini Ming, had been fully erect shifting towards Li Zhameng like a hungry fox circling prey, he squirted indignantly from within the pants.
"'I need to use the toilet!'" Xue Laohu mimicked in a mocking tone. More like 'I need to pull Mini Ming aside and lecture him until my throat is raw. He collapsed dramatically again, covering his face with his sleeve.
Xue Laohu sat up sharply, cheeks flushed. "I'm ok." He murmured softly but internally he screamed into the void. Do you know what it's like to run out of anti-erection pills while being cursed with unholy virility?! He crossed his legs tightly. My groin has known no peace.
If Mini Ming could speak he would advise Xue Laohu to surrender. Surrender to the lust. To the burning passion of going deep inside of Li Zhameng.
Ha ha ha that is all.