Chapter 13: Fractured Memories

Her icy fingertips brushed his dimple, catching the falling snowflakes. Her body temperature was no different from the snow, but Feng Xun’s warmth melted them, bringing Xie Xuan a fleeting sense of comfort.

“I’ve noticed.” Xie Xuan leaned closer to the stiff Feng Xun, carefully staring into his captivating peach blossom eyes. “Feng Xun, you don’t have this dimple on your cheek when you smile normally.”

Feng Xun: “…” You saw through my fake smile.

He nodded with a slight smile, the shallow dimple still present.

“Is this a sign of reality?” Xie Xuan asked.

“Perhaps?” He answered patiently.

“Hypocritical.” Xie Xuan coldly snorted and withdrew her hand.

Feng Xun’s smile held a hint of helplessness. “Xie Xuan, will you smile at me?”

Xie Xuan pouted. “I won’t smile.”

Not long ago, she had shown a sweet smile to someone she hated, yet here she was, in front of him, stripped of pretense, raw as if burned by reality.

Feng Xun, clutching the bamboo sword, watched her walk into the house. He stood alone in the snow-covered courtyard, lost in thought.

Upstairs, Xie Xuan opened the window, leaning out, thinking she should try to understand him better. Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated.

So she asked, “Feng Xun, how old are you?”

His fingers rested on the bamboo sword. “Nineteen,” he said softly.

“You’re lying. You must be an old immortal from the upper realm.” She didn’t believe such power could belong to a nineteen-year-old.

Feng Xun tilted his head helplessly. The ghost-head mask he wore glowed coldly, diminishing his youthful charm.

“Can I take off the mask…?” Xie Xuan asked, chin resting on her hand.

“No.” He refused gently.

“Are you ugly?” she mocked.

“Not really.”

“Sneaky!” she shouted.

Feng Xun simply smiled, unmoved.

Xie Xuan pouted, staring at him. She didn’t dislike him; knowing she couldn’t escape, she wanted to provoke him, to see if he could show any expression other than a smile. But her plan failed, and now she was the one growing angry.

Seeing her resentful gaze, Feng Xun asked helplessly, “Xie Xuan, what’s wrong now? Aside from this, you can ask for anything else.”

She stared intently.

He surrendered. “Once your soul body reaches the Soul Cocoon Realm, I’ll remove it, okay?”

Xie Xuan counted the ghost cultivation realms Li Wen had taught her: Soul Condensation, Soul Core, Soul Cocoon… it didn’t seem too far off, so she nodded.

The young man leaped lightly to her windowsill, graceful as a bird.

Feng Xun half-squatted, extending a hand. “Pinky promise.”

Xie Xuan fidgeted awkwardly, unable to make the gesture. Her fingers twisted together, stuck.

Feng Xun gently released them one by one. “It seems there’s still a lot I need to teach you.”

“I know—” Xie Xuan whispered. She remembered the gesture, piecing together chaotic images in her memory.

“Is it the little finger, or the thumb, stuck together like this…” she murmured.

Feng Xun’s little finger hooked hers. “It’s the little finger.”

“Hook your little finger, stick your thumbs together, pinky promise,” he said patiently.

Her eyes widened. His words overlapped with memories. She remembered a voice, a body lying in blood, someone shaking her shoulders, handing her a bloodstained toy.

“Why did you give it to her?” a small girl demanded. “You are my bodyguard, you are mine, everything you own is mine. Without my permission, what right did you have to give her something?”

Her nails dug into her palms, blood dripping from her soul’s hands. A primal desire surged—she wanted to kill.

“Xie Xuan!” Feng Xun caught her limp body. Blood seeped onto his clothes, sticky between his fingers.

In hazy consciousness, Xie Xuan clung to him, mistaking him for the dead figure in her memories.

“Jinniang…” she whispered.

Feng Xun only caught the word “mother.” He patted her shoulder gently. “It’s alright, I don’t have a mother either, but I’m still alive and well.”

Xie Xuan didn’t hear him. She leaned on his shoulder, lost in memory.

“I hate you, I despise you—” she gritted her teeth at “Jinniang.”

Feng Xun’s lashes drooped, sadness flashing in his eyes. He thought her words were for him. She hated him… understandable. But why did he feel loss?

He held her quietly until she slept.

He placed her on the bed, pried open her clenched hands, wiped away blood with a handkerchief, and let powerful energy flow into her, repairing her soul.

The wind and snow raged. A lamp flickered dimly. The boy who claimed to be nineteen muttered to himself, “Hate me, despise me?” His voice trailed off in a sigh.

The lamp burned all night, then went out.

When Xie Xuan awoke, she had forgotten what had happened. Painful memories could be defensively erased.

She remembered hiding a living soul in the inn. Finding Feng Xun absent, she went herself.

Chu Fengxue paced anxiously. Xie Xuan wasn’t there, and she dared not leave. She clung to Xie Xuan as her lifeline.

Suddenly, Xie Xuan appeared, startling her into a scream.

Xie Xuan covered her mouth, signaling silence. She needed more information about the human world. Once she had drained Chu Fengxue of value, she would cast her into icy hell.

She dragged Chu Fengxue to the streets of Fengdu, asking questions, memorizing answers.

Chu Fengxue couldn’t answer how many royals there were, only listing siblings and relatives. She said Xie Xuan could consult the imperial genealogy.

Xie Xuan memorized it. To coax more, she bought a sugar figurine with Feng Xun’s silver and handed it to Chu Fengxue.

Chu Fengxue chuckled. “Miss Xuan, I’ve thought this childish since I was ten.”

Xie Xuan smiled faintly, hazy and beautiful in Fengdu’s fog.

Across the fog, Feng Xun watched quietly, hand on his bamboo sword.

Xie Xuan’s words from yesterday echoed:

“I don’t laugh.”