Chapter 15: Scars of a Demon

 

Xie Xuan’s fingers trembled slightly around the book. Of all things, why would Feng Xun ask a question so utterly meaningless?

She simply… could not smile in front of him.

So she nodded, openly and without excuse.
“Yes.”

Feng Xun had expected her to dodge, to scold him for secretly observing her again, or to force a stubborn smile just to contradict him.
He expected anything but this—simple, guileless honesty.
As if she truly couldn’t smile.

“You smiled when you were with the living souls of the mortal world,” Feng Xun finally said, unable to restrain himself.

Xie Xuan’s lips stilled. Of course. It was Feng Xun—nothing she did could escape him.
He truly had been watching her in secret.

“You said you can go anywhere in Fengdu,” she snapped, lowering the book. “Feng Xun, what do you mean by watching me all day?”

But Feng Xun held on to only one thing—her smile. His tone almost sounded like that of a stubborn child.

“Xie Xuan, you’re lying to me.”

“I’m an evil spirit. So what if I lie to you?” Xie Xuan flipped the pages stiffly. “Feng Xun, why would you ever believe the words of an evil spirit?”

The truth was anything but.
It was only before him that her lies faltered—only in front of Feng Xun that her mask failed.

He stared at her for a long, heavy moment.
Perhaps Xie Xuan simply didn’t like him.

Xie Xuan lowered her head to avoid that earnest, unwavering gaze. She didn’t want to admit it—even to herself—that she was completely transparent before him. She had become stronger, more capable of interacting with others without tripping over her own thoughts.
Yet before Feng Xun, she still turned clumsy, like her old self.

Feng Xun was too kind, too honest. Even an evil spirit could not hide from him. And he remained unaware of his own brightness, his innate purity.

He was, after all, only nineteen.

After a moment of thought, Xie Xuan decided she should coax him a little—pretend to be obedient. That way she would have more chances to slip away later.

She curled her fingers, lifted the corners of her lips until her face stiffened into a practiced smile, and raised her head.

“Is this okay?” Xie Xuan asked, staring directly at the demon mask covering Feng Xun’s face.

He turned at the sound of her voice.
Their eyes met—and her forced expression shattered instantly beneath the pure, gentle light in his gaze.

Her eyes widened, confusion returning. Her lips fell naturally back into their downturned shape.

In Feng Xun’s eyes, she saw countless silent calls, urging her not to hide, not to mask her pain, not to push him away.
Promising he would help her, pull her from the abyss she was sinking into.

But Xie Xuan only sank deeper.
She refused to take his hand—like a drowning soul clinging desperately to a piece of rotten driftwood instead of rescue.

Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Feng Xun… in the time you waste saving me—a demon—how many people trapped in suffering could you be saving instead?”

Feng Xun’s pupils tightened behind the mask, as if she had struck something hidden deep within him.

“I can’t save everyone.”

Xie Xuan lowered her lashes. She still refused his salvation.

Feng Xun tightened his grip on the ink brush. The documents in front of him dissolved into faint words she had written long ago, back when she first learned to read.

Petty curses.
“Hypocrite.”
“Fool.”

The two fell silent until they returned to the manor.
Snow filled the night, soft but endless.

In that darkness, Feng Xun finally spoke.

“You don’t want to lie to me. That’s why you don’t smile at me… isn’t it?”

“No.” Xie Xuan refused to admit it. Even she wasn’t sure whether it was her own unwillingness or the sheer pressure of Feng Xun’s power that made her honest before him.

She flickered forward and boldly leapt onto his back again.
He caught her easily, as he always did.

Her arms wrapped around his neck. Her pale hands rested against his skin, feeling the heat of his pulse. She knew that punishments in hell never struck vital points—if a ghost lost consciousness, they would no longer feel pain.

Perhaps that was why the executioner who tortured her for so long only struck her heart at the very end.

Feng Xun was warm. Snow melted against him instantly, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw. Xie Xuan studied him curiously. She had developed a faint appreciation for beauty.

And Feng Xun was perfect—noble, flawless, almost unreal.

“You have a very handsome face,” she said, her praise candid and natural.

“With the mask on, what can you see?” Feng Xun laughed softly, a small dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth.

“I can imagine,” Xie Xuan said proudly. “Your jawline goes up to the corners of your eyes. Your eyes must be slightly upturned—peach blossom eyes. Girls like that. Feng Xun, you still haven’t told me what ‘like’ means…”

His face flushed slightly beneath the mask.

Xie Xuan continued, fully immersed in her imagination.
“Above your eyes are your eyebrows, but they’re hidden. They must not be perfectly shaped. Every hair grows outward, but at the arch there are a few rebellious ones going the other way. When you’re older you’ll secretly fix them with magic, but right now they must look a little unruly, right?”

Sometimes she was as naïve as a small animal.
Other times, she spoke with the insight of someone who had seen every shade of life. Her mind had become this way because of Feng Xun—because he taught her to understand, to reorganize all the fragments of her past.

“This makes you look younger,” she added thoughtfully, touching the mask where his brow bone would be.

“Yes,” Feng Xun replied, humoring her—and teasing her gently. “I wear the mask because my eyebrows aren’t perfect. Does that make you happy, little devil?”

Even Xie Xuan felt something strange rise in her chest—a soft, new feeling that made her want to smile.
It was an unfamiliar emotion.

He was warm.
He was light.
He was the only source of heat in this snow-filled night—and she was not burned by him.

She thought perhaps one could linger in a moment like this forever, let the story end here.
But the hand that had covered his eyes fell, like snow slipping from a branch.

Even if the snow in Fengdu was pure and serene, in the mortal world it was paper offerings burned for the dead—ashes drifting upward, each one tied to a departed soul.

“No…” Xie Xuan whispered into his ear, her cool breath brushing his fever-warm skin.

Feng Xun chuckled softly. His cloak unfurled behind him, wrapping her in its warmth.

“Now I understand why you’ve survived until now,” he murmured.

Xie Xuan did not bend. If she had yielded at any moment before, she would have disappeared long ago.

She was a fragile miracle—one that existed only once in countless lifetimes.

And only such a miracle could move him to tears.

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