The silence stretched, but it was not uncomfortable. For demonic cultivators like them, silence could sometimes feel like the rarest form of peace.
Língxi cleared his throat lightly, the faint flush on his cheeks fading back into its usual pale tone. He lowered his head, one hand brushing against his lips, the other cradling an emptied wine cup. A breeze slipped through the chamber, teasing his white fringe until it tumbled across his temple gem, half veiling the God gifted jewel from view.
Kage Ou studied him closely. He could feel it—Língxi was holding something back, gathering words he did not want to say. Selfish though it was, Kage Ou found himself wanting to see that flush return, to watch his friend's composure crack just a little. That birdlike timidity—peach-blush cheeks, lips half-hidden—was something he relished more than he cared to admit.
He leaned forward, hands folded before his lips, waiting. Língxi set the cup down with careful precision, fingers brushing back his long white hair before he finally spoke, voice measured, as though each syllable had been weighed in his palms.
"Since the children are resting upstairs... and we are free for the moment... would you like to visit Wàngshān Guǐyuàn? (望山鬼苑/ Ghost Garden of Watching Mountain) You know it is the temple of my Miè Ràn Sect. If you would, perhaps we can—"
He was cut short by the sudden brightness in Kage ou's eyes. The older man leapt to his feet with such unguarded eagerness that Língxi startled, his royal-blue gaze widening.
"Yes! Of course, my friend! Why wouldn't I go with you? That's our place—where we prayed, hunted, admired the beauty... always together."
In that moment, the weight of eighty years fell away. Kage Ou grin was boyish, almost reckless, as if responsibility had slipped from his shoulders. The temple might belong to the Miè Ràn Sect, closed to outsiders—but Kage Ou had never crossed its threshold without Língxi at his side.
Língxi's lips softened. That warmth, so rare, made him feel strangely young—as though he were standing not as Dàozǔ Jiǎng but simply as a father, or a man. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kage Ou suddenly stilled, a hand pressed to his temple as though a memory had struck like lightning.
"Wait—wait! What date is today?"
Língxi smoothed his robes with one hand , other hand his sword , taking his time. Mischief glimmered in his eyes; he knew perfectly well what Kage Ou was reaching for, yet chose not to answer outright.
"Today is... the 20th of January ," he said softly. The words carried both truth and provocation, as if tugging on something private between them—something sacred, known only to two.
Kage Ou's breath hitched. He stepped closer, their space narrowing to a hand's breadth. Língxi tilted his head, retreating a fraction, a puzzled softness on his face.
"Why… is today special?" he asked lightly, though his eyes betrayed him, flickering with secret mirth.
"No hug, even today?" Kage Ou's voice was half-playful, half-aching.
" No hug, even today," Língxi answered smoothly like throwing back his same words
Kage Ou growled in mock frustration. Língxi's sleeve rose to hide his mouth, but the fleeting chuckle that escaped was caught at once. Kage Ou's heart lifted, savoring it like treasure. For an instant, Língxi was no Dao, no untouchable leader—only a man, vulnerable and human.
"You don't remember? How could you, Dao Jiǎng Língxi?!" Kage Ou accused with laughter trembling beneath the words. "Do Daos have such tiny memories?"
Língxi turned his face aside, lips curving faintly. "Yes, I forgot. I am also... human. And humans forget—even Dàozǔs."
"You do remember," Kage Ou smirked. "That's just your... Píngxī style of teasing."
"Shut up. What style? Píngxī, pìng... what?" Língxi snapped, fighting the flush rising in his cheeks.
Kage Ou only laughed, tugging at his sleeve. "Come on, just say it—what day is today?"
Língxi batted his hand away, dusting his robe hently as if dirtied. His body was always guarded, his words stubborn no matter what . "No. Am I born to always remind you of everything? My answer is the same. I don't remember. Dàozǔ... Shì Xīn."
The forbidden name dropped like a blade. Kage Ou froze.
"Don't—" he said quickly, forcing a chuckle. "Don't call me that. I only teased you with Píngxī. Nothing so personal."
"How many of my names do you even know to do so ?" Língxi asked quietly like challenging.
Kage Ou blinked. His gaze flickered, searching—and found nothing. His lips parted in helpless amazement, hand trembling as he pointed at him. "You dare keep all of my secrets yet hide all of yours?! How is that fair?"
Língxi only smiled, tilting his face aside. Fingers folded neatly behind his back, his voice calm, almost gentle. "How will you know... if there is nothing to know? I am just . Jiǎng Língxi and the nickname you already use is my only name . It is not my fault you pour out everything to me, while I keep my silence. Anyways , If you remember the day, then speak it. Why force me?"
The words, so logical, so carefully woven, tangled in Kage Ou's head until he almost laughed at his own frustration. Língxi had a way of eating through one's patience with nothing more than plain reasoning.
"Ah, fuc—"
He cut himself off too late. Língxi's head snapped toward him, sharp as steel.
Kage Ou froze. He knew that look. Língxi's grace was untouchable, and foul words were filth in his ears.
He fumbled a smile. "I meant—ah, freaking. Not that other word."
But the warmth was gone. Língxi's eyes darkened, a frost settling over him. A heartbeat ago, they had been laughing like boys; now, Dao Jiǎng stood before him, cold, merciless, silence pressing heavier than thunder.
Kage Ou's throat tightened. His gaze dropped—and stilled.
The sword was already half-drawn.
The sheath whispered as steel slid free, a gleam of silver light cutting across his throat. The blade was not raised, yet its promise was clear: Watch your tongue... or I will watch it for you.
Kage Ou's breath faltered. His chest constricted as if bound. He stood stiff, prey beneath the eyes of a predator.
Panic prickled his skin—but beneath it, something else burned: the strange intimacy of standing so close, of feeling power pressed against him in silence.
His eyes darted toward the door, the window. If anyone saw him pinned by his best friend's blade, his reputation would be torn apart as easily as his throat.
He should have remembered. Língxi's moods turned like the wind—soft one moment, sharp as ice the next. He despised vulgarity, detested ugliness in speech. Kage Ou knew it better than anyone. And yet, he had let comfort loosen his tongue.
Why do he always ruin it? The thought hammered bitterly. A moment ago, warmth had filled the room—laughter in sleeves, tenderness flickering in their eyes. And now, everything was gone, devoured by the gleam of steel.
"That... doesn't look good, even for demonic cultivators," Kage Ou muttered at last, his voice cold but thin, like armor already cracking.
Inside, his pride lay in tatters, his chest knotted with regret.
Moments ago, everything had been warm.
Now all that remained was the razor's edge between them.