Chapter 62
Chapter 62: Saying One Thing, Meaning Another
Zhuang Yu Heng’s shout rang through the courtyard like a gong.
Song Wei Chen wanted to evaporate on the spot. Her smile looked worse than crying. “Okay, I didn’t phrase it well, but did you have to yell? You’ll attract thieves.”
“Who are you calling a thief?”
Mo Ting Feng’s voice cut in from behind her—cool and sharp.
Song Wei Chen squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat, then turned with the fastest, sweetest smile she could manage. “Boss, you misheard. No thieves. Brother Yu Heng and I were just joking. Right?”
Zhuang Yu Heng nodded like a man watching a play from the best seat.
Mo Ting Feng’s gaze flicked to him. “Why are you here?”
Zhuang Yu Heng raised a brow. “Kid, what’s with that tone? Did I interrupt something?”
His eyes went from one to the other, delighted. “Did I really interrupt you two sleeping together?”
Song Wei Chen choked on her own saliva and coughed hard, wishing for immediate death. Why had she told him anything? A chaos wraith must have gnawed a hole clean through her brain.
Zhuang Yu Heng sauntered into the pavilion and sat, chin tipped at Mo Ting Feng. “Wei Wei says you’re possessed. Come here and let this Medicine King have a look.”
Song Wei Chen pinched the spot between her upper lip and nose like she was trying to force her soul back into her body.
Mo Ting Feng sat opposite Zhuang Yu Heng, expression flat. “Possessed by what?”
Zhuang Yu Heng stood and circled him once, then—without warning—repeated the three gestures Song Wei Chen had shown him, copying them on Mo Ting Feng exactly.
“She said you’ve been doing this to her,” Zhuang Yu Heng announced, clearly pleased with himself. “And it’s not normal. You’ve probably picked up something unclean.”
Mo Ting Feng’s jaw tightened. Song Wei Chen saw the muscle in his cheek clench, then clench again.
Her knees nearly gave out. “Lord Yu Heng,” she muttered, “do you have a knife?”
“Wei Wei, why do you need a knife?” Zhuang Yu Heng asked, amused.
“Because you should just stab me and put me out of my misery,” Song Wei Chen hissed. “This isn’t you treating him. This is you killing me. I thought you understood how to navigate people. Turns out you’re not people sense—you’re people accident!”
She had called him a lifesaver minutes ago. Now she wanted to swallow those words and choke on them.
Zhuang Yu Heng laughed and patted the stone stool beside him. “Wei Wei, come sit. Can’t you tell I’m treating him? There’s only one cure for this illness—say it aloud, and the poison is gone.”
Song Wei Chen sat stiffly. “What illness is it?”
“Unrequited love.”
Song Wei Chen stared as if she’d been struck by lightning. Unrequited love? This scheming, woman-hating ice block… pining?
What kind of underworld joke was that?
If someone said Gu Cang Yue liked her, she would believe it. She didn’t know when it had begun, but he’d saved her again and again. He’d stormed Dust Warden Office for her, even using the clumsy excuse of imprisoning Ye Wu Jiu just to prove she was safe. He supported her decisions and respected her choices. His affection, whatever its source, was direct and unmistakable.
But Mo Ting Feng?
He had been acting strange, yes. Yet “liking” her? It didn’t feel like that. It felt more like a powerful man handing down scraps to someone weaker—cold charity dressed as care.
In her dream, Mo Ting Feng’s feelings for Sang Pu had been real. That had looked like love.
“You seriously think he’s into me?” Song Wei Chen asked, disbelieving.
Zhuang Yu Heng tossed a glance at Mo Ting Feng. “Are you into him?”
Mo Ting Feng’s eyes narrowed. “What a pointless question.” Then he turned it back. “Why are you here?”
Zhuang Yu Heng clicked his tongue, reached into his robe, and tossed a pill bottle at him. “Did you lose your medicine? Keep it safe this time. And with how deeply ‘possessed’ you are now, you probably can’t stop taking it.”
Song Wei Chen watched, eyes darting. So he really did have an illness. No wonder his emotions had been so volatile.
Mo Ting Feng caught the bottle and tucked it away without a word. He didn’t tell Zhuang Yu Heng that his previous medicine had been left in a cave by the River of Oblivion—and that Ye Wu Jiu had already found it and returned it.
Of course he was taking it. Otherwise, just holding Song Wei Chen for those three shichen would have triggered backlash he couldn’t suppress.
And yet this little liar had the nerve to call his concern “possession” and gossip about it like entertainment.
Bitterness pooled in his chest. Since when had his feelings become something people could trample and mock?
Before he could speak, Zhuang Yu Heng pulled out a small jade vial and handed it to Song Wei Chen. “By my count, the spirit pills you got from Gu Cang Yue should be finished.”
Song Wei Chen accepted it automatically.
“This is a blood-rinse pill,” Zhuang Yu Heng said. “It replenishes qi and blood. I needed merfolk heartblood and sun grass from Yellow Springs, so it took time to prepare. One pill a day. Don’t take extra.”
“That’s why you’re my real brother,” Song Wei Chen said, grinning. “You’re the one who treats me well.”
She uncorked the vial and peeked in. Inside were honeyed pellets the size of barley, sweet-scented enough to make her curious. “What if I take more?”
“In the short term,” Zhuang Yu Heng said, “your stamina and spirit will peak. Your senses will sharpen. But when the effect fades, it accelerates the decline of your organs. So don’t overdose.”
“Got it.” Song Wei Chen pocketed the vial. “I’ll go put it away.”
She turned toward the Sunless Residence.
“Song Wei Chen.”
Mo Ting Feng’s voice stopped her.
She looked back.
His gaze had gone hard. “Listen carefully. Don’t think that because I treated you a little better these past days—and because of Zhuang Yu Heng’s nonsense—you can assume I have feelings for you.”
His tone stayed cold, each word clipped. “In my eyes, you’re still the biggest suspect in the White Robe case. You’re still a liar who doesn’t keep faith. Nothing between us has changed.”
For a moment, Song Wei Chen just stared at him.
Mo Ting Feng felt regret rise—sharp, unwanted—but she let out a long breath and smiled, as if a weight had lifted off her shoulders.
“Good,” she said brightly. “Boss, hearing you say that makes me feel safe. Don’t worry, don’t worry—I know my place!”
She practically skipped away with the vial.
Mo Ting Feng sat back down, left with nothing but a hollow ache and a sudden, vivid desire for wine.
Zhuang Yu Heng rubbed his forehead. “Why do you insist on this? Wouldn’t it be better to tell her the truth?”
He sighed. “If you keep acting like this, Gu Cang Yue will really take her from you.”
Mo Ting Feng’s hand tightened around his cup. He shot Zhuang Yu Heng a glare. “Big mouth. I was fine until you showed up, saying I was moved one second and lovesick the next. You’ve thrown my mind into chaos.”
Zhuang Yu Heng lifted both hands. “Fine, fine. I’m meddling. I’m making things up.”
He turned as if to leave, muttering, “I’m the one who likes Wei Wei and doesn’t dare say it, all right?”
“You like me?”
Song Wei Chen stepped out of the Sunless Residence at exactly the wrong moment, catching the last line like a hook.
Zhuang Yu Heng froze—then, unbelievably, nodded.
“I know Gu Cang Yue likes you,” he said, voice steady, “and you’re dating him. But I can’t stop myself from liking you.”
He was clearly speaking for Mo Ting Feng.
“Zhuang Yu Heng,” Mo Ting Feng snapped, rising in one sharp motion, “don’t go too far.”
Song Wei Chen stepped in front of Zhuang Yu Heng without thinking, body moving on instinct. “Why are you yelling? There’s nothing wrong with liking someone.”
Mo Ting Feng’s eyes went cold. “But liking you is not allowed.”