#57: Scales

Shi Luoyi removed her mask to examine it and discovered it was a small peacock design, quite beautiful.

She chuckled inwardly. Did Bian Lingyu see her as a peacock?

She glanced at her long flowing scarf, recalling how she had inherited her father’s aesthetic tastes. Her appearance did bear some resemblance to the spread of a peacock’s tail feathers.

After inspecting it closely, Shi Luoyi found she rather liked the mask and placed it back on her face.

She browsed through the stalls, searching for a mask suitable for Bian Lingyu. However, none seemed to match his ethereal and aloof demeanor. Eventually, she settled on a ferocious green-faced fanged demon mask and handed it to him to wear.

The mask was exceedingly fierce, concealing Bian Lingyu’s handsome features and blending with his grayish-black eyes, making anyone who looked at him instinctively retreat.

Bian Lingyu pressed his lips together, wanting to ask why she had chosen such a demonic mask. But remembering their earlier “cold war” before leaving home, he remained silent, though he couldn’t help but feel a bit disheartened.

Though he didn’t fully understand these customs, he knew that a green-faced fanged mask wasn’t typically a positive symbol.

Shi Luoyi had been waiting for him to ask, knowing that everyone possessed curiosity.

Yet, even after they reached the flower lantern stalls, Bian Lingyu still hadn’t spoken.

A sense of helplessness washed over her, realizing she couldn’t outlast Bian Lingyu in patience. Unable to bear seeing him disappointed, she softly explained, “In our Nanyue Kingdom, the green-faced fanged mask is only worn during rituals to ward off evil and seek good health. Historically, when the Grand Preceptor prayed for the people’s well-being, they would wear a mask similar to yours.”

The implication was to drive away illness and keep malevolent forces at bay.

Though she didn’t explicitly say the latter part, Bian Lingyu understood.

This was the first time Bian Lingyu had received such a gift. Since birth, he had always been the one driving away evil spirits. His powerful bloodline made others rely on him, yet no one ever thought to protect him.

As the sole heir of the divine ruler, everyone believed that even as an infant, if left without food or drink for a hundred years and thrown into a den of demons, he would survive.

They revered his strength and obsessively chased his power. Only Shi Luoyi had ever thought to protect him, believing even gods could be fragile.

Her actions felt so natural that being by her side made him realize he, too, could feel pain. He was just another sentient being under the heavens.

Shi Luoyi walked several steps before noticing Bian Lingyu hadn’t followed. Turning back, she saw him holding the mask, examining it.

She ran to him with a bright smile. “Do you like it?”

They both knew this question wasn’t solely about the mask.

Bian Lingyu remained silent.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back,” Shi Luoyi teased, pretending to reach for it. Instinctively, Bian Lingyu tightened his grip, but then realized she was trying to soften his stance and break the ice between them. Slowly, he loosened his hand.

If he showed any liking for her, she wouldn’t leave under any circumstances.

Shi Luoyi took the mask in her hands, observing Bian Lingyu standing in the light, dressed in his silver-white robes.

He remained silent, unwilling to speak, though Shi Luoyi could tell he truly liked the mask.

Shi Luoyi knew that Bian Lingyu rarely liked anything. Even amidst the dust, he maintained a calm indifference. The only things she had seen him show affection for were the Ruyi lock she had given him and today’s mask.

Suddenly, Shi Luoyi felt a pang of guilt for teasing him and no longer had the heart to force him into revealing the truth. Standing on her tiptoes, she placed the mask back on him. “Alright, I was just teasing. Let me take you to see the river lanterns.”

This time, Bian Lingyu didn’t remove the mask.

The moat shimmered with countless lights from thousands of floating lanterns. Shi Luoyi also purchased two and gestured for Bian Lingyu to join her in releasing them.

Around them, murmurs filled the air as common folk prayed to the gods.

People sought many things—fragmented wishes, hoping the gods would bestow all blessings upon them.

Shi Luoyi had never believed in such things before, always thinking it better to rely on oneself. The gods were far above, surely too preoccupied to notice the wishes of mere mortals.

But today was different. She knew the gods could see.

Shi Luoyi had many wishes she wanted fulfilled—for her father to awaken, for all beings in Buye Mountain to remain safe and healthy, for those she cared about to stay unharmed, and for Bian Lingyu to be free of troubles and worries.

But her god was already burdened with wounds.

So she wrote nothing, asked for nothing, simply watching as the lantern drifted away. Glancing sideways, she noticed Bian Lingyu’s lantern was also blank.

Those around them watched them release empty lanterns, as if regarding two fools.

But Shi Luoyi felt content.

On the opposite shore, shadows waved at her. Shi Luoyi gestured for them to wait.

She had initially planned a performance—pretending to encounter an accident during the Flower Festival, perhaps sustaining some injuries.

She couldn’t believe Bian Lingyu would remain indifferent.

The Tianji Pill would be ready tomorrow, and she feared Bian Lingyu might only have a few days left to live.

But the current atmosphere made her reluctant to ruin it. Thinking of Bian Lingyu, who had never seen a shadow puppet show, and his less-than-kind sister, Bian Qingxuan, Shi Luoyi guessed this might be his first festival in the mortal realm.

If possible, she hoped Bian Lingyu would voluntarily confide in her about what had happened and what she could do to help and save him.

Far away, Shi Luoyi’s “accomplices” crouched for a while, waiting for her signal. But she never called them. They watched helplessly as Shi Luoyi played with her Dao companion, engaging in various activities, finally boarding a painted pleasure boat together.

“…”

Shi Luoyi thought, if all else failed, drinking might work. After all, alcohol often loosened tongues. Cangwu fell for it easily, and Bian Lingyu’s tolerance seemed average.

She recalled seeing him drunk on their wedding night.

Thinking of that scene, she couldn’t help but smile.

Shi Luoyi took out two jugs of Immortal Brew from her storage pouch. It was the strongest liquor for cultivators, said to knock one out for at least three days.

Bian Lingyu wasn’t as easily deceived as Cangwu, so she slowly accompanied him, drinking cautiously to maintain her composure.

But Bian Lingyu merely glanced at the jug and didn’t touch it.

No matter what she said, it was ineffective. As she pondered ways to get him drunk, the pleasure boat beneath them suddenly jolted.

The sudden jolt of the pleasure boat startled both Shi Luoyi and Bian Lingyu. The lanterns swayed, casting flickering shadows across the water as the boat rocked gently back into place.

“What was that?” Shi Luoyi asked, her voice tinged with concern but also curiosity. She leaned over the edge of the boat to peer into the dark waters below, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her sword.

Bian Lingyu’s demeanor remained calm, though his sharp eyes scanned the surroundings carefully. He stepped closer to Shi Luoyi, subtly positioning himself between her and the water. His silence spoke volumes—he was on guard, even if he didn’t show it outwardly.

From beneath the surface of the river, a faint shimmer caught their attention. Something large moved just under the waves, disturbing the reflection of the floating lanterns. Before either of them could react further, the water erupted in a cascade of droplets, revealing a massive scaled creature breaking through the surface.

It wasn’t an ordinary fish or serpent—it was far larger, its glistening scales reflecting the light of the lanterns like shards of broken glass. Its golden eyes locked onto the pair on the boat, and despite its monstrous size, there was an odd sense of intelligence behind its gaze.

Shi Luoyi straightened up immediately, drawing her blade halfway out of its sheath. “What is this thing?” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Bian Lingyu placed a hand lightly on her wrist, stopping her from unsheathing the sword fully. “Wait,” he said softly, his tone unusually firm. While his expression remained hidden behind the fanged mask, his posture suggested caution rather than aggression.

The creature rose higher, its long body coiling slightly as it hovered above the water. It let out a low rumble, almost like a growl but not quite threatening—more akin to a greeting.

Recognition dawned in Shi Luoyi’s eyes. “Is that… one of the beasts you saved?” she whispered, glancing at Bian Lingyu.

He nodded imperceptibly, his grayish-black eyes never leaving the creature. Though he still hadn’t spoken much, the tension in his frame eased ever so slightly. The beast before them wasn’t hostile—it seemed familiar, even protective.

The creature dipped its head toward them, making a soft clicking sound. Then, with surprising gentleness, it nudged the side of the boat, causing it to rock again. This time, however, the motion felt deliberate, almost playful.

Shi Luoyi relaxed her grip on her sword, lowering it completely. “I guess we’re not in danger,” she said, half-jokingly. Turning to Bian Lingyu, she added, “Looks like someone remembers you fondly.”

Bian Lingyu didn’t respond verbally, but his shoulders sagged slightly in relief. He reached out a hand toward the creature, hesitating for a moment before letting it rest against the cool, wet scales. The beast responded by leaning into his touch, its movements slow and deliberate.

Watching the interaction, Shi Luoyi felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest. She had always known Bian Lingyu possessed a unique connection to the creatures he encountered, but seeing it firsthand made her realize just how deeply they trusted him—even now, when he was weakened and burdened by his own struggles.

After a few moments, the creature withdrew, sinking back into the water with barely a ripple. As quickly as it had appeared, it vanished beneath the surface, leaving only the gentle lapping of the waves against the boat.

“Well,” Shi Luoyi said, breaking the silence, “that was unexpected.”

Bian Lingyu finally turned to face her, his masked visage unreadable. Despite the ferocity of the mask, his presence felt softer somehow—as if the encounter had momentarily stripped away some of the walls he’d built around himself.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the festival noise drifting across the water.

Shi Luoyi blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “For what?”

“For bringing me here,” he clarified, gesturing vaguely toward the river and the lingering glow of the lanterns. “And for… understanding.”

She smiled, feeling a rare moment of genuine connection between them. “You don’t need to thank me. Just promise me one thing.”

His brows furrowed slightly behind the mask. “What?”

“That you’ll stop trying to push me away,” she said firmly, her eyes locking onto his. “Whatever’s going on with you, whatever you’re planning—I want to help. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

For a long moment, Bian Lingyu didn’t respond. His gaze wavered, flickering with emotions he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—voice. But eventually, he gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, yet laden with meaning.

They stood together in silence, watching as the last of the lanterns drifted farther downstream. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of flowers and incense from the festival. For the first time in days, the weight pressing down on them seemed a little lighter.

As they returned to shore, Shi Luoyi glanced at Bian Lingyu, who still wore the fanged mask. Despite its intimidating appearance, it somehow suited him—a reminder of the strength and resilience he carried within, even amidst his suffering.

If this was the beginning of breaking through his defenses, then she would take it. After all, gods might be powerful, but even they needed someone to stand beside them—not as worshippers, but as equals.

It was a silvery-white scale, glistening like cold jade even amidst the glow of thousands of lanterns.

The moment Bian Lingyu saw the scale, his face turned deathly pale. “Shi Luoyi, get out of the way!”

Shi Luoyi had indeed heard his warning, but it was already too late. The instant her Divine Fall Sword descended, breaking one of Qian Jingyi’s hand bones, the scale transformed into countless silver threads that wrapped around her.

A sharp pain shot through Shi Luoyi’s dantian as she and Qian Jingyi plunged into the river together.

The singer and the boatman were terrified by the sudden turn of events. They watched helplessly as the formerly aloof and composed young man—now utterly devoid of his usual detached calm—leapt headfirst into the icy river, heading toward the spot where Shi Luoyi had fallen.

After what felt like an eternity, there was finally movement in the water. The youth emerged, holding someone in his arms, and began staggering step by step back to the pleasure boat.

The river was still bitterly cold in early May, yet he seemed completely oblivious. His disheveled clothes clung to him as he laid Shi Luoyi on the shore, only to discover she wasn’t breathing.

For a fleeting moment, Bian Lingyu’s expression became hollow, terrifying the singer and the boatman who looked on.

His hands trembled as he bit into his own wrist. To their horror, they saw the young man lower his head and feed her his blood.

But the maiden didn’t swallow; instead, the crimson liquid trickled down from the corner of her lips. Closing his eyes, Bian Lingyu finally realized his efforts were futile. He pulled the pale-faced girl into his arms, embracing her tightly.

When Shi Luoyi regained consciousness, she felt something wet against her neck.

That scale was indeed formidable. Fortunately, she had come prepared today, hoping to make Bian Lingyu open up to her. She had donned her father’s finest golden-threaded robe and brought along a puppet artifact designed to take injuries on her behalf.

The silvery-white scale exuded an overwhelming aura, cold and piercing, striking terror into those who beheld it. When Shi Luoyi fell into the river, her dantian suffered a severe blow, causing her to lose consciousness almost instantly! At the same time, the puppet artifact activated, sealing off her dantian and transferring the damage to the puppet, which bore the brunt of the injury while leaving Shi Luoyi unable to move or react, reduced to silence like a lifeless marionette.

In the split second she hit the water, Shi Luoyi heard the singer’s scream and knew that Bian Lingyu had jumped in after her.

She retained some awareness as he dragged her back onto the boat.

The youth’s embrace was icy cold, and she could feel his desperate struggle to reach the shore.

But now that he was mortal, his efforts seemed feeble and laughable, making him appear frenzied and pitiful. Bian Lingyu even futilely pressed his hand over her dantian, as if doing so would somehow expel the silvery scale. He trembled uncontrollably, more violently than when he had nearly died on their wedding night.

Not long afterward, she felt something sweet and fragrant being fed into her mouth.

At the time, Shi Luoyi hadn’t realized it was Bian Lingyu’s blood until she heard someone scream.

Through the icy waters, Shi Luoyi sensed the depth of despair and anguish emanating from another person for the first time. The puppet continued to absorb the damage, but despite her attempts to open her eyes, she remained trapped in this state.

Bian Lingyu exhausted all his efforts. It wasn’t until she felt warmth at her neck that Shi Luoyi understood—it was ruined.

Her plan had succeeded in an unexpected manner, yet she never anticipated how much pain Bian Lingyu would endure.

He had even given her his own blood, hoping to bring her back to life.

This was the first time Shi Luoyi directly confronted the depth of Bian Lingyu’s feelings. Understanding and experiencing them firsthand were vastly different—the intensity of these emotions was so overwhelming that she almost shared in his pain.

Something within Shi Luoyi was deeply shaken. Before the puppet could finish transferring all the damage, she forced her eyes open, stammering incoherently: “Bian Lingyu, don’t… I’m fine. I have many protective artifacts… That scale didn’t hurt me much.”

His body stiffened for a long while, and blood continued to flow from his wrist.

Shi Luoyi felt herself being held tightly, the embrace so fierce it caused her pain. Yet, she dared not move an inch as her dantian still throbbed with pain. Slowly extending her arms, she returned the embrace, attempting to comfort him.

Looking at Bian Lingyu—his hair disheveled, his clothes soaked—she tasted the metallic tang of his blood on her lips and hugged him even tighter.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m fine, really. Everything will be alright.”