Flowing Jade - Chapter 2

“Don’t be discouraged,” the system consoled me.

I trudged along, kicking pebbles and sighing.

This was the world of a melodramatic xianxia novel.

The protagonist was my senior brother, Ying Fuxue: the archetypal beauty—powerful, tragic, endlessly tormented, and ultimately betrayed by everyone around him.

My master and my senior brother were the story’s two foremost villains.

Though my master, Gu Chengchuan, belonged to the righteous path, he slaughtered innocents and treated everyone under heaven as pieces on a board in his quest for immortality.

My senior brother, Rong Heng, was no better.

As for me, I was Background Character Number Who-Knew-What, rarely seen in the original story but destined for a gruesome end.

Early on, I helped drive the protagonist down the path of corruption. Later, I discovered that the sect’s affection for me had been nothing more than a beautiful illusion.

They had treated Liu Yu well only because they were raising him to be a human cauldron.

He was eventually imprisoned in a dark chamber, subjected day and night to unbearable agony, stripped of all dignity and treated like an object.

“You need to change your fate in the original story,” the system told me.

“I think clinging tightly to the protagonist’s thigh is my best option.” Inspiration struck me.

“That could work. But why did you choose him?”

Half sincere and half feigning, I replied, “Because Senior Brother felt like an old friend the moment I saw him.”

Still mulling over my mission, I returned to my quarters.

The system had told me only the parts of the plot involving Liu Yu. Ask it about anything else, and it knew nothing.

I knew that Ying Fuxue would defect from the sect in roughly a year.

And on the original host’s eighteenth birthday, he would be imprisoned on Wuwang Mountain.

I drifted off to sleep while turning my plan over in my mind.

In the haze of a dream, something slick and wet crept gradually along my neck.

A faint sting at the wound mingled with a subtle pleasure and climbed through me. I frowned, on the verge of waking.

“Don’t move. Don’t open your eyes,” the system said abruptly.

My thoughts were still foggy, yet the scene in my mind was perfectly clear.

A white-clad figure leaned over me like a ghost. Ink-black hair spilled beside the bed, while moonlight veiled half of Ying Fuxue’s face in gauze.

His eyes were cold stars, his lips touched with crimson. Pale, slender knuckles rested precisely on my wound.

“He looks like a female ghost from a novel,” I whispered to the system.

The system fell silent. “You certainly read widely.”

“Maybe he thinks the cut isn’t deep enough and came to finish the job.” Fear seized me. “Do systems offer their hosts any form of protection?”

“No,” the system said crisply. “Wait for death.”

Terrified, I watched Ying Fuxue feel around my neck as though considering the most efficient way to kill me once and for all.

Only after a long while did he ask, “Why didn’t you tell Senior Sister that I wounded you?”

I thought back. After leaving Ying Fuxue earlier that day, I had indeed run into the fellow disciples who had arrived too late.

Ordinarily, Liu Yu would have complained at once and made sure Ying Fuxue was severely punished.

Liu Yu was an orphan Gu Chengchuan had brought back from the mortal realm during his travels.

With skin like snow, a face like a flower, and a honeyed tongue, Liu Yu soon had everyone in the sect wrapped around his finger.

Everyone except Ying Fuxue. He spent most of his time hunting demons or cultivating. Though they were fellow disciples, the two rarely met, and Ying Fuxue had been exceedingly cold on each occasion.

Liu Yu looked down on Ying Fuxue, believing a filthy half-demon had no right to enter an immortal sect. He was also jealous of Ying Fuxue’s extraordinary talent, since his own aptitude was mediocre.

Naturally, I could not complain about him now. Instead, I claimed I had used too much force while practicing and somehow flung my sword into my own neck.

Senior Sister Yunxiu, who had questioned me, looked astonished. She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and finally offered only a perfunctory warning: “Be more careful next time, Junior Brother.”

I knew the incident had only reinforced everyone’s impression of me as a pretty idiot.

“After everything you did to humiliate me, do you think I should kill you?”

Ying Fuxue seemed to be talking to himself. I, however, was nearly frightened to death.

I dared not wake, for fear he would kill me on the spot, but I was equally afraid I could not keep pretending. Ying Fuxue, after all, could apparently identify the precise frequency of feigned eyelash tremors.

With no other way out, I turned my head, covered my face, and murmured as if in a dream, “When will I ever become as strong as Senior Brother?”

“Your acting is awful,” the system said, adding fuel to the fire.

My heart turned to ash. Was I the most hopeless transmigrator in history?

“He was only frightening you.”

Ying Fuxue withdrew his hand. Then, with a fingertip coated in glossy white ointment, he slowly rubbed circles over the wound.

“Senior Brother is a good man…” I poured out my feelings to the system, my eyes swimming with tears. “He’s only an upright, kindhearted young man who cares for his junior brother. He can correct his mistakes. I’m sure that with unremitting effort, I’ll eventually…”

I stopped.

For some reason, his fingers had settled over my lips. They pressed and rubbed, even hooking lightly against my teeth.

“You’re much more likable when you don’t speak.”

Ying Fuxue’s voice was so soft the night breeze nearly carried it away. Just as I was about to break character, he straightened and vanished in an instant.

Hesitantly, I asked the system, “He knew I was awake, didn’t he?”