Chapter 278 The Twenty-Third Day of Entering a Xuanhuan Novel

Chapter 278: The Twenty-Third Day in a Xuanhuan Novel

Xie Xuandu clearly hadn't expected such an answer.

The smile on his face froze for a barely perceptible moment, a flicker of dazed confusion and sudden realization passing through his eyes.

Not understanding? Yes, he had been chasing after An Yi all along, showing his interest, testing the other's boundaries, yet never truly being honest about himself.

He had only been drawing closer, like a moth yearning for warmth, drawn to the flame, never once thinking that perhaps the flame might also wish to know where the moth came from.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, the smile on Xie Xuandu's face bloomed anew. This time, it held less of his usual flawless perfection and more of a genuine, complex quality, tinged with self-mockery.

He let out a low laugh, the sound somewhat muffled in the clamor of the night market: "I see... that was careless of me."

He stopped in his tracks, standing beneath a slowly rotating lantern painted with landscapes and scenes of birds and flowers.

The dappled, shifting lantern light cast flickering shadows across his face, making him appear even more inscrutable.

He suppressed most of his smile, leaving only a faint curve at the corners of his lips, and gazed straight into An Yi's eyes with a new seriousness.

"If An Yi wishes to understand, then I shall... tell you everything."

His voice slowed, as if narrating a story that had nothing to do with him, yet carrying a pain and grim pleasure akin to ripping open a bloody scar.

"I was an orphan."

He spoke, his tone flat: "As far back as I can remember, I was scrambling for scraps with beggars and fighting stray dogs to stay alive, until a passing cultivator picked me up when I was ten."

When he said the word "cultivator," his tone turned odd, carrying a sinister chill that was at odds with the refined image he presented in the lantern light.

"Unfortunately, the cultivator who picked me up was an evil cultivator."

Xie Xuandu continued, his tone even taking on a faraway, reminiscent quality, but the content was enough to make anyone's blood run cold: "He took in many children, ranging from three or four to their teens, boys and girls alike—none of them survived more than three days."

He paused, as if relishing something: "Either they died from the lethal poisons he was testing out, or they were devoured alive by the venomous insects he raised."

"People died there every single day."

A pronounced curve curled at the corner of Xie Xuandu's lips, and his eyes even gleamed with the delight of recalling something entertaining: "Powerful as he was, he was a fool. He never saw me as a threat. He looked down on me, thinking I was a mere ant he could squash at will, a poison-testing tool... so..."

His voice grew light: "When I was thirteen, I found an opportunity and reduced him to a pool of pus in his own prized poison pond—the one he had poured countless efforts into refining."

His tone was as breezy as if discussing the fine weather, yet the content was enough to make anyone who heard it shudder.

"Later, I memorized those evil arts and escaped, wandering from place to place."

He kept his account brief: "Then, an old Daoist from a secluded temple took a liking to me and brought me back to the mountains to cultivate."

At the mention of the old Daoist, a barely perceptible complex emotion flickered in his eyes, quickly masked by cold scorn: "Master was a good man—so rigidly old-fashioned... it was almost endearing. He taught me Daoist arts, instructed me in etiquette, and tried to lead me toward the so-called 'righteous path,' to wash away the 'sins' that filled me."

He let out a light laugh, with a trace of real regret in it: "But he didn't understand that these bones of mine were already steeped in poison. I could never learn his whole act of mourning for the world's suffering."

"To me, Daoist arts were nothing but another method of slaughter."

"I killed many people!"

The old Daoist eventually died in utter disappointment, and Xie Xuandu left that mountain that had tried to "save" him and went back out into the world.

He wore the neatest Daoist robes, performed the most perfect etiquette, and his speech and bearing were unmatched in grace—yet with a laugh and a smile, he could decide the life and death of countless people. At his core, he was no different from the evil cultivator who had dragged him into hell.

"...So, An Yi." Xie Xuandu finished his tale, a flawless smile once again adorning his face.

He leaned in slightly, closing the distance between them until the tips of their noses were almost touching, close enough to feel each other's warm breath intertwining.

He lowered his voice, laced with allure: "Now, do you finally get me? A madman born in filth, raised in darkness, wearing human skin, already rotting on the inside."

His gaze locked onto An Yi, not letting a single flicker of expression slip by—surprise, disgust, fear, or pity.

He had torn open his most unsightly, most genuine, most bloody side, laying it bare before the one person he alone wished to approach, to possess, the one for whom he had harbored reckless longings.

Do you want to run? Then run.

He said to himself, with a warped sense of anticipation.

He would chase after him, lock An Yi away somewhere only he could see him.

If he was no match for An Yi... dying at An Yi's hands seemed like a pretty good way out as well.

But An Yi's reaction blew past every expectation he had.

An Yi listened quietly to his tale, his face betraying neither shock nor disgust, not even a hint of pity.

He just... frowned a little, then sighed almost inaudibly.

That sigh was very soft, as if it were simply helplessness.

Then, under Xie Xuandu's taut gaze, he said: "I..."

He raised the hand holding the sugar-coated hawthorn skewer and pressed the bright red, sugar-coated berry directly against Xie Xuandu's lips.

Xie Xuandu was utterly frozen.

As his lips touched the cool, brittle, sweet sugar coating, he instinctively opened his mouth and bit into the fruit.

The sweet-and-sour taste spread through his mouth, forming an absurd contrast with the weight pressing on his heart.

He looked dazed, a lost, bewildered blankness in his eyes.

An Yi looked at him like that, his tone carrying a baffled helplessness, even a hint of faint disdain: "That whole 'born in filth, raised in darkness, wearing human skin, rotting inside' spiel..."

He echoed Xie Xuandu's words, shaking his head: "Words like that... I couldn't even say them. It's a bit cringey."

Xie Xuandu, biting the candied hawthorn, was completely lost.

He didn't get it. Not one bit.

Shouldn't An Yi feel annoyance, fear, or at least distance?

Shouldn't someone like him be despised and avoided?

"You..." Xie Xuandu's Adam's apple bobbed as he struggled to swallow the sweet-and-sour taste, his voice somewhat hoarse: "Don't you think... I..."