Chapter 356 A Celestial Beauty?

Chapter 356: Is He a God?

Qiao Fangxu coughed so hard he was nearly killed by his own spit. Lin Nanshu quickly handed him the tea.

Qiao Fangxu took a big gulp and finally managed to catch his breath, his face bright red.

He looked at Lin Nanshu in disbelief, his voice cracking: "Y-you actually like men? Didn't you just say you didn't know Wuliji?"

Realizing what he'd said, his eyes widened even further. "The man you like is someone else?"

Lin Nanshu gave a soft "mm" in acknowledgment, and Qiao Fangxu's curiosity was instantly at its peak.

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper: "Who is it? How haven't I heard a single word about this? Where is he?"

Lin Nanshu lowered his gaze, his long lashes casting a small shadow beneath his eyes.

Qiao Fangxu studied his expression and said in disbelief: "Wait... don't tell me he's not into you?"

Lin Nanshu didn't refute it, thinking that was an accurate enough way to put it.

Qiao Fangxu's voice rose involuntarily: "Does this guy think he's some kind of god? He doesn't like someone like you? Is he blind?"

He slammed the table in frustration. "Who exactly is this person? Maybe I can help you come up with a plan."

Lin Nanshu's hand holding the teacup paused for a moment before he said softly: "It's Muyu."

Qiao Fangxu: "..."

He silently picked up his teacup, drained it in one go, and then said dryly: "It's... Muyu, huh... Well, that's that then..."

Lin Nanshu looked at him, somewhat confused.

Qiao Fangxu rubbed his nose awkwardly: "That guy's a real god. Yeah, no chance."

Lin Nanshu: "..."

"Back when Muyu was at the Hanlin Academy," Qiao Fangxu recalled, "a lot of people had a crush on him."

He lowered his voice: "But that man... hmm... he never seemed interested in that kind of stuff.

He'd go on and on about wanting to marry some sweet, virtuous girl—two kids in three years, ideally boy-girl twins..."

Qiao Fangxu tsked at the thought: "That Muyu guy—there's no way he'd ever be with a dude.

Someone once gave him a folding fan with a love poem written on it, and he fanned himself with it every day and never even noticed.

When the person finally hinted at it directly, he just said, 'Nice handwriting,' and moved on."

Lin Nanshu stared at the tea leaves floating in his cup and couldn't help but smile.

Qiao Fangxu's face suddenly fell mid-sentence.

He remembered that Cheng Ge had probably already met his end, and all his joking around stopped.

Back when he'd fallen in the water and almost drowned, Cheng Ge had jumped in without a second thought to save him. Now, just a few months later, they were separated by life and death.

He took a sip of the now-cold tea, the bitterness spreading from his tongue all the way to his heart.

"Brother Lin," he said, his voice a little hoarse, "how about we... set up a memorial for Muyu sometime? Burn some ghost money for him."

Outside, the noise went on, but the private room was so quiet you could hear the candle flame flicker.

"Muyu loved food more than anything," Qiao Fangxu forced a smile that looked more like crying. "What if he runs out of cash down there and starves..."

Lin Nanshu: "..."

........

Cheng Ge suddenly sneezed hard and rubbed his congested nose, muttering, "Did I catch a cold from rolling around in the grass with Dahuang yesterday?"

He pulled his thin blanket tighter and called out toward the tent opening: "Sister Lvrou, can you make me two bowls of cold-fighting soup?"

Lü Rou, who was sorting herbs, called back in acknowledgment. Cheng Ge curled up on the couch, muttering to himself: "Is someone talking shit about me behind my back?"

"Forget it," he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. "Better to think about how to get Sister Lvrou to go easy on the bitter stuff..."

After Cheng Ge choked down the bowl of medicine so bitter it made him wince, he wandered over to the training grounds.

Just as he came around the tents, he spotted Han Zhen sitting on a stone block, carefully polishing his spear.

Cheng Ge stopped mid-step, then found himself walking over anyway.

Han Zhen looked up, stopped what he was doing, and said with a friendly expression: "Instructor Cheng, feeling better?"

Cheng Ge smiled: "Almost better. I was just heading to the training grounds to check things out."

Han Zhen nodded knowingly: "Instructor Cheng's archery is second to none. Having someone with your skill in the army is a real blessing."

Cheng Ge's eyes crinkled into a smile as he looked at the spear in his hand: "Nice spear you've got there. Mind if I try it out?"

"Good eye," Han Zhen said, a hint of pride in his voice. "The Old Prince Zhenbei gave this to me. It's older than you." He handed the spear over.

Cheng Ge took it, hefted it in his hands, then flicked his wrist.

Gripping the butt of the spear with his right hand and loosely cradling the middle with his left, he gave his wrist a subtle twist—and the iron spear, older than he was, began to tremble like a living thing.

The red tassel at the tip traced arcs of flowing fire through the air, whistling as it cut the wind.

He rose onto the balls of his feet, spun sharply to the right, the spear following his body in a "Blue Dragon Emerges from Water" thrust straight ahead.

Just as the spear tip reached full extension, he twisted his waist, and the shaft coiled back like a snake, turning the thrust into a sweeping strike.

Han Zhen's pupils narrowed slightly. The spearwork looked casual, but the twist of the waist, the drop of the shoulder, the drive of the hips—the power flowed with perfect naturalness.

What was even more impressive was the effortless grace—as if the twenty-some-jin iron spear weighed no more than a willow branch in his hands.

Cheng Ge suddenly did a falcon's somersault, the spear tip touching the ground for leverage as his whole body spun through the air.

The iron spear whirled around him into a gleaming silver wheel, the red tassel splattering like drops of blood.

He landed on one knee, the spear shaft sliding smoothly behind his back in a clean finish.

Without even breathing hard, Cheng Ge tossed the spear back with a reverse flick. The shaft spun through the air and landed perfectly in Han Zhen's hand.

"Instructor Cheng, you must have practiced this spearwork for at least ten years, right?"

Han Zhen rubbed the spot on the shaft where Cheng Ge had held it, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

Cheng Ge shook his head and held up two fingers.

Han Zhen was stunned: "Twenty years?"

He secretly sized up Cheng Ge, thinking to himself that the man looked only eighteen or twenty years old.

Who would've thought he'd trained with the spear for twenty years? Maybe he just had a young face?

Cheng Ge shook his index finger, a mischievous smile curling at the corners of his mouth: "It's two months, taught by Cui Ji."

Han Zhen: "..." This makes me look like I'm just here for show.

He looked down at the spear that had accompanied him for half his life, and suddenly the shaft felt burning hot in his hand.

Two months? Back then, he'd spent half a year just mastering "Azure Dragon Emerges from Water," and even then, Old Prince Zhenbei had praised him for being naturally gifted.

Han Zhen was still reeling from the blow of "two months" when Cheng Ge naturally sat down on the stone stool beside him, picking up a stalk of grass to toy with.

"General Han has followed the Old Prince for many years now, hasn't he?" Cheng Ge asked casually, though his eyes were fixed on every flicker of expression on the other man's face.

"Twenty-three years." Han Zhen stroked the spear shaft, his gaze softening. "If not for the Old Prince pulling me out of that heap of corpses back then..."

Cheng Ge noticed that whenever he spoke of the Old Prince, his fingers gripping the spear would unconsciously trace a certain scratch mark.

"Was Cui Ji a real handful as a kid?" Cheng Ge suddenly changed the subject.

Han Zhen's face immediately lit up with excitement: "Difficult? That's an understatement! At three, he dared to sneak off and ride a warhorse; at five, he was chasing his older brother all over the mountain with a wooden sword smeared with horse dung."

Cheng Ge grinned and pulled out a handful of jerky, handing two pieces to Han Zhen.

Han Zhen took the jerky and munched on it with relish, washing it down with tea.

Cheng Ge looked at his weathered profile, etched with the lines of wind and frost, and said softly, "General Han has served in the military for so many years—the position of Assistant General is still wasting your talent."

"Pah!" Han Zhen waved his hand dismissively. "I know my own measure. Do the job you're given, handle what you're capable of. If you can't fill the shoes, isn't that just like squatting on the toilet without crapping?"

Cheng Ge smiled and was about to respond when he saw a young soldier approaching with a chessboard and pieces.

The ebony board was polished to a warm, gleaming sheen, and Cheng Ge's eyes lit up immediately: "Is General Han going to play chess?"

"That's right, thought I'd pass the time with a couple of games." Han Zhen deftly set up the pieces. "Instructor Cheng interested?"

Cheng Ge nodded eagerly—it had been a long time since he'd played.

For some reason, whenever he brought up chess with Cui Ji, the man suddenly became incredibly busy.

Now, seeing the familiar board, his fingertips were itching to play.