The Cold War

After this battle, the relationship between the two dropped to the freezing point.

The first change Ye Jiuzhou noticed was that Ye Xuan no longer called him Big Brother.

After coming out of the secret realm that day, Ye Jiuzhou carried the unconscious Ye Xuan and flew for three thousand miles, finding an inn to settle down in a remote small town.

He used the best spirit medicines to reattach Ye Xuan's severed arm, nourished his meridians with his true essence for an entire night, and personally applied medicine and wrapped bandages on every single wound on his body.

The next morning.

Ye Xuan woke up.

The very first moment he opened his eyes, he saw Ye Jiuzhou sitting in a chair by the bed, asleep against the backrest.

Bruises from yesterday's beating still remained on that peerless face, tracing a pale golden line across his cheek.

Ye Xuan looked at him for a long time.

Then, he silently sat up, got dressed, folded the quilt, quietly opened the door, and walked out.

From beginning to end, he did not make a single sound.

Ye Jiuzhou was actually not asleep.

He had been awake from the moment Ye Xuan's breathing pattern changed. The perception of a Void Refinement realm cultivator toward their surroundings was precise to the extreme; not even the sound of a falling leaf touching the ground could escape his divine sense.

He sensed Ye Xuan waking up, sensed his prolonged gaze, sensed every movement of him dressing and folding the quilt, and even sensed the almost imperceptible hesitation when his fingertips brushed against the door latch.

But he did not open his eyes.

Because he did not know what expression to use to face Ye Xuan.

Coldness? That would be too fake.

Gentleness? He didn't know how.

Apology? He couldn't say it.

Thus, he chose the most cowardly method: pretending to sleep.

The grand Ye Jiuzhou, at the peak of the Void Refinement realm, having mastered the Heavenly Phoenix Sword Bone, and destined to suppress an entire era, chose to pretend to sleep in front of an early Nascent Soul realm youth.

Ye Xuan went out and bought two portions of steamed buns and a bowl of porridge.

He placed the buns and porridge on the table, then sat in a corner on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall, and closed his eyes to cultivate.

From start to finish, he did not say a single word.

After Ye Jiuzhou woke up, he saw the buns and porridge on the table.

The buns were the most ordinary white flour buns bought from a mortal street stall, and the porridge was a white rice porridge so thin one could see their reflection in it. Beside them lay a pair of chopsticks and a coarse porcelain bowl.

In the past, Ye Xuan would have run up to him with the bowl, smiling playfully and saying, Big Brother! Get up and eat! I specifically bought two extra buns. A big guy like you needs to eat more!

Then, when Ye Jiuzhou called him vulgar, he would chuckle, break the bun apart, and hand over the softest, whitest half.

But not today.

There was only the food sitting quietly on the table, and a silent figure with closed eyes in the corner.

Ye Jiuzhou picked up a bun.

He took a bite.

It tasted like wax.

In the days that followed, they continued to travel together.

Ye Xuan did not suggest parting ways, and neither did Ye Jiuzhou. They were like two rivers that just happened to flow in the same direction, very close, yet never intersecting.

Ye Xuan no longer spoke.

It wasn't that he didn't speak to anyone. When passing through mortal villages, he would still smile at the old woman selling candied haws, squat by the roadside to tease children chasing butterflies, and casually chat with the inn waiters about whether this year's harvest was good or bad.

He just didn't speak to Ye Jiuzhou.

Not a single word.

They still traveled together.

This point once confused Ye Jiuzhou: Since you hate me, why don't you leave? Why don't you leave without looking back and go live your own life?

But Ye Xuan simply did not leave.

Like a shadow stripped of its soul, he silently followed about thirty feet behind Ye Jiuzhou.

Neither close nor far, neither attached nor detached. Close enough that Ye Jiuzhou could see him just by turning his head, yet far enough that there was always an uncrossable distance between them.

This distance of thirty feet was longer than thirty thousand miles.

Ye Jiuzhou noticed that Ye Xuan no longer roasted chickens for him.

In the past, whenever they arrived at a town, the first thing Ye Xuan would do was buy a chicken. Then he would find an empty spot in the outskirts, wrap it in mud, bury it in the fire, and squat beside it, chattering while it roasted, Big Brother, how long do you think this chicken needs to roast? I think I burned it last time, I'll use less firewood this time.

He would secretly add firewood to the fire while speaking, and in the end, it would still burn.

But now, when they passed through towns, Ye Xuan would just silently walk past the poultry stalls.

His gaze would linger on those plump live chickens for a moment, just a fleeting moment, before he looked away and continued walking expressionlessly.

Ye Jiuzhou noticed this momentary pause.

He also noticed the looking away that followed.

This was even more agonizing than if he hadn't paused at all.

Ye Xuan no longer told him jokes.

Those terrible jokes, so dry they were embarrassing, so lame they made one want to roll their eyes, yet which always managed to make the corners of Ye Jiuzhou's mouth twitch slightly, were gone.

They were replaced by a long, profound silence, like a pool of dead water.

Ye Xuan no longer called him Big Brother.

Ye Jiuzhou used to find the title Big Brother annoying.

He felt that Ye Xuan shouting Big Brother, Big Brother all day long gave him a headache.

He had reprimanded him countless times, Don't call me Big Brother. I have no brotherly relationship with you.

Stop trying to get close. Call me Senior Ye.

Ye Xuan never listened. He kept calling him whatever he wanted, laughing it off to gloss over it.

But now, Ye Xuan truly stopped calling him that.

He didn't just change the title; he didn't call him anything at all.

Ye Xuan became taciturn.

He threw all of his time into cultivation.

His method of cultivation bordered on self-abuse. Every day, he woke up before dawn to practice his sword, practiced until sunset, and then meditated and circulated his energy until late at night, over and over again.

After his Flawless Dao Body awakened in the Fallen Phoenix Secret Realm, his cultivation speed had surged several times over, and the purity of his spiritual power far exceeded that of his peers, but he seemed unsatisfied with this.

He seemed intent on squeezing himself dry, hollowing himself out, filling himself up, and squeezing himself dry again, using this near-obsessive busyness to fill something.

Ye Jiuzhou knew what he was trying to fill.

He was filling the hole that had been gouged out in his heart.

That hole wasn't big.

It was exactly the size of a Soul-Extinguishing Nail.

Ye Jiuzhou found himself tossing and turning on countless late nights.

He lay on the inn's bed, listening to the low humming sound of spiritual power circulating as Ye Xuan meditated in the next room.

This sound was very soft, so soft that mortals absolutely couldn't hear it, but to a cultivator of his level, it was as clear as someone beating a drum right next to his ear.

His divine sense reached out uncontrollably, passing through the thin wall and landing on Ye Xuan.

Ye Xuan sat cross-legged on a futon in front of the window. Moonlight poured in from outside, enveloping his entire figure in a layer of cold silver radiance.

His facial features looked exceptionally quiet in the moonlight, his eyelashes casting two faint shadows on his cheekbones. His breathing was even and drawn out, every inhalation and exhalation causing the surrounding spiritual energy to form a tiny vortex.

He was cultivating earnestly.

But Ye Jiuzhou's divine sense caught a detail: Ye Xuan's right hand rested on his knee, and his index finger was unconsciously, repeatedly, tapping lightly against his kneecap, one tap at a time.

Ye Jiuzhou recognized this little habit.

When Ye Xuan was unhappy, he would act like this.

In the past, whenever he was upset, he would run over and bother Ye Jiuzhou. He would pester him to talk, pester him to drink, and pester him with endless, random nonsense.

After being scolded and kicked by Ye Jiuzhou, he would bounce right back, full of life once more, like a foolish dog that never held a grudge no matter how hard it was kicked.

But now...

He chose to shoulder it all alone.

Ye Jiuzhou abruptly withdrew his divine sense.

He rolled over, faced the wall, and pulled the blanket over his head.

In the darkness, his fingernails dug deeply into his palms.

It hurt.

The pain in his palms and the ache in his heart compounded, like two wounds overlapping in the exact same spot, doubling the agony.

He remembered many things.

He remembered that bowl of black pepper porridge, frozen into icy slush. He remembered those two dough figurines at the market in Muyun Town.

He remembered the palm hovering before Ye Xuan on the snowy plains of the Northern Borders, ablaze with the True Fire of the Phoenix.

He remembered the skewer of candied hawthorns on the Sunset Beach of the Eastern Sea—the one he had taken a bite of, followed by Ye Xuan taking the next bite. He remembered the youth by the edge of the cliff who had said, "I don't want to be left too far behind by you."

Those memories were like tiny knives, slicing back and forth across his heart.

One slice, one throb of pain.

Another slice, another throb of pain.

And yet, in the very moment that youth had placed his life entirely into his hands, he had secretly readied a Soul-Extinguishing Nail.

Countless times, Ye Jiuzhou had wanted to speak.

He wanted to explain. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell Ye Xuan: "I didn't truly want to kill you that day. The Soul-Extinguishing Nail was just... just a subconscious defense, an instinctive reaction carved into my bones over many years. I know you wouldn't harm me. I know. I have always known."

But every time the words reached his lips, his ridiculous, damned pride—a pride that had grown deep into the very marrow of his bones—would lock around his throat like a vice.

He was Ye Jiuzhou.

Possessor of the Heavenly Phoenix Sword Bone.

At the peak of the Void Refinement Realm.

Young Master of the Sword God Palace.

Unparalleled in this world.

How could someone like him bow his head? How could he admit he was wrong?

How could he humbly say "I'm sorry" to someone countless times weaker than himself?

That was not something Ye Jiuzhou would ever do.

Ye Jiuzhou was never wrong.

But he knew he was wrong.

Every sleepless night spent tossing and turning, every fleeting moment he secretly used his divine sense to check on Ye Xuan, every time he saw Ye Xuan's subtle habit of tapping his index finger against his knee while lost in thought—they all told him, silently, repeatedly, and over and over again:

You were wrong.

You owe him an apology.

You owe him too much.

So much that you could never repay it in this lifetime.