Chapter 13: Sharing A Bed

Chapter 13 Sharing a Bed

The bed was actually quite large, spread with some straw and padded with a blanket. There were also two quilts—after all, it was a "double room," and their status wasn't at the bottom; they could be considered minor leaders, so the treatment was decent enough.

At night, Zhao Changhe still practiced his skills outside in the snow, while Luo Qi crawled into bed first, tucked into the inner spot, wrapped in a quilt, and watched with gleaming eyes as Zhao Changhe squatted in a horse stance and chopped at a wooden stake. The rhythm of the blade striking the wood was quite melodic.

He was so focused he didn't even turn his head.

Luo Qi pouted and suddenly said, "Training at such high intensity, nonstop from morning till night—don't your muscles ache?"

Zhao Changhe didn't look back: "The Blood Fiend Art is kind of interesting; it seems to solve that problem. It really doesn't hurt."

"Doesn't it make you tired, either?"

"Well, it does, and it seems to tire me out even faster. I need to rest from time to time. In essence, it's probably just burning through blood and qi—strong in the moment, but then you crash. I had a fight today too, and I felt it much more clearly than during this kind of practice."

Luo Qi seemed thoughtful: "Demonic arts are indeed strange... You've only been practicing for two days, and you already feel it so distinctly. If it were the Luo family's technique, sensing the qi within a month would count as great talent."

"There must be some trick to it; otherwise, who would bother with a demonic sect?"

"What do you mean 'demonic sect'... Wait, you said you had a fight? With whom?" Luo Qi suddenly snapped to attention, his expression turning serious.

Zhao Changhe finally turned to look at him, saw his expression, and grinned: "Big Brother planning to stand up for me? Ah, I keep forgetting you're actually much stronger than me."

"Of course I'm much stronger than you!"

"So what are you afraid of when sleeping? Think I'm gonna poke your butt? I should be afraid of you."

"You—once you get familiar, you're all nonsense. You weren't like this before..." Luo Qi rubbed his forehead: "I'm asking who you fought, and whether you need help."

"When friends get familiar, what else would they be like? Anyway, I won, no problem."

Luo Qi couldn't be bothered with him anymore, turned to face the wall: "Since you know we're friends, next time something like this happens, call me. If I'm not around, just lie low first; you can get revenge later. You've only been training for two days—don't be too impulsive. That big frame of yours looks tough, but it's not much use."

"Alright, alright." Zhao Changhe was quite pleased; this guy was actually showing some real friendship now. But seeing him eat and then immediately get into bed, Zhao Changhe was a bit puzzled: "Hey, I've never seen you practice. Don't you need to train?"

"I cultivate inner breath; I can do it lying down."

"...That convenient? Why do I see others needing to sit cross-legged, palms to the sky, and all that?"

"That's the Daoist way. There are many schools in the world; some people cultivate while walking or running. Each is different. Cultivating while lying down isn't rare." Luo Qi suddenly smiled: "So, regret not practicing my Luo family's outer sect technique?"

Zhao Changhe's face did turn a bit sour. He looked up and thought for a long moment, then sighed: "No regrets. What I want isn't comfort; it's speed."

"So you train day and night?"

"Yeah..."

"The way of martial arts emphasizes tension and relaxation. Forcing it isn't necessarily good. Take a break." Luo Qi paused, as if realizing that this sentence was no different from inviting him into bed, and added: "When you come up, keep your paws to yourself. Disgusting."

Zhao Changhe said irritably: "You really think I'm gay? Don't I find it disgusting?"

He struck another chop and felt he wasn't tired yet: "You go to sleep first. I'm going to chop a full thousand strokes tonight."

Luo Qi's eyes widened: "Madman."

"Mad?" Zhao Changhe said quietly, "If I'm not mad, how can I hold on to what I don't want to lose?"

Luo Qi's expression grew complicated. He watched Zhao Changhe sweating in the darkness, a hint of inexplicable hatred in his eyes, yet also some hard-to-conceal admiration. Finally, he let out a faint sigh and closed his eyes.

He seemed to be sleeping, but was actually cultivating his inner breath.

The two of them—one inside, one outside; one still, one moving—became a unique sight in the silent snowy night.

After who knows how long, Zhao Changhe had no idea how many strokes he'd chopped. He was finally exhausted, but inwardly satisfied.

He was starting to get the hang of it. He had some control now; his speed was increasing, becoming steadier and more precise. At first, when he struck the wooden stake with force, the marks were all over the place, rarely landing on the same spot. Now the cuts were more and more concentrated, almost forming a single line.

The legendary "like an arm guiding a finger," "where the mind goes, the blade follows"—that could indeed be achieved through long-term practice.

Nothing else, just practice makes perfect—an eternal truth.

"Damn, I'm drenched in sweat. No place to bathe. This sucks." Zhao Changhe wiped his sweat as he returned to the room. He was about to complain when he saw Luo Qi seemed asleep, so he shut his mouth.

He had also been training like crazy to keep warm. In this deep winter, with only thin clothes, if he didn't keep moving, he'd freeze to death. But every time he stopped, the cold wind would hit him, making it even colder.

Zhao Changhe helplessly hung his sweat-soaked shirt to dry, wiped himself dry, and crawled into his own quilt.

Luo Qi shrank back, pressing further inward.

"Not asleep?"

"Your chopping was so noisy, who could sleep?"

Zhao Changhe felt a bit apologetic: "Then I won't practice the blade at night from now on; I'll just train my skills."

"No need." Luo Qi said stiffly: "Since you want to improve your strength quickly, how can you stop for such trivial matters? I don't care anyway. As for what others think, to hell with them."

"If you don't care, then go to sleep. I'm dead tired; I'm going to sleep first."

"..."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Zhao Changhe was truly exhausted and closed his eyes to sleep. With each of them in their own quilt, tucked into their own bedding, they couldn't even touch each other—nothing like the close contact Luo Qi had imagined. The only thing they shared was the stench on their bodies, which made the experience quite unpleasant.

He had no mind to ponder whether the other person was male or female. Right now, his heart was full of worries; who had the mood to think about all that? As he had said, it was best if she wasn't a woman. If she were, it would only add trouble. A man saved a lot of hassle.

With no other thoughts, Zhao Changhe soon fell asleep. On the other side, Luo Qi nervously clutched his quilt, pretending to face the wall, but his eyes were wide open, his whole body tense, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat.

"Would he dare to pull me close? Probably not. He said he wouldn't either, that he finds it disgusting, right?"

"But what if he unconsciously reaches over in his sleep?"

"If he's unconscious, even if he does, he wouldn't know anything, right?"

"And if he wakes up before I do, then he'll know."

Luo Qi's mind was a tangled mess; he was completely sleepless.

Then came thunderous snoring from beside him. Zhao Changhe was soon fast asleep, dead to the world. Luo Qi turned over in exasperation, raised his foot viciously as if to kick him, hesitated for a moment, and finally slowly lowered it.

His eyes glittered as he stared at Zhao Changhe's profile in the darkness. The scar on his cheek was still striking in the night.

To say the scar was ugly would be a lie. It wasn't ugly at all; it gave him a kind of wild, rugged beauty—very masculine.

Because Zhao Changhe was naturally handsome and masculine. A good-looking guy can pull off any look and make it cool; ugly ones shouldn't try.

Zhao Changhe slept perfectly still, not moving an inch. Luo Qi watched for a long time, gradually relaxing. Before he knew it, exhausted beyond measure, he could no longer hold on and drifted off into a dazed sleep.

In his dream, there was someone, gently setting out a meal.

He vaguely heard himself asking, "Mom, why aren't you eating?"

The figure in the dream ruffled her hair: "Mom already ate lunch. I'm not hungry."

The person's face was blurry, a memory from when he was only a few years old, long since forgotten.