'Keeping things within himself would be safer.'
So he lied—with the most perfect smile he could muster. He also needed to find out if this robe had any connection to the clan.
"My previous robe was torn by some sharp edges. I found this to wear." He tilted his head slightly. "Why? Is something wrong with it? May I know?"
He stepped forward just a little.
"Besides, this head is part of my investigation. You need not worry too much."
Chóng Féng said nothing. He only stared.
The crowd watched in confusion and surprise. Chóng Fēi blinked at his father's strange behavior, his stubborn expression cracking just enough to show confusion.
But one silence could not prove who was behind the evil sorcery.
Lìngxiāo knew that too. Still, he would not leave any path unexplored—even the ones that seemed harmless.
Because harm also lives inside harmless things.
Chóng Féng huffed, giving a faint shake of his sleeve. "You dare keep your gaze on me like this? Do I look like someone who would put his own clan in danger with stupid sorcery? Keep your investigation away from me, son."
He turned away. "Do not try to think yourself better than me just because you came back with your cheap life even if late."
Lìngxiāo's smile turned polite again. He bowed—respectfully, but with a very faint hint of mockery.
"Of course not, Xiānsheng. Why would I think that? You called me to fix your city. And I will." He lowered his arms. The blood-red crystals on his white robe caught the light. "All you have to do is trust me."
A single beat of silence.
Then he left without another word—almost in a hurry, as if escaping the weight of the moment. Lìngxiāo did not know for sure. But he believed he could solve any mystery that crossed his path.
His gaze drifted up to the room he had won. Won? Or gotten back? A bit of both.
For now, nothing mattered more than the case in his hands.
"May the Lord of Earth bless you, Lìngxiāo Gōngzǐ!"
"We believe you can save us!"
"We trust you!"
The crowd cheered.
Lìngxiāo looked at them, his golden-brown gaze softening. His chest felt like a dry riverbed finally touched by rain.
"Heh. Look at them," Mò Qīn muttered, trying to analyze the robe Lìngxiāo was wearing. "Cheering now, but they did not hesitate to throw you away years ago."
Lìngxiāo sighed softly. Too calm. Too thoughtful.
"The past is the past. We are not going back there. Let us change what we can—the future."
"This is quite dangerous," Mò Qīn huffed. "You forgave them faster than you forgave me."
Lìngxiāo chuckled faintly, his gaze kind as he bowed and smiled at the crowd. "Who cares? You are still tangled around my neck. Just focus on the task at hand instead of arguing with me."
His eyes drifted to the dried human head before he covered it with his sleeve.
"Fine. As you say, Gōngzǐ." Mò Qīn sighed.
"Maids, arrange his room," Chóng Fēi said, his unkind gaze fixed on Lìngxiāo. He looked like he had never expected to lose the bet.
Lìngxiāo met his eyes. " I believe you did not actually want me dead, Gōngzǐ—you just wished to keep you throne of pride safe."
His words carried logic.
Three hours was a long time—long enough for someone so experienced like him to come back. The time have gone too fast but even if strangly, he was saved after all.
Chóng Fēi blinked. "Shut your mouth. You just managed to come back. My timing had nothing to do with this."
Lìngxiāo nodded lightly. "If you do not mind, I will look around my chamber now. May I?"
Chóng Fēi's gaze lingered a moment longer. Then he turned away with a slight roll of his eyes. "Sure, sure. You won the bet— where you supposed to be dead. It is your room."
**
The room had been cleaned faster than Lìngxiāo expected.
"You may come down for dinner," a maid said politely.
Lìngxiāo nodded. "I will."
He stepped inside.
The room still smelled of years locked away. He touched the old wooden low table—it smelled of rain. The large bed stood empty. The mirror had a thin crack, as if someone had once punched it.
He touched it gently. He could almost hear the glass weeping.
A vision flickered: a woman crying, slamming her fist into the mirror. It shattered. Her hand bled. She pressed her trembling fingers to her pregnant stomach.
His eyes flew open. His pulse pounded in his ears.
"Gōngzǐ?" Mò Qīn called, confused.
"Mn... nothing." Lìngxiāo exhaled.
He set Mò Qīn down on the table beside the head.
"I will take a quick shower. Stay here."
His gaze lingered on the head. A soft flash of lightning reflected off it. Rain had begun to fall. The white curtains fluttered near his face as he stood by the window.
He closed it.
Then he removed the strange white robe, leaving only the inner layer beneath. He draped it over the bed and took his usual robe to change into.
'If this robe came with me on its own... what else came with me? Is it still here?'
The wind whistled through the tiny gaps in the window. The sound was almost human—like someone thrusting helplessly against the glass.
Thrusting helplessly?
He felt his heart jump.
The white robe brushed against his wrist—unprovoked. He turned sharply. Looked at the window. The robe.
Everything was normal.
'I might be seeing things... or someone is showing me intentionally. Either way... I do not fear. As always.'
He walked toward the washroom with his clothes.
Mò Qīn watched him go.
"Gōngzǐ... you are alone in there, right? Then why do I see two?"
Lìngxiāo stopped.
He looked around the dark room. Only the sound of rain and running water.
The air felt wrong.
He did not undress fully that night. He bathed in the silk and one extra layer.
'It might have really started to think... I belong to him.'
The water was warm, but his skin felt cold.
He stood beneath the stream, letting it run over his shoulders, his back, the curve of his neck. The red veil was still in his hair, damp now, clinging to his skin like a second layer of memory.
He closed his eyes.
And felt something shift in the air behind him.
Not a presence. Not quite. More like a weight—a pause in the room's breathing. The steam curled differently around his shoulders. The sound of water seemed to stretch, as if the space itself was leaning closer.
Lìngxiāo did not turn.
He simply smiled, that familiar, gentle curve of his lips, and let the moment settle around him.
"You are not here to hurt me," he murmured, voice low and steady. "You have had many chances. So... what do you want?"
Silence.
Then, the faintest brush against his bare shoulder—like the touch of cold silk, fleeting and shy. Not threatening. Searching.
Lìngxiāo's smile deepened, just a fraction.
"I see."
He raised a hand slowly, deliberately, and pressed his palm flat against the wet tile wall. A gesture of openness. Of invitation.
"You are lonely too."
The air around him seemed to breathe.
Lìngxiāo turned off the water and stood in the sudden quiet, water dripping from his hair, his lashes. The veil clung to his cheek like a whisper.
"I will find out who you are," he said softly, "And why you chose me."
The room gave no answer. But the faint warmth returned—lingering at his back, his neck, his shoulders—like a ghost trying to remember how to hold.
And for the first time in years, Lìngxiāo did not feel alone.