Jealous Zi Yangpei

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Zi Yangpei listened to Qin Kaiyi’s words, each syllable a dagger. If he didn’t like Shen Feixiao, why make a soul contract for his sake? Why plunge into magma willingly, risking life and limb? Why hide his identity from Shen Feixiao?

Tens of thousands of years had taught Zi Yangpei much about love between men. But this—this was different. An uncomfortable ache bloomed in his chest, as if something rightfully his had been snatched away.

“Qin Shi,” he said slowly, the corners of his mouth curving downward, “do you like Shen Feixiao?”

Qin Kaiyi, lost in thoughts of his future in Hua Lian Sect, blinked. “Ah?” he stammered, caught off guard by the sudden question.

In Zi Yangpei’s eyes, Qin Kaiyi’s surprise was a confession. He smiled, but it held no mirth. “You’re impossible,” he murmured. And then, with a swift motion, he pulled Qin Kaiyi into his embrace. His other hand tilted Qin Kaiyi’s chin upward, unyielding. “When you join my sect,” he said, voice low, “forget outsiders. If you so much as breathe in Shen Feixiao’s direction, I’ll—”

Qin Kaiyi stood there, a deer caught in the headlights of Zi Yangpei’s lunacy. What was this man thinking?

And then, like a tempest, Zi Yangpei descended.

His fingers brushed Qin Kaiyi’s lips, leaving a trail of ambiguity. His smile was a weapon, disarming and dangerous.

Qin Kaiyi blinked, his brain rebooting. Was this bastard Zi Yangpei treating him like a girl he could take liberties with? He had no clue about Zi Yangpei’s inner turmoil. All he saw was a man tormented by Shen Feixiao, a man who needed to vent. So, with all the empathy he could muster, Qin Kaiyi offered his sage advice: “Brother Ziyang,” he said, “don’t stifle yourself. Even if we can’t beat Shen Feixiao, we’re still strong and courageous. And if all else fails, we can run.”

Zi Yangpei’s expression shifted from black to white, and then back again. He finally understood the idiom “chicken communicating with ducks.” Qin Shi, Qin Shi, he was a stone that couldn’t be cracked open!

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