Reborn as a succubus - Chapter 23

Xi Che didn’t fall to the ground someone caught him.
When he looked up and saw the face before him, panic flashed across his expression.

He tried to speak, but only blood spilled from his mouth.

…That wasn’t his intention at all.

The pain was overwhelming, his body refused to lose consciousness, forcing him to stay awake and clearly feel every sharp wave of agony tearing through his chest. And even worse, he had to look at that face so close to his own.

After all these years, Chu Yan hadn’t changed at all.

“Don’t speak,” said the man holding him softly, glancing at the surrounding crowd before bending down and lifting Xi Che fully into his arms. In one smooth motion, he stepped onto the celestial staircase.

The Dream Master, who presided over the ceremony, was utterly stunned.
From the very beginning, he had already thought something was odd — as soon as the ritual began, the God of light had impatiently lowered the heavenly stairs himself. That was far too hasty for a god.

Normally, the ritual was grand and deliberate: the stairs descended slowly, petals were scattered, hymns were sung — all to give the faithful time to build reverence. Only then would the true god appear.

But this time, the god himself had rushed out before the ceremony even began properly.
It was terribly improper!

Yet now, Chu Yan had already gone — and the Dream Master couldn’t exactly drag a god back. So he quickly instructed the worshippers to kneel and bow, hoping they wouldn’t see too clearly what was happening above.

He whispered anxiously through divine communication:

“My Lord, this is… highly irregular. You should have appeared later in the ceremony.”

Chu Yan, as always, said nothing.

The Dream Master sighed inwardly. Even gods can be reckless sometimes.

Still, he thought that was the end of the surprises — until he turned around and saw something even more unbelievable: the God of light had flown straight to a mortal, picked him up, and was now carrying him up the heavenly staircase.

The Dream Master nearly fainted.

Among humans, being personally taken by a god up the celestial stairs was a sacred symbol — it meant that person was being chosen as the god’s successor, the next divine heir.

To do that in front of the entire congregation… there could be no doubt about the meaning.

Had Chu Yan just declared that man his successor?
Why? Who was he?

The Dream Master was at a loss. Still, he couldn’t let the crowd fall into chaos.

He composed himself, thinking: I am the loyal servant of the divine. It’s my duty to protect his image.

Raising his voice, he declared,

“Since the God of light has chosen his successor, all faithful followers may now return.”

The crowd erupted at once:

“What? That’s it?”
“Who even was that person? He was bleeding!”
“Bleeding in front of the god — is that supposed to be impressive now?”
“If bleeding gets attention, I can do that too!”

The Dream Master’s head throbbed. But as a loyal follower, he quickly came up with divine reasoning to cover the god’s impulsive act.

“Silence, all of you! I understand your doubts,” he said, his tone calm but firm.
“But for over a hundred years, this ceremony has never yielded a chosen one. Today, the heavens have finally revealed their will. You should rejoice! The god’s wisdom surpasses our understanding, his choice is divine destiny!”

The man’s white beard fluttered in the wind, his face calm and ethereal. He truly looked like an immortal sage. His words, delivered with such conviction, silenced the crowd. Whether they believed it or not, no one dared argue.

Once everyone had dispersed, the Dream Master wiped the sweat from his brow.
Maybe the god truly did act on divine instinct, he thought to comfort himself.

Meanwhile, Chu Yan, holding the wounded Xi Che, had already flown back to his palace, ignoring the rest of the ceremony entirely.

Once inside, he carefully laid Xi Che on the bed and held his hand, channeling soft healing energy into his body.

Xi Che was barely conscious, but he could sense Chu Yan sitting beside him… holding his hand, watching him with that same unreadable gaze.

It confused him deeply.

He was still wearing the illusion of an incubus’s face — why was Chu Yan looking at him like that?
Could he have recognized him because of his appearance? That couldn’t be… could it?

Then a thought flashed across his mind his first dream with Chu Yan.

He… does have a weakness for beautiful faces.

Xi Che wanted to reject the thought, but the more he tried, the more it annoyed him. His anger surged, his chest tightened — and he coughed up more blood.

“Asa! Are you alright?!” Chu Yan’s voice broke through the haze.

Xi Che froze. What did he just call me?

Chu Yan immediately realized what he’d said but didn’t try to hide it. His face calmed, and he said quietly,

“Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you, after all this time?”

Xi Che was stunned. This wasn’t a dream this was the real Chu Yan. And he had recognized him instantly.

Maybe it was because of the white tiger the spirit companion visible to both of them.

If Chu Yan could see the tiger, he’d know exactly who he was.

Relief and pain tangled in his chest.
He was glad he no longer had to hide, yet the realization reopened every old wound.

“You don’t have to care about me,” he muttered bitterly, trying to pull his hand free. “Why save me now? Wasn’t it your phoenix that attacked me? You recognized me and still used it to strike— what, testing me? And now you come to play savior?”

Chu Yan’s normally expressionless face showed a trace of helplessness.

“Asa…”

“I get it,” Xi Che said, voice rising with anger. “You want to purge evil I’m the demon, right? The one that should’ve been erased ages ago?!”

Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them.

It wasn’t deliberate, this body simply reacted to emotion that way. Usually, he could control it, but not now. Not after all this.

He wasn’t even truly angry at Chu Yan just overwhelmed, exhausted, and hurting.

Deep down, he knew the phoenix had attacked out of instinct.
The four divine beasts had always opposed one another light and dark could never coexist.

The white tiger still carried the trace of his fall from grace, while the phoenix embodied pure light. The moment they met, conflict was inevitable.

Still, Chu Yan could have stopped it.
And he didn’t.

The thought made Xi Che’s heart ache all over again.
He trembled half with anger, half with pain, tears and blood both staining his lips.

Chu Yan’s thoughts were in chaos, like a tangled ball of yarn after a cat’s play. He could tell that Asa (Xi Che) was indeed angry  but beneath that anger, most of it sounded more like frustration mixed with a faint, familiar affection.

Asa had never been good at showing gentleness. In front of others, he was always proud and sharp-edged.
But those who knew him best understood that he had the most awkward personality, the more he cared about someone, the more he tended to lash out at them.

Chu Yan had never pointed this out aloud, but secretly, he called this behavior “pouting.”

Now Asa was scolding him, as if hurt that Chu Yan used to hold back and protect him, but now had struck him instead.

Chu Yan held Asa’s hand tightly. His face remained calm, but inside his heart was a storm — Asa could still act this way toward him, still trust him enough to show this side of himself.
That meant he hadn’t really changed. His attitude toward him was still the same.

Even if Asa liked someone else now, he still saw Chu Yan as someone close — and who could say what the future would bring?

He was so endearing that Chu Yan almost wished he could keep him safely here in the Jade Palace forever.

A clear, crisp sound broke the moment — “ding-ling, ding-ling.”
Asa blinked and looked toward the foot of the bed. Hanging there was a string of golden and jade bells, trembling on their own.

He stared in confusion. “Is that your forbidden bell? Why is it ringing by itself?”

Chu Yan waved his sleeve, and the bed curtain fell, hiding the bells from sight.
“Don’t mind it,” he said flatly.

But Asa couldn’t help his curiosity. Why had it moved on its own? And stranger still — why did this sound seem so familiar, as if he had once heard it in a dream?

He gazed at the bells, lost in thought, and his mind drifted far, far back—to when he and Chu Yan first met.

Back then, all young trainee gods at Fengzao Academy had to take a common course: Ceremonial Etiquette.
That was the first time every student gathered together, filling the Platform with bright robes and chatter.

Among the crowd, Asa noticed someone at once — a young man standing straight as a pine, face calm as carved jade, eyes like a blade of light under his lowered lashes.
Even surrounded by others, he seemed apart from them.

That was the first time Asa saw Chu Yan.

The instructor began class by handing each student a golden-jade bell, called a forbidden step. It had to be tied at the waist. Their task: walk across a row of wooden posts, fetch a bowl of clear water, and return — without spilling a drop or letting the bell ring.

If the bell stayed silent, the trial was complete.

Asa, however, was too busy whispering to other students, asking who that striking classmate was. He soon learned Chu Yan’s name — already famous across the academy for being cold, disciplined, and endlessly praised by teachers.

Still, Asa thought, He doesn’t seem that bad in person.

To demonstrate, the teacher called Chu Yan to go first. With measured grace, Chu Yan crossed the posts as if walking on air, the bells at his waist perfectly still. The jade ornaments rose and fell in rhythm with his robe — elegant and soundless.

Watching him, Asa’s jaw almost dropped.

But then another thought struck him: What if these bells can’t ring at all? Maybe it’s just a trick.

So, impulsive as ever, Asa volunteered to try next.

The moment he stepped on the first post — ring-ring-ring!
His bells jingled wildly. He wobbled, swore under his breath, and struggled to balance. No matter how carefully he moved, the bells refused to stop ringing. Sweat gathered on his brow as his classmates burst into laughter. At last, fed up, he jumped to the final post — only for the bells to snag and send him tumbling into the water below.

A soaked and sputtering Asa sat up, glared at the laughing students, and shouted, “If you’re so great, you try it!”

Everyone laughed harder — except Chu Yan, whose face remained expressionless.
That annoyed Asa even more.

One by one, the others tried, and every single bell rang at least once — everyone except Chu Yan.

Dripping wet, Asa squinted at him. Could he really be human? Maybe he was some magical model created by the teachers as an example?

When class ended, Asa suddenly pointed at Chu Yan’s waist and said, “I don’t believe it. Let’s switch bells!”

Chu Yan frowned, clearly displeased, but Asa was already walking up to him, eyes full of challenge.
“What’s wrong? Afraid to prove it? If you’ve got nothing to hide, let’s trade and try again.”

Chu Yan was calm but proud, still young enough not to back down. He tore the bell from his waist and handed it over. Asa did the same.

They repeated the test.
And again — Asa’s bell rang nonstop, while Chu Yan’s stayed silent.

Asa demanded, “Teacher, why does this happen? Is there some secret trick?”

The teacher stroked his beard and smiled. “The bells reflect the heart. If one’s mind is calm, the bells are silent. But if one’s thoughts are restless, the bells will sing.”

Asa stared at Chu Yan. Chu Yan looked back, eyes cool and quiet, as if to say, How restless is your heart, exactly?

Asa’s face flushed with embarrassment. Anger surged.
He leapt down, stormed up to Chu Yan, pinned him down, and shook his bell furiously.
“So if your heart’s calm, it won’t ring? Let’s see about that!”

The scene turned chaotic. In the end, Asa was punished — forced to wear his own jingling bell for an entire month, sealed by a spell so it couldn’t be removed. Wherever he went, his steps rang loud and clear, earning him the nickname “Copper-Foot Bell.”

He also had to apologize to Chu Yan in person.

Despite all that, the two gradually became friends.

When Asa had been punished to kneel for seven days without food, it was Chu Yan who secretly slipped him a small bundle of sweet pastries scented with osmanthus, murmuring coldly through the door, “You’re too noisy. Eat this and be quiet.”

From then on, Asa stopped believing the teacher’s talk about “a restless heart.” But he never forgot that moment.

Back in the present, Asa came back to himself when he felt a touch at his face — Chu Yan was gently wiping away the tear tracks from his eyes.

“It really wasn’t my order,” Chu Yan said quietly. “The Vermilion Bird acted on its own. It gets overexcited whenever it senses the White Tiger. It hasn’t listened to me for a long time. Today, it rushed out before I could stop it.”

He clasped Asa’s hand again. “Don’t let anger worsen your injuries. Breathe slowly, I’ll steady your energy.”

Chu Yan’s voice was soft, sincere. Asa was still weak, and after so much emotion, he didn’t resist. Warm spiritual energy flowed through him, easing the pain.

The ceiling and curtains blurred in his drowsy vision. Before long, he drifted into sleep.

Chu Yan watched him breathing evenly, then smiled faintly and brushed a light kiss onto his forehead, a gesture of quiet relief.

Then, glancing toward the restless bells at the foot of the bed, he removed them entirely.
They would not be silent tonight.