Reborn as a succubus - Chapter 26

Zhu Wu’s arrival stirred some unpleasant memories.
Even though much time had passed and Xi Che no longer felt deep sorrow, his mood was still affected, even the joy of reuniting with Chu Yan faded somewhat.

When they returned to the palace, Chu Yan noticed that the table of dishes he had carefully prepared was completely ruined. He frowned at the mess with clear displeasure.

Xi Che laughed lightly. “Good thing I’d already eaten. If I’d had one more bite, I wouldn’t have been able to drink a single cup.”

He didn’t want Chu Yan to argue further with Zhu Wu, especially not over something so small.

“Go bring the cups. I’ve long missed the taste of Dragon-Slaying elixir. Just hearing the name makes my mouth water.”

This wine, “Dragon-Slaying elixir,” was brewed by the fairy Ning Lu. She was confident that her wine was as rich and sweet as the mythical dragon’s essence, and named it accordingly. It truly lived up to its name — mellow, fragrant, and unforgettable. But the aftereffect was strong; even gods who drank too much could get drunk.
Most deities avoided it for fear of losing composure or dignity.

Xi Che was the exception — he never cared about appearances. When drunk, he simply found a place to sleep, unconcerned who might see him.

Chu Yan remembered that clearly.

This time, however, when he had gone to seek the wine, Ning Lu told him she hadn’t brewed any in ages. She vaguely remembered burying a jar somewhere under a pear tree in her orchard — but couldn’t recall which one.

“You can look for it yourself,” she told him, “but don’t ruin my garden.”

So Chu Yan had dug under every tree until he finally found the jar near the northwest wall and then filled in every hole again. That was why he had been delayed.

When he left, Ning Lu teased him playfully: “For whom does the great god seek wine so earnestly?”

Chu Yan had only smiled faintly and offered no explanation.
Ning Lu, still smiling, said the wine reminded her of someone.

He smiled again, but said nothing more, thanked her, and left.
He didn’t want anyone to know Xi Che existed — the fewer who knew, the fewer troubles would follow.

They decided to drink by the pool of clear waves, a place of beauty, perfect for wine and quiet talk.
The main purpose, of course, was the talk.
Both had much to say, yet when they finally sat together, silence filled the air; neither knew where to begin.

After a long while, Xi Che raised his cup first, clinked it gently with Chu Yan’s, and drank it all in one go.
“Thank you for saving me back there.”

He had heard every word Chu Yan said — and truthfully, he was deeply moved.
But he dared not overthink it. He knew his own interpretation was likely far from Chu Yan’s intent.

Chu Yan was simply… kind.
There was no special affection involved — surely not.

Chu Yan’s gaze lingered on him, almost fixed on his face. Xi Che didn’t notice. He didn’t dare meet his eyes; he feared his own gaze would reveal too much.

He poured another cup and drank again.

He needed the courage.
After a few more cups, maybe he’d be brave enough to say what he truly wanted. Chu Yan was always so quiet, if he didn’t start, they might spend the whole night without exchanging a single real word.

No, one more cup.

Xi Che reached for the jar, but Chu Yan took it away.
“Don’t drink so fast,” Chu Yan said quietly.

Xi Che was silent for a moment, then sighed.
“I know you still blame me.”

Chu Yan frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“Fill my cup,” Xi Che said simply.

Chu Yan sighed helplessly, then poured the wine. Xi Che lifted it, savoring this time rather than gulping. His eyes grew hazy.
“For what I did… who wouldn’t blame me? It’s only natural if you do. But you still saved me today, Chu Yan. You really are a good person. Out of divine duty, maybe… or nostalgia for our time as comrades, you couldn’t bear to watch me die. You’re a good man.”

Chu Yan’s hand tightened around his own cup until it nearly cracked.
Comradeship? A good person?
He would never have intervened for anyone else.
If it had been another in Xi Che’s place, he wouldn’t have lifted a finger.

Xi Che, getting no reply, pouted and swallowed a third cup.

“You make it hard for me, you know,” he murmured softly.

Chu Yan didn’t catch that. “What did you say?” he asked, leaning closer.

Xi Che didn’t answer, just held his hand suddenly, placing his palm softly over Chu Yan’s.
Chu Yan looked at him, puzzled.

Xi Che stared at their joined hands in thought, his fingers brushing Chu Yan’s wrist lightly. “Your wrist… it’s really beautiful.”

“…Xi Che?”

Chu Yan froze. Xi Che’s cheeks were slightly flushed, eyes unfocused. Was he… drunk?
Impossible — only three cups.

They’d both drunk this wine before, often in much larger amounts without issue.
But they forgot — Xi Che was no longer what he once was.
Now, even a single kick from a crane could seriously injure him. How could he still drink like the old days?

The Dragon-Slaying elixir was smooth and deceptively gentle  but powerful. The weaker one’s spiritual strength, the easier it was to get drunk. One cup was enough to fell him.

Xi Che had wanted courage, but found only confusion. His eyes followed Chu Yan’s graceful movements as he poured wine, lingering on his pale wrist, until his thoughts blurred, and he reached out without thinking.

Chu Yan set the jar down, but Xi Che didn’t let go. His thumb brushed slowly over Chu Yan’s skin as he murmured, “Like frost and moonlight, cold and pure…”

Chu Yan stiffened. The words — a romantic verse — struck him oddly.
Did Xi Che once recite such things for the person he loved?
Elegant, poetic, charming. Too charming.

His expression turned cold, but though his hand tensed, he didn’t pull away.
Xi Che leaned his forehead against the table and sighed, still gripping his wrist.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to know,” he mumbled, “but I never knew how to ask.”

“What is it? Just say it.”

Xi Che laughed quietly, embarrassed. “It’s… a bit hard to admit.”

“…”

He suddenly looked up at Chu Yan.
“That day — why didn’t you come? If you had, at least you could’ve seen me one last time.”

The question hit like a blade.
They both knew which day he meant — the day Xi Che died.

Chu Yan reached out and held his hand gently, feeling a stab of pain.
Xi Che didn’t seem to expect an answer. He rested his arm over Chu Yan’s shoulder, leaning close.
“Did you think being seen with me was shameful? That having me as a friend… was something to hide?”

Chu Yan’s breath caught. They were too close — close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“Xi Che, I never—”

“You did!” Xi Che interrupted, pointing at him, voice slurred with emotion.
“Don’t say you couldn’t come! Zhu Wu already told me — but I don’t believe it! You never appeared in the war — you’re powerful, why didn’t you come? Did you think I wasn’t worth saving, God of light?!”

Chu Yan was stunned.
Xi Che slumped, pouring himself another drink. “Before she died, Tao Hua said she was glad she could see me one last time. I understand that now… You all think I’m shameful, right? That’s why you wouldn’t see me…”

Chu Yan’s face darkened. “You’re drunk.”

Xi Che smiled faintly, gulped his drink. “It’s fine. I get it. But you should’ve joined the war earlier… if you’d killed me sooner, more people might’ve lived.”

Chu Yan could only stare, torn between anger and pity.
If Xi Che were sober, he’d never say these things — too proud for that.

Chu Yan pulled him up roughly. “Come with me.”

Xi Che blinked, dazed. “Where are we going…?”

“Even if you won’t remember tomorrow, you’ll know now. Come.”

He dragged Xi Che back to the sleeping chamber and pushed him onto the bed.
Xi Che fell backward, confused. “What— you brought me here to…?” He trailed off, mumbling in a tipsy haze. “Unbelievable… the God of light himself, so impatient…”

Chu Yan froze mid-motion, at a loss for words.

He forced Xi Che to sit upright. “Stay still.”
Turning his back, he quietly removed his robe, revealing a broad expanse of his back.

Xi Che blinked in confusion, then his eyes widened.
“Is that… a burn mark? No — it’s too deep. What happened to you?”

Chu Yan’s back, normally flawless like carved jade, bore a large scar — circular and uneven, as if something had torn through him from within before the wound had healed.

“That’s from the Soul-Hooking Chain,” Chu Yan said calmly.

Xi Che froze. That ancient forbidden weapon was said to rip a god’s soul from their body — destroying or imprisoning it. The punishment was so cruel it had long been abolished.

“How— why would they use that on you? What did you do?”

Chu Yan pulled his robe back on, voice quiet.
“It doesn’t matter. Just know I wasn’t absent from that war because I didn’t want to see you — but because I was too injured to fight.”

Xi Che could hardly believe it. “But… you don’t make mistakes. You can’t make mistakes!”

Chu Yan gave a faint, bitter smile. “Even I can.”

“No! Impossible!”

Xi Che’s voice broke. He grabbed Chu Yan’s robe, staring at the scar. “It was because of me, wasn’t it? You were punished because of me!”

Chu Yan frowned and tried to turn away, but before he could, Xi Che threw his arms around him from behind.
Chu Yan froze as Xi Che buried his face in his back — and then felt the warmth of tears soak through his skin.

“I never wanted to hurt you!” Xi Che’s voice trembled, raw with grief. “You — you’re the only one I didn’t want to hurt!”

Chu Yan’s breath caught, the words cutting through him like lightning. He turned and held him tightly.
“Xi Che…”

The other man collapsed into his arms, still shaking.
Chu Yan held him close — his bare skin against his face, the sound of their breathing mingling.

For a long while, silence. Then Chu Yan slowly exhaled, tightening his hold.
He shifted, pressing Xi Che down gently onto the bed.

“Xi Che,” he murmured — his voice lower, rougher, trembling between restraint and desire.

A soft snore answered him.

“…”

Chu Yan stared down at him in disbelief — and finally sighed, half exasperated, half helpless.
One day, this man was truly going to drive him mad.