Reborn as a succubus - Chapter 49

“Asa, Asa…”

The sweeter the dream, the emptier the waking.

Xi Che slowly awoke from his dream. When he opened his eyes, he heard the wild thunderstorm raging outside. Torrential rain poured down as though it bore a grudge spanning lifetimes, hammering furiously against the world. He stared blankly at the pitch-black curtain of rain, the warmth and sweetness of his dream draining away, leaving only cold emptiness behind.

That feeling was impossible to put into words.

Someone opened the door with a faint sound. Startled like a frightened bird, he instinctively jumped out of bed, bolted toward the balcony, and locked the door behind him. He didn’t even look to see who it was—his mind was still reeling from the cruel contrast between dream and reality, his most fragile, hidden self suddenly laid bare. He couldn’t control his expression, couldn’t deal with anyone—he just wanted to hide.

But what he didn’t know was that this sharp ache—the clash between bliss and despair—wasn’t his alone to bear.

Chu Yan had woken before him, withdrawing from the dream world crafted by the Dream Stone. He’d thought using it would let him glimpse Xi Che’s heart, but instead, it left him in even greater pain. He held the still-sleeping man tightly in his arms, but the embrace felt more and more unreal.

Chu Yan had never known such hollow loss. It was torment—helpless and raw.

He could hardly control himself. Without realizing it, he was clutching Xi Che like some shameless scoundrel, whispering his name again and again, pressing desperate kisses along his shoulder and cheek—like a man trying to sip poison just to recall the sweetness of a vanished dream.

But it was all futile.

A low rumble of thunder outside jolted him awake. Flustered, Chu Yan scrambled off the bed and fled the room.

He stood in the hallway, breathing hard, struggling to steady himself. He wasn’t sure if this crushing emotion was a side effect of using the Dream Stone, but it had stripped him of every ounce of composure.

When he finally calmed down and returned to the room, Xi Che had just woken—and at the sight of him, immediately sprang from bed and ran to the balcony.

Chu Yan knew why he ran. So he didn’t ask. He simply stood in the shadows outside the glass door, waiting quietly.

The rain grew heavier, the sound of it mingling with something like muffled sobs. Then, as if something inside him broke, Xi Che suddenly let out a hoarse cry and began to sob uncontrollably.

Chu Yan froze, his hand instinctively gripping the door handle—but he didn’t open it. He could have broken the lock with a flick of magic, yet he couldn’t bring himself to intrude. He couldn’t pretend nothing had happened and offer hollow comfort.

For the first time, he regretted using the Dream Stone. Even if it had won him Asa’s trust in the dream, waking up only left them both with unbearable emptiness.

Especially for Asa—who hadn’t known any of it was false—the shock must be far worse.

Chu Yan finally understood: what he wanted wasn’t fleeting desire. He wanted something real—Asa’s genuine trust, his open heart.

So the two of them remained separated by that single door—as if it divided not just space, but two entire worlds.

Perhaps because his remorse was sincere, the storm outside slowly began to quiet. The thunder faded, the rain softened.

After venting his grief, Xi Che slumped down on the floor, exhausted. He hadn’t expected to cry so hard—but thinking about it, he had every reason to. Too many wrongs, too much restraint, too many contradictions between the warmth of dreams and the cruelty of waking. He had to cry, or he’d collapse.

When everything finally calmed, he composed himself, opened the balcony door, and stepped back inside. There stood Chu Qi, arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall. Half his face was still hidden in shadow—and from that angle, he looked eerily like the person in Xi Che’s heart.

Xi Che frowned instinctively, but before he could speak, Chu Qi said first:
“I came to say goodbye.”

Xi Che blinked. “Oh?”

He caught a faint trace of surprise in his own tone and quickly corrected himself:
“Going home? Well, that makes sense. You’ve been away a while—your family must be worried.”

“No. I’m going back to the Academy.”

Xi Che frowned again. Back to the same place? That was… too much of a coincidence. He remembered clearly that when Meng Xinghe had called him aside for a private talk, Chu Qi had been stopped outside—so how could he have overheard? Unless… he could read minds.

But no—such a thing shouldn’t exist. Even he didn’t know how to do that.

Xi Che fell silent, unsure what to say. After a long pause, he finally asked,
“When are you leaving?”

“No hesitation—“Right now,” Chu Yan said.

That answer hit Xi Che like a punch to the chest. Right now? When they saw each other again at the Academy, would Chu Qi think he was the one following him around? That would be ridiculous—he’d go from being chased to being the chaser.

For a fleeting moment, Xi Che had the urge to tell him his own destination, just to explain. He didn’t even know why—perhaps just human pride. Even if you dislike someone, when they stop paying attention to you, some stubborn part of you still wants to prove you weren’t the one who cared more.

But in the end, he held back. He’d wanted to cut ties anyway; no point stirring up needless complications out of vanity.

Before leaving, Chu Qi left behind a large sum of money—an act that completely undermined the proud dignity he’d shown earlier.

But Xi Che no longer had the energy to care. From Meng Xinghe, he had learned an important fact: Rong Jiudao and Xiaoyao Mountain were in communication. Combined with what he’d found in Rong Shi’s place—the Great Decree patterns and the altar from his previous life—Xi Che began to see a connection.

Xiaoyao Mountain, where his body was sealed; the formations; Rong Jiudao; the incubus; and even the Gou Tu clan—they were all intertwined somehow.

He didn’t need to uncover every detail. He already had a simpler, more brutal solution: find Jin Hunwu(slaying horse knife).

His three divine talismans—each powerful alone, unstoppable when united—were connected. Even someone as strong as Chu Qi couldn’t take a step inside the Great Decree and Candle Abyss formation. Not because his magic was weak—but because the array was that absolute.

Yet among the three relics, only Jin Hunwu, his life-bound weapon, held true dominion. If he could find it—just throw the blade into the formation—it would shatter the core instantly.

But before he died in his past life, he had thrown it away, fearing it would be misused by evil hands.

It wasn’t really his fault. Jin Hunwu was no mere weapon—it had its own will. Even sealed, it could wander off to wherever it pleased. When Asa was alive, it behaved; after Asa’s death, it became a masterless spirit blade, free to roam.

All Asa could do was seal its power, not its freedom.

Thinking of this, Xi Che sighed. Why was his weapon so disobedient? Even if he found it, he’d have no idea how to undo his own seal. Unless he could become Asa again.

…But that was impossible.

Still, if he could retrieve his original body, trapped within the formation, it might help somehow.

Xi Che’s head throbbed. It was a vicious cycle—he needed the blade to free his body, but needed his body to use the blade.
“Great,” he muttered. “The classic chicken-and-egg problem.”

The white tiger’s voice stirred in his mind, sounding annoyingly amused.
“Thanks, I figured that out already,” Xi Che snapped. “Why don’t you go back to pretending you’re dead?”

The tiger didn’t answer, but its smug silence said it all: I’d rather watch you and that damn bird keep playing your tragic love drama.

No matter the outcome, Xi Che knew he had to return to the Divine Academy. Perhaps Rong Jiudao would be the thread that could untangle this entire mess.

He’d just need a convincing story for the teachers and for Yuan Ting—especially since the world still believed he’d been chosen as a divine candidate at the Selection Ceremony. Whatever excuse he came up with, it wouldn’t be easy to sustain that lie.

“I’ll just have to hurry,” he murmured, looking down at his palm. “At this rate, I doubt this body will last another six months.”

It probably had to do with that talisman the old ghost from the Gou Tu clan had placed on him—on top of his lingering cold poison, it was worsening fast.

But after meeting that man’s so-called “grandson,” Xi Che had completely given up on the idea of trading Meng Xinghe for a cure. That old man was deranged, and so was the boy. He doubted they were even really related. If he went back, he’d probably waste time—or worse.

Let the old freak wait, he thought coldly.

The white tiger sounded anxious.
“You’re not worried about dying?”

“I stopped caring about this life long ago,” Xi Che replied flatly. “Cold poison, cursed talisman—this body’s ruined anyway. I just hope the heavens give me a little more time, long enough to finish what I have to do. Then I’ll do whatever I please with what’s left of me.”

And when it was all done—if fate allowed him to see Chu Yan again—
that would be grace enough from the heavens.