Reborn as a succubus - Chapter 53

Chu Yan looked at Xi Che.
Suddenly, he reached out to brush aside the damp hair clinging to Xi Che’s ear, leaning in closer at the same time. But Xi Che instinctively tilted his head away—a reflex he couldn’t control. Although he quickly forced himself to calm down, Chu Yan still caught the flicker of resistance in his eyes.

He didn’t say anything, only smiled at him. The smile wasn’t just a curve of the lips—it came from deep within his eyes, real and warm. Under that gaze, Xi Che slowly began to feel awkward.

“I do want it,” Chu Yan said softly, “but you won’t give it. This pointless kind of testing—it just makes you seem… cute.”

He withdrew his hand. His eyes and expression were clear and unclouded, showing not even the slightest trace of desire or ulterior motive.

Xi Che should have been furious—angry enough to snap back—but that would only put him at a disadvantage. In the end, he could only sigh and ask helplessly,

“Since you already know I won’t give you what you want, why do you keep helping me? Why keep following me around?”

Chu Yan countered calmly,

“Then why can’t you just accept my kindness openly?”

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch,” Xi Che replied. “And no such thing as a debt owed for nothing. I can’t give you what you want, so I’d rather stop taking your help.”

Under normal circumstances, it wasn’t in Chu Yan’s nature to say flattering things to please anyone—but after a long silence, even he didn’t expect himself to speak again.

“Then just take it as me being meddlesome,” he said quietly. “There are people in this world who can’t help but step in when they see injustice. You risked your life for a stranger who died unjustly—why can’t I do the same? I just want to help. Is that not allowed?”

“So you’re saying you’re the chivalrous and warmhearted type? I must have misjudged you then,” Xi Che said dryly.

“Do I not look like it?”

He said it completely straight-faced—which, of course, made him look even less like it. In fact, calling him cold and unyielding would be much more fitting. But since the man had already spoken so sincerely, and Xi Che had rejected him more than enough times, he didn’t want to waste more time arguing over something so pointless.

He gave in.

“Fine. As long as you don’t get in my way.”

Chu Yan knew that, for Xi Che, this was equivalent to tacit approval—and he finally breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“When have I ever gotten in your way?”

Even so, once you know someone harbors feelings for you, it’s hard not to instinctively avoid their gaze—whether or not you return those feelings. So every time Chu Yan looked at him like that, Xi Che would quickly avert his eyes.

“It’s late,” Xi Che murmured, letting out a soft sigh. “Get some sleep.”

Chu Yan nodded. He thought that at least tonight, they could pass the night in peace.

Of course, Xi Che could only stay calm for a few days. He didn’t rush out again that very night, but that didn’t mean he stayed idle. He spent his days out of the inn, moving from place to place, trying to gather news about Rong Jiudao. Chu Yan had wanted to stay close to him at all times, but Xi Che insisted that would only slow him down, and pressed him to go out and help investigate.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to help me? Then stop tailing me—you’re only holding me back.”

Xi Che looked him squarely in the eye, his tone sharp and decisive.

“If you keep following me like this, we part ways here.”

Chu Yan had known him long enough to understand exactly what kind of state he was in. Ever since Yuan Ting’s death, he had been consumed by rage and grief. Normally, Chu Yan could endure his barbed words, but at a time like this, pushing him any further might really turn him against him.

So he agreed. He only hoped to uncover the truth quickly and ease Xi Che’s pain—then, whether Xi Che liked it or not, he would take him back to the Imperial Palace in Yujing and never let him wander again.

But things didn’t go as smoothly as he had imagined. During their search, another shocking event occurred—Zhan Yujin was found dead.

That news was like the final spark igniting Xi Che’s fury. His hatred toward Rong Jiudao reached its peak.
He had already won the political game—so why? Why did he have to exterminate everyone who opposed him?

One early morning, Chu Yan was jolted awake by commotion outside on the street. As a god, he technically didn’t need sleep—but after spending so long among mortals, he had picked up the habit. Jolted fully awake, he sat up sharply as the noise grew louder and clearer. He finally caught what people were shouting: “Prime Minister Rong is dead!”

Chu Yan sat bolt upright. His first thought was that Asa—Xi Che—might have been involved.

He threw on his clothes and rushed out of his room. As expected, when he looked at Xi Che’s bed, it was empty.
At that instant, he was almost certain—this chaos outside had to be Asa’s doing.

He ran outside at once. He wasn’t afraid of trouble—but he was afraid Asa might get into danger, especially in that fragile succubus body.

Yet what he saw next completely shocked him.
The moment he pulled open the inn door, he nearly collided with Xi Che, who was standing right there. Dressed all in black, he was shrouded in cold night air—clearly, he’d been outside for quite a while.

Chu Yan froze, then quickly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them. Xi Che was startled for a moment but didn’t resist, following him in silently.

“The uproar outside—did it have anything to do with you?”

Chu Yan asked bluntly. Xi Che didn’t bother hiding it.

“Yes. I killed Rong Jiudao.”

“…”

Since learning of Zhan Yujin’s death, Xi Che hadn’t had a single good night’s sleep. In truth, he hadn’t slept at all.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Yuan Ting’s dying face. He didn’t even know how Zhan Yujin had died—never saw him one last time—so he blamed that death on Rong Jiudao too.

He knew their deaths were the result of political strife, but the anger boiling in his chest refused to settle.
Before Yuan Ting died, he had mentioned that Rong Jiudao had a mysterious companion—and the thought tormented Xi Che endlessly. Yet after all his searching, he found almost nothing. No one seemed to know of this “mysterious person.” Even Rong Shi had vanished from the Academy of the God of Light.

So instead of wasting more time chasing shadows, he decided to go straight to Rong Jiudao himself.

Xi Che admitted he was impulsive. If he hadn’t been, none of this would’ve happened—but he had no intention of changing. At least, not now.
For a fleeting moment, he asked himself: Could I just stop thinking, stop caring about consequences? If, for this one second, I want to avenge him—can I simply do it?

That night, armed with a sharp dagger, he climbed out the inn’s window and slipped into the darkness toward Rong Jiudao’s mansion. He had already scouted its location—but seeing it with his own eyes still made him scoff.

The mansion was built atop a sheer cliff, like something carved by a knife from the mountainside.
What kind of person built their home on a precipice like that? The abyss below kept the common people away, isolating Rong Jiudao above them all—a symbol of his cold arrogance.

But what made Xi Che’s blood run colder was what he sensed next.
Around the estate, he could feel faint traces of a formation composed of Da Chi and Zhu You. He couldn’t be mistaken. The array here was weaker, yes, but it was undeniably the same—proving that Rong Jiudao and those two forces were closely connected.

It seemed he truly had come to the right place. Tonight, he would clean up the remnants of his past mistakes—starting with Rong Jiudao.

The formation powered by Da Chi and Zhu You was peculiar: the stronger the intruder, the stronger the array’s resistance.
That meant for someone like Xi Che—currently in an incubus’s weak body—it barely posed a threat.
It could stop an ordinary demon, but not him.

After all, in his past life, he’d been the War God himself—not just powerful in magic but also an expert in physical combat.
Carrying a coil of rope on his back, he climbed the steep cliff with silent precision, like a blade cutting through the night.

When he finally found Rong Jiudao, the man was kneeling before a spirit tablet—his spirit tablet. The memorial plaque of the War God Asas. Even after all this time, people still worshiped him.

Xi Che’s rage burned hotter than ever. He had never wanted to be remembered, and least of all by someone like this. Furious, he moved forward and quickly bound Rong Jiudao.

“Who are you?!”

“A passerby.”

Rong Jiudao stared at him in shock and anger.

“A passerby? What passerby breaks into my home in the middle of the night?”

“A passerby who draws his blade when he sees injustice.”

Xi Che’s face was covered by a cloth. He pressed Yuan Ting’s dagger—the very one Yuan Ting had used to end his own life—against Rong Jiudao’s neck.

“Yuan Ting is dead. Why did you have to kill Zhan Yujin too?”

Rong Jiudao’s eyes widened in horror.

“You’re with the Military Command Party’s remnants?! Impossible—”

Something flickered in his eyes. Then, forcing himself to calm down, he said coldly,

“I didn’t kill Zhan Yujin. He took his own life. Yuan Ting was already gone—why would I bother with a broken man like him?”

Xi Che frowned. He couldn’t tell whether the man was lying—but remembering the devastation on Zhan Yujin’s face, he couldn’t help but hesitate. He could understand dying for one’s confidant—but if it were him, he’d have killed Rong Jiudao first, before taking his own life.

He pressed the dagger harder.

“Then what about your dealings with the Military Command Party?!”

He had asked that because of Rong Jiudao’s earlier reaction—how shocked he’d been when Xi Che mentioned the party’s survivors. His words and tone had carried disbelief, as though it were impossible that anyone from that faction was still alive.

Rong Jiudao’s expression changed. His eyes flicked toward the spirit tablet he’d just been praying to. Xi Che caught the movement, his instincts flaring—he slashed a shallow cut across Rong Jiudao’s chest.

“Trying to play tricks? Speak!”

Blood spilled down his robe, but instead of fear, Rong Jiudao’s eyes turned feral. He glared up at him and spat,

“You’re right—the Military Command Party should have been wiped out! How is there still one left alive?”

The way he said it didn’t sound like he was cursing Xi Che—it sounded like he was speaking to someone else, even blaming them.

Xi Che’s mind raced. Could there be someone else here? Impossible—if there were, they would’ve intervened the moment he attacked.

Still, his words confirmed one thing—the entire Military Command Party had been annihilated. From their mass defection to their sudden collective death, the whole event was deeply suspicious. No way it had been the work of mere demons. Yuan Ting had been right—someone powerful had orchestrated it all.

Xi Che stared coldly at him.

“You truly deserve to die. Yuan Ting died bearing false accusations to protect his men—he’d rather be slandered than flee. And you—you did this?”

Rong Jiudao’s tone was unrepentant.

“If you strike the snake but fail to kill it, it will bite you later. Once you’re caught in a power struggle, you can’t afford mercy! Yuan Ting should blame his own weakness, not me.”

Xi Che didn’t want to waste words.

“Fine. I might spare you—but I promised Yuan Ting I’d avenge him. If there’s someone behind you, I’ll kill them instead. But if you won’t talk, I’ll kill you first and then find them!”

Rong Jiudao suddenly closed his eyes, as if finding courage.

“Then kill me. My god will protect me.”

Xi Che’s fury flared again. He had intended to kill him anyway—but hearing him invoke that name filled him with disgust.

“You mean Asas? Fine then. Since you’re about to die, I’ll tell you the truth—I am Asas! Having a believer like you is my greatest shame!”

White Tiger snorted with laughter in his consciousness.

“Well, that’s what you get for dying in a fit of rage. Otherwise, your name wouldn’t be so infamous today.”

Of course, Rong Jiudao didn’t believe him.

“You? The War God Asas has long perished. How could you be him?”

“I did die,” Xi Che said coldly. “But I was reborn in this body. And what I found upon returning… was this mess.”

The more he spoke, the angrier he became.

“I’m telling you the truth, so give up hoping Asas will avenge you. Now tell me—who’s the one behind you?”

Before Rong Jiudao could answer, Xi Che saw a wisp of black smoke rise from the spirit tablet.

Rong Jiudao shouted,

“Save me!”

Xi Che didn’t know what was happening, but he knew it was bad. Without hesitation, he drove the dagger deep into Rong Jiudao’s chest. He expected an explosion, a surge of energy—something—but nothing happened.

The black smoke burst through the door curtains and fled into the night. It moved too fast for him to give chase.

Xi Che smashed the spirit tablet that Rong Jiudao had been worshipping, and using the man’s blood, scrawled Yuan Ting’s final poem across the wall:

Blades and swords may not gleam bright,
True loyalty scorned by slanderous spite.
Crimson blood returns to dust below,
The moon alone knows pure from blight.

He wanted everyone to know that Yuan Ting’s death had been unjust—and that the fifty thousand soldiers of the Military Command Party had died in vain.

When Chu Yan saw Xi Che return—dressed in black, carrying bloodied weapons, his whole body radiating killing intent—he didn’t press for details. He merely lifted the curtain and glanced outside.

“Go wash up,” he said calmly. “There’s still a bit of time before dawn. Once the sun rises, we leave.”

Xi Che couldn’t help but laugh.

“I just killed someone. My blood’s boiling—I couldn’t sleep if I tried.”

“Sleep anyway,” Chu Yan said, his tone steady. “Because once the investigators arrive, you won’t be able to.”

Xi Che raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He knew Chu Yan was right. They couldn’t stay here any longer.