Reborn as a succubus - Chapter 61

Although the Lords of Jingyu had restored Xi Che’s title of War God so that he would continue serving them, the War God’s Hall had long been abandoned. Rebuilding it would take time. For now, Xi Che had nowhere to go—and he didn’t want to go to Chu Yan’s place either.

He knew Chu Yan had sought him out many times in secret, but each time Xi Che avoided him, claiming to be “busy with official duties.”

He was too embarrassed. All the things that had happened before—whether when he was in Jingyu as an incubus or later in the lower realm—were unbearably awkward.

…

How could he have been the one underneath?!

Ah—no, no! Not because of that! Just… indescribably awkward, all right?

Since returning to Jingyu, Chu Yan hadn’t come to see him again, and Xi Che thought perhaps he felt the same way. After everything that had happened, there was too much to untangle—perhaps it was best not to bring it up at all.

Xi Che felt as if he’d gone back to those days tens of thousands of years ago—patrolling the Heavenly Ladder, wandering Jingyu, having drinks with old friends. A leisurely, quiet existence. But few of those friends remained; most were gone. The only “old acquaintance” left was Zhu Wu—his one remaining enemy. Yet ever since Xi Che’s reinstatement as War God, even Zhu Wu’s attitude had softened.

Once, when Xi Che ran into him, he tried to slip away quietly—but Zhu Wu called out:

“I have something to say.”

Xi Che froze, turned back, and blinked.

“You… talking to me?”

Expressionless, Zhu Wu tilted his chin slightly.

“Naturally. Who else is here?”

Xi Che thought for a moment.

“All right then—my ears are open.”

He expected insults—he was used to those. What more could be said that he hadn’t already heard?

But to his surprise, Zhu Wu said softly:

“I’m sorry. I never truly meant to kill you.”

Xi Che looked at him, confused. Zhu Wu turned his head aside, awkward.

“I know what happened with Tao Hua had nothing to do with you. I was just… consumed by anger. Killing you was only an act of rage. I’ve wanted to apologize, but every time I saw you, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I kept telling myself I wasn’t wrong—I had to tell myself that. Otherwise…”

Otherwise, how could he live with himself—after killing someone who, long ago, had been his dearest friend?

Xi Che had thought he was past caring about anything. But hearing Zhu Wu’s confession made his eyes sting. He closed them tightly, taking a shaky breath. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse:

“Then we’ll call it even. From now on… I don’t want to be enemies with you, law God.”

Zhu Wu didn’t speak. He stepped forward and pulled him into a brief hug.

“I wouldn’t dare be your enemy. Who in Jingyu could beat you now?”

Xi Che punched him twice on the back.

“Shut up! Then… let’s have a drink later.”

Zhu Wu’s voice wavered slightly.

“Of course—as long as you still want to.”

Xi Che was about to reply when Zhu Wu suddenly pushed him aside, eyes shifting past Xi Che’s shoulder. Xi Che turned and saw Chu Yan standing under a tree in the distance, quietly watching them.

Zhu Wu snorted.

“Seems we’ll have to reschedule that drink.”

Xi Che’s embarrassment returned immediately.

Chu Yan waited until Zhu Wu left before approaching.

“I heard your War God Hall isn’t finished yet. Why don’t you come to my Jade Palace for a while?”

Xi Che bit his lip, wanting to refuse.

“I…”

“You can make peace with Zhu Wu, but you’re still avoiding me?”

The hint of hurt in Chu Yan’s tone made Xi Che glance up in surprise, but Chu Yan’s expression was calm as ever. That interruption eased the tension, though, and Xi Che nodded.

“All right.”

The Jade Palace, too, was older and emptier than Xi Che remembered. As he wandered about, running his hands along the worn stone, he found he could hardly recall what it had looked like before. A strange melancholy settled over him.

Lately, a prophecy had been spreading through Jingyu: “No new gods will be born, and the old gods will fall.”
Perhaps… they really were the last gods left.

“Didn’t you say you wanted a drink?” Chu Yan said with a faint smile. “I’ve still got a jar of white pear wine—rare stuff. Let’s have a cup together.”

Xi Che hesitated, then nodded.

“Fine.”

When he said fine, it was with the air of a man walking to his execution. Of course he knew Chu Yan hadn’t invited him merely to drink—he wanted to talk. To finally bring clarity to everything that had gone unsaid between them.

After their first toast, Chu Yan spoke:

“I regret it.”

Xi Che paused with his cup.

“Regret what?”

Chu Yan exhaled softly.

“Drinking from the Heart cleansing Spring.”

Xi Che hadn’t expected him to bring up something so distant. It made him uncomfortable—so much had happened since then, and the petty affection of the past had long been buried beneath the weight of tragedy and loss.

“Your choice wasn’t wrong,” Xi Che said quietly. “A god should be selfless.”

Chu Yan smiled faintly, almost bitterly.

“If I were truly selfless, I wouldn’t have drunk it. I drank that water only to run from my own feelings. I was young then—too blind to see what my heart truly wanted. Asa, did you know? Even after drinking from that spring, if the root of affection remains, the thread of love will still grow again.”

Xi Che had never heard Chu Yan speak so much at once. He stared, stunned. Then Chu Yan reached out and gently took his hand.

“Ying Lei once warned me I’d regret it. I didn’t listen. After I drank it, she told me—she had drunk from that same spring too. Yet the pain remained… and when love blooms again, it hurts a hundred times worse.”

Xi Che tried to pull his hand away, but Chu Yan tightened his grip.

“And I did regret it—regretted it with every breath. Asa, I don’t want to be a god anymore. I want to leave—with you.”

Xi Che’s eyes widened.

“You… I thought you’d never…”

Chu Yan smiled softly.

“I missed my chance once. I won’t make that mistake again. Asa, let’s leave Jingyu. Anywhere will do.”

Xi Che stared at him for a long time, then closed his eyes. He lifted his cup, drained it, and said quietly:

“Fine. Since you’re willing to speak your heart, I’ll answer you. But—I want eight hundred years.”

“Eight hundred?” Chu Yan frowned.

Xi Che stood, lips curved faintly.

“You saw the lower realm yourself, didn’t you, Chu Yan? The world no longer needs gods.”

Chu Yan froze. Xi Che went on:

“The mortal world has its own laws now. There are no more plagues or senseless deaths. Without divine interference, it’s beginning to sustain itself. It still needs time, though… I must remain by the Heavenly Ladder, guarding against demons and monsters until the natural order is complete. The Star Deity told me that Jingyu still holds remnants of divine law—chief among them the Clock of Four Seasons. The stars turn, the seasons change, only because the gods still move that clock by hand. But he predicts that in eight hundred years, the clock will become part of nature’s own rhythm.”

Just like the world Xi Che had come from. This world, too, would one day no longer need gods. Then, with no duty left on his shoulders, he could leave with Chu Yan.

Chu Yan looked at him quietly, sensing more behind his words. Xi Che hesitated, swallowed, then continued softly:

“You have your regrets; I have mine. I regret that I once let personal love make me abandon my duty. I want to make amends. Chu Yan, can you wait for me?”

Chu Yan’s gaze softened; a small smile touched his lips.

“You’re still the Asa I once knew… Fine. I’ll wait—until the world no longer needs us, or until new gods are born.”

Xi Che couldn’t help but smile too, but before he could speak, Chu Yan pulled him into a fierce embrace.

“But now that the heart cleansing Spring is gone,” he murmured, “you can be with me, can’t you?”

“…”

Xi Che stiffened.

“Th-this—”

Chu Yan tilted his chin up gently.

“What’s the matter, War God? Planning to love me and leave me?”

“…Wouldn’t dare.”

Since Xi Che agreed to be with him, he discovered the God of light was not nearly as cold as he appeared. It was as if Chu Yan wanted to make up for the ten thousand years of silence by saying everything at once—whatever came to mind, he said it.

Yet even together, they couldn’t act like ordinary lovers. Neither had yet stepped down from godhood, and divine law forbade them from doing “those sorts of things.” At most, they could share a glance, hold hands—anything more, and lightning would strike them where they stood.

Chu Yan was suffocating from restraint. One day, he thought of a solution.

The Dream Stone.

It began when he casually asked:

“Asa, did you ever have strange dreams while in the mortal realm?”

At the word dream, Xi Che immediately thought of certain inappropriate ones—those steamy, unspeakable dreams he’d had in the demon world. His face turned red in an instant. Of course he couldn’t admit he’d been dreaming that!

So he lied through his teeth:

“Nope. I never dream.”

Chu Yan saw right through him. His heart leapt with secret delight, but his face remained calm. He stared at him for a long time.

“Oh? Then let’s test it.”

Xi Che instinctively took a step back.

“Test what?”

Chu Yan lifted his palm, revealing a glowing Dream Stone.

“Gods don’t dream. But if we enter a dream together, and you remain unharmed—I’ll believe you.”

Xi Che’s mouth twitched.

“What do you mean, unharmed? What are you planning? Chu Yan, I’m warning you—don’t push it—”

Chu Yan said nothing. He simply caught Xi Che by the wrist and pulled him into the bed curtains.

“Relax. I won’t push too far.”

“Hey—!”

They couldn’t do those things in reality—but in a dream? That was another matter entirely.