CHAPTER 7: Lucky Ping Is In Love

When Lui Ming wasn't looking, Ping An gave him a quiet, sideways glance.

The usual cheeky grin faded, just a little. His eyes narrowed as he stared—not at Lui Ming's robes or his face, but at something deeper. Something under the skin, humming faintly, like a flickering lantern behind fogged glass.

He blinked once.

Dao energy? Weak. Wildly unstable. But definitely there.

Ping An tilted his head slightly.

"Like a fragile glass about to break…" he muttered under his breath.

"What?" Lui Ming turned, frowning. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," Ping An said instantly, grin snapping back into place like it had never left. "Just admiring your tragic aura. It suits you. Very poetic."

Lui Ming narrowed his eyes. "You were looking at me weird."

"That's just my face."

"You looked like you were diagnosing me."

"Maybe I was. Maybe I'm a secret doctor."

"You're seriously in need of help."

Ping An gasped. "Older Brother, you wound me."

They turned a corner back into the thinning crowd of the night market, and Ping An was just opening his mouth to suggest putting gold flakes on the next batch of rat powder when—

A sharp voice rang out:

"*Ping An?!*"

Ping An froze like a kicked squirrel.

Lui Ming blinked. "Is that your name?"

"No, it's… someone else's problem," Ping An said quickly.

A burly man with a scar across his jaw rounded the corner, eyes locking on Ping An with the precision of divine punishment.

"You little bastard! You still owe me five silver and my goat!"

Ping An flinched. "Ah. I forgot I passed through this street."

Lui Ming raised a brow. "You have debts in different streets?"

"They're not debts. They're postponed misunderstandings."

"Why did someone lend you a goat?"

"I have a trustworthy face!"

"....You have a problem"

 Ping An hissed. "At this point, you're emotionally invested!"

"I'm being physically dragged. That's different."

And just like that—they were *running* again.

Ping An darted through the alleyways like a rogue weasel, gripping Lui Ming's wrist with the desperate strength of a seasoned fugitive.

The angry creditor roared behind them, his footsteps thundering across cobblestones.

"You still haven't told me where we're headed" Lui Ming called.

"Later! Just run!"

"....you're so composed"

"Nope! I'm emotionally compromised!"

They twisted through alleys, ducked beneath a clothesline, leapt over a sleeping dog. Finally, Ping An jerked Lui Ming down a cramped stone passage and shoved open a splintering wooden gate into a narrow crevice between two buildings.

"Here! In here!"

"ark!," Lui Ming muttered, squeezing into the dark, dusty space.

They both crammed inside. Barely enough room to breathe. Shoulder to shoulder. Knee to thigh. Ping An's head awkwardly angled against Lui Ming's collarbone.

"Don't move," Ping An whispered.

"I'm not moving. You are pressed against my sternum."

"It's a tactical position."

"Your breath is in my neck."

"A tactical breath."

Footsteps passed outside—heavy, stomping, full of goat-related vengeance. Then faded.

Silence.

The only sounds were their breathing and the distant thrum of market chatter.

Ping An exhaled slowly. "That was close."

Lui Ming's voice was flat. "You're a mess."

"I prefer enterprisingly adaptable," Ping An muttered with a grin, shifting slightly—his forehead now bumping lightly against Lui Ming's chin.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

Lui Ming didn't answer. He simply adjusted his position and let his head rest on Ping An's shoulder, his breathing ragged and uneven, warm puffs of air brushing the shell of Ping An's ear.

Ping An froze.

His throat tightened involuntarily. He could feel every exhale—hot, damp, too close—and he suddenly regretted every life decision that had led him to this cramped hiding spot.

Then he noticed it—Lui Ming's ear. Slightly red. Just faintly flushed against the cool tone of his skin.

Ping An stared. His gaze slowly drifted down to the back of Lui Ming's head, then followed the line of his neck to the exposed collarbone just visible through the loose shift of his robes.

His hair, usually pinned with near-obsessive neatness, had come undone from the sprint, soft black strands falling over his shoulders and brushing against Ping An's cheek. His skin—so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light—clung to a light sheen of sweat. His lips, parted slightly as he tried to catch his breath, were a soft dusky red, the lower one fuller and just a little chapped from the night air.

And his eyes—those dark phoenix-shaped eyes—glinted as they opened halfway, unfocused, vulnerable, their long lashes damp from heat and effort.

Ping An's heart stuttered violently in his chest.

He had already seen Lui Ming's face, of course. But never like this. Never so unguarded, so breathlessly human, like a silk painting coming undone at the edges.

"U-um... Older— I mean, Su Feiyu..." Ping An whispered, barely able to find his voice. "Are you... okay?"

Lui Ming lifted his head abruptly, cutting him off. "Is he… gone?" he asked between soft pants, voice husky from exertion.

Ping An swallowed, hard.

His mouth moved, but it took a full two seconds before words came out. "Y-yes… he's gone."

Just as Lui Ming began to shift forward, ready to leave their hiding place, Ping An instinctively reached out and grabbed him by the waist, leaping out first to clear the path.

For the briefest moment, his palm rested on Lui Ming's waist—slender, warm, and far too soft under the layers of silk.

So slim! Is he a girl? Ping An's thoughts raced as his face went an even deeper shade of red.

Once they landed, Lui Ming immediately pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped his face with calm precision. He smoothed his hair back in practiced strokes, re-adjusted his robe, and within seconds had transformed back into the cold, collected young master from before—expression blank, posture straight, not a single strand out of place.

It was like the vision Ping An had just witnessed was a mirage.

A very dangerous one.

Ping An blinked once.

Then twice.

His face was still hot. His heartbeat felt like it had been replaced with a startled squirrel. He wasn't sure what was worse—how his brain had completely short-circuited or the fact that Lui Ming had returned to his composed, unreadable self like nothing had happened.

They began walking again, side by side, but the air between them was undeniably different. Or at least, Ping An was different.

He cleared his throat and tried to hum casually. It came out more like a strangled whimper.

Lui Ming didn't seem to notice. His eyes were on the sky, thoughtful. His gait was steady, quiet. Ping An, by contrast, was so stiff he looked like someone had replaced all his joints with unseasoned bamboo.

The silence stretched.

Then, out of nowhere, Lui Ming asked, "Do you know Mu Lingfeng?"

Ping An nearly tripped over his own feet.

He coughed and blinked at Lui Ming, caught completely off-guard. "Huh? What?"

Lui Ming glanced at him. "Mu Lingfeng. Do you know him?"

Ping An straightened up, scratching the back of his neck. "Y-yeah. I know him. Who doesn't? Famous sword cultivator, extremely punchable face. Why?"

Lui Ming looked ahead again, his voice flat. "He's being banished tomorrow."

Ping An stopped walking.

"…What?"

Lui Ming turned to him, brows lightly furrowed. "What? Why do you look surprised?"

"Because," Ping An said slowly, "he was banished a month ago."

Lui Ming stopped walking too.

He stared at Ping An for a long beat. "What."

"I said, he was already banished. About a month back. Big scene, lots of yelling, a torn flag, and someone threw a chicken."

Lui Ming's jaw tightened slightly. "…That's impossible. I heard from someone that it was happening tomorrow."

Ping An crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Well, Older Brother, some people hear fake news… and some people hear fake and late news."

Lui Ming's expression twitched. "So which one are you giving me now?"

Ping An shrugged with theatrical flair. "Real news. One hundred percent legitimate. I heard it directly from a guy in Mu Lingfeng's sect."

"…What guy?"

"You know, the tall one with the mole and a voice like he's always chewing rice...He's a friend."

Lui Ming stared at him blankly.

"…..."

Ping An said proudly. "I got alot of information sources you know."

Lui Ming closed his eyes slowly, as if trying to absorb the headache now blooming behind them.

He opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again.

Ping An offered a small, sheepish smile. "You okay?"

" nothing " Lui Ming said as he continued to while whispering to himself " just wasted effect "