Chapter 32: The Same Bed

Duan Qingming remained unfazed by the threat. "Brotherly camaraderie, you know. Junior Brother, you're the Sect Master's prized disciple—I trust you won't disappoint his expectations."

"Using Master to pressure me?" Gu Pinglin narrowed his eyes.

"You know what I mean," Duan Qingming said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You don't want to implicate the Spirit Heart Sect, do you? Or would you prefer the Sect Master find out?"

If Yue Songting learned of this, he would undoubtedly worry and intervene on Duan Qingming's behalf. But the Qi Family was no match for the Spirit Heart Sect. As Duan Qingming had implied, resolving this privately was the best course.

Gu Pinglin agreed—but this man was heartless, viewing lives as ants, thriving on chaos. His words were hardly trustworthy, and his true motives were even more dubious.

"Since when are you so considerate?"

"You always doubt me."

Gu Pinglin countered, "If you truly didn't want to burden the Spirit Heart Sect, you should've joined the Dark Abyss Sect."

Duan Qingming "hmmed." "So eager to see me leave?"

His tone was casual, revealing nothing. Yet Gu Pinglin's heart skipped a beat. After a pause, he said, "The Dark Abyss Sect suits you better—" He cut himself off.

Duan Qingming chuckled. "Since you care so much, I'll give you the chance to protect me. Isn't that perfect?"

Suspicion gnawed at Gu Pinglin. He snorted. "What an honor."

They returned to the inn. Gu Pinglin approached the counter, where the innkeeper informed him that Chang Jinxin had reserved two rooms. Just as he was about to respond, two young cultivators entered—Yan Han and Feng Ying, the Frostbloom Twin Swords.

Yan Han was slightly taller, with sharp brows and cold eyes, his thin lips pressed tightly together. A black robe draped over his frame, exuding an icy aura.

Feng Ying, in contrast, had jade-like features and gentle eyes. His snow-mauve robes billowed loosely, his ink-black hair tied back casually.

Yan Han tossed two feather coins onto the counter. "One room."

The innkeeper, familiar with the cultivation world, recognized them instantly. "Apologies, honored guests. We're fully booked. Perhaps another inn—"

Yan Han's expression darkened.

Feng Ying intervened softly, "Never mind. Let's try elsewhere."

His calming presence kept Yan Han from protesting. They turned to leave.

"Wait," Gu Pinglin called.

The pair turned, puzzled.

Gu Pinglin addressed the innkeeper. "One room suffices for us. The other can go to these two fellow cultivators."

The innkeeper hesitated. "But... each room only has one bed..."

"Must you be so rigid?" Duan Qingming rapped the counter, smiling. "My junior brother said one room is enough. These esteemed cultivators won't shortchange you. Just arrange it."

"Of course, of course." The innkeeper forced a smile, his eyes darting between the Twin Swords and Gu Pinglin's pair before ducking his head to scribble in the ledger. Two men sharing a bed wasn't unusual—but with the infamous Frostbloom Twin Swords present, it was hard not to speculate.

Yan Han and Feng Ying exchanged glances. Feng Ying cupped his hands politely. "We've never met. We couldn't possibly impose—"

"All under heaven are friends," Gu Pinglin returned the gesture. "I'm Gu Pinglin of the Spirit Heart Sect. I've long admired your reputations and hold you in high esteem."

Admiration?

The two were taken aback.

Scandalized, expelled from their sect, they were reviled across the cultivation world. Only their formidable strength kept outright mockery at bay.

Yet this young cultivator seemed sincere—no trace of sarcasm in his tone or expression. If anything, he appeared genuinely eager to befriend them.

Yan Han's expression softened slightly. He finally returned Gu Pinglin's salute.

Gu Pinglin didn't elaborate. With a "please," he and Duan Qingming headed upstairs.

The room held a single bed. Outside the window, dusk painted the swaying treetops gold.

Cultivators required little. They eschewed mortal food, sustaining themselves on energy pills. The attendant lit a candle before bowing out.

Duan Qingming surveyed the room before leaning close to Gu Pinglin. "Xiao Jiu."

His breath brushed Gu Pinglin's temple and ear. Under normal circumstances, such proximity wouldn't faze him. But knowing Duan Qingming's mischief, Gu Pinglin sidestepped with practiced subtlety, shooting him a questioning look.

Duan Qingming grinned. "So eager to share my bed?"

Gu Pinglin's face darkened. "Seeking death? I can oblige."

Unfazed, Duan Qingming circled him, sighing after a moment. "That flustered act of yours is quite convincing."

Gu Pinglin remained composed. "Convincing whom?"

"Me," Duan Qingming said. "Sharing a room means I can't hide anything from you. Helping the Twin Swords was just a pretext—you're here to monitor me."

"Protect," Gu Pinglin corrected without blinking. "Master's orders demand diligence."

"If not spying, then why cozy up to the Twin Swords and insist on sharing my bed?" Duan Qingming toyed with Gu Pinglin's high ponytail. "If you were a woman, you might actually intrigue me."

"Duan Qingming." Gu Pinglin's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Ah, genuine anger." Duan Qingming relented. "A Water Cleansing Art, please."

The Water Cleansing Art was a basic purification spell. Most cultivators, having once been mortals, retained habits like bathing and changing clothes for propriety's sake. But Duan Qingming's fastidiousness bordered on pathological. Unwilling to use the inn's water, he opted for the spell—except his injuries prevented him from casting it himself.

"The mighty Duan Liu, begging for help?" Despite his words, Gu Pinglin had no intention of watching him bathe. He flicked a cleansing spell at him.

Robes pristine, Duan Qingming changed into fresh attire anyway.

Gu Pinglin, familiar with his quirks, cleansed himself and swapped his own robes. Turning back, he found Duan Qingming seated at the table, idly admiring Famed Wind, his mood visibly uplifted.

His hair remained loose, save for a white silk ribbon gathering the strands at his temples. The ribbon's ends nestled within his cascading black locks like blossoms upon a dark waterfall.

The simplicity of his attire, paired with that faint smile bathed in candlelight, exuded an air of tranquil elegance.

This was the refined young master the world saw—a facade cloaking icy blood. Nothing truly mattered to him. With a heartless sword intent, he had forged a dazzling sword path.

Watching him cradle Famed Wind, Gu Pinglin's emotions churned. Without the Dark Abyss Sect or the Mending Heaven Art, this version of Duan Qingming seemed almost... tolerable. For a fleeting moment, Gu Pinglin almost believed he'd stayed to shield the Spirit Heart Sect.

The thought vanished as quickly as it came. Gu Pinglin shook his head.

No one understood Duan Qingming's nature better than he did. If even he could be fooled by the act, others stood no chance. His vigilance tonight served two purposes: probing a certain matter and ensuring no mishaps during tomorrow's meeting with Li Moqing.

Remembering the sword in his possession, Gu Pinglin drew Gu Ying—only to freeze.

A sword and its master shared a profound bond. Once Gu Ying acknowledged him, their connection should've been seamless, the blade moving as if an extension of his will.

Yet now, it lay unresponsive in his grasp.

Had it taken offense at his hesitation before the Heavenly Sword? Gu Pinglin quickly deduced the reason, amused despite himself. He gave the scabbard a light tap. He hadn't abandoned it, yet it sulked—such spirited defiance.

The sword gave a grudging pulse in reply.

Gu Pinglin shook his head and sheathed it.

Duan Qingming set Famed Wind aside with a lazy stretch. "Time to rest."

"Agreed." Gu Pinglin rose and settled at the foot of the bed. "You sleep. I'll meditate."

Duan Qingming laughed. "We've shared a bed before. Xiao Jiu, what exactly are you avoiding? Worried something might happen between us?"

Knowing he thrived on provocation, Gu Pinglin ignored him, crossing his legs and closing his eyes.

Silence enveloped the room.

Soon, the mattress dipped as someone lay down.

Meditation thrived in stillness, yet tonight, Gu Pinglin found focus elusive. Restlessness prickled at his senses. After what felt like hours, he opened his eyes—only to find Duan Qingming propped on one elbow, watching him with a smile.