Zhou Zishu smiled. “I’m no more than a civilian now, the Valley Master is too polite.” When Wen Kexing had directly named the ‘Three-Autumn Nails of the Seven Acupunctures’ earlier, Zhou Zishu had known that Wen Kexing had already guessed at his own background.

The two of them said nothing else; in that moment, Wen Kexing was no longer the glib-tongued Casanova who had an exclusive taste for men, and Zhou Zishu was no longer the broke, homeless wanderer who sang little tunes off-pitch--the mysterious master of Fengya Mountain and the unpredictable former leader of Tian Chuang faced each other silently in an abandoned house, but it was more like a soundless sizing-up of the other.

The only witness was, unbelievably, sleeping like the dead off to one side.

Zhou Zishu glanced in the direction of Zhang Chengling, and lowered his voice even further. “Isn’t the Ghost Master following this child because you think he knows something? Such as...who the person who broke the rule and left the Valley, and kept hunting him down after is?”

Wen Kexing asked in reply, all smiles, “How do you know that the one I’m following is him?”

Zhou Zishu let loose a laugh. “If you’re not following him, you can’t be following me, can you?”

Yet, Wen Kexing only smiled. His demeanour could have been easily mistaken for one deeply in love as they gazed at their lover, his smile giving Zhou Zishu goosebumps. Half a beat later, Wen Kexing asked, light, “A-Xu, don’t you think we’re becoming a better match for each other?”

Zhou Zishu said resolutely, “Not at all.”

Wen Kexing gazed at him, his expression still one of hair-raising gentleness. They looked at each other for half a beat, before Zhou Zishu suddenly asked, “Are you crazy, or is this an aftereffect of a qi deviation?”

But Wen Kexing caught his fingers lightly and caressed his palm. He lifted it, bent his head to press a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, and asked, “What do you think?”

Goosebumps instantly rose all over on Zhou Zishu’s body. He snatched his hand back. That warm sensation of his lips and that persistent gaze seemed to entangle into something inseparable; Zhou Zishu was starting to find that Wen Kexing was demented, and not lightly so. “Wen-xiong’s appetite is too good.”

Wen Kexing said shamelessly, “Nicely put, except that my appetite is whetted once I lay eyes on you, what do you suggest I do?”