Back at the palace, Xuan Qi unceremoniously threw Fu Jing onto a luxurious divan in the bedroom. Fu Jing blinked in surprise, pushing himself up on his elbows. “That’s new.”

Xuan Qi stood over him, arms crossed. “It’s best for you to lie down. And since you don’t want to dirty the bed…”

Fu Jing hummed. “How thoughtful.”

Without another word, Xuan Qi produced his dagger and slit his wrist, dark crimson pooling at the wound. As promised, he had a cup ready, tilting his wrist to let the blood flow into it.

Once the cup was filled to the brim, he extended it toward Fu Jing, who only stared at it.

“What, you want to have tea first?” Xuan Qi grumbled.

Fu Jing let out a nervous giggle and received the cup.

As he watched the swirling liquid, its metallic stench assaulting his nose, his mind flashed back to the almost-kiss in the tavern. He licked his lips, then abruptly shoved the cup back into the demon’s hands.

“You do it!”

Xuan Qi cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. He knocked back the blood, letting it pool in his mouth without swallowing. Then, he leaned down and sealed their lips together, pouring the thick liquid into Fu Jing’s mouth.

Somehow, this wasn’t satisfying. Fu Jing didn’t know what he’d expected. This wasn’t a real kiss after all. It wasn’t backed up by passion or affection. It was just a means to an end. And the rusty tang made it all the worse.

Fu Jing grimaced, swallowing reluctantly.

However, thanks to the alcohol coursing through his veins, he barely felt the pain. Drunk, the torment was much easier to endure, becoming nothing more than a distant, muffled ache.

The next morning, Fu Jing woke with a groan, pressing a palm to his throbbing temple. He arduously sat up, propping his elbows on his thighs to hold his head up.

He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or depressed.

Depressed, because he felt a deep sense of humiliation, knowing he’d had no choice but to give the demon the satisfaction of seeing him suffer, even after experiencing such a great injustice.

And relieved, because while he certainly felt like shit and the pain lingered on, he’d barely registered anything of what had happened the night before. His entire discomfort was more akin to a bad hangover than anything else.

Either way, it was time to leave.

After donning his robes, he briskly strode into the main hall. Xuan Qi lounged on his throne with a scroll in his hand, nonchalant as always.

“Xuan Qi.”

The demon looked up as if he hadn’t noticed Fu Jing entering, then grinned.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

 “Shut the fuck up. You owe me a spiritual weapon.”

“I owe you shit.” Xuan Qi leaned forward, his grin sharpening. “But tell you what: I’ll arrange for one if you stay here.”

Fu Jing folded his arms, his tone reflecting the smugness of his expression. “That’ll just make it easier for me to kill you.”

Xuan Qi laughed. “I only made the offer ‘cause I knew you wouldn’t take it.”

Fu Jing dropped his arms again, his hands curled into fists. “I don’t want the weapon to kill you!” He took a deep, irritated breath. “You know very well that I can’t.”

“Then what do you want with it?”

Fu Jing’s outer robe had slipped off one shoulder with his abrupt movements, so he tugged it back into place. “I don’t know yet…” He averted his gaze, the hand tightening around the fabric. “All I know is that you’ve stripped me of everything… and maybe I just want to reclaim some of my independence.”

Xuan Qi leaned back, interlacing his fingers on his lap. “Give me a good reason and I might consider it.”

Fu Jing was struck speechless. What better reason could he give?!

He stamped his foot. “Ugh! You’re worse than my dad. I’m leaving!”

True to his word, Fu Jing turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Xuan Qi chuckling softly behind him.