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Bo Ya’s initial reaction was that of shock.
There were relatively few things which could faze him these days, close to none, and that was no boast, simply fact.
When you had gone through a multitude of bizarre things like Bo Ya had in the last few months, you would be rather desensitized to weirdness too. Not everyone in their humanly limited lifespan had the privilege to witness a humongous serpent, believed to be one of the oldest beings in heaven and earth, wrecking the Imperial City, sacrifice their life to wake the Vermillion Bird, get reincarnated shortly afterwards to be your new friend’s Spirit Guardian, get incinerated trying to protect said friend and finally get brought back to life in inexplicable manner which could only be vaguely explained as the Bird’s grace.
Nothing could raise his eyebrows now, or so Bo Ya believed. Even if he were to see Qing Ming bursting out a tail or two or flashing canine teeth, he probably would just shrug it off as one of his friend’s quirks, of which he had plenty. It was not like he had been ignorant of Qing Ming’s allegedly diabolical origin.
Obviously he was wrong. Thoroughly.
Although Bo Ya had had his fair share of funny things in his demon-exterminating career, this might take the biggest cake.
His warrior instinct kicked in, sweeping the shock away to gear him into fighting mode. There was no time for awe and gasp because in front of his eyes was a legitimate threat that demanded immediate action. He drew his sword and swung it at the intruder’s head in one swift motion, determined to split it in one strike. There was precision and confidence aplenty in his lethal blow, honed by years of relentless training and countless demons’ heads.
The intruder let out an undignified yelp and clasped his hands, gloved in a golden glow, and made a familiar-looking gesture. Bo Ya’s sword was blocked by a magical shield when the blade was only a few inches from a head of silky black hair.
Here came Bo Ya’s second shock in a row because he was very much acquainted with the emblem on the shield as he was with its owner: the unmistakable five-point star of a certain Yin-Yang Master.
Nonetheless, for all the shock the face of someone who should have been dead coupled with a protection shield bearing Qing Ming’s signature emblem caused, Bo Ya had no intention to curb his killing intent; if anything it even fueled it. He mouthed a short spell and the outline of his blade glowed with white. Holding the hilt in both hands, he plunged the tip into the center of the shield. It shattered with a deafening noise like a mirror under the merciless impact of a hammer. The intruder fell to the ground with a pained grunt.
It was an unexpectedly easy win, but Bo Ya was not the kind of man to exult in victory when his enemy’s head was not yet rolling. There was clearly some fight left in his intruder because his hands were brought to his chest in a gesture meant for casting a spell. Same trick or different? Bo Ya mused briefly.
Before another shield or portal took shape, Bo Ya was quick to snip the attempt with a hard kick to the intruder’s side, forcing him to roll on his front. Instantly a booted foot was planted right in the middle of his spine, and he was nailed on the floor with Bo Ya’s weight and prejudice. The demon exterminator held his sword firmly in his hands, ready for an execution.
Spirits or demons, none could survive a straightforward beheading by an enchanted sword.
“Stop!”
Together with the urgent voice, a portal opened just large enough for a black fan to protrude, open and fan out a protection shield. Once again Bo Ya’s sword was blocked but the collision force this time pushed him back a couple steps. He grunted in frustration, glaring daggers at the star emblem on the shield that conveniently covered his target’s body.
In his idle time, of which he possessed very little, usually right before he closed his eyelids after a long, arduous day, Bo Ya envisioned a myriad of scenarios for their reunion. Never had he imagined it would be something like this: Bo Ya himself clutching his sword in a death grip, rage and bewilderment warring in his chest and an expanding portal suspended midair. And the cherry on top was their mortal enemy, He Shou Yue, who should be dead and somehow not, cowering under the protection of Qing Ming’s spell, the very thing which had been his downfall, so Bo Ya had heard.
Qing Ming stepped out of the portal like he stepped out of Bo Ya’s heated dream many a night, donning a pristine white robe that complimented his tall stature and a smile that aimed to placate the most vexed individual.
Namely Bo Ya.
The portal closed, patching up the temporary spatial gap as the same time the protection magic dispersed. He Shou Yue, with absolute relief etched onto his sharp features, scrambled to his feet and hide behind Qing Ming’s back, never mind that it was rather futile since he was about the same height as the Yin-Yang Master. Were Bo Ya in any other circumstance and were that man not He Shou Yue, the demon hunter might find it laughable. Adorable, even. Right now he was just fuming.
“Long time no see, Bo Ya,” Qing Ming greeted, amicable as ever.
The audacity of this man. Bo Ya scoffed in spite of the sudden warmth at the tips of his ears upon hearing the man’s voice after a while. There was music in Qing Ming’s voice, especially when his tongue curled around Bo Ya’s name.
“I wish for our reunion to be slightly more... conventional but now I have to ask you to stay your hand from offing my Spirit Guardian.”
“Your what?”
“My Spirit Guardian,” Qing Ming elucidated as if explaining to a particularly slow kid. He pulled out a talisman from the folds of his robe and held it between his fore- and middle fingers. “He Shou Yue,” he called, and the name on the talisman glowed with life.
He Shou Yue got out from behind Qing Ming’s back, stealing a nervous glance at Bo Ya while pressing his pale lips together.
“How many times have I told you not to leave the mansion on your own?”
He Shou Yue straightened his back but kept his head low, his eyes downcast. If Bo Ya didn’t know any better, he might say the fiend look reprimanded. It felt surreal to see such a look on the sly He Shou Yue’s face.
What was the deal with him?
Perhaps Bo Ya really didn’t know any better because He Shou Yue just... pouted and shook his head when Qing Ming said, “You are grounded for the rest of the week.”
Like a kid who thought he was treated unfairly while the glaring mess was right next to his feet, Bo Ya concluded, and immediately wanted to punch himself for coming up with that comparison.
“Maybe you want to make it two weeks then?”
He Shou Yue shook more violently but relented quickly. Then he was gone in a blink.
Qing Ming returned the talisman to its place in his robe. “Thank you for showing mercy,” he said, eyes soft and lips forming a gentle smile free of tease.
Bo Ya would be damned if he had shown a modicum of mercy towards He Shou Yue. It was just... Well, he felt entitled to blame Qing Ming’s grand entrance — the man knew how to make one — and his outrageous revelation. Three consecutive shocks in a day and here he was, still standing tall if only being a bit slow in reaction. He believed he deserved a plaque for that alone.
“Explain,” Bo Ya deadpanned, his sword lowered yet unsheathed.
Qing Ming peered at Bo Ya’s sword hand and if his smile indeed faltered, the demon exterminator was sure to catch the subtlest change, hyper-fixated on the guy’s expression as he was.
The Yin-Yang Master opened his fan and a large portal tore itself out of space, its inside showing a nightscape. “How about a chat over some cherry blossom wine and tasty snacks? We have much to catch up on.”
...
Qing Ming’s home — or what he had called it the last time they had been here — was exactly the same as how Bo Ya recalled. The garden, which appeared neglected and left to grow as it pleased at first glance, was in that orderly state of disarray perfectly reflecting Qing Ming’s chaotic nature and personality. The little porch where they had sat and shared a drink over a heartfelt story of Qing Ming’s past was spotless, suggesting a cleaning hand, but the leftovers from last time remained, as if the whole space had been frozen in time and was only resurrected the moment the pair entered.
Qing Ming and Bo Ya sat opposite each other, Qing Ming with his relaxed posture bordering on indecency while Bo Ya’s back was straight as a ramrod. It was so quiet around here that Bo Ya had a little jump when Qing Ming clapped his hands three times. Two youths stepped into the light of the porch from the darkness surrounding them, looking very much like a pair of twins from their matching outfits and hairstyles despite not looking alike at all. Wordlessly, efficiently, they cleaned up the leftovers and blinked out of the scene only to reappear a few seconds later, balancing several jars of wine and various steaming snacks on two lacquered trays.
“Fish,” Qing Ming introduced, pointing his fan to one youth with delicate fish scale pattern at his left temple, “and his twin, Flower.”
Bo Ya’s gaze altered between the boys’ features, searching for any resemblance and finding so very little that it was hard to tell they were related, let alone twins. Bo Ya supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised; it was widely known that spirits could take any human form they wished and their exquisite countenances might not be what they had originally come to this world with.
The one called Flower, with tiny petals scattered at his right temple to match his name, knelt down, all prim and proper, and filled Bo Ya’s cup while the other served Qing Ming wine with a mischievous wink on the side. Bo Ya felt a pang of jealousy when the Yin-Yang Master smiled and flicked his forehead. Perhaps sensing Bo Ya’s mood shift, Flower grabbed his twin’s elbow, bowed and vanished in a puff of air together, leaving the two masters alone.
Where did they go and where were Qing Ming’s many Spirit Guardians residing since this place was free of the lively noises one would expect from such a number of residents, Bo Ya mused as he was pretending to examine the choices of snacks elaborately arranged on pretty ceramic plates.
“I promised an explanation but how about a sip of wine first?” Qing Ming said, lifting his cup. The wine sloshed in the shallow bowl of the cup, catching the light from the lanterns hung around the porch and looking like liquid gold. “How I miss that night we shared sitting in this same porch, temporarily separated from the hustle and bustle of the mortal world.”
Though questions were bubbling in his throat, how could Bo Ya say no to Qing Ming, whose affectionate gaze was fixed on him? Besides, he trusted his friend to give an adequate explanation like he put his faith in Qing Ming in every other matter, even ones regarding his own life. Mimicking his act, Bo Ya raised his cup, the steam wafting in front of his nostrils.
The first sip tasted like warmed honey, with a flowery hint. Bo Ya couldn’t help but letting his eyes shut for a moment, imagining himself under a cherry blossom shower even though the season for cherry blossoms had long been over and it would be nothing short of a miracle to see a petal dancing in the breeze at the moment. His fingers itched for his flute, which he had regrettably left in his room, seriously messed up after his fight with He Shou Yue.
“Good wine,” Bo Ya complimented, feeling the alcoholic warmth threading through his every fiber to fight off the nightly chill.
“Honey Bug would be pleased to know you appreciate her hard work. It was a real feat brewing cherry blossom wine at this time of the year. She and her friends spent weeks gathering the petals and months refining the taste.”
“You have a peculiar taste in picking demons to be your Spirit Guardians. Wine-making demons, lovelorn demons,” Bo Ya said, narrowing his eyes. “Demons wearing the face of your former enemy who should be six feet under and yet walking the earth still.”
Bo Ya had detected demonic aura coming from the new ‘He Shou Yue’, something that had been decidedly absent from the old one. Not only had his powers diminished but his concealing ability had likely suffered the same fate it seemed.
Qing Ming’s smile froze as his hand holding the cup stopped midway from his lips. “About He Shou Yue, I did promise you an explanation,” he replied after a while.
“You did.”
“Do you want the long or the short version?”
“Whichever conveniences you. We have all night.”
Qing Ming’s dark eyes seemed to light up at the statement and Bo Ya tried not to be overthinking and interpret it as his joy upon the chance to spend the night in his company.
“Allow me to ask you one question: would you decline a dying person’s request?”
“Demon, you mean,” Bo Ya corrected.
Knowing Qing Ming, Bo Ya could deduce that nine out of ten of his incidents were demon-related.
The Yin-Yang Master appeared unaffected by his accusatory undertone. “Long story short. I came across a dying demoness and her last wish was for her remaining child to be protected and allowed a chance of life, for her species was a dying one also.”
Qing Ming sipped from his cup. In the meantime Bo Ya decided to not disrupt the flow of his narration with questions.
“She gave me a huge egg with iridescent shell which at that time I had not the faintest idea what it would hatch.”
Bo Ya looked at him in disbelief. “It never crossed your mind that the egg might hatch another Evil Serpent or something equally catastrophic?”
Qing Ming shrugged. “My gut feeling told me it wouldn’t be too malevolent a creature.”
“Your gut feeling?!”
“It turned out to be true, didn’t it?”
Bo Ya scoffed. “You’re telling me that ‘He Shou Yue’ came from the egg?”
A nod confirmed it. “I was curious as to what creature would hatch from it,” Qing Ming said. “So I cast a protection spell on it and let it bask under the moonlight. Eighteen nights later, under a full moon, the shell cracked and I had an armful of infant demon who imprinted on me the moment he opened his eyes.”
“Wait, he was an infant? How could you tell he was He Shou Yue?”
“I could tell, in a sense,” Qing Ming replied, fanning his black fan absent-mindedly. “There were marks on his skin where he had been stabbed by the Fang Yue sword. There have been precedents proving such is the case for the reincarnation of Spirit Guardians. I couldn’t be too sure, however, until he matured into this form. And he grew really fast, you know, a couple months of moon-bathing and he’s already a grown man, physically at least.”
Bo Ya needed no mirror to check that his brows had positively reached his hairline. “He Shou Yue is only a few months old?”
Qing Ming smiled and nodded. “Yes, a child in every sense except form.”
“Why did you decide to make him your Spirit Guardian? That you are sorely lacking in the common sense department is a fact known but taking your foe under your wing is pushing a bit too far.”
“In the arts of mastering the Yin and Yang, we believe in the concept of ‘fate’. In his past life I had a hand in his demise and in this life I witnessed his birth and even got imprinted on. That’s fate. He’s quite adept in magic and with proper guidance he’d become a magnificent Spirit Guardian. One of the reasons he went rogue in his past life was because he had been separated from his master for too long. Moreover, Mad Painter’s death is a massive loss felt by all of us, so I cannot say He Shou Yue’s arrival was an unwelcoming one.”
“So, not only did you take him in, you also taught him magic.”
“He’s been learning at amazing pace, likely due to some remnants of his past life.”
That explained the star emblem on his shield, which was indeed amazing given that he was a baby, Bo Ya had to admit. If he were in Qing Ming’s shoes, he too would be tempted by the prospect of having a powerful Spirit Guardian at his command.
Then something clicked in his mind. “Does he have any memory of his past life?”
It would be like lounging on a pile of explosives and waving a match around if He Shou Yue remembered no matter how much control Qing Ming had over him.
Qing Ming definitely caught the underlying concern in Bo Ya’s tone, for he was quick to assure the demon hunter with a shake of his head. “So far, not a speck,” he said, “though magic capability aside, he seems overly fond of the moon and often spends the night gazing at her with a mellow expression unsuitable for his age and life experience.”
The mention of the moon brought a wave of melancholy to wash over the two men. They clinked their cups softly and each took a sip, savoring the intoxicating sweetness scented with the long-gone spring in respective silence.
Bo Ya gazed at the star-studded sky to find the crescent moon hanging like a well-whetted sickle and couldn’t helped wondering whether she was watching them.
She sure was watching over He Shou Yue and had assisted in his birth.
Qing Ming broke the silence spell with a gentle snap of his fan. “So,” he began, “what was he doing at your place?”
“Does he sneak out a lot?”
“Occasionally,” Qing Ming replied with an exasperated sigh suspiciously similar to that of a tired parent, which Bo Ya knew he wasn’t (was he?). “Like every kid, he has some problems with authority and always finds a way to sneak out under Snow Hound’s nose, sometimes literally.”
“You’ve tasked Snow Hound to watch him?” Bo Ya asked incredulously. “Snow Hound whom He Shou Yue almost killed?”
Qing Ming was not only short of common sense; it had evaded him completely.
“He and Snow Hound got on surprisingly well,” Qing Ming said in his own defense. “It must be due to their avian traits. He Shou Yue and Killing Stone, on the other hand... “
Bo Ya snorted. “I’m curious as to why he hasn’t turned He Shou Yue into stone yet.”
“He did threaten to, once or twice.” Qing Ming took a short pause before resuming. “Back to the question: what was he doing there? I’ve intended to ask him but I’ve gotten carried away by the bulk of work in the court.”
“Are you sure he won’t lie to you?”
Qing Ming chuckled. “He physically can’t as long as he remains my Spirit Guardian.”
“Why don’t you ask him right here, right now?” Bo Ya suggested, jerking his chin a little.
Qing Ming shrugged and reached into the folds of his robe. He murmured a short incantation and He Shou Yue manifested in the space between them. Swear to all the gods in heaven Bo Ya did not jump.
He Shou Yue looked elated to be out of the talisman and Bo Ya nearly had a mental whiplash trying to make some sort of connection between this childish He Shou Yue and the collected and calculating one responsible for wrecking half of the Imperial City.
“You are not pardoned,” Qing Ming said firmly and He Shou Yue deflated. His shoulders slumped and his lips stuck out in a petulant pout.
“No amount of pouting will get you out of trouble this time,” Qing Ming said. “What were you doing at Master Bo Ya’s place?”
He Shou Yue did not open his mouth, which reminded Bo Ya that so far he had not uttered a single word. Qing Ming, having heard his unspoken query, was quick to explain, “He has yet to develop speech.”
Then how in the world was he able to chant an incantation or more importantly, answer Qing Ming, Bo Ya couldn’t help but wonder.
He Shou Yue reached into his sleeve — for some reason he was dressed in the same outfit pre-transformation — and laid an object on the low table.
Bo Ya’s and Qing Ming’s questions were both answered.
It was a writing brush.
Bo Ya’s writing brush to be precise, because Bo Ya recognized the particular chip on the side of its body.
A week ago it had vanished from his desk. Since it was only an old, ordinary brush anyone could purchase at the cost of three cents in the common market, Bo Ya had paid it no mind, thinking he might have misplaced it somewhere and it would resurface eventually.
Now the mystery was solved.
But He Shou Yue’s motif though? Having gone through all that trouble to steal a mere brush?
That wasn’t the end however, for He Shou Yue’s sleeve appeared to be a miniature portal to his hoarding cave and he kept pulling out item after item.
A hairbrush. A gauntlet. An arrow. An arrowhead. A metal clasp. A buckle of a belt. A slipper (yes, just one). A sash. A shin guard. A leather hair tie. A sock.
And last but definitely not least: a piece of underclothing.
Bo Ya’s stuff, all of them, which had gone missing under mysterious circumstances. Although none of them were of value, just normal everyday items, it was pretty vexing to keep losing them, which had prompted Bo Ya’s mini investigation. Judging from the state in which Bo Ya had caught him red-handed, the little thief might have aimed for his flute.
His face burning with both anger and mortification, Bo Ya glared at Qing Ming, who was sporting a rarest look of appall.
“Care to explain?” Bo Ya asked frostily, the question directing at both the Yin-Yang Master and his rascal Spirit Guardian.
He Shou Yue peered at Bo Ya under long lashes before pointing a long, lean finger first at Bo Ya and then at his own master.
Any fleck of satisfaction Bo Ya gained from seeing Qing Ming pale vaporized at the implication.
The awkward silence stretched on for an uncomfortable time until Qing Ming broke it. “You are grounded for three weeks,” he said, his tone cooler than Bo Ya ever remembered.
He Shou Yue looked so distressed that Bo Ya felt a teensy bit of pity for him.
“No buts. And apologize to Master Bo Ya, now.”
His tone demanded obedience and He Shou Yue immediately stilled. He turned to Bo Ya, his movements rigid not unlike a stringed puppet, put both hands flat on the floor and kowtowed.
He disappeared afterwards, likely back to the talisman for his three-week punishment. Bo Ya wondered if being grounded was more severe than it sounded or He Shou Yue was just being dramatic.
“I apologize, Bo Ya,” Qing Ming said, bowing slightly.
“Why? It’s not like you ordered him to steal my stuff.” He squinted. “Did you?”
“Absolutely not. But he did it because of me.”
“How so?”
“He wanted to give me a birthday gift, and hoarding items to present as gifts is the customs of his kind.”
The heat on Bo Ya’s face, which hadn’t abated, increased two-fold with Qing Ming’s direct gaze. If it continued, Bo Ya seriously feared the skin of his face might be burnt off.
“You have never told me about your birthday,” Bo Ya said, hoping against hope that his accusatory tone would mask his blush.
“My birthday isn’t a particularly joyful occasion to celebrate,” Qing Ming replied, looking soulful. “I was shunned for being a fox demon’s son, remember? Back then my master would give me a small present, usually a trinket or charm to aid my training, and I was allowed a free day to roam. But now...”
He trailed off and it took all Bo Ya’s willpower not to scream something along the line of “You are not alone. You have me and we can celebrate it together!”
That would not be very Bo Ya.
To silently form a plan and carry it out was more Bo Ya.
“Regardless of one’s experiences, birthdays are still special occasions,” he said, surprising even himself with what came out of his mouth.
Qing Ming, seemingly unbothered by Bo Ya’s hollow statement and monotone, raised his cup and smiled. “If you say so.”
...
Bo Ya scrunched his eyebrows as he studied the intricate carved box in his hands.
It was an exquisite wooden box, crafted by the most talented hands in the Imperial City. Bo Ya had paid handsomely for its commission and frequently popped in the workshop to make sure every detail would be faithful to his design. It had caused serious eye roll from all of his brothers at Jing Yun Temple.
Bo Ya was not one to indulge in luxury; as a result, most of his personal items save his flute (which was a gift) were just regular stuff easily found at any shops or markets.
Bo Ya was in a dilemma. On the one hand he wanted to deliver it himself — that should be the ideal option. Less ideal was having someone deliver it for him, someone trustworthy and willing to travel long distances. Any of his brothers would be suited for the task but like Bo Ya himself, they were strictly tied to the job of cleansing the City of thieves, rapists, murderers, malevolent spirits and everything in between.
As a matter of fact, he was going for an investigation in a few hours.
Of course Bo Ya would not know the resolution to his dilemma was about to arrive on a pair of wings. Quite literally.
The sudden drop in temperature alerted Bo Ya. Placing the box on the nearby shelf, the demon hunter turned around, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. He relaxed once he saw the uninvited guest.
Outside his window was one of Qing Ming’s more familiar Spirit Guardians, Snow Hound. His majestic wings were beating a lazy rhythm, making the minimal effort to keep his body afloat.
“Permission to enter your private quarters, Master Bo Ya,” Snow Hound said.
This was probably the first time Bo Ya had heard the spirit’s voice. He motioned for the winged man to get in, which he did in a most graceful manner befitting his nature.
“Did Qing Ming send you? Is he in trouble?”
As he asked, Bo Ya felt the muscles of his left chest clench.
He totally missed the tiny smile on Snow Hound’s lips. “Master Qing Ming is fine, albeit very busy. That’s why he asked me to give you this letter even though he had intended to do it himself.”
He procured a beige-colored envelope sealed with Qing Ming’s emblem and gave it to Bo Ya with both hands.
“It is an apology for He Shou Yue’s behaviors. Master Qing Ming hopes that Master Bo Ya finds it in his heart to forgive them both”
Bo Ya tsked and smiled. “I wasn’t too mad,” he replied, putting the envelope inside his cloak to thoroughly digest later. “Besides, I got all of them back.”
He paused, suddenly remembering something. “How’s that little rascal doing?”
“He Shou Yue?” Snow Hound asked, arching a sharp eyebrow. “He’s a little shit as always. He’s recently developed speech so now every one of us is being tortured by his incessant whining. Killing Stone is on the verge of losing it.”
Bo Ya’s lips curved despite his initial aversion of the reincarnated He Shou Yue. “Is he still grounded?”
“He is, which hopefully will instill some discipline in him.”
The way Snow Hound complained about He Shou Yue was much similar to an exasperated yet tolerant older sibling ranting about his insufferable younger sibling. Like his primary element, he was probably the most chill about living under the same roof as He Shou Yue. Bo Ya could see why Qing Ming had put him in charge of watching the imp.
“Would you like a place to rest and some tea?” Bo Ya offered. “You’ve come a long way.”
Snow Hound bowed. “Thank you, Master Bo Ya, but I should return, if you have no other task for me.”
“Actually I do,” Bo Ya said, going to retrieve his box. “I’d like you to bring this box to Qing Ming. I want to give it to him in person but I’m tied up at the moment. Be careful, as it is quite delicate.”
Snow Hound received the box with both hands and cradled it against his chest. “I’ll give it to Master Qing Ming as soon as I return.”
“Thank you.”
...
Snow Hound spotted He Shou Yue sitting in an alcove with his knees pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on them.
The little imp’s detention had just come to an end, it seemed.
“What are you doing here?” Snow Hound asked, descending in front of him. “Don’t you have training to do?”
He Shou Yue shushed him. “Music, I’m listening.”
“Oh that,” Snow Hound said, turning his head to the east wing of the mansion. “That’s Master Bo Ya’s flute coming from Master’s room.”
“Here?” He Shou Yue asked, perking up. Snow Hound found that gesture to be rather feline.
“No, he’s not here. The music is from his gift to Master. Since he received it, Master has been putting it on an endless loop.”
Master Bo Ya’s music was divine, but hearing it 24/7 was getting a little tired, if Snow Hound was really, really honest with himself.
“Master Bo Ya is better to have in person.”
Snow Hound narrowed his eyes, alert. “What do you mean?”
He Shou Yue gave him the most innocent look he could have for someone who had once hosted the Evil Serpent. “Master Bo Ya is better to have in person,” he repeated, then added, “for Master Qing Ming.”
“Don’t try anything funny, you hear me,” Snow Hound warned, despite only having the faintest idea of what he meant. He Shou Yue’s speech was going through development stage, so it still took some time and a fair amount of imagination to understand what he was trying to convey. It didn’t help that his thinking pattern tended to zigzag instead of following a straight line.
His mischievous streak, on the other hand, was notoriously obvious to everyone around here. “Master Bo Ya is a no-nonsense type and if you insist on being a nuisance to him, Master may not arrive in time to save your scrawny butt.”
He Shou Yue’s reply was a grin. His finger began to tap on a pebble to the rhythm of the flute while his lips moved as if singing to the tune, the lyrics known only to himself.
Snow Hound sighed inwardly as he made a mental note to never let He Shou Yue out of his sight.
End