After endless wandering, the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow across the crowded streets. Xue Laohu crouched down by the side of the road, head hanging low, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His breath came in ragged gasps, and a glum expression darkened his face; they had searched tirelessly, yet there was still no sign of Xue Tuzi. Just when despair threatened to settle, Li Zhameng laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Shizun, look," he murmured, pointing toward a bustling street where vendors were setting up their stalls for the evening market.
Through the crowd, amidst the shuffle of carts and the calls of street merchants, Xue Tuzi emerged. His hand waved frantically above his head as he hurried over, his face flushed, cheeks tinged a faint rosy pink from exertion. "Shizun!" he called breathlessly, finally reaching them with a wide grin.
Xue Laohu's eyes brightened, his defeated posture giving way to excitement as he sprang to his feet. His frown softened into a smile of relief. "Thank goodness! Now, let's go grab a bite to eat—I'm starving." The three made their way to a nearby noodle house, slipping into a quiet corner and ordering simple dishes: steaming bowls of noodles accompanied by stir-fried vegetables.
As they began their meal, laughter and the clinking of chopsticks filled the warm, inviting space. But from across the room, a pair of eyes watched them intently. A tall, striking man sat alone at a shadowed table, his gaze unwavering on Xue Tuzi. He lifted his cup, his fingers decorated with jade rings that glinted in the candlelight, and took a slow, measured sip, his expression unreadable. His hair was tied in a high ponytail, several jeweled braids cascading from his temples, accentuating his chiseled jawline and sharp features. His robes were an opulent shade of red, adorned with intricate gold patterns that marked him as a man of status.
Setting down his cup, he allowed a faint smile to curve his lips, expressing his dimples, a flash of something almost predatory in his gaze. Without shifting his eyes from Xue Tuzi, he leaned toward his servant and spoke, voice barely a murmur but heavy with intent. "That man over there... I want him." His dimples deepened as he watched his target with a quiet, unsettling intensity.
"I'm on it." The servant bowed deeply, then rose and made his way over to the table where Xue Tuzi sat.
Meanwhile, at the table, Xue Laohu was recounting the details of his and Li Zhameng's recent meeting with the village elder. Xue Tuzi listened, his attention focused on the conversation, but then his eyes flicked up as the servant suddenly appeared, kneeling beside him. With a courteous bow, the servant extended a large, ripe plum in his outstretched hand, its deep purple skin glossy and inviting.
"Excuse me, may I offer you this plum? You have caught my master's eye—" the servant began, but Xue Tuzi cut him off with a dismissive wave.
"No, thanks." Xue Tuzi's gaze was ice-cold, his voice carrying a sharp edge that made the servant flinch. Without giving him a second glance, Xue Tuzi returned to his meal, calmly taking another bite as if the interruption hadn't happened.
Flustered, the servant scurried back to his master's side, leaning in to whisper a report of his failure. He barely got the words out before he was met with a sharp fist to the head, his master's frustration clear. Rubbing his head, he reluctantly returned to Xue Tuzi's table, his steps hesitant as he approached once more.
Xue Laohu's frown deepened, sensing an altercation brewing. He shifted slightly, ready to intervene if necessary, but Xue Tuzi, noticing his Shizun's concern, calmly put down his bowl of noodles and fixed the servant with a stare that could freeze fire. "You can ask all you want," he said, his voice deadly calm, "but the answer is still no."
The servant, visibly unnerved, swallowed hard. He glanced nervously back at his master, holding his arms in an "X" shape to signal the rejection. Across the room, a vein in his master's temple pulsed with irritation, his face hardening with determination. Rising from his seat, he stormed over to their table, his robes billowing behind him like flames. He placed one foot on the edge of the table, leaning in close as he locked eyes with Xue Tuzi, a challenging smirk on his lips.
"The name is Long Shuiguo," he declared, his voice bold and brimming with confidence. "May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"
"Not interested," Xue Tuzi replied, his voice as cold as winter steel. He didn't even spare a glance in Long Shuiguo's direction, dismissing him with a casual indifference. Beside him, Xue Laohu, still chewing a mouthful of noodles, frowned and took this chance to speak up.
"Why don't you scram and stop pestering my disciple?" he said, waving his hand dismissively, as if to shoo away a pesky fly.
Long Shuiguo raised a brow, unfazed, his smirk widening. "Disciple, huh? I see…" He paused dramatically, letting his voice drawl with a hint of arrogance. "Perhaps you're wondering—who am I?" He leaned forward, his gaze unwavering, lingering on Xue Tuzi's mouth, where the delicate mole rested on the corner of his lower lip. His eyes darkened with intrigue. "I'm going to be big. I am the most lucrative artist in all of Toubiao."
At the mention of "artist," Xue Tuzi's interest flickered. He put his bowl of noodles down and turned to fully look at Long Shuiguo for the first time. His eyes ran over him, noting every detail: the carefully styled hair, the ostentatious red-and-gold robes, the self-assured posture. He was handsome, sure, but nothing extraordinary. Average, Xue Tuzi concluded—a man who clearly thought too highly of himself, with his cocky demeanor and flamboyant attire likely over compensating for…or lacking something.
"Artist?" Xue Tuzi echoed, arching a brow, a faint smirk of amusement played at his lips.
"You've heard of me?" Long Shuiguo's grin widened, his dimples deepening against his smooth, pale face as he leaned closer to Xue Tuzi, clearly reveling in his own charm.
The sight was too much for Xue Laohu, who slammed his bowl down on the table, noodles scattering as he glowered at Long Shuiguo. His cheeks were still full of noodles, giving his rage an oddly comical edge, while beside him, Li Zhameng remained unfazed, calmly sipping on his broth. He'd seen this scene play out more times than he could count; Xue Tuzi attracted admirers like moths to a flame, and none ever fared well.
Back at Sect Mount Dingbu, Xue Tuzi had become famous—or rather, infamous—for the trail of rejected suitors he left in his wake. Men had lined up in droves to declare their love, each hoping to win his heart. They came with handwritten love letters, meticulously arranged bouquets of flowers, and even serenades of heartfelt poetry. Yet, every single one was swiftly and unceremoniously turned away by Xue Tuzi's unyielding indifference. The women in the sect never even dared to join this "assembly line" of hopefuls, afraid of suffering the same fate as they watched men, one by one, leave with broken hearts. Shudu had even coined a nickname for it—"the assembly line of broken hearts."
Li Zhameng, observing the scene, couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be someone capable of capturing Xue Tuzi's heart. He sighed, looking into his broth thoughtfully before taking another slurp, clearly doubtful.
Meanwhile, Long Shuiguo, still basking in his own arrogance, continued to hover over Xue Tuzi, one foot planted boldly on the table as he waited for a response, a smug grin plastered on his face.
Xue Tuzi finally looked up, his gaze sharp and unyielding, cutting through Long Shuiguo's bravado. His voice was calm but cold as ice. "No."
The single word was enough. Long Shuiguo's grin faltered, his self-assured posture wavering as he stared at Xue Tuzi's expression, which held nothing but a steely rejection.
"Well, if you haven't heard of me, you're in luck," Long Shuiguo said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You get to meet me face to face—not many have that privilege." His hand reached out, fingers grazing Xue Tuzi's cheek with a brazen familiarity. He traced the loose strands of hair cascading over Xue Tuzi's shoulder, lifting them to his face and inhaling deeply. A hint of peach blossoms and sweet fruit lingered in the air, and Long Shuiguo's expression shifted to one of satisfaction, as though savoring some rare delicacy.
Xue Laohu's face contorted in fury, his eyes narrowing. He clenched his fists, rolling up his sleeves, ready to throw Long Shuiguo out if need be. How dare this arrogant stranger touch his disciple so casually!
But Xue Tuzi only rolled his eyes, amusement flashing in their depths. He turned his face, locking eyes with Long Shuiguo, and a mischievous smile slowly curved his lips. "But you've piqued my interest," he said, voice tinged with a trace of mockery. "Does Long Gongzi have an art gallery?"
Long Shuiguo's eyes lit up, his smirk widening as he continued to toy with Xue Tuzi's hair. "But of course," he replied smoothly. "Beautiful people should only look at beautiful things. Would you like to see them?"
Xue Laohu's mouth fell open, his thoughts racing in silent protest. Absolutely not, he thought, the words nearly escaping his lips. There was no way he would let this pompous prick take Xue Tuzi anywhere, especially to some private gallery where heaven knew what might happen. Where was Shudu? His mind screamed into the void, as if sending an urgent message: Your beloved wife is being wooed by a supposed "artist!"
He clenched his jaw, furiously imagining himself yanking Long Shuiguo away from Xue Tuzi and landing a punch or two. His fists made small, invisible jabs in the air as he glared at the oblivious suitor, determined to protect his disciple from the clutches of this swaggering, self-absorbed man.
Xue Tuzi picked up his handkerchief, dabbing his lips to wipe away any lingering traces of food. His mole, still nestled at the bottom corner of his full lips, only seemed to enhance the sly smile he directed at Long Shuiguo. "Please, lead the way," he said smoothly, his voice a low invitation.
"Absolutely not," Xue Laohu sputtered, finally finding his voice. His face flushed with both anger and disbelief. "Where do you think you're going?"
Xue Tuzi glanced at him, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Shizun need not worry," he replied with a wink. "I'll be back." He lifted the plum from the table and brought it to his mouth, taking a generous bite that made the red juice trickle down his lips in a tantalizing line. Before he could wipe it away, Long Shuiguo's hand shot forward, his thumb brushing across Xue Tuzi's lips to collect the juice, which he then licked off with a slow, deliberate gaze fixed on Xue Tuzi as he turned to leave.
Fuming, Xue Laohu clenched his fists, struggling to hold back. He couldn't let this pompous "artist" get away with this, but how could he intervene without embarrassing himself? Just then, a sly idea struck him. He cupped his hands around his mouth, whispering, "Psst… Xiao Jiao!"
The tiny Gu worm poked his head out of Xue Tuzi's pouch, his little body wriggling with anticipation. He scurried over to Xue Laohu, who leaned down to give him his orders. "Protect your mama at all costs," he whispered fiercely. "Don't let that sleazeball have his way with him."
Jiao Jiao gave a determined nod, his big round eyes gleaming with purpose. Then, with a quick dart, he slipped back into Xue Tuzi's pouch, ready to keep a close watch on his Mama and make sure that Long Shuiguo's intentions went no further than admiration.