'What if he touches it by himself? This would be more helpful.'
"Of course not, Gōngzǐ." Lìngxiāo focused back on the moment. He held a single needle straight over his finger without letting it break his skin, though it had enough weight to sink down.
"What…" Chóng Fēi breathed, looking at the needle and then at him, eyes narrowed, disbelief crossing his gaze. "You are surely using your qì."
But Lìngxiāo shook his head lightly. "Not a single drop."
"Impossible." Chóng Fēi insisted, softer but still stubborn. He seemed to have almost forgotten that he was injured.
"Let me show you then, Gōngzǐ." With a spin of his hand, the red needle turned white and became at least thirty in number, neatly placed over his finger in a circular way.
"What the…" Chóng Fēi blinked, eyes widening, hesitantly looking down under Lìngxiāo's finger to see if they were really balanced like this. "They are not falling…" He looked up at him. "They will fall if I touch."
Lìngxiāo shook his head again, his smile truer but also tricky—deep down, 'Make him touch it himself… might awaken something even he does not know. Things would be clearer. Even if it is my own finger while I handle the needles.'
But he did not know why it felt like betrayal.
'It is necessary to save everyone. Including him.' He told himself firmly, silently. His gaze over him carefully.
Chóng Fēi tilted his head lower while looking up at the place where the needles stood over Lìngxiāo's fingertip. "Do not drop it on me… or you know." He lightly warned.
"How could I? All you have to do is… trust me." Lìngxiāo said. But since the time this arrogant man had named what he was up to, he had to think twice before speaking anything. Even his words—so familiar, his signature—felt heavy and fake.
He watched Chóng Fēi move his finger toward it slowly. Too curiously—almost like a fragile trust in a friend who had just saved him earlier.
Lìngxiāo silently swallowed, hoping it was not too loud or visible. He thought about the decision again. He analyzed Chóng Fēi's chest over the robe, checking if the cultivation core was there or not.
'It is there. But why does it sometimes disappear?'
'His core feels fragile or incomplete… he might not survive if he touches it in this condition. Should I take such a risk while I can feel that something is missing in him strongly right now?'
Within seconds, he changed his mind. He intentionally let the gravity that held the needles slip, and all of them fell like a collapsing house before Chóng Fēi even touched it.
'Not needed right now. I will just work with the red needles. After understanding the situation, I will take the next step. For now, I should just heal him and analyze the information Mō Qīn will bring.'
At the fall of the needles like thin, hard raindrops, Chóng Fēi immediately moved away with a faint gasp, as if the needles were tiny ghosts themselves. "Liar. You said you would not drop!" He hissed in light pain from overreacting.
"My mistake, Gōngzǐ. It was being handled without qì… so it did not stay too long." Lìngxiāo said, perfectly hiding the intentional drop this time. He quickly exchanged the white needles with the red one, which was not powerful enough to strike right at the core.
Chóng Fēi exhaled with a roll of his eyes and crossed arms, flushed again from his non-stop embarrassment. "That is why I hate to believe anyone—like those poisonous food you put."
'Unbelievable. He still thinks I did something with the food? Well, he would not understand either right now.'
Lìngxiāo exhaled. He himself was surprised by the effortless psychology this guy was using—like another man who had no experience of friendship trying to make things right while he did not remember what visible crime he had committed.
"Let me try again for you. Perhaps… something challenging."
"Hmph. 'For me'… needles." Chóng Fēi did not seem believing this time again. He sounded dry, silly—mocking that sounded mostly like mocking himself. But it was clear that he was drawn to those strange things which could be done without qì.
'I wonder what shape I should try. His face is twisting too much into annoyance and judgment. He knows well how to pinch into pride or ability.'
His mind could not help but wander over the differences between them and his own genetic problem, which had nothing to do with cultivation.
'What a pity. He can express more shades of emotions, while mine is just a smile that people are scared of—while some healers said it is just my physical condition, which can only be fixed if I find the Youth Water and use it after getting injured. Yet it is nowhere to be found.'
His eyes lightly closed before opening, thinking about old days when, in his free time, he had gone to the doors of healers for this one and only problem.
'Even Làncǎi Gōngzǐ, whom he recommended, was not able to do anything. As an exorcist who has abilities as a healer and a Hàng Wàng—I still cannot tell why I am this way. Làncǎi Gōngzǐ said it is the mark of my soul. He said so, so it is probably true.'
While thinking about the shape and more things, an idea came. His eyes faintly lightened up. 'Better not to think about what cannot be fixed right now.'
Lìngxiāo looked at him through his lashes once, thoughtfully, as he worked on positioning the needles. 'He seemed more upset by it than I expected. Still the same as he was at sixteen. But this shape might work.'
"Maybe if you were a normal human, it would have been easier to believe in this trick. Cultivators are cheaters…"
That was the last sentence Lìngxiāo heard like a normal conversation.
The rest was just fast, dry mumbling, silently unclear like saying a spell in a different language:
"I am sick of it already. No wonder Zhùfù barely communicates to people directly—but to me. And here, I do not have my own space."
'Have I heard it right—or is he really desperately trying not to be open?'
Lìngxiāo looked up at him again. His gaze almost reflected the same unclear recognition that Chóng Fēi returned to him.