Liang Sheng didn't know for sure, but he assumed his cheek was sore.

A disfigured face stared back at him from the reflection in the bowl of herbal infusion. The bruise was large, but there was something mesmerizing about it. Inky blue, plum-colored spots intertwined with lilac veins, like tree branches. Here and there were strokes of crimson, like the sunset sky.

What a dull, tart feeling. Familiar.

Ah, and those eyes opposite. Liang Sheng assumed that they were beautiful. Perhaps other people thought so too. No wonder. He began to count the specks on the iris around the pupil, completely ignoring the frown directed at him.

But gradually, as the seconds ticked by, that oppressive gaze made him shrink. Had he done something wrong?

"... I can't feel pain," he reminded, scratching his wrist. His knuckles were scraped, it seemed. The skin around it was a pale red. If shixiong took his hand in his and bandaged it with those gentle fingers, it would be wonderful. Warm and sunny. Soft and light. Shixiong's skin felt so nice to the touch. Like rice dough or freckles.

In fact, it was hard to move his arm, as if the mechanism inside had been damaged. Perhaps he had broken it? Those senior disciples had been particularly ferocious, their evil tongues especially sharp. Liang Sheng almost felt disappointed. A broken arm would mean being excused from training and spending more time with shixiong, yet the feeling inside remained dull and distant, like an echo.

...Perhaps he should have said something else? He didn't know. He didn't understand what other people's looks meant. Usually they made him want to shrink, but for some reason he could withstand shixiong's gaze with amazing stoicism. In fact, Liang Sheng liked to catch it, like a timid, nimble mystery.

He looked down, frowning slightly. Maybe it all meant something, but the meaning eluded him.

He just hoped shixiong wasn't mad.