Cultivation Retirement Plan (BL)

8. Shower, Bath, and Bed

The skies seemed to have swallowed a pitcher of ink and spat it out across the expanse of clouds. It was gloomy and black when Mo Yixuan stepped out of the back door and lightly jumped onto the roof. His silent steps were muffled by the raindrops that soon soaked him to the skin, acting as an invisible cover as he walked to the front of the house.

There by the door, barely imperceptible in the storm, knelt Nan Wuyue. He was still staring at the ground, his clothes and hair a sad sodden mess. The line of his back was impossibly straight, but every now and then he swayed and had to catch himself again. Mo Yixuan watched on without a word. What he was looking for he didn't know, beyond a need to wait.

—

Darkness drowned Nan Wuyue's world. Without the sun to mark time, minutes had bled into hours, then faceless stretches of gray. Even the cold had left him, to be replaced by a numbing wetness from the rain that had grown into a second skin. He wasn't sure how long it'd been since Mo Yixuan had left him, but the image of his master's snow-white robes was seared into his mind. Bright and clean, light and soft—yet it burned with a merciless ferocity as it clawed its silhouette into the black.

He grit his teeth as another wave of dizziness passed through his head. Qing'er's claims weren't completely right—his body now was sturdier than the original Nan Wuyue at this point in time. But in the end, there was only so much he could do to improve in three months and his shortcomings were still glaring flaws. His knees ached for release, while his spine burned. His vision was blurry, but he couldn't tell whether his own exhaustion or the rain was to blame. Sheets of it streamed past his face, making it difficult to keep his eyes open. Yet he forced the eyelids up, head bowed nearly to his chest to shield them from the downpour.

A little more...just a little longer...

He would find a way to wear his master down eventually. For once, his status as the "useless" core disciple could work in his favor—it would be too harsh for Mo Yixuan to punish someone like him this way, and Qing'er had already witnessed his plight. Mo Yixuan himself had provided proof when he so carelessly paid her for her goods, instead of rejecting her outright. Stay here long enough, and even the peak lords would talk. Four of them were disciples of the same master as Mo Yixuan, but the other four were not.

At most, he'd only fall ill. Mo Yixuan had done far worse to him in another life.

But despite his best intentions, his body refused to hold out. The next time Nan Wuyue swayed, he found himself unable to straighten up again. Never had his body felt so heavy, or so stiff. He blankly registered the fact the he was going to crash headfirst against the pavement and made an aborted movement to shield himself—only to fall into a cloud of fabric.

It was silk, as wet as he was but infinitely more warm. Only then did Nan Wuyue realized how cold he really was, a thought that sent his body trembling even as it sought desperately for more warmth.

White robes...

His eyelashes flickered as he vainly sought to find a face, but exhaustion over took him soon enough. The last thing he heard before blacking out was a voice muttering by his ear.

"That's enough."

—

Mo Yixuan rested Nan Wuyue's head on his shoulder before bending down to pick up the boy. He was small for his age and thin enough for the man to heft him up like a child in his arms. The second he saw the youth falling forward, he had flashed off the roof to catch him. It was instinct that had led him here; his mind was still reeling from the sudden burst of speed in under three seconds.

All of his pleasant surprise at the surroundings had evaporated in an instant. What was this godforsaken place? First sleet, then rain? Both were equally freezing, and he hadn't seen any heaters in the rooms!