He Felt That He Was That Phoenix
Fragmented scenes appeared one after another in Feng Qi’s mind, flashing past like fleeting shadows. He could not see them clearly, yet somehow, they all seemed strangely familiar.
At some point, his surroundings had gone dark. Feng Qi wiped the blood from the corner of his lips and finally rose to his feet.
In the distance, the crimson-gold light imprisoned within the cage of light continued to flicker faintly.
Feng Qi stared at the cage and suddenly sensed something amiss.
He raised his head. Without warning, boundless flames poured down from above his sea of consciousness. He instinctively raised an arm to shield himself, only to discover that he was now standing atop a lofty mountain.
Before him stretched an endless range of mountains. Nameless shrubs grew from the yellow sands, and the heavens and earth were shrouded in darkness.
Heavenly fire continued to fall, sweeping across the land.
The flames burned everything away, and billowing black smoke engulfed the heavens. Just then, rain finally began to fall. No one knew how long the downpour lasted. Rainwater soaked the charred earth until, at last, the clouds parted and sunlight returned. A single ray pierced through the clouds and fell upon the damp soil, where a tender new sprout emerged from the blackened ground.
Thus were the mountains, rivers, heavens, and earth of the newly formed world brought into being.
Feng Qi stood atop the mountain for a long while. Suddenly, he heard the faint sound of something cracking from its shell.
He abruptly turned his head. A pure white eggshell had rolled from somewhere and stopped nearby. From a crack in the shell, a wet little fledgling poked its head out.
The fledgling had crimson-gold eyes, while the sparse feathers covering its body were a pale golden color.
It struggled with great difficulty, letting out soft, pitiful chirps. Yet it was simply too small and weak, so weak that it could not even break free from the confines of its shell.
Feng Qi watched as the egg rolled about beside his feet, cracking little by little, until the fledgling finally crawled free.
It kicked the broken shell away and shook out its feathers. As it did, its thin, soft down rapidly fell away, replaced by beautiful new plumage.
The newborn little phoenix raised its head to look at Feng Qi. Its round eyes blinked, and it tilted its head in apparent confusion.
Feng Qi’s present appearance was reflected within its eyes. His own eyes had already lost their original color, both pupils now shimmering with crimson-gold light.
Two pairs of remarkably similar eyes gazed at one another. The little phoenix spread its wings and let out a clear, joyful cry.
That was the first cry of a phoenix since the beginning of heaven and earth.
The clear call swept over the mountains like a gentle breeze, and all living things sprang back to life. Feng Qi raised his eyes and watched as the mountains rapidly regained their lush greenery. Gradually, he finally recognized this place.
This was... Mount Sumeru, tens of millions of years ago.
Multicolored clouds gathered along the horizon. Amid the churning clouds, figures seemed to stand high above. Feng Qi recognized them at once. They were the ancient gods.
“Jiu-jiu!” The little phoenix hopped anxiously beside his feet, chattering away as though desperately trying to tell him something.
Feng Qi lowered his head. They were clearly of the same kind, yet he could not understand a single thing it was saying. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Jiu! Jiu-jiu-jiu!”
Feng Qi frowned. He wanted to ask again, but the little phoenix’s cries gradually grew distant.
Every scene around him began rapidly receding. He was uncontrollably pushed away from Mount Sumeru, away from the mountains and rivers that had only just regained peace.
“No, wait! What were you trying to tell me?!” A trace of panic flashed through Feng Qi’s eyes. He shouted, but he could not move forward. He could only watch as those tall, indistinct figures surrounded the newborn little phoenix.
He saw someone lift it into their hands.
The little phoenix continued staring in the direction Feng Qi was being pulled away, seemingly wanting to fly toward him. The person holding it turned their head. Feng Qi could not make out their face, yet he could feel their gaze upon him.
There was such sorrow, longing, and tenderness in that gaze.
“We will meet again.” A gentle, ethereal woman’s voice sounded beside his ear. “The time has not yet come.”
“...We will wait for your return.”
As those words fell, every scene vanished completely. Feng Qi abruptly opened his eyes and found himself back in the bedchamber on Wenqu Peak.
His head was lowered, his face deathly pale. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his cheek and fell onto the back of his chilled hand.
☁
Deep within the bamboo forest, Ji Chaoyun brought his sword stance to a close and wearily pressed his fingers to his brow.
Perhaps it was because he was reconstructing his innate foundation, but his stamina had noticeably weakened these past few days. He had practiced for less than two shichen, yet he already felt somewhat exhausted.
Ji Chaoyun walked to the stream, scooped up some water, and washed his face.
He lowered his eyes toward the clear water, where a familiar face was reflected upon its surface.
Feng Qi had taken exceptionally good care of him lately, and some color had finally returned to his face. He no longer looked as pale as he had before.
In truth, Ji Chaoyun looked little different from three hundred years ago. After losing his dragon pearl, his appearance had ceased to change, but the disposition carved into his very bones by his long years of hardship could never be washed away.
Whenever that face held no expression, a lingering trace of indifference and coldness would settle between his brows. It made him seem rather lifeless and not at all likable.
Ji Chaoyun wiped the droplets from his face and frowned slightly at his reflection in the water.
He looked far worse than he had three hundred years ago.
When Feng Qi came looking for him, he found Ji Chaoyun curled up on a slab of bluestone, sleeping soundly.
Feng Qi sat down beside him and brushed aside the hair over his forehead. “Wake up. Weren’t you supposed to be practicing your sword? Why are you slacking off and sleeping here?”
Ji Chaoyun frowned but did not wake.
Ji Chaoyun had grown increasingly fond of sleep these past few days. He even woke later than Feng Qi every morning. That diligent Little Dragon who used to rise early for morning reading had completely disappeared.
Feng Qi leaned closer and lowered his head to kiss Ji Chaoyun lightly on the eyelid. “Hurry and wake up, or some bad person is going to carry you away.”
Ji Chaoyun mumbled something softly. Not only did he fail to wake, he began burrowing into Feng Qi’s arms with his eyes still closed.
When he returned to his true form, he liked coiling himself around people, and apparently he had never managed to break the habit while in human form. He wriggled closer with both arms and legs, wrapped himself around Feng Qi’s waist, found a comfortable position in his embrace, and quietly went on sleeping.
“...” Feng Qi shook his head helplessly. Resigned to his fate, he bent down, picked Ji Chaoyun up, and started back.
The sudden feeling of being lifted into the air finally roused Ji Chaoyun.
Without opening his eyes, he rubbed his head against Feng Qi’s neck and shoulder, his voice soft and drowsy. “So sleepy...”
“I told you to rest for a day and not come practice, but you refused to listen.” Feng Qi scolded, “It’s so cold beside the stream. Aren’t you afraid of catching a chill?”
Ji Chaoyun murmured, “It’s not cold... I only slept for a little while.”
Feng Qi snorted and declined to comment.
Feng Qi carried Ji Chaoyun back to the courtyard and placed him on the bed in their room. Only then did Ji Chaoyun finally wake completely.
Feng Qi asked, “Not sleepy anymore? The seafood congee should be ready. Do you want some now?”
“I’m not hungry yet.” Ji Chaoyun rubbed his eyes, vaguely sensing that something was wrong with the person before him. “You don’t look very well. Did something go wrong while circulating your power today?”
“No.”
Feng Qi sat down beside the bed and idly played with Ji Chaoyun’s fingers, but offered no further explanation.
“Feng Qi, something is troubling you.” Ji Chaoyun took his hand and asked softly, “Is it something you can’t tell me?”
“...No.” Feng Qi lay down on the bed and naturally pulled Ji Chaoyun into his arms. “There’s nothing I can’t tell you. It’s just... I saw some things, and my thoughts are still a little confused. I don’t know where to begin.”
Ji Chaoyun rested against Feng Qi’s chest and patiently asked, “Why are you confused? Did you have a nightmare?”
“Perhaps it was a nightmare.”
Feng Qi let out a long sigh and slowly said, “I dreamed of the beginning of heaven and earth. I dreamed of calamity fire destroying the world. I dreamed of... the birth of the first phoenix between heaven and earth.”
Ji Chaoyun froze.
“That was Feng Xiao,” Feng Qi said. “I don’t know why I saw those things, but I’m certain that phoenix was Feng Xiao.”
Ji Chaoyun’s fingertips trembled almost imperceptibly. He asked, “What else?”
Feng Qi said, “The first phoenix between heaven and earth was born in response to calamity and saved the world from desolation. That was why he came to the Immortal Realm in the first place. He was born to save the world. That was his destiny.”
“Born to save the world...” The end of Ji Chaoyun’s words trembled faintly. “So... that’s how it was.”
“And there’s something else.” Feng Qi lowered his eyes to Ji Chaoyun, his voice slightly hoarse. “I have a feeling that he is still somewhere in this world. That he never truly left.”
Ji Chaoyun stared blankly. Only after a long while did he shake his head. “Feng Qi, his sword has already left its master. He’s gone.”
“...Perhaps.” Feng Qi seemed to hesitate for a long time before continuing quietly, “But I have a feeling he may appear again very soon. When a catastrophe threatens to destroy the world, when everything has reached the end of the road.”
Ji Chaoyun’s eyes widened, and an ominous premonition suddenly rose within him. “You mean...”
Feng Qi said, “A demonic invasion.”
Ji Chaoyun was silent for a long time.
Feng Qi watched his expression. Ji Chaoyun’s eyes were lowered and his lips tightly pressed together. He did not look happy.
Feng Qi asked quietly, “Chaoyun... you don’t want him to return?”
“I...”
No one wished more fervently than Ji Chaoyun for Feng Xiao to return.
Although things were good now, it was still not the same.
The meeting and companionship they had shared three hundred years ago, the promises they had made, everything the two of them had experienced together... Ji Chaoyun had always hoped that he would someday remember it all.
But if Feng Qi was right, and the price of his return was another calamity befalling the world... Ji Chaoyun did not want that.
If that happened, Feng Xiao would face circumstances even worse than those of three hundred years ago.
Three hundred years ago, he had the allied forces of the Immortal Realm behind him and tens of thousands of divine soldiers brought from the Divine Realm. Now, he had nothing.
Now, the older generation of the Immortal Realm was either dead or wounded, while the Divine Realm had already sealed itself away, making reinforcements impossible. If he truly awakened, what other choice would he have besides sacrificing himself for this world once again?
If the demons were destined to invade sooner or later, they could fight them together, or they could flee to the mortal realm to escape the calamity. Ji Chaoyun did not want this person to awaken because of the demonic invasion, only to sacrifice himself for the world once more.
That would be unfair to him.
He would rather this person remain the Second Prince of the Phoenix Clan forever, living a lifetime of peace and happiness.
A sudden feeling of grievance welled up in Ji Chaoyun’s heart, so strong that he could not even say where it came from. Seeing his mood growing increasingly troubled, Feng Qi began, “Chaoyun, don’t think too much about it. Today, I only—”
Before he could finish, Ji Chaoyun silenced him.
Ji Chaoyun pressed Feng Qi down onto the bed and kissed him fiercely.
They had never shared such a passionate kiss with Ji Chaoyun taking the lead. Feng Qi immediately stiffened beneath him. “Ch-Chaoyun...”
“I don’t want him to come back,” Ji Chaoyun said in a muffled voice.
“Feng Qi, I don’t care what you saw. None of it was real.” Ji Chaoyun raised his head, his eyes faintly red. “The demons won’t invade. He won’t come back.”
Feng Qi smiled reassuringly. “All right. He won’t.”
He gathered Ji Chaoyun back into his arms and gently stroked him again and again. “You’re the one who wanted to ask, yet now you’re suddenly so angry.”
“I’m not angry,” Ji Chaoyun said softly. “I don’t know why. I just suddenly feel so uneasy... so afraid. Three hundred years ago, I desperately wanted to take part in the war and do my part for the Immortal Realm. But now, I only want us to live well together. I don’t want you risking yourself again.”
Feng Qi’s gaze darkened, but he quickly concealed it and coaxed him gently. “It’s all right. Maybe it really was nothing more than a nightmare. I frightened myself for no reason.”
“...Mm.” Ji Chaoyun answered softly and remained sprawled over Feng Qi without speaking again.
Only after calming down did he begin to find something strange.
Had his emotions always fluctuated this strongly before?
...That did not seem very good.
The atmosphere gradually eased. Ji Chaoyun yawned, sleepiness clouding his eyes once more.
“Sleepy again?”
Ji Chaoyun blinked. His eyelids felt so heavy he could barely keep them open. “Mm. I don’t know what’s wrong with me either.”
Feng Qi rolled over, settled Ji Chaoyun on his side, tucked the blankets securely around him, and wrapped his arms around him again. “Sleep. In a couple of days, I’m definitely having an immortal physician examine you and find out what’s going on with your body.”
“Mm... I’ll listen to you.”
Ji Chaoyun’s voice quickly faded, and soon he stopped speaking altogether.
Feng Qi stared at him for a long while and silently sighed.
In truth, he had not told him everything.
What he had seen within his sea of consciousness was not limited to those things.
There, when he saw that young little phoenix, an absurd thought had suddenly surfaced in his mind.
He felt that he was that little phoenix.
But if he was that phoenix, wouldn’t that mean he was Feng Xiao?
The thought was simply too absurd, so absurd that he did not even dare mention it to Ji Chaoyun.
“Impossible. How could there be such a thing?” Feng Qi muttered quietly to himself. “If I really am him, then all those things I did before...”
Whatever he thought of made his teeth ache. Unable to suppress it, Feng Qi shuddered and nearly woke Ji Chaoyun.
He hurriedly tightened his arms around him and murmured a few soothing words before the person in his embrace settled back into peaceful sleep.
It should be... impossible, right?
Feng Qi gazed at Ji Chaoyun’s sleeping face and thought uneasily to himself.
☁︎₊˚⊹ The Author’s Jade-Slip Aside ⊹˚₊☁︎
I wasn’t feeling very well throughout the day, so I only started writing in the evening. And so, the updates keep getting later and later...
I’ll send out the red packets tomorrow. I’m too sleepy. Good night! (づ￣ 3￣)づ
[I made some revisions to the chapter, but you don’t need to worry about them. I’d like to take today off and adjust the update schedule as well, so the next chapter may be updated around noon on the 3rd.]
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