Chapter 58

“This person is mine—my prey,” Gu Tingshuang thought.

The feeling was impossible to voice. The moment his spirit sense extended out, he only caught a few familiar traces which triggered a splitting headache. Then he tracked down that thing, and quickly understood what it was that he had encountered alongside the wolves this time.

Gu Tingshuang shivered suddenly, an indescribable familiarity sweeping through him.

"It's the snow yao." He murmured softly.

The golden-backed wolf beside him remained silent.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

When Gu Tingshuang returned to the Fragrant Pavilion, it was already late at night.

Most of the household had gone to sleep, except for a few maids and attendants on duty. Outside the pavilion, there were hardly any guards. The little wolf sat diligently at the courtyard gate, alert to any movements inside.

Seeing Gu Tingshuang return, it bounded over excitedly, leaping onto his knee and burrowing into his embrace with boundless energy.

As usual, Gu Tingshuang picked it up by the scruff and tossed it aside. "Guarding the house? You’re really going to turn into a dog."

The little wolf whimpered in protest, rolling on the ground dramatically. But Gu Tingshuang ignored it and wheeled himself towards the inner chamber.

Ning Shiting should have already gone to bed.

A strange sense of calm settled over Gu Tingshuang. After this journey back from Spirit Mountain, he felt as though he had found the source of his unrest and discovered a way to cast it aside.

He had grown complacent lately, nearly forgetting his true self. This path had been set from the moment he first set foot on Spirit Mountain—he had chosen to become a beast, to walk the path of a wolf.

Matters of the world were meant to stay separate from him.

Now, Ning Shiting’s presence disrupted everything. Despite his precautions, wary of Ning Shiting taming his pack of wolves into dogs, he realised that he himself was the first to waver.

Human thoughts—weak, fragile, easily swayed, sentimental—emotions were tools for controlling people, not wolves.

Ning Shiting hadn’t disclosed his motives, and Ning Shiting pitied him... Encountering Gu Feiyin’s return to the manor was an unmistakably dangerous signal.

This was a death trap, plain for all to see. Ning Shiting had no legitimate grounds to support his claim, no proof to ensure he would side with him.

A cast-off cripple, a Shizi with no presence in his own father’s eyes—perhaps it was precisely his control over the wolves that caught Ning Shiting’s interest. Ning Shiting had treated him kindly, possibly aiming to subtly recruit him and ensnare him in the end.

Gu Tingshuang had heard and seen this too many times.

What shocked him the most was that he had wavered, even with such an obvious trap, such an unworthy motive.

The little wolf, who had been following him, suddenly sensed something amiss. It backed away slightly, as if feeling the murderous intent directed at Ning Shiting.

The room was quiet.

Gu Tingshuang’s wheelchair glided forward silently.

Ning Shiting lay asleep on the bed, wrapped in his blanket, breathing evenly.

Gu Tingshuang enjoyed watching him like this, his silvery hair flowing, his fair face serene. If moonlight streamed in by the bed, it would resemble the mythical Jiaoren coast, with silver-white sands and silver Jiaoren—a place spoken of as if it were a dreamland.

A dagger slipped from its sheath, the blade’s tip lightly pressed against the Jiaoren’s slender throat.

During the day, Ning Shiting was astutely aware; but asleep, he was less vigilant.

“This person is mine—my prey,” Gu Tingshuang thought.

The feeling of Ning Shiting’s life within his grasp was a strange, comforting joy. A slight twist of his hand could slit Ning Shiting’s throat, silencing those soft, cool lips forever.

Why not?

This man had disturbed his heart and left him alone in the desolate dusk, watching his figure fade into the distance.

Ning Shiting knew nothing, never asked anything of him, yet dared to pity him so presumptuously.

He didn’t need it.

In his drowsiness, Ning Shiting seemed about to awaken.

Gu Tingshuang’s gaze darkened, and just as he prepared to act, a sudden clink interrupted him—a metallic ring echoing as spurs clashed against armour. The sound was faint but close.

Gu Tingshuang had never heard anything like it before. In his daze, Ning Shiting suddenly awoke, his eyes snapping open.

Seeing him, Ning Shiting looked slightly confused.

When Ning Shiting opened his mouth, Gu Tingshuang thought he would ask why he was there or why he held a dagger, but Ning Shiting’s next move defied all expectations—

Ning Shiting, still wrapped in his blanket, clasped his hand with urgent intensity. “Get in, Yin Bing, come up, get in bed.”

“Wha…”

Before Gu Tingshuang could speak, Ning Shiting, with surprising strength, pulled him onto the bed, hurriedly wrapping him up tightly. His breath turned uneven in the dark.

Gu Tingshuang was enveloped in darkness, his senses filled with Ning Shiting’s fragrance and the lingering warmth from his sleep.

He heard Ning Shiting whisper, “Wangye has returned.”