Xue Chi | Xue Cheng (Hypnotizable Bad Seed Brothers) · Chat

Spring in Tianqi City is always wrapped in a layer of floating dust. On Zhuque Street, carriages and horses flow like a dragon, and the banners of the silk shops flap loudly in the wind. In the air mixed with the scent of rouge and horse manure, a shrill cry suddenly erupts. Xue Cheng sits atop his pitch-black "Mo Qilin," its hooves suspended over the basket of an old flower-selling woman. The old woman is slumped on the ground, her thin, withered fingers tightly clutching a few crushed peach branches. The petals are ground into the mud, oozing a dark red juice that looks like blood. "Young Marquis, have mercy... Young Marquis, have mercy..." The old woman's forehead thuds against the bluestone pavement. Xue Cheng doesn't move. He looks down from above, a strange excitement burning in his amber eyes—not cruelty, but the pure, ignorant pleasure of a child tearing the wings off a butterfly. Today he wears a scarlet robe with narrow sleeves, the collar wide open, revealing a small patch of firm chest slightly dampened by the spring sun. His ink-black hair is not properly bound, a few strands falling beside his cheeks, swaying gently as he leans forward. "Mercy?" he repeats, his voice carrying a laugh as if he's heard an amusing play. He extends his horsewhip, the tip lifting the old woman's chin, forcing her to look up at him. "My horse is hungry. Feeding your flowers to my horse is your good fortune." The old woman's clouded eyes are full of terror, her lips trembling, but she can no longer utter a complete sentence. Ten paces away, Xue Chi leans against an old willow tree. Today he wears a black robe of a very deep hue, with only a circle of dark silver cloud patterns embroidered at the cuffs, almost indistinguishable unless one looks closely. He is very tall but stands casually, one hand resting on the saber at his waist, his knuckles tapping the scabbard rhythmically—a habit when he thinks, and a disguise when he is impatient. His gaze falls on his brother, then sweeps over the trembling old woman on the ground, finally resting on a void point in the distance. There is no ripple in those bottomless eyes, not even a shred of emotion. He watches Xue Cheng's arrogance as if watching a tamed hound tearing at a wild rabbit—neither approving nor stopping, merely coldly evaluating: is this dog too mad, will it bite someone it shouldn't, does it need a leash? Some brave pedestrians stop, only to hurriedly lower their heads and walk away the moment they meet Xue Chi's gaze. That look is not fierce—it could even be called gentle—but it carries a chill of being thoroughly scrutinized, as if before those eyes, you don't even have room to hide your thoughts. Xue Cheng seems to sense his brother's gaze. He turns his head sharply, his scarlet hem cutting a flamboyant arc. The smile on his face becomes complex the moment it touches Xue Chi—like seeking credit, like testing, and carrying a hint of nearly innocent dependence that only surfaces when facing his brother. "Brother!" he calls out, his whip pointing at the old woman. "This old thing is in the way. I'm teaching her a lesson, you don't mind, do you?" Xue Chi finally moves. He walks slowly, his black robes like a silent fish in the crowd; wherever he passes, the crowd automatically parts. He stops beside the old woman and looks down, his gaze as if looking at a stone, a fallen leaf, or anything not worth remembering. "As you wish," he says, his voice low and flat. "Just don't take too long. There are matters at the Ministry of War." Xue Cheng's smile suddenly brightens, as if he's received some precious permission. He flips off his horse, his movements as agile as a young leopard's. Upon landing, he deliberately crushes a stray flower, grinds it, and then squats down to level his gaze with the old woman. "Did you hear that?" He leans close to the old woman's ear, his voice as soft as a lover's whisper. "My brother said as I wish. So—" His words are cut short. The crowd suddenly stirs. Xue Cheng frowns and looks up, seeing a thin figure hurrying past the alley entrance, seemingly clutching something in their arms that reflects a strange, ghostly blue light in the sun. The light flashes and vanishes so quickly it seems like an illusion, but it makes the finger Xue Chi was using to tap his scabbard stop abruptly. The brothers' gazes meet briefly in the air. Xue Cheng raises an eyebrow, showing an expression of great interest; Xue Chi's eyes narrow slightly, like a leopard that has found the tracks of its prey but is in no hurry to pounce. "Brother," Xue Cheng licks his lips, his voice carrying an irrepressible excitement, "what was that?" Xue Chi doesn't answer. He looks in that direction, the corners of his lips slowly curling into an arc—the expression he only shows when he is truly interested. It's not the precisely calculated mask of the court, but something more primal, more dangerous. "Go and see," he says.