The Sickly Emperor Is Only Immune to Me

Chapter 153: Chapter 153: Human Nature

Sang Yan scoffed with disdain, “You’re angry. That means I’ve hit the mark.”

Qi Jiu: “…”

He felt deflated but didn’t get angry, pausing for a moment before saying, “We are from different camps, and haven’t known each other long. Naturally, you speak for him.”

“That’s no reason for you to kill.”

“To me, killing needs no reason. Not killing needs a reason. Like you, for example.”

He needed a reason to not kill her that could persuade others and himself.

But he knew clearly—

“Sang Yan, you are just bait that has been thrown out. Alive or dead, it doesn’t affect anything now.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“Huh.”

She sneered, too lazy to say more, gulping down a large mouthful of soup, setting down the bowl, and wiping her mouth, “I’m done eating. You can leave now.”

Qi Jiu called someone to clear up the dishes, sitting motionless in his chair.

Sang Yan frowned as she looked at him, “Why aren’t you leaving?”

Qi Jiu looked up at her, “Isn’t this what you brought upon yourself? I’ll sleep here tonight as well.”

Sang Yan: “…”

She gave him a perplexed look, “You really are sick!”

The sick Qi Jiu wasn’t just talking to scare people.

He really had someone bring in a small couch and slept there in the room.

“Men and women should be separate.”

Sang Yan glared at him, “Even though I am a prisoner, you shouldn’t humiliate me like this.”

Qi Jiu, with a look of admiration, responded, “You’re quite aware of yourself indeed, you truly are my prisoner, but is this really considered a humiliation?”

His tone shifted, “Perhaps I should show you what real humiliation is?”

Sang Yan: “…”

Bastard!

Threatening her again!

“You, you—”

She took a deep breath and turned her head away.

It was pointless to argue with a bandit-like man.

Qi Jiu had no intention of speaking further, closed his eyes, and lay down on the couch.

His white hair spread out, some sliding off onto the floor.

Sang Yan glanced at him and suddenly realized she had been too “rigid” and should be more “pliant,” even if it was feigned.

“Actually, your hair—”

She complimentarily yet disingenuously said, “looks quite nice. You don’t have to see yourself as a freak. In this vast world, all sorts of things exist. It’s not necessarily your fault for being different; it could very well be a special favor from the heavens. You know the term ‘favored by the heavens.'”

Qi Jiu hadn’t expected her to say something like that and looked at her surprisingly, “Continue.”

He clearly liked hearing these things.

Sang Yan had no choice but to go along with it, adding a few more sentences, “I think it’s just a matter of hair color, like people’s eyes that are black, brown, or blue. As long as your body is fine and healthy, there’s nothing else to fear.”

Though in her heart she thought: No! Completely white hair must be a genetic mutation! That’s definitely not good! There might be hidden diseases, a risk of dying young!

Unaware of Sang Yan’s sinister thoughts, Qi Jiu nodded and smiled, “Finally, you’ve said something pleasant.”

Seeing him smile, Sang Yan asked, “I won’t be depressed anymore, so can you leave now?”

Qi Jiu tactfully declined, “Forgive me for saying, but I find your words untrustworthy.”

Sang Yan: “…”

Madman!

He’s just like Jiang Ke from the past!

Thinking of Jiang Ke pained her heart.

He had died.

Died on an unnamed island.

The person before her was an assassin.

She couldn’t avenge him and had to smile pleasingly!

How hateful!

She sat on the bed, hugging her legs, falling into a state of self-loathing: she was really incapable!

Qi Jiu looked at her pitiful appearance and said, “You should know that death was a release for him. A man of his strong will could never just barely survive.”

“Shut up! No matter what, it’s not your reason to kill him! You are just a coward, you killed him because you were afraid of him!”

She roared, and tears fell again.

Seeing her cry, Qi Jiu stopped speaking—after all, women and villains are troublesome to deal with.

He lay flat and closed his eyes to sleep.

The nights at sea were very quiet.

Not like when the pirates were around, always bustling until late at night.

Sometimes, when the noise kept her awake, Jiang Ke would tell her stories.

About the interesting encounters he had while pursuing swordsmanship and wandering through the worldly society.

Once, he rescued a widowed woman attempting to hang herself halfway up a mountain, and he inquired about her troubles.

The woman said her home had been burglarized, and her meager possessions stolen.

With no money, no husband, and no children, she thought it easier just to die.

Feeling pity for her helpless state, he gave her fifty taels of silver, hoping she could live well.

Half a month later, anxious, he went to see her again.

She was still alive, recognized him, and joyfully told him that her lost money had been returned.

It turned out that along with the money, the thief had also taken a compartment of her purse where she kept treasured letters from her husband.

Those letters were farewell notes.

In them, the man wrote about being captured by enemies, enduring torture without revealing secrets, and ultimately dying loyally for his country.

It spoke of his devotion to his country, as well as his longing, cherishing, reluctance, and affection for his wife—even wishing her to find new happiness and live peacefully.

The interweaving of personal and profound love, encapsulated in words, had moved the thief.

“As a widow of a martyr, not even a thousand pieces of gold would I dare take. Moved to tears, I return these to you. Please treasure them.”

Even a despised thief could have a moment of compassion.

At the time, she was touched, not by the husband’s heroism, but by the humanity of a thief.

Often, it’s the righteous who end up destroying lives, while the supposedly learned are the ones who betray.

Even a common thief could reform from within, not losing the baseline of humanity, yet Qi Jiu—

“Don’t! Don’t!”

“Please! Don’t kill him!”

“Jiang Ke, Jiang Ke, run—”

Sang Yan was having a nightmare.

She had returned to the day Jiang Ke died.

Qi Jiu had thrust his sword, piercing Jiang Ke’s heart.

She tried repeatedly to stop him, but never succeeded.

“Don’t!”

She sat up in shock, drenched in cold sweat.

Qi Jiu was sitting before the bed, his gaze heavy, watching her terrified state.

“Having a nightmare?”

His voice was as light as a feather.

Sang Yan stared at him silently, breathing rapidly, her chest heaving intensely.

He noticed, glanced briefly, and then returned his gaze to her face: “What were you dreaming about? You kept saying ‘don’t’?”

Gradually, Sang Yan came to her senses, swallowed, and shifted slightly to the side, pulling the covers over herself: “You know very well.”

She lowered her head, hugged her knees, and wept softly: “Jiang Ke… sob… you killed Jiang Ke…”

Qi Jiu watched her frail trembling shoulders, furrowed his brows, and lifted her chin with his hand: “Sang Yan, stop thinking about a dead man! Don’t you remember Jiang Ke’s last words? He had come to terms with his death; it’s you who can’t move on!”

“Let go of me!”

Sang Yan knocked his hand away, her face stained with tears, eyes swollen: “I—I’m not as cruel-hearted as you. How ridiculous. You’re cruel-hearted, yet you expect others to be the same.”

Qi Jiu laughed angrily at her again: “Sang Yan, if I were more cruel-hearted, I’d do something to make you forget him.”

He aggressively grasped her chin, leaned close to her ear, and whispered low: “You wouldn’t have the energy to cry for another man in front of me!”