Chapter Twenty-One

"Elder He." Recognizing the speaker, Pei Zhan responded lazily without rising.

Cen Yan's beautiful brow furrowed slightly, a hint of displeasure on his elegant face.

He Ming, however, was used to Pei Zhan's ways. Being young, talented, and one of the top cultivators of his generation, a bit of arrogance was normal.

He Ming didn't mind Pei Zhan's discourtesy. He stroked his beard with an aged hand, smiling kindly.

Lian Ci descended from the hall and quickly came to Pei Zhan. His gaze swept over him, carefully examining him: "Zhan'er, how do you feel after this seclusion?"

Since taking Pei Zhan as his disciple, Lian Ci had guided him diligently. Pei Zhan still held considerable respect for Lian Ci. He dropped his perfunctory attitude towards He Ming, stood respectfully, and bowed properly to Lian Ci. When he spoke, his tone returned to normal: "Reporting to Master, the blocked meridians have been cleared. I should be able to aim for mid-stage Golden Core within the next ten years."

Three years ago, when Cen Yan was severely injured and Elder Lin died protecting him, Pei Zhan was also implicated and injured. Although his injuries later healed, he always felt a sense of blockage in his meridians during cultivation.

Thus, a year and a half ago, Pei Zhan had to temporarily go into seclusion.

"Excellent!" Lian Ci's joy deepened. His heart had been hanging in suspense for over a year, worried that Pei Zhan's seclusion wouldn't go smoothly. Now, he could finally set his mind at ease. "Your emergence from seclusion is perfect. We won't have to postpone the Inner Sect Competition in six months."

The Inner Sect Competition was a sparring competition among Qingyang Tianzong's inner sect disciples. The top five would receive rewards to aid their cultivation.

Originally, it was a sect-wide competition, a grand event for the sect, meant to be shared with the Immortal Sects. However, Qingyang Tianzong's status was too low, and they had too few inner sect disciples. Even if they sent out invitations, no one would come.

Over the last few decades, it had evolved into an internal sect competition.

Lian Ci had thought Pei Zhan would take a little longer to come out of seclusion and had planned to postpone the competition. Now, it seemed completely unnecessary.

"I'll abide by Master's decision." Pei Zhan bowed in response and sat back down, leaning back in his chair, one leg raised and resting on the seat's edge, a dominant posture.

His narrow eyes scanned the hall lazily and asked casually: "Just now, I heard you asking about a confession? What's the matter, did some disciple make a mistake and refuse to confess?"

The relaxed atmosphere in the hall vanished instantly.

"No, it's about the demon spy we caught two days ago. After two days and two nights of interrogation, he not only refuses to confess but also made an absurd demand." Lian Ci sighed deeply and told Pei Zhan everything that had happened recently. "I have no idea what the demon's intentions are."

Lian Ci knew his place. Qingyang Tianzong didn't even rank among the Immortal Sects. What could the demons possibly want from them?

Pei Zhan's handsome face showed a flicker of surprise. He had been in the sect for years and knew Yan Zhan's methods. Even Hall Master Yan couldn't break that spy's mouth?

Pei Zhan raised a sharp brow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. With a flick of his hand, he retrieved the spirit sword from the pillar and slammed it down on the table. He stood up and in a flash moved outside the hall: "I'll go have a chat with the spy!"

Pei Zhan always did as he pleased and often went overboard. Lian Ci knew his temperament well. The spy in the dungeon was crucial; nothing could go wrong.

Lian Ci's brow twitched violently. He quickly said to Yan Zhan: "Hall Master Yan, go quickly and watch Pei Zhan. Don't let him do anything rash!"

Yan Zhan accepted the order, shot out of the main hall, and headed straight for the Disciplinary Hall.

He Ming and the other two exchanged glances and followed suit.

-

Disciplinary Hall.

The disciple guarding the gate saw Pei Zhan approaching from afar and was momentarily stunned. When had Senior Brother Pei come out of seclusion?

"Senior Brother Pei." The disciple hurried forward to bow, but before he could speak, Pei Zhan's lazy, low voice sounded above his head: "Take me to the deepest dungeon."

The deepest dungeon held the spy caught two days ago. Normally, no one could go in or out freely. But in Qingyang Tianzong, if there was anyone not to be messed with, everyone would point to Pei Zhan. Pei Zhan didn't even regard Elders He Ming and the others. How could a lowly gate-guarding disciple dare disobey him?

After a moment's hesitation, the disciple nodded and respectfully led the way for Pei Zhan.

After winding through the dungeon for the time it takes to burn half an incense stick, the disciple stopped in front of an iron-barred cell door reeking of blood. Trembling, he said: "Senior Brother Pei, we're here."

Pei Zhan looked through the iron bars and saw a bloody, barely human form bound to a cross-shaped rack inside the cell. Nearly all its skin had been peeled off, discarded piece by piece on the floor.

A large pool of blood had formed beneath the figure. Pei Zhan pushed the door open, stepped over the blood, and walked in front of the figure. He could now see that its hand and foot tendons had been cut, and an iron nail, as thick as an adult man's thumb, was stuck in one eye, the socket filled with congealed red and white matter.

The stark mix of colors was quite unsightly. Pei Zhan frowned and looked away in disgust: "Not confessing even after this? His backbone is indeed hard."

At least among the people Pei Zhan had seen, no one could endure this much.

Wen Yuan had just endured a day and night of torture and was in a haze. Hearing someone speak, he moved his head under his disheveled hair, as if to see who it was. Another voice, contemptuous and sneering, reached his ears: "Pity. I don't like hard bones. Too troublesome."

With those words, Pei Zhan spread his five fingers, curling them slightly into a claw aimed at Wen Yuan's head. In an instant, a surge of powerful spiritual energy descended upon Wen Yuan's crown, breaking through his brain's defenses with irresistible force and forcibly extracting his spiritual consciousness.

The intense pain emanating from his spiritual consciousness, a pain that seared into his very soul, jolted Wen Yuan's eyes wide. His confused mind instantly snapped to clarity. He stared incredulously at the unfamiliar handsome man before him. He tried to move his head, tried to escape, but was bound by the spiritual energy, unable to move an inch.

"This is the Soul Search..."

How could someone from the Immortal Sects use this spell?

Wen Yuan's mouth gaped open, bloody water gurgling out. He instinctively tried to stop it, but a large, well-jointed hand simultaneously clamped down on his throat.

Wen Yuan couldn't utter another word. His eyes bulged, red veins crawling across them like a web woven by blood spiders. From the eye with the nail, the congealed red and white matter fell away, and more flowed out.

Visible wisps of white smoke were drawn from Wen Yuan's brain, streaming into Pei Zhan's palm, swirling, growing rounder, gradually forming an ethereal white sphere.

Wen Yuan's expression grew more pained, his pupils more unfocused. As the last wisp of white smoke was extracted from his brain, he fell limp, his neck bending, his head drooping. His eyes held only empty darkness.

Pei Zhan didn't spare him a glance. After extracting Wen Yuan's memories, he withdrew his hand from above Wen Yuan's head. The sphere hovered in mid-air.

Pei Zhan flicked his long sleeve. Instantly, the sphere flashed with white light, and all of Wen Yuan's memories played frame by frame before Pei Zhan's eyes.

His carefree life before infiltrating Qingyang Tianzong.

His year and a half of exploration and investigation in the outer sect.

In the forest of the secret realm...

After viewing the memories in the spiritual consciousness, the sphere slowly dissipated. Pei Zhan reached out and grabbed Wen Yuan's throat, twisting hard and fast!

Crack—!

The sound of a breaking bone echoed in the dungeon. Wen Yuan's head hung askew, one eye wide, his breath gone.

The disciple who had led him there had no chance to stop him. He gasped, his face a picture of horror as if seeing a ghost in broad daylight: "Senior Brother Pei, you can't kill him..."

This is bad, this is very bad.

How was he going to explain this to the Hall Master?

Pei Zhan glanced sideways at the disciple, his eyes sharp as knives: "What did you say?"

The disciple's scalp tingled. He immediately dared not breathe loudly, not daring to say another word.

Pei Zhan ignored the disciple, replaying those unfamiliar scenes in his mind. He hadn't expected that during his year and a half in seclusion, so many things had happened. Especially concerning Cen Yan's mortal fiancé.

What was his name again?

Oh, Chu Rong.

On the first day Cen Yan brought Chu Rong back to the sect three years ago, Pei Zhan had seen that man from a distance. He didn't know what he looked like—he hadn't bothered to look closely. He vaguely remembered a ghost-like mask and the man clinging to Cen Yan all day. It was truly beneath notice.

However, in the memories he had just seized, he had seen a completely different appearance.

Pei Zhan had entered the secret realm years ago but had never known there was a teleportation array in the forest. How did Chu Rong know about it?

Just then, a clatter of footsteps echoed in the dungeon. Yan Zhan and his party arrived. Seeing Wen Yuan lifeless, they all stared in shock.

Pei Zhan had... killed the spy??

Yan Zhan looked up, his gloomy eyes boring into Pei Zhan, his tone carrying a hint of displeasure: "Pei Zhan, the interrogation isn't over."

If Pei Zhan killed him just like that, what was he supposed to interrogate? They hadn't gotten any information about the demons yet.

"What, you wanted to keep wasting time?" Pei Zhan snapped back to reality, meeting Yan Zhan's gaze unflinchingly. His voice was unhurried, showing no guilt whatsoever, as if he hadn't killed a man but an insignificant ant by the roadside.

"Wasting time? What if we had interrogated..." He Ming couldn't help but retort.

Pei Zhan dismissed it, showing He Ming no mercy: "Well, did you?"

The words hit the mark. He Ming choked, unable to argue.

Pei Zhan flicked the blood from his hand, ignoring the varied expressions around him, and strode out.

As he passed Xu Ziyang, he suddenly stopped. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave Xu Ziyang a dark, unreadable look: "Senior Martial Brother, do you know who the spy was asking for?"

Xu Ziyang's deep eyes flickered, waves surging beneath the surface. He smiled, gentle and refined: "Junior Brother is joking. You've already killed the spy. How would I know?"

"That's best." Pei Zhan snorted mockingly and strode out of the dungeon.

This presumptuous arrogance deepened the displeasure on Cen Yan's face, making him dislike Pei Zhan even more: "Second Senior Brother's actions are becoming increasingly erratic."

"Don't you know his nature? Hasn't he always been this way?" Xu Ziyang chuckled, but there was no trace of humor in his eyes.

Inside the cell, two Disciplinary Hall disciples lifted the corpse down from the rack and laid it flat on the ground.

Wen Yuan's eyes and mouth were wide open, his features twisted in terror. Anyone could see he had suffered immense pain before death. Yan Zhan had never seen such an expression on his face during the two days and nights of interrogation.

A flicker of suspicion crossed Yan Zhan's eyes. He carefully examined Wen Yuan's corpse, then his gaze sharpened. His usually expressionless face showed a rare hint of grimness.

"Pei! Zhan!" Yan Zhan clenched his fists, turning his head to glare at the dungeon exit, enunciating each word through gritted teeth.

He Ming noticed Yan Zhan's strange demeanor and asked, puzzled: "Hall Master Yan, what's wrong? Is something amiss with the spy's corpse?"

Yan Zhan pointed at Wen Yuan's head and said coldly: "There's no spiritual consciousness here."

What was he saying? When a person dies, their spirit extinguishes; the spiritual consciousness dissipates quickly. A dead man has no spiritual consciousness. Wait...

A flash of insight struck He Ming. A sense of foreboding rose within him. His breathing hitched, and he felt a pressure in his chest, almost unable to catch his breath: "Pei Zhan wouldn't have used the Soul Searching Art on Wen Yuan, would he?"

Yan Zhan's eyes were cold as he looked down at Wen Yuan's corpse without speaking.

But this silent confirmation was answer enough.

"Insolent!" He Ming's face was ashen. He had always thought Pei Zhan was merely rebellious, but not excessively so. He hadn't expected Pei Zhan to be so audacious!

How was this behavior any different from the demons?

The Soul Searching Art was forbidden among the Immortal Sects. If word got out, the consequences would be unimaginable. The more He Ming thought about it, the more afraid he became. He hurried out of the dungeon.

"Senior Brother, what's Master doing?" Cen Yan looked at He Ming's retreating back, confused.

The Soul Searching Art was taboo among the Immortal Sects; no one had mentioned it in many years. Cen Yan had only been in the sect for thirty years, so he had never heard of it.

But Xu Ziyang was different. He had entered the sect much earlier than Cen Yan and was very perceptive. It took him only a few breaths to guess what He Ming and the others were talking about.

It was exactly something Pei Zhan would do. Xu Ziyang's eyes darkened, fathomless as the sea. No wonder Pei Zhan had asked that question earlier.

"I don't know." Xu Ziyang's tone didn't change. He moved to follow He Ming: "Let's go, Junior Brother Cen. Let's follow and see. Maybe we can help Elder He."

As their figures disappeared into the dungeon, Yan Zhan stood with his hands behind his back. His eyes, flashing with cold light, swept over everyone in the dungeon: "No one breathes a word of what happened today. Otherwise, you know the consequences!"

His voice was flat, devoid of inflection. The dungeon guards shuddered, their backs cold with fear. They knelt in unison, their faces pale, their hearts pounding.

He Ming chased out of the dungeon, but Pei Zhan was nowhere in sight outside the Disciplinary Hall. He grabbed a passing disciple and asked anxiously: "Did you see which direction Pei Zhan went?"

"Pe, Senior Brother Pei?" All sect disciples were afraid of Pei Zhan. The disciple jumped, stammering: "I, I don't know."

He Ming released the disciple and turned to Cen Yan: "Yan'er, Ziyang, let's split up. I'll go to the main hall to report to the Sect Leader. You two continue looking for Pei Zhan. Once you find him, send me a message."

Cen Yan was still confused but nodded in agreement and turned to search elsewhere.

Xu Ziyang's tall, upright figure stood motionless. The gentle smile faded from his refined face. He looked towards a certain part of the inner sect, a cold, sharp glint flashing in his eyes.

-

Wusong Residence.

The sun was setting, branches intertwined, trees casting deep shade. Rays of sunset filtered through the leaves, dappling the corridor floor with light.

A tall, broad figure walked in as if on a leisurely stroll. The gold embroidery on his dark cloud-patterned robe gleamed with a liquid gold sheen in the fading light.

His Golden Core stage divine sense spread outwards. In an instant, Pei Zhan located the mortal's aura within the residence. With a slight shift of his broad shoulders, he moved like a blur, stopping before a door.

Dong—

A moderate knock came from outside.

Chu Rong stood by the window, half his ghost mask catching the amber sunset, breathtakingly beautiful. He turned his head. It wasn't yet time for the evening meal. Who could it be? Xu Ziyang again?

Chu Rong had no desire to get involved with the main leads. His jet-black lashes lowered as he stood motionless by the window. A hoarse voice came from behind the mask, carrying a hint of impatience: "What is it now?"

The person outside seemed to sense his impatience. The knocking paused. For a long moment, there was silence.

Chu Rong's pale lips behind the mask parted slightly, thinking the person outside would take the hint and leave. Suddenly, a great force pushed the door open. The door slammed against the wall with a thunderous crash.

Chu Rong looked up in surprise, and a face silhouetted against the light suddenly filled his vision.

The man was exceptionally handsome, his features sharply defined like a sculpture. In the half-light, his features were even more striking—long brows sweeping into his temples, a high nose bridge, and a pair of narrow, gold-flecked eyes that were arrogant, imperious, and always carried a dangerous edge when he looked at someone.

Chu Rong's breath caught. His long, fair fingers, resting on the windowsill, tensed unconsciously: "Why you?"

Chu Rong knew the plot well. With one glance, he guessed the newcomer's identity—it was Pei Zhan, the most troublesome main love interest in the original text.

Unlike Xu Ziyang's gentle, attentive nature, Pei Zhan was arrogant, acting purely on whim. Even more temperamental than the original owner, no one could predict when he would turn hostile. In Qingyang Tianzong, few were unafraid of Pei Zhan.

In short, Pei Zhan was a rebellious madman.

Pei Zhan seemed not to hear Chu Rong's question. He swaggered into the room, his eyes roaming over Chu Rong without restraint.

The man was tall and slender, his black hair loose around his shoulders. The hem of his purple, water-patterned gauze robe brushed over his jade-white fingertips. The matching sash cinched his waist, accentuating its curve.

Pei Zhan's gaze drifted over it casually, a dark shade instantly appearing in his eyes.

In the memories of the spy he'd just killed, Pei Zhan had seen that waist more than once—held firmly under the spy's hand, rubbed, measured, felt, exciting the spy, making him tremble with anticipation even at the moment of death.

The memory was so vivid it felt as though Pei Zhan himself had touched that waist.

A flicker of indescribable emotion crossed Pei Zhan's eyes. A faint, mocking smile curved his lips. His tall form unexpectedly drew close to the window, trapping Chu Rong between his broad chest and the windowsill.

"What are you doing?" The man's overwhelmingly oppressive presence was immediately uncomfortable.

Chu Rong's muscles tensed. He turned his head away, his black hair falling over his neck. The faint orchid fragrance emanating from him drifted into Pei Zhan's nostrils.

Pei Zhan's gaze paused. He glanced at the incense in the room. He had thought the lingering scent was from the incense. He hadn't expected it to be Chu Rong's natural body fragrance. He had never known that before.

Pei Zhan's Adam's apple slid down involuntarily. His gaze darkened. His voice was low, his question direct: "Chu Rong, how did you know there was a teleportation array in the secret realm forest?"

Teleportation array?

Chu Rong realized. Just like in the original plot, Pei Zhan had gone to the dungeon after leaving seclusion and used the Soul Searching Art on Wen Yuan's memories. How he had used the teleportation array to escape Wen Yuan in the secret realm couldn't escape Pei Zhan's notice.

However, the matter of transmigrating into the book was impossible to explain. Besides, he would be able to leave in six months. Chu Rong didn't want any more trouble: "A teleportation array? You're joking. I'm just a mortal. What could I know?"

Lying!

Pei Zhan's hand, calloused from sword practice, shot out like lightning, firmly grasping Chu Rong's slender neck and slamming him back against the windowsill.

A Golden Core cultivator's speed—how could a mortal react in time? Chu Rong's vision blurred, and his back slammed hard against the windowsill, making his vision go dark with pain.

Madman.

The original text's description was accurate, word for word.

Later in the original plot, if Xu Ziyang was the first to develop murderous intent towards the original owner, then Pei Zhan was the most brutal. Before the original owner's body was thrown to the beasts in the back mountain, it was a horrific sight.

Recalling the scene in Wusong Residence a few days ago, when he saw Xu Ziyang and Cen Yan having a private conversation at night, a flash of inspiration struck Chu Rong. He instinctively raised his hands to grab Pei Zhan's arms, pushing outwards, deliberately misinterpreting Pei Zhan's meaning: "You people from this sect are ridiculous. You keep accusing innocent people without evidence. Or, seeing Xu Ziyang and Cen Yan all lovey-dovey makes you uncomfortable, so you're taking it out on me?"

His long sleeves slid down his arms, revealing a jade-like wrist. His upper body was forced to lean back, his center of gravity shifting to his waist. Unconsciously, his back arched, accentuating the curve of his waist even more.

"You like Cen Yan, go pursue him. Cen Yan and I have agreed to dissolve the engagement in six months. I'm just a fiancé in name only. Why take your anger out on me? Unless," Chu Rong's tone grew more mocking, "you're not man enough to compete with Xu Ziyang?"

Pei Zhan's gaze involuntarily fell on the waist before him again. His voice drawled: "So you know you have an engagement with Cen Yan. Does he know you're this good at seduction? That you could make a demon, who only saw you once, so obsessed he'd trade crucial demon intel for one night with you? Tell me, should I agree to this deal that's a sure win?"

What deal?

Pei Zhan's words baffled Chu Rong. His neck throbbed, his breathing grew more difficult, but his mind became sharper.

His glossy black hair cascaded over the windowsill like rippling water. Chu Rong looked up, meeting Pei Zhan's eyes. His butterfly-wing lashes cast fine shadows on his mask, but the light in his eyes remained undimmed, captivating. His deliberately low voice, rising at the end, was like a water spirit bewitching the heart: "You can try."

Chu Rong didn't know what deal Pei Zhan was talking about. But in the original plot, Pei Zhan had killed Wen Yuan without mercy after extracting his memories with the Soul Searching Art. By now, Wen Yuan's corpse was probably cold.

The person making the deal was dead. What deal was there to make?

Chu Rong wasn't intimidated at all. He was confident. Even if the spy weren't dead, after hearing the deal's terms, Chu Rong didn't think He Ming would agree.

After all, he had an engagement with Cen Yan. If he was violated, it would dishonor both Cen Yan and Qingyang Tianzong.

As for his own reputation?

Having spent over twenty years navigating the world alone, Chu Rong cared little for such intangible things. And as for the original owner—what reputation did he have left?

As for the teleportation array, even if Pei Zhan revealed that he knew about it, Chu Rong had ways to clear himself. Though He Ming's prejudice against him would likely lead to another confrontation.

But at worst, he'd just go to the front hall again. He'd been there before.

Speaking of which, Chu Rong's thoughts drifted. Two days had passed since he left the secret realm, yet He Ming and the others had acted as if nothing had happened, never asking him about his time there.

Had Xu Ziyang not told them?

Pei Zhan gazed silently at the man before him, his eyes flickering. Clearly, these few words wouldn't intimidate Chu Rong into revealing the truth.

Pei Zhan's eyes traveled over Chu Rong's form. The light from the window illuminated his strikingly handsome features, as fathomless as an abyss, sending a chill through one's heart.

He suddenly thought that Chu Rong might not be as unappealing as he had imagined—in all his years, Chu Rong was the first mortal, and the only one, to speak to him like this.

Just then, a gentle, low, amused voice came from outside: "So this is where you are, Junior Brother Pei."

Pei Zhan's arm stopped mid-air.

Chu Rong glanced sideways—it was Xu Ziyang.

Xu Ziyang walked calmly into the room. His gaze seemed to drift over Pei Zhan's hand on Chu Rong's neck. His face was smiling warmly, but his eyes were cold: "Junior Brother Pei, Elder He is looking for you. You might want to go see him."

Pei Zhan withdrew his hand, clasping it behind his back. He didn't even spare Xu Ziyang a glance, his posture arrogant, his presence oppressive: "What if I don't want to?"

Xu Ziyang's smile deepened. His tone was sincere, like a brother genuinely concerned for Pei Zhan: "You know what you did in the dungeon, Junior Brother. Elder He is in the main hall now, and I suspect the Sect Leader would like to see you too."

In the original plot, Lian Ci had indeed summoned Pei Zhan for questioning. Upon learning that the demon's goal was to kill Cen Yan and eliminate a future threat, he ordered the sect to keep it a secret, never to be revealed.

Later in the original text, however, the fact that Pei Zhan used the Soul Searching Art was discovered by the Immortal Sects, causing him considerable trouble. That suffering indirectly benefited Cen Yan, which was why Cen Yan later softened towards him, accepting him and saving him from the "wife-chasing crematorium."

At the mention of Lian Ci, Pei Zhan fell silent. The hand behind his back clenched tightly, veins bulging. His expression darkened.

The air in Wusong Residence grew tense.

After a long moment, Pei Zhan turned, gave Chu Rong a deep look, and strode away.

Finally, the madman was gone.

Chu Rong's tense body relaxed. He propped his elbows on the windowsill, clutching his sore neck, coughing softly, gasping for fresh air.

"Are you alright?" Xu Ziyang stepped forward, stopping before the window. He leaned down slightly, his large, well-defined hand reaching towards Chu Rong's shoulder.

Chu Rong shifted aside, avoiding Xu Ziyang's touch. The orchid fragrance from his body wafted out. His breathing was still labored, making his voice a little weak: "Thank you."

If Xu Ziyang hadn't come, he didn't know what else Pei Zhan might have done.

But these main leads—every last one of them was mad. After Pei Zhan's display, Chu Rong's dislike for them only deepened. He wanted to stay far, far away.

Xu Ziyang's hand froze in mid-air for a moment, then he withdrew it casually: "This matter was Junior Brother Pei's discourtesy. Let me apologize on his behalf. Rest well."

Xu Ziyang's eyes darkened. Inhaling the faint orchid scent, he took a bottle of bruise-relieving medicine from his spatial storage, placed it on the desk, and gently closed the door.

-

Xu Ziyang returned to the main hall. Pei Zhan was kneeling below, his back straight, his expression indifferent, showing no sign of remorse.

"You, you, you... what am I to do with you!" Lian Ci sat on the dais, pointing at Pei Zhan, his chest heaving, unable to form a complete sentence.

He had anticipated Pei Zhan would do something in the dungeon, but he hadn't expected it to be so outrageous, so reckless!

Hadn't he repeatedly drilled into Pei Zhan that the Soul Searching Art was forbidden? Did he just ignore everything he said?

He Ming stroked his beard, frowning deeply. His expression was also disapproving. This time, Pei Zhan had gone too far. A single misstep could implicate the entire sect.

After a long moment, Lian Ci's breathing steadied. He rubbed his aching temples: "Your offense is severe. I sentence you to thirty lashes in the Disciplinary Hall and six months of reflection. Any objections?"

One lash in the Disciplinary Hall strikes the spiritual consciousness directly. Thirty lashes are the limit for most cultivators. Lian Ci's punishment was indeed severe, showing how furious he was.

But he left some leniency—only six months of reflection, so Pei Zhan could still participate in the Inner Sect Competition.

Pei Zhan didn't respond. He looked up, his tone casual: "Master, don't you want to know why the demon spy infiltrated the sect?"

Lian Ci's expression was stern. He fell into thought. Of course he wanted to know, but the intelligence was obtained through improper means, which troubled him.

Nevertheless, the spy was dead, and Pei Zhan had been punished. It would be a waste not to use the information.

Lian Ci said one word: "Speak."

Pei Zhan's tone was lazy, each word slow and deliberate: "To assassinate Cen Yan."

Four words, like a sudden thunderclap, shattered everyone's composure. They all turned to look at Cen Yan.

Silence filled the main hall, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

He Ming's expression changed in an instant: "Assassinate who?!"

Yan'er?

This spy wanted to kill his beloved disciple?!

"Looking for death!" He Ming's fury peaked. His attitude towards Pei Zhan did a complete one-eighty: "Well killed, Zhan'er!"

In the centuries before Qingyang Tianzong, no one had broken through to Nascent Soul. He Ming and Lian Ci's Golden Core cultivation had been painstakingly built over two hundred years. That was why Qingyang Tianzong had always lagged behind the other Immortal Sects.

Cen Yan was the disciple most likely to reach Nascent Soul in Qingyang's history. Not to mention killing one demon—even the lives of all demons combined were not worth a single strand of Cen Yan's hair!

"The demons have clearly targeted Junior Brother Cen." Xu Ziyang's expression was worried, his words hitting home: "I fear if they fail once, there will be a second time."

No, given how demons operated, there would definitely be a second, a third... countless times.

"If they dare come, I'll make sure they never leave!" Cen Yan's severe injury three years ago, which nearly cost him his life, was enough. He Ming would never allow any accident to befall Cen Yan again!

If Qingyang Tianzong was to have a place among the Immortal Sects in the future, they needed Cen Yan to reach Nascent Soul. Lian Ci also didn't want anything to happen to Cen Yan. He pressed: "Zhan'er, was there any other intelligence about the demons in that spy's memories?"

As they had thought, this spy held a high position among the demons and knew quite a lot. Pei Zhan didn't hide anything, reporting everything he knew.

Everyone listened intently. Finally, Lian Ci asked: "Anything else?"

Xu Ziyang's hand, hidden in his long sleeve, curled slightly. He looked down at Pei Zhan, his eyes hiding turbulent waves, difficult to read.

Unexpectedly, Pei Zhan shrugged, still looking nonchalant: "No, just trivial things. Nothing of value."

Xu Ziyang's smile faltered. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, vanishing in an instant without a trace.

"This is enough. But dealing with the demon threat against Cen Yan requires long-term planning." After all, they were in the light, the demons in the shadows, impossible to guard against completely. Fortunately, the mountain-guarding formation would open in six months. They had half a year to prepare.

He Ming had thought of that too. Suppressing his impatience, he bowed and pleaded for Pei Zhan: "Sect Leader, although Zhan'er acted rashly, given the extenuating circumstances, please show leniency!"

Lian Ci almost laughed despite himself. He Ming was as consistent as ever—whenever his precious disciple was involved, he threw all principles out the window. Who knew he had been calling for Pei Zhan's punishment just moments ago?

But He Ming's words resonated with Lian Ci. Many disciples had seen Pei Zhan kill the spy. If not for the need to maintain discipline, Lian Ci would have been reluctant to punish Pei Zhan so severely.

"Then ten lashes, and we'll waive the reflection." Lian Ci let Pei Zhan off lightly. "As for the Soul Searching Art, no one in the sect is to breathe a word of it!"

-

What happened in the main hall followed the plot Chu Rong knew.

Chu Rong didn't care. His fair neck quickly bruised, purple handprints clearly visible, looking terrible in the candlelight.

When Shi Ming delivered the evening meal to Wusong Residence, he was startled at first sight: "Young Master, y-your neck..."

There was no bronze mirror in the room. Chu Rong couldn't see his neck, but from Shi Ming's reaction, he could guess what it looked like.

Pei Zhan was truly a madman. He had a heavy hand.

"A minor injury." Chu Rong touched his neck with his slender fingertips. His pink-tipped fingers brushed over the delicate protrusion on his neck.

Shi Ming's gaze locked onto that spot, unable to look away. His heart pounded uncontrollably, his breathing becoming unsteady.

His neck still hurt. Chu Rong didn't want to talk much: "You may go."

Shi Ming lowered his head, glancing up at him as if wanting to say something, then silently withdrew. Standing outside the door, he stared at the crack for a long moment before finally turning away.

His neck sore, Chu Rong ate slower than usual. When the silhouette of a human-shaped apparition appeared in the room, he had just lain down on the couch.

His ink-lotus-like hair, damp with moisture, spread across the soft pillow. The man had removed his mask, his outer and inner robes, leaving only a thin undergarment clinging to his well-proportioned frame.

The undergarment had a wide neckline, exposing a large expanse of his chest and the delicate protrusion of his collarbone, making the bruises on his neck even more prominent.

The apparition noticed them immediately.

Who had hurt him?

When he had come two days ago, he had been fine.

The apparition stood motionless in the center of the room. After a long while, it slowly walked to the wooden couch and sat down on its edge. It reached out, uncontrollably, towards the man's neck.

Just as its fingertips were about to touch the delicate, slightly cool skin, the apparition looked down at itself, seeming to realize something. It slowly withdrew its hand.

The apparition sat silently on the edge of the couch. Half an hour later, it vanished from the room without a sound.

-

Night had fallen.

The servant came down from Wusong Residence. Instead of returning to his quarters, he looked around, took a circuitous path through the inner sect, and stopped outside the Xuanjian Pavilion.

Bang bang—

Two short knocks were followed by a low call: "It's me, Shi Ming."

The servant was momentarily stunned. What was Shi Ming doing here? Then he slapped his forehead. Oh no, he had forgotten his promise to Shi Ming.

Two days ago, when Xu Ziyang had been captured by the demon spy, the sect was tense and anxious. He had been restless and agitated too, with no mind for carving figurines.

The servant quickly opened the door and pulled Shi Ming into a corner. Lowering his voice, he said apologetically: "Could you come back later?"

Shi Ming asked, puzzled: "Why?"

The servant scratched his head sheepishly, explaining weakly: "I've been too unsettled these past few days to concentrate. The figurine you wanted isn't carved yet. Could you come back tomorrow at this time?"

Shi Ming was the one asking for a favor. What could he say? He had no choice but to leave dejectedly, his figure vanishing into the night.

Xu Ziyang was still at the main peak discussing matters and wouldn't return anytime soon. After thinking it over, the servant left the main hall and returned to his room. He bent down and took out a square, dark brown wooden box from under the bed, unlocking it with a key.

The box contained an assortment of uniquely shaped carving tools and several polished, round white wooden cores. In his spare time after entering the sect, the servant occasionally carved small trinkets to pass the time.

He took out a piece of white wood and a few carving knives, sat down behind a low table, and began to carve.

But Shi Ming hadn't provided a name or a portrait, just a few verbal descriptions. A few days had passed, and the servant's memory had grown somewhat hazy.

He focused, trying to recall the details.

As Shi Ming's words surfaced in his memory, the servant's mind conjured up the scenes he had once fantasized about.

His heart raced, his Adam's apple bobbing involuntarily. In that instant, the carving knife seemed to move on its own, guided by an independent will.

Long, slender fingers, like white jade; delicate, jade-white insteps, the soles tinged with pink; the lean, slender waist visible beneath the sheer outer robe...

The servant's mind was gradually consumed by these images. His head swam, his blood boiled, surged, burned, his scalp tingling. His Adam's apple bobbed repeatedly.

Beneath his coarse clothing, his trousers tightened, almost painfully.

Yet the servant seemed oblivious. He couldn't help but pant heavily, swallowing repeatedly, his hands moving faster and faster.

Small wood chips fell from the blade, piling up on his lap like a small mountain.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the wait, dear readers~