Chapter Thirty-Three

Chu Rong had no idea what was happening at Wusong Residence.

The night was quiet. Cold moonlight filtered through the crisscrossing branches of the back mountain, cutting fine shadows by the clear spring pool.

He removed his hairband, letting his hair fall like a waterfall over his robes. His jade-like fingers pulled at one end of his sash, shedding layer after layer of clothing.

Watching his jade-like skin emerge, the two white figures beside him looked away. They turned their backs, standing like guardian statues by the pool.

Water splashed in the clear spring pool. Mist swirled up.

After about the time it takes to burn an incense stick, the splashing subsided. The water broke. Clear streams slid over Chu Rong's fair, slender form. His skin, soaked in the hot spring, grew even more translucent. The redness on his wrist took on an alluring quality.

One wanted to catch it, rub it, make it redder, more vivid.

Chu Rong walked back to the shore, put his clothes back on one by one, hooked his mask with one finger, and put it on. He left the back mountain, his white boots rustling on the grass.

The two white figures turned and followed, one on each side.

Back at Wusong Residence, Chu Rong hadn't entered when two powerful sword energies flew towards him.

Chu Rong's pupils contracted, his face paling. He instinctively leaned back to dodge as two gusts of wind swept past, precisely striking the sword energies.

Crash—!!

The four forces collided, two loud echoes in the air.

The tangled figures inside stopped, turning to see the tall figure at the entrance. Their attacks froze.

"Sorry." Xu Ziyang withdrew his sword, dispersing his spiritual energy, and walked quickly to the gate. His handsome face showed guilt. "I didn't know you'd come suddenly..."

Halfway, seeing the figure clearly, his heart stopped. He fell silent.

The man wore white silk inner robes. His black hair was wet, loose around him. Water from his hair soaked through the thin fabric, clinging to his body, accentuating its slender, flexible lines.

Graceful. Captivating.

Whether startled by the sword energies or flushed from the hot spring, the corners of his eyes behind the mask were redder, more seductive. His breathing carried temptation.

Xu Ziyang's gaze darkened. His breathing grew unsteady. His fingers trembled. He stepped forward involuntarily.

Pei Zhan moved before him. Seeing the figure at the door, his expression mirrored Xu Ziyang's.

His Adam's apple moved. The dark currents in his gold-flecked eyes seemed ready to spill out. His lazy voice grew hoarse: "You went to the back mountain to bathe?"

Pei Zhan rarely visited Wusong Residence. He didn't know about the hot spring.

Chu Rong ignored him as if he hadn't heard. His jade-like fingers curled behind his sleeves, his gaze drifting sideways.

Something had blocked the sword energies. But he saw nothing.

Person? Demon?

Scenes from the original text flashed through his mind. Chu Rong's lashes lowered, his gaze deepening.

Thinking he was frightened, Xu Ziyang stepped past Pei Zhan. His voice was soft, as if not to startle: "Are you hurt?"

A cultivator's sword could easily cut through a mortal.

Worried, he reached to check.

Chu Rong pushed aside his thoughts, stepping back to avoid him, walking towards his room. His voice was distant: "If you want to fight, do it outside."

Twice in one day, he'd nearly been caught in the crossfire. He was mortal. He didn't want any accidents before leaving the sect.

The two white figures followed Chu Rong, passing the two men. Their icy gaze swept over them, their presence suffocating.

Xu Ziyang froze. Watching Chu Rong enter his room, he turned to Pei Zhan. His smile faded: "Junior Brother Pei, still want to fight?"

Did he want to fight? Xu Ziyang had been blocking him.

Generous, Xu Ziyang. Because he loved Cen Yan, he protected his fiancé.

Pei Zhan's look was mocking, dismissive, his presence dangerous. But he didn't fight. He glanced at the lit room, snorted, and returned to his own.

Xu Ziyang stood in the corridor for a long time before turning back.

-

Wusong Residence fell quiet again.

In the room, warm candlelight softened everything.

Chu Rong's back pressed against the door, his muscles tense. He stared at the empty room, his hoarse voice low: "You're still here, aren't you?"

Two gusts had passed him. Either one person or two were beside him.

He had searched the text but found no mention. What was following him?

The white figures stood on either side of Chu Rong, watching him feign calm. A flicker passed through their icy eyes.

A restriction was placed around the room. A cold, resonant voice, emotionless: "Yes."

It was calm, but carried innate authority—the speech of one long accustomed to power.

Chu Rong's lashes trembled. Panic rose within him. He heard a voice but saw no one.

Were they using a magical artifact to hide?

His pale lips pressed together. The red at the corners of his eyes deepened, captivating. His jade-like fingers gripped the door, ready to flee: "What do you want?"

He was a cannon fodder love interest, an ordinary mortal. What could anyone want from him? He didn't understand how he'd attracted this person.

The white figure looked at his reddened eyes. His cold tone softened, gaining a hint of hoarseness: "I won't hurt you."

Chu Rong's lips parted. He was stunned. This unknown person was showing goodwill?

The voice was unfamiliar. Clearly not from Qingyang Tianzong.

And with the mountain-guarding formation around Qingyang, this person moved freely through the sect. Even Xu Ziyang and Pei Zhan didn't notice him. His cultivation must be at least Golden Core.

Confronting him would be hopeless.

Thoughts raced through Chu Rong's mind. He raised a brow, smiling lightly: "Can you tell me who you are?"

If he knew the surname, he could deduce the identity, find weaknesses, and turn the tables.

His mental calculations were thorough, but the room fell silent. The unknown person didn't speak for a long time.

Chu Rong lifted his lashes: "Are you still there?"

After a moment, a cold voice answered: "Yes."

He didn't want to reveal his identity. Chu Rong changed tack: "How long have you been following me?"

The voice gave a number.

Surprise flickered in Chu Rong's eyes. That was the day he transmigrated. This person had been by his side all this time?

He finally believed the person meant no harm. Otherwise, he'd be dead many times over.

Alone in this other world, his life was most important. Knowing he wasn't in danger, his anxiety eased. He relaxed, becoming more casual.

As for what this person really wanted, he didn't care. It couldn't be about him.

Chu Rong took his hands off the door, pressed his fingers to the sides of his mask, and removed it. He walked slowly towards the bed, his wet hair spreading over his shoulders like seaweed, darkening the fabric, revealing glimpses of skin beneath.

The white figure watched for a long time before looking away.

"Thank you." Unaware, his voice without the mask was seductive, his thanks like a lure.

The white figure's icy eyes darkened. He didn't speak.

Chu Rong put the mask by the pillow and reached for a dry cloth. His pink-tipped fingers paused.

"What?" The white figure noticed.

Chu Rong shook his head. He'd just realized that this person had seen his face many times. In the original text, the original owner was ugly. He wondered if the person had been frightened.

But it was too late to worry about that now.

Chu Rong could tell this person wasn't talkative. He didn't ask further.

He reached for the cloth to dry his hair. A cool breeze blew through the sealed room. His hair dried, becoming soft and smooth. The moisture on his clothes evaporated.

He was clean and refreshed.

He knew who had done it.

His lips curved in a smile. In the warm candlelight, his skin was white as snow, his features breathtaking: "Was that you, sir?"

The white figure's breath caught. He looked at the man by the bed. Three hundred years old, and the man before him was barely twenty. From that perspective, he was indeed a senior.

He didn't deny it: "Drying spell."

A simple spell, requiring little energy.

It was convenient—better than a hair dryer. Chu Rong's heart stirred, but remembering his lack of cultivation talent, he pushed the thought aside.

He thanked the white figure again, removed his inner robe, and lay down on the bed. His long lashes lowered, covering his eyes, and he slept.

When his breathing became even, the two white figures moved to the bed, sitting on either side. Their forms slowly became visible on the empty edges of the bed.

Both were featureless, but solid. The edges of the bed sagged slightly under their weight.

They leaned down. One reached for the man's neck, the other for his wrist.

Though solid, they weren't corporeal. Their hands passed through skin, touching nothing. Yet they seemed not to care.

The bruises on his neck had faded to faint marks. His wrist, rubbed raw by Pei Zhan, looked worse.

Cold light flickered in their sharp eyes. As they straightened, the sleeping man stirred, turning on his side to face the bed. His wide-necked undergarment gaped, revealing a glimpse of delicate collarbone.

The covers shifted, exposing his jade-white feet.

Both white figures paused. The one at the head leaned down again, his long, solid fingers tracing the collarbone.

The one at the foot released the wrist, his large hand moving to the slender ankle, sliding upwards.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the wait~

The main plot will begin in a few chapters. There are still other male leads to introduce.