Chapter Thirty-Four

The white figure was incorporeal. His hand passed through the robe, but the one at the foot didn't stop. His large hand slipped beneath the fabric, moving upwards.

The two white figures, one on each side, covered the bed's occupant completely.

Outside, moonlight shone like frost.

One wall away, Xu Ziyang returned to his room. He sat back on the bed, but didn't resume healing.

He turned his wrist. A purple outer robe appeared in his palm—the one Chu Rong had placed on him in the secret realm cave.

The original owner's clothes were of the finest quality. Days later, the robe remained soft, like new. The orchid scent had faded, barely detectable, less than the fragrance still clinging to his own clothes.

Thinking how that scent had gotten there, a strange light flickered in Xu Ziyang's dark eyes. His fingers traced the collar, remembering the feel of that man docile against his chest, letting him touch.

His palm seemed to recall the alluring, supple sensation.

"Six months." He looked at the wall. The room next door was silent. They must be asleep. His long fingers curled, gripping the purple robe tightly, like grasping something desperately desired. His warm voice was barely audible.

Across the corridor, Pei Zhan's room was dark. He stood by the window, arms crossed, looking at the darkened room across from his. Gold-flecked eyes swirled with dark currents. Remembering the scene at the gate, his prominent Adam's apple moved.

"Ha." He breathed heavily. The image of Chu Rong from the spy's memory surfaced: he and Cen Yan were still innocent.

Cen Yan could hold back.

True. Cen Yan had been close to Xu Ziyang since childhood. If not for Chu Rong leveraging his life-saving debt three years ago, the engagement never would have been his. Cen Yan likely despised Chu Rong. Why would he touch him?

But Chu Rong slept with that bead under his pillow, still clinging to Cen Yan.

Tsk.

Such a fragile mortal, and he wanted to have Cen Yan? That man was more suited to being caged, taken by others.

In Wusong Residence, silence was heavy with unspoken meaning.

-

At the same time.

Night covered Qingyang Tianzong. Cen Yan led disciples on patrol along the outer sect's back mountain.

The beast carcasses were cleared. No trace of blood remained. Cen Yan searched thoroughly, found no evil energy, and led the disciples away.

No one noticed the black energy silently clinging to the outer edge of the mountain-guarding formation, hidden in thick bushes.

The energy was corrosive. The formation's protective barrier cracked like a spiderweb. A small, irregular hole formed at its center.

The black energy swirled in the hole, expanding slowly. By morning, the hole had grown to the size of a fingertip.

-

The next day.

Wusong Residence.

Early light entered the window, adding peace to the quiet room.

Incense curled like mist, mixing with the rich orchid fragrance.

Two solid white figures sat at the head and foot of the bed, their muscular bodies leaning low, almost covering the entire bed. Their long arms moved slowly, their broad hands hidden from view.

Looking closely, one hand was under the collar of the sleeping man, the other beneath his robe.

The man's form was tall, slender, flexible. His thick lashes rested, casting shadows. His black hair was loose around his strikingly beautiful face. His skin glowed like jade in the daylight, alluring as a demon, his very breath seductive.

The white figures' eyes lowered. Their gazes fixed on the man's face. Their movements grew faster, harder. Though they touched nothing, they pressed on.

As the hand under the robe reached his thigh, the man's eyelids flickered, as if waking.

The figures paused. They straightened slowly, withdrawing their hands. As the man's eyes opened, they faded, becoming invisible once more.

Chu Rong had slept unusually peacefully.

He opened his misty eyes, his mind slowly clearing.

Remembering last night, he sat up quickly. His black hair fell over his shoulders. He looked at the empty room: "Sir, are you still here?"

The two white figures sat on the bed's edge, inches from him.

"Yes." The voice was icy, with only a slight, unusual hoarseness.

He looked around again. His flawless cheeks were faintly flushed, making him even more captivating: "Were you here all night?"

The white figure's eyelids lowered, hiding his gaze. He didn't deny it.

Surprise flickered in Chu Rong's eyes. An unknown person had stayed by him, yet he had slept deeply—unusual for him.

Before transmigrating, he had worked for a large corporation, traveling often. Even in five-star hotels, he never slept deeply.

His brow furrowed slightly. He suppressed the feeling, his jade-like fingers gripping the bed's edge as he rose. His fair foot brushed the thigh of the white figure at the foot, his hand landing on the knee of the one at the head.

Both figures' tall forms stiffened slightly.

They were incorporeal; contact was without sensation. Unaware, Chu Rong took the clothes from the screen, dressed, tied his hair, and put on his mask.

The figures sat motionless, watching the terrifying mask hide that beautiful face. One asked coldly: "Why do you wear a mask?"

Wasn't it obvious?

Chu Rong looked at the empty air. "I'm too ugly. I'd scare people."

He didn't care much about appearance. His background had made him subject to stares. He could ignore them.

He just didn't bother changing the original owner's habit. A mask was fine.

Too ugly?

The white figure was speechless. After a long pause, he said: "Why do you think you're ugly?"

Hadn't he seen his face? Why ask?

Chu Rong was puzzled, but the man was stronger. He answered truthfully: "When I was young, the manor caught fire. My face was burned, leaving an incurable condition. I've worn the mask since."

Burned faces couldn't be beautiful.

It was in the original text. There could be no mistake.

But Chu Rong's face showed no signs of burning. He seemed truthful. He must not know his face was undamaged.

And the condition?

The white figure had been with Chu Rong only days, but had learned some things. Was this condition responsible for the spiritual energy that vanished into him?

"Your fiancé." He paused. "Could he not help?"

In the original text, the condition was just a reason for the original owner to go to Qingyang Tianzong. It was never mentioned again.

Whether Cen Yan could help wasn't mentioned. But if he could, given his desire to repay the debt, he would have acted in three years.

"No." Chu Rong was certain.

The white figure disagreed.

Cultivation had become difficult, but there were many talented people. If he truly wanted to help, a mortal's condition could be cured.

Leaving his fiancé to be bullied while entangling with another man, ignoring his illness—Cen Yan simply didn't care about Chu Rong.

He was not worthy of him.

The white figure's opinion of Cen Yan dropped further. But at least Chu Rong would dissolve the engagement in six months, severing all ties.

His lips curved almost imperceptibly.

Chu Rong, unaware, opened the door. Shi Ming was walking away with a food tray.

"Shi Ming?" He called. "You're leaving?"

Shi Ming turned, surprised: "Young Master, you're here?"

What did that mean? Chu Rong's voice behind the mask was hoarse: "Haven't I been here?"

"But," Shi Ming pointed at the door, "I knocked several times, called for you, and you didn't answer."

He thought Chu Rong wasn't there.

But Chu Rong hadn't heard anything.

His lips pressed together. He glanced inside, smiled lightly, his voice trailing off, soothing: "I must have been sleeping too deeply."

Shi Ming's face reddened. He returned with the tray.

After he left, Chu Rong asked quietly: "Sir, did you do something?"

"I placed a restriction." The two white figures removed it, moving beside him.

A restriction blocked outside sounds. That was why he hadn't heard anything. The man must have set it to avoid exposure.

A common cultivator technique. Chu Rong wasn't surprised.

He was about to sit when a knock came. A tall man with a food box stood outside, his handsome face warm: "May I come in?"

Xu Ziyang was a cultivator. If he wanted to enter, Chu Rong couldn't stop him. His tone was indifferent: "Come in."

Xu Ziyang entered, the orchid fragrance hitting him. His gaze darkened, glancing at Chu Rong's waist before looking away.

The food box contained fresh dishes, far superior to the ones on the table.

Xu Ziyang set them out, smiling: "I noticed your meals were simple. I had the kitchen prepare these. If you like them, I'll have them delivered daily..."

Footsteps sounded at the door. Pei Zhan walked in as if entering his own home, placing a dragon-scale jade pendant in Chu Rong's hand: "I was wrong about the binding spell. This pendant is my apology. Dragon scales are indestructible, better than that bead of yours."

The pendant was exquisitely carved, shaped like a dragon scale. Cold light flickered within—reflections from the scales. Its defensive power was strong, capable of withstanding a full attack from a Nascent Soul.

But the pendant could also bind. The cold light came from Boundless Mystic Iron.

Inside was an iron cage. Once activated, the wearer would be drawn into it, unable to escape without the owner's intervention.

Pei Zhan's intentions were clear.

Xu Ziyang's warm smile vanished.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the wait~