Chapter Thirty-Five

Sunlight streamed into the room, illuminating the tall and slender figures within.

Chu Rong's fingers were jade-white and long. The translucent, lustrous pendant in his hand somehow looked coarse in comparison.

In the original text, Chu Rong had seen descriptions of the dragon-scale pendant countless times.

It was a mid-to-high-grade artifact, one of the finest in Qingyang Tianzong. Truly a good item. However, few knew that the pendant didn't need to be activated to trap the wearer in the Mystic Iron cage—simply touching it allowed the owner to draw the person in from thousands of miles away.

In the original plot, Pei Zhan had given the dragon-scale pendant to Cen Yan. When Cen Yan faced danger later, Pei Zhan had been able to draw him into the pendant even before it was activated, saving him.

At that time, Cen Yan was entangled with the three male leads outside the sect. Seeing Cen Yan in the iron cage, Pei Zhan had even harbored the dark thought of keeping him locked up forever, making him belong to only him.

But now, why was Pei Zhan giving this pendant to him?

Chu Rong didn't think someone who had used a binding spell on him the day before would suddenly become genuinely apologetic. Especially since this was Pei Zhan—unpredictable, temperamental, and the male lead who tormented the original owner most cruelly in the text.

Admittedly, the pendant's strong defensive power could be lifesaving in a critical moment, which was tempting. But who knew if this was some new trick from Pei Zhan? He didn't want this pendant, nor would he accept it.

Chu Rong tossed the pendant onto the table. His long lashes lifted, the red at the corners of his eyes a bewitching sight. His tone was flat, almost cold: "Take it back."

If Pei Zhan truly wanted to apologize, staying far away from him would be best.

He was tired of being repeatedly dragged into matters that didn't concern him. If the main leads wanted to fight, could they please do it somewhere else? He had no desire to get involved.

"You don't want it?!" The pendant landed on the table with a dull thud. Pei Zhan's handsome face darkened. For the first time in his life, he had reached out to someone, and Chu Rong had rejected him.

The atmosphere in Wusong Residence grew tense.

The two white figures' eyes turned icy. They gathered spiritual energy, guarding Chu Rong.

Chu Rong's fingers curled in his sleeves, his body tensing in defense. But behind his mask, his pale lips still said: "No!"

"Fine!" Pei Zhan's gaze swept over Chu Rong repeatedly, his expression growing increasingly gloomy. "You're something else!"

Chu Rong was the first person to dare reject him like this.

His expression dangerous, Pei Zhan grabbed the pendant and left the room.

Xu Ziyang's lips curved, his warm smile returning. Even his eyes held amusement. His voice was gentle: "Junior Brother has always been like this. Don't take it to heart."

In comparison, Xu Ziyang seemed easy to trust, approachable.

But Chu Rong knew it was just a facade. He glanced sideways at the man, his gaze alluring, and pointed to the dishes on the table: "Thank you for your kindness, but these aren't to my taste. Please take them back."

In other words, Xu Ziyang should leave too.

Xu Ziyang's eyes darkened again. He glanced briefly at Chu Rong's waist, but didn't seem angry. He packed the dishes and left.

Closing the door, Xu Ziyang looked up to see Pei Zhan standing in the corridor, idly toying with the pendant, his expression unreadable, his gold-flecked eyes churning with disturbing currents.

Xu Ziyang's eyes narrowed, his gaze deepening. A flicker of mockery crossed his lips: "The dragon-scale pendant was the Sect Leader's gift for taking you as a disciple. It holds great meaning. Junior Brother Pei is generous."

Pei Zhan pocketed the pendant and snorted mockingly, dismissing Xu Ziyang's words: "Master gave it to me. It's mine to give. Mind your own business."

Xu Ziyang wasn't qualified to tell him what to do.

"As for you." Pei Zhan looked at the food box in Xu Ziyang's hand, his mockery deepening. "Senior Martial Brother, there are limits to loving someone because of who they love."

Fawning over Cen Yan was one thing. Fawning over his fiancé was another.

Xu Ziyang's fingers tightened on the food box. His smile slowly faded, and he said nothing more.

...

The tension in the corridor didn't affect Chu Rong in his room. He removed his mask, sat at the table, his black hair half-tied, his skin glowing like jade in the daylight.

The two white figures released their gathered spiritual energy, placed a restriction on the room, and moved to his side. Their voices were cold, magnetic: "There's an iron cage in that pendant, forged from Mystic Iron, indestructible. Once a mortal is drawn in, they can never escape."

He had seen countless magical artifacts. The moment Pei Zhan produced it, he saw its nature.

Chu Rong knew.

But this man's identity was unknown. He kept his knowledge hidden.

"I see." Chu Rong frowned, his beautiful face feigning displeasure. "He really had ill intentions. Thank you for telling me, sir."

The white figure had cultivated for three hundred years. He saw through Chu Rong's pretense in a glance.

He didn't expose it.

He watched the man calmly, his eyes darkening, his prominent Adam's apple moving as if with difficulty.

Suddenly, clatter—

A chopstick fell from Chu Rong's hand onto the plate.

He leaned on the table, his face turning deathly pale. Beads of sweat formed on his fair forehead. His body began to tremble uncontrollably.

The two white figures tensed, leaning towards him: "What's wrong?"

Chu Rong's breathing was rapid, his lips trembling, colorless. He seemed to want to speak but couldn't form words.

Pain.

It hurt.

The familiar pain—his condition was acting up again.

He could feel his bones and flesh growing more painful. His limbs felt like they were being torn apart. The pain was worse than when he first transmigrated.

Clatter—

The other chopstick fell. His flexible body curled involuntarily, leaning sideways.

The two white figures reached to catch him, but their hands passed through his shoulders.

Thud—!

Chu Rong hit the floor hard. His limbs curled, his pale neck arching, his face flushed an unnatural red—beautiful, stunning, but as if his very life was draining away.

For a moment, his captivating eyes went vacant, devoid of light.

But then, biting his lip until it bled, the vacancy vanished. His face went from flushed to paper-white.

Realizing something, cold light flashed in the white figure's eyes. Their tall forms became visible, solidifying.

Two. Two figures?

There were two of them?

Chu Rong caught a glimpse. His pupils contracted. Then the pain overwhelmed him again, and he could think of nothing else.

The two white figures gathered around him, channeling spiritual energy into his body. As before, it had no effect.

Instead, they used spiritual energy to lift him, placing him gently on the bed, pulling the covers over him.

Beyond that, they could do nothing.

For the first time in centuries of cultivation, the white figure felt helpless.

The two figures leaned close, holding the pain-wracked man in an embrace, their presence radiating a bloody coldness.

Chu Rong was nearly numb with pain, unaware of their actions. As time passed, the pain became excruciating, nearly killing him. But though he bit his lip bloody, he never made a sound.

When the pain subsided, his lips were covered in blood, running down his chin. His clothes were as wet as if drenched in rain. Exhausted, he drifted towards sleep.

"Sir..." His wet lashes opened a crack. His pale cheeks contrasted with his bloody lips like snow on a red clay stove. His unfocused eyes reflected the two white figures. His voice was a thread: "Is that... you?"

Before they could answer, his eyes closed, and he lost consciousness.

The white figure used a cleansing spell to remove his disheveled state, but the wounds on his lips couldn't be healed.

One figure kissed his damp forehead. The other kissed his closed lashes. Together they whispered: "It's me."

-

This episode was worse than the last.

Chu Rong's consciousness sank deep. When he finally woke, the sky outside was dark. Moonlight filtered through the window, passing through the two white figures sitting on the bed's edge.

He was momentarily confused. Remembering before he passed out, he tried: "Sir?"

His hair spread beneath him like ink lotuses. He looked up, his face still pale but better than before. The red scars on his lips moved as he spoke.

The two figures answered together, their voices identical, cold, emotionless: "Are you feeling better?"

Were there two? Or were they the same person?

Residual pain lingered. Chu Rong's voice was weak. Before he could ask, the white figure said: "Both are me."

Looking closely, the two white figures were indeed identical.

They were tall. In the original text, the male leads were all robust. Even he, a cannon fodder love interest, wasn't small. But this man was taller than all of them.

In modern terms, he was at least two meters. Chu Rong guessed he only reached the man's mouth.

His thoughts wandered. The man asked: "What happened just now?"

"My condition." The man had already seen him. There was no point hiding. Besides, the man seemed harmless.

Calculating, it had been about half a month since his last episode.

So, was the original owner's condition triggered every half month?

The original text didn't detail it. Chu Rong wasn't sure, but it was probably close.

So it was his condition.

A flicker of darkness passed through the white figure's thousand-year cold eyes.

-

Back Mountain Forest.

In the bushes, the irregular black hole churned. The black fog swirled, expanding slowly, bit by bit. The cracks in the mountain-guarding formation's barrier spread, then spread further.

After a day, the hole was the size of half a fist.

Cen Yan led patrol disciples into the forest. Passing the bushes, one asked: "Senior Brother Cen, are there really more spirit beasts in the back mountain? Will we end up like Qing Yuan..."

Qing Yuan's fate was known to all. They were terrified of becoming next.

To avoid panic, Cen Yan hadn't told them the patrol's true purpose, using the pretext of preventing another beast riot.

Cen Yan paused. The purple fog in his sea of consciousness stirred at Qing Yuan's name. "No. I won't let anything happen to you."

His tone was confident. The disciples' anxiety eased. After a cursory patrol, they left.

None saw the black energy behind the bushes, sensing something, peeling a wisp from the hole, following the direction the group had gone.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the wait~