Chapter Thirty-Six

The black energy quickly caught up with the patrolling group, targeting the elegant young man at the front. But just before reaching him, the group turned into a winding path, and the energy drifted into the disciple nearest Cen Yan.

The disciple froze. A wisp of black energy passed through his white pupils, too fast to notice.

"What is it?" Cen Yan stopped, noticing the disciple had halted.

The disciple looked at him blankly, his expression normal. He looked down at his feet, flustered: "N-nothing. I think I kicked a stone."

"Be careful." The back mountain path was littered with stones. Cen Yan didn't think much of it. He led the group onward.

The mountain-guarding formation covered the entire sect. A full patrol took over an hour.

Night was deep. A few faint stars dotted the sky.

The disciples returned to their quarters, exhausted, and lay down. Soon, snoring filled the room.

No one saw the disciple in the farthest bed, lying motionless on his back, eyes wide open, unmoving. Black energy drifted from his eye sockets like countless tentacles spreading in all directions.

Next morning.

Thin light crept through the clouds into the inner sect disciples' quarters. The black energy had filled the disciple's eyes, writhing in the air like seaweed.

Across the room, a fellow disciple stirred. The black energy retreated, sinking back into his eyes.

His eyelids drooped, slowly closing. He looked peaceful, as if still sleeping.

The other disciple, seeing the time, went to shake him awake: "Qing Ming, wake up. Time for the training ground."

Qing Ming struggled to open his eyes, stood unsteadily, his face pale and alarming.

The disciple was startled. "Did you not rest last night? You look terrible."

"Impossible. I went to sleep at the same time as you." Qing Ming rubbed his aching eyes dismissively. "Hurry, or we'll be late."

The disciple, worried about punishment, forgot his concerns and rushed to the training ground.

-

Wusong Residence.

The illness had drained him. Chu Rong didn't stay awake long, falling back into a deep sleep.

The two white figures stayed by the bed, their sharp eyes lowered, watching his pale face, unmoving all night.

Next day.

Bright light filled the room, falling on the man's long lashes. As he turned his head, he saw the two identical white figures by the bed.

They were tall, their arm and chest muscles visible even without faces. Even sitting still, they radiated a heavy presence.

Their forms were solid but illusory—clearly not their true bodies.

Chu Rong mentally reviewed every character in the original text. No one matched. But one thing was certain: this wasn't one of the main leads.

"What are you looking at?" A cold, resonant voice filled the room. Both figures looked down. Though their faces were featureless, Chu Rong felt their gaze.

He suppressed his thoughts. His lips curved in a faint smile. He looked up at where their eyes would be, his cheeks luminous, his hair flowing, adding to his beauty. "Thank you, sir."

From the moment he woke, he had felt clean and dry—nothing like the sweat-soaked state after previous episodes.

He knew who was responsible.

The white figure looked at the scars on his lips. His eyes darkened. His emotionless voice said: "It's just a small spell. No need for thanks."

"What are you doing in Qingyang Tianzong? Perhaps I can help." This man had helped him. If it was within his ability, Chu Rong wouldn't mind returning the favor.

Of course, if it went beyond his boundaries or capabilities, he could do nothing. A small favor was far less important than his own safety.

He knew where to draw the line.

The white figure was silent. His head tilted slightly, as if looking at the orchids by the window, saying nothing.

Not to be revealed?

Chu Rong didn't press. His thoughts returned to his condition.

Each episode was like death. It was unbearable. He didn't know if he could return to his own world, but before then, this problem needed solving.

The original owner knew some medicine. If he couldn't treat it, mortal doctors couldn't either.

An idea struck Chu Rong. He remembered what Xu Ziyang had said in the secret realm cave. A flicker crossed his eyes.

He thought of someone: Jing Heng, the Eccentric Doctor of the cultivation world.

Medical cultivators were common, but the best was Jing Heng, Master of Yunyin Valley. But Jing Heng was said to be eccentric, only treating those he fancied. Getting his help was nearly impossible.

More importantly, Jing Heng was one of the main leads.

In the original text, six months later, when Qingyang Tianzong's formation was corrupted by evil energy and couldn't close, Cen Yan left seeking a solution. On the way, he was ambushed by demons, severely wounded. His companions brought him to Jing Heng for treatment. Jing Heng fell for him at first sight.

Thus began their entanglement.

Later, learning Cen Yan had a former fiancé, Jing Heng's jealousy led him to torment the original owner almost as brutally as Pei Zhan. To ensure the beasts devoured the body completely, he even covered it with a drug that attracted wild animals.

Jing Heng's ruthlessness was beyond imagination. If Pei Zhan was the most troublesome male lead, Jing Heng was the most vicious.

Never mind. Remembering the original owner's fate, Chu Rong shivered. He'd rather endure the pain than seek Jing Heng's help.

Perhaps Qingyang Tianzang's library had records? At least it would be richer than mortal collections. He might find clues.

Chu Rong took out the token Cen Yan had given the original owner. It was forged from Mystic Iron, with Cen Yan's name carved on the front and Qingyang Tianzong's insignia on the back.

In the original text, the original owner had used this token to move freely through the sect, committing crimes in Cen Yan's name.

Mask on, Chu Rong headed for the library.

The white figures, invisible, flanked him.

The library was guarded by a young inner sect disciple. Recognizing the mask from afar, his expression darkened: "The library is a restricted area. A mortal like you shouldn't be here. Leave!"

His tone was dismissive, contemptuous.

Before, for Senior Brother Cen's sake, he might have been polite. But now that Cen Yan had announced the engagement would end, Chu Rong was just a mortal—no need for courtesy.

The disciple blocked the door. He was about to say more when he met a pair of captivating eyes.

Behind his mask, Chu Rong smiled. His jade-like fingers held the token before the disciple's face. In the harsh light, even his fingertips glowed: "Do I need to ask your Senior Brother Cen if this token allows entry?"

The disciple's words died in his throat. He stared at those fingertips, unable to look away, not even hearing Chu Rong's words.

When he came to, Chu Rong had already entered.

His face paling, the disciple was about to chase him out when a tall, upright figure entered: "Where are the records on marriage contracts?"

He quickly composed himself: "Senior Martial Brother, those records were taken by Elder He a while ago and haven't been returned."

In six months, the mountain-guarding formation would open. The engagement must be dissolved before then. Why He Ming had taken those records was obvious.

Understanding, Xu Ziyang smiled warmly. As he turned to leave, he noticed the token on the table: "Is Junior Brother Cen in the library?"

Library rules required tokens to be left at the entrance and retrieved upon leaving. The token's presence meant Cen Yan was inside.

"No," the disciple explained. "That token was for Chu Rong."

Xu Ziyang paused. His eyes darkened. He placed his own token on the table and strode inside.

His steps seemed almost urgent.

The disciple was confused. The marriage records were gone. What was Senior Martial Brother looking for?

Xu Ziyang extended his divine sense and quickly located the slender figure on the second floor, among the bookshelves.

He stood in the shadows, not approaching. Only after Chu Rong put down a scroll and moved to another shelf did he examine it.

It was about difficult illnesses, fragmentary due to missing volumes.

Chu Rong wasn't ill. Why was he reading this? Xu Ziyang's heart clenched. He remembered that when Cen Yan brought Chu Rong to the sect, he had mentioned wanting to cure his condition.

If even Cen Yan couldn't help, it must be serious. Returning to the mortal world, he would only wait for death.

So he was searching the library for a cure?

Xu Ziyang's fingers traced the scroll, his eyes flickering.

Chu Rong didn't notice him. He read through scroll after scroll. All were fragmentary, yielding no useful information.

The white figures watched, a flicker of emotion passing through their cold eyes.

Chu Rong put the scroll back, looked through a few more, found nothing, and left.

-

Time flowed like water. Four months passed.

Cen Yan patrolled nightly, finding nothing. One day, he arrived at the outer sect as usual, ready to lead the patrol. Scanning the group, his brow furrowed.

"One missing. Who isn't here?"

The disciples exchanged glances. After a moment, one slapped his forehead: "It's Qing Ming!"

"I reminded him before leaving. I'll go get him!"

Cen Yan nodded: "Meet us in the back mountain."

The disciple ran back to the inner sect quarters.

It was dark. The door was closed, silent. Using faint moonlight, he pushed it open. The window was wide, but no moonlight entered.

The room was pitch black. He lit a flint. The figure on the bed was visible.

Qing Ming lay on his back, eyes wide, face pale, sockets hollow, mouth agape. No sign of life.

Black energy poured from his seven orifices, rising to merge with the thick darkness covering the ceiling.

This, this...

The disciple's eyes went wide with terror. His legs gave way, the flint falling.

Poof—

The flame died in the darkness.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the wait~