Chapter Forty-Four

The Young Master wanted to go to the rear mountain?

Yun Zhi's dark, even-featured face showed some puzzlement, but he followed Chu Rong's direction, adjusting course, and carried him steadily toward the rear mountain.

The rear mountain was lush with trees, branches spreading in every direction. Yun Zhi looked all around but could only see a hot spring bubbling with water, the surface steaming with drifting wisps of mist that filled the surrounding area with a warm, damp heat.

"Young Master?" Yun Zhi lowered his head and asked quietly: "Which way from here?"

There was nowhere further to go.

Chu Rong rested his head against Yun Zhi's chest, his long wet lashes pressed shut. His lower abdomen felt as though countless blades had been driven inside, scraping at his five organs and six viscera until everything ached.

Yun Zhi's voice drifted to him like something heard through a cloud — indistinct and unreal. Chu Rong's lashes trembled like the wings of a frail butterfly. He forced his eyes open to a narrow crack and looked blurrily around him.

When he caught sight of the hot spring with its rising steam, the fingers gripping Yun Zhi's sleeve moved slightly. Drawing on the last of his strength, he gave the sleeve a very faint tug.

Yun Zhi grasped Chu Rong's meaning immediately. The Young Master wanted to enter the hot spring?

Yun Zhi didn't know what Chu Rong intended to do, but he followed regardless, carrying him toward the hot spring and carefully lowering him in.

The warm spring water soaked up his bronze arms and soaked through his sleeves. He seemed to feel nothing at all, only bowed his head and watched with care over the person in his arms.

The water rippled and rose up to Chu Rong's chest. His sweat-soaked clothing was immediately drenched through by the spring water, clinging wet and close to his pale skin. Beneath the fabric, the outline of his slender, lean waist was traced into a clearly visible, tantalizing curve.

A rush of blood surged to Yun Zhi's head. His cheeks and the roots of his ears burned terrifyingly hot.

He yanked his hands out of the water in a panic, turned his back, and his already stiff, sturdy frame became even more rigid as a block of stone. His dripping hands fumbled helplessly at the hem of his clothes, crumpling a wet handprint into the fabric. His tongue stumbled thickly, his words coming out in a tangle: "Young — Young Master, is there anything else you need me to do?"

As the hot water spread over his burning skin, the blazing heat within his body that had seemed on the verge of scorching him from the inside finally began, faintly, to recede. But the pain in his abdomen only became more distinct and clear-cut.

Chu Rong's brow creased. He bit down hard on his lower lip, and another thread of crimson blood trickled from it. He curled his four limbs in, arms crossed tightly over each other, clutching his robes into deep creases. The collar of his robes was pulled by the tension and fell open to both sides, revealing a stretch of snow-white skin at his chest.

Chu Rong had no way to speak. He could only give the slowest of headshakes, using the last remaining scrap of his consciousness to resist the drug's hold, instinctively repelling anyone who drew close.

His ink-black hair spread out all around him, swaying with his movements through the rippling water — like blooms of black lotus opening one after another.

Yun Zhi had his back to the hot spring and didn't see Chu Rong's headshake. He waited a moment, and hearing no instruction from Chu Rong, assumed the Young Master had no need of him at present — and so, stammering, he said: "Then please wait a moment, Young Master. I will return the spirit sword to Senior Brother Cen, and then — then bring you a clean set of clothes."

With that, Yun Zhi walked away stiff-legged, arms and legs moving together on the same side, and left the rear mountain.

In his vague, half-conscious state, Chu Rong heard the footsteps recede into the distance. The nerves that had been wound to their breaking point eased, just barely. His jade-pale fingers, wet with spring water, trembled as they rose and lifted the mask from his face.

Beneath the mask, his brow and face were covered in fine, cold sweat. His complexion was bloodless and paper-white from pain, devoid of any color whatsoever, while his lips had been bitten a deep crimson — the soft flesh of them marked all over with wounds, with a thin trail of blood still at the corner of his mouth.

Hot.

Still so very hot.

Both hot and in pain.

Chu Rong's mist-veiled eyes drifted shut. He hooked one finger through the mask's cord, leaned his body back, let the spring water rise to his neck, and submerged himself fully in the hot spring. His face, flushed and sheened with sweat, tilted upward — and in the dappled light and shadow of the rear mountain, it glowed with an almost incandescent beauty.

Yun Zhi returned to Wusong Residence, retrieved the spirit sword from the ground, sheathed it, then took the sword and headed toward the main hall.

People from the various immortal sects had gathered in the main hall, waiting for Ning Yuan to return to discuss the matter of the evil baleful energy, while exchanging occasional words with one another.

Yun Zhi had only ever lived in the outer gate of Qingyang Heavenly Sect. He was not familiar with the immortal sects of the cultivation world, and looking at the crowd of dignified, distinguished people filling the main hall, he didn't dare go forward and disturb anyone. He could only clutch the sword and keep glancing in Cen Yan's direction.

Cen Yan had several people gathered around him, but caught out of the corner of his eye the familiar figure pacing back and forth outside the hall. He said with a slightly apologetic air to those before him: "A disciple from the sect has come to find me. Gate Master He, Fellow Daoist Nan, Holy Son Yun, Valley Master Jing — please excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back."

Nan Xingye lifted his eyelids, his manner clean and direct: "Please go ahead."

"Please go ahead." He Ting smiled warmly — though unlike Xu Ziyang's jade-smooth warmth, his was a surface pleasantness only. His eyes held not a flicker of genuine amusement, his sharpness reined inward.

Jing Heng raised a hand in a gesture of invitation, his pale lips curving faintly, the eerie cold of his aura washing over those near him.

Yun Tan held one hand upright before his chest, bowed his head slightly, and offered Cen Yan a Buddhist salute: "Fellow Daoist Cen, please go ahead."

Cen Yan bent slightly in return, then walked toward the hall entrance.

"Yun Zhi." Cen Yan kept his voice low.

Yun Zhi hurried to Cen Yan's side, offering up the spirit sword with both hands in respectful return: "Many thanks to Senior Brother Cen for lending the sword to save the Young Master."

Cen Yan still didn't believe Yun Zhi's account, and reached out casually to take the spirit sword back — but in the next instant, his body went suddenly rigid. The sword showed signs of having been used. And lingering upon it was a faint trace of Golden Core spiritual energy.

Something had really happened to Chu Rong?

Could what Yun Zhi had said… actually be true?

No.

Impossible.

He and Chu Rong had dissolved their engagement — a fact known to no third party. Even taking into account any concern for his future cultivation, Senior Brother would not have possibly acted against Chu Rong.

Cen Yan still didn't fully believe it, but he couldn't avoid the faint stirring of doubt in his heart. He gripped the spirit sword for a long moment before speaking quietly in an even tone: "Go and tell Chu Rong — two hours from now, come find me in the main hall."

With the Immortal Venerate containing the baleful energy, it could not cause any trouble for the time being. What remained was only to decide how to deal with it — that was a difficult problem with no quick resolution. It was better to first send Chu Rong out of the sect, and consider it a final, complete severing of those three-plus years of ill-fated entanglement.

Would Yun Zhi dare disobey Cen Yan's words? He bowed in acknowledgment and departed from the main hall in haste.

Cen Yan set aside his churning thoughts, turned his wrist over, put the spirit sword away, and walked back toward Nan Xingye's group.

Nan Xingye had taken in Cen Yan's every movement. His eye corner flicked toward the departing Yun Zhi, and as though offhandedly, he remarked: "Fellow Daoist Cen is surprisingly unpretentious — you'd even lend your life-bound spirit sword for another's use."

In Qingxu Sect, no one had ever dared touch his sword.

Toward those who had come to help Qingyang, Cen Yan was quite courteous. He explained patiently: "It's not quite lending it to an outsider — after all, strictly speaking, the one who truly needed the sword is, one could say, a guest of Qingyang."

He and Chu Rong's engagement had already been dissolved, that matter was entirely behind him — Cen Yan had no wish to involve himself with Chu Rong again, and expressed himself in a roundabout way.

But He Ting was no ordinary person. The Gate Master of the Gate of Heavenly Mechanisms, possessor of nearly ninety percent of the accurate intelligence in all three realms.

Thirty years ago, after Cen Yan had made a name for himself in the cultivation world, the Gate of Heavenly Mechanisms had conducted an investigation into him. He Ting knew no small amount about Cen Yan.

A peculiar light flickered in He Ting's deep, penetrating eyes. The corner of his mouth curved up in a smile, and he spoke each word with deliberate weight: "A guest? Not a fiancé?"

There were no walls without cracks — the fact that Cen Yan had formed a marriage engagement with an ordinary mortal over three years ago was known to quite a few sects, though no one had ever taken it seriously.

After all — a cultivator and a mortal, worlds apart — no matter how one looked at it, it couldn't last.

Cen Yan's brow furrowed slightly. His voice cooled by two degrees: "Gate Master He has been investigating me?"

"Fellow Daoist Cen, please don't misunderstand." He Ting smiled and waved a dismissive hand, his tone thoroughly light and casual: "It's simply that the Gate of Heavenly Mechanisms casts a wide net for intelligence from all three realms and tends to collect a little of everything. But rest assured, Fellow Daoist — the Heavenly Mechanisms Pavilion has strict regulations, and we would never disclose anyone's intelligence carelessly."

That was indeed the nature of the Gate of Heavenly Mechanisms — they dealt in the business of intelligence, and as long as someone needed something, any piece of information could be bought or sold. Very little in all three realms could escape the Gate's notice.

The refined features of Cen Yan's face relaxed somewhat. He had no desire to discuss the matter of the engagement further, and was just about to find some casual pretext to change the subject, when Nan Xingye knit his handsome brows and asked: "What fiancé?"

Nan Xingye had been in closed-door seclusion for the past several years and was out of the loop on certain things.

Jing Heng's pale lips parted. The eerie, cold quality of his voice made one's skin prickle: "You have a fiancé?"

Cloud-Hidden Valley was a secluded and tranquil place — Jing Heng had never paid attention to Cen Yan before, and so he, too, was unaware.

Yun Tan's eyes, still as an ancient mirror without a ripple, also turned toward Cen Yan. The Dharma Crossing Temple was of the Buddhist faith and rarely concerned itself with worldly affairs — he similarly did not know.

With things having gone this far, Cen Yan had no way to avoid the subject. He could only briefly recount the circumstances of how he and Chu Rong had come to form the engagement.

"An ordinary mortal who managed to save a cultivator's life — this Young Master Chu's medical skill must be something remarkable." Jing Heng was the first to speak once Cen Yan had finished, his tone at least acknowledging that the man's skills were more sophisticated than the useless physicians he'd encountered in the mortal world.

He Ting was also somewhat surprised. Over three years ago, when he'd learned Cen Yan had formed an engagement with a mortal, he had never paid Chu Rong any attention — after all, the value one could see in a mortal was pitifully sparse.

He had not expected Chu Rong to have capabilities of this sort.

A very faint flicker of surprise crossed Yun Tan's eyes — like a dragonfly skimming the water's surface, gone in an instant.

Nan Xingye, meanwhile, gave a disdainful snort. Cen Yan's natural gifts rivalled his own — he was born to be a cultivator. How could he be bound by ordinary love and sentiment? No matter how outstanding Chu Rong might be, he was not a match for Cen Yan.

Cen Yan acknowledged that Chu Rong's medical skills were quite good — but in terms of character… his mind went to all the things that had happened over the past four months, and a flash of distaste crossed his eyes: "All show."

Deceiving him for three full years, committing all manner of wrongs under his name, without a shred of remorse — it was truly chilling.

The four of them — whose cultivation levels were comparable to Cen Yan's — were sharp enough to catch the emotion that flickered through Cen Yan's eyes. Cen Yan disliked Chu Rong?

Why?

With a debt of a saved life standing before everything else, how could such deep and clear-cut distaste have arisen?

Before Nan Xingye's group could arrive at any reason, Xu Ziyang came walking over from not far away, smiling as he greeted the group, and asked in a warm voice: "What are you all discussing so intently?"

He Ting smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, a note of teasing in his voice: "Discussing some of Fellow Daoist Cen's past."

He paused briefly, and his tone took on a meaningful quality: "Only, it seems Fellow Daoist Cen is not very willing to speak of it. I was the one who was rude, insisting on bringing up Fellow Daoist's fiancé."

The curve at the corner of Xu Ziyang's lips contracted almost imperceptibly — then, in the next instant, it was back to normal. He smiled and glanced sidelong at Cen Yan: "Oh? What was said?"

Even Senior Brother was teasing him now?

Cen Yan felt a trace of helplessness inside, but there was one thing he did want to ask Xu Ziyang: "Senior Brother, could we step aside for a moment to speak? There's something I'd like to ask you."

Xu Ziyang raised an eyebrow slightly. He gave a brief nod to Nan Xingye's group as an apology for stepping away, then moved several steps aside with Cen Yan.

"Go ahead, Junior Brother." Xu Ziyang's features were elegant and jade-clear, warm and approachable.

The words on the tip of Cen Yan's tongue came out with a slight hitch — no matter how he looked at Senior Brother, he didn't seem like someone capable of doing something as outrageous as imprisoning Chu Rong.

Cen Yan hesitated a moment, his gaze shifting evasively to the ground. His expression was awkward as he asked: "Senior Brother, did you… lock Chu Rong up, set a restriction, and prevent anyone from going near?"

Pei Zhan, who happened to be passing by the two of them, stopped in his tracks abruptly. His gilded eyes snapped toward Xu Ziyang.

Xu Ziyang hadn't noticed him. The smile at the corner of his lips visibly stiffened — cracking apart inch by inch. His complexion turned dark as standing water, draped in a cold that had never been there before.

In the moment Cen Yan looked over, Xu Ziyang reined in every trace of his expression. His sword-straight brows furrowed slightly, and he put on an expression of disbelief: "Who's been talking nonsense? Though Chu Rong and I both live in Wusong Residence, we have little contact. This kind of rumor is simply too absurd."

Cen Yan exhaled with relief. He'd known it — Senior Brother would never do such a thing. The trace of Golden Core energy on the spirit sword must have belonged to someone else entirely.

Cen Yan didn't notice Xu Ziyang's abnormality at all, and laid out the whole matter of Yun Zhi borrowing the sword: "It was probably Chu Rong running some scheme again, trying to slander Senior Brother."

Truly incorrigible — couldn't even keep still before he was about to leave.

The restriction had already been broken open?

Xu Ziyang's expression didn't change, but behind his back, his hand clenched into a fist. The deep black of his eyes concealed a surging undercurrent, and frost spread through them: "Quite possibly — hasn't he always looked at me the wrong way?"

"Senior Brother, I'm sorry — I've caused you trouble." A trace of apology appeared on Cen Yan's face. If he hadn't brought Chu Rong back to the sect, none of these complications would have arisen.

"It has nothing to do with you." Xu Ziyang curved his lips upward. His handsome face resumed its warm smile, and he said in a gentle, soothing tone to Cen Yan: "Junior Brother Cen, there's no need to blame yourself. I just remembered — the Sect Master has something to discuss with me. I'll take my leave first."

Cen Yan thought nothing of it, watching as Xu Ziyang departed the main hall at speed. He turned and started to head back.

Pei Zhan withdrew his gaze. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Without any hesitation, he quickened his pace and followed after Xu Ziyang.

Cen Yan walked back the few steps to Nan Xingye's group, and before he could say anything, Lian Ci and He Ming emerged from the inner hall. Cen Yan was briefly startled.

The Sect Master was inside the inner hall — how was Senior Brother going to find him outside?

Cen Yan's brow furrowed faintly. He immediately headed outside the hall, intending to call Xu Ziyang back.

He Ting turned his head to look at Cen Yan, an interested glint in his eyes: "The matter of the baleful energy is about to be discussed — where is Fellow Daoist Cen going?"

Intrigued by whoever had managed to move Immortal Venerate Ning Yuan to condescend to offer aid, He Ting curved his lips in a smile and followed along behind Cen Yan to see what was happening.

Nan Xingye also noticed Cen Yan's movement, and without a moment's hesitation, he set off after Cen Yan.

Jing Heng moved almost simultaneously with Nan Xingye, following Cen Yan out of the main hall.

Only Yun Tan quietly murmured "Amitabha," watched the others leave, and remained standing where he was, unmoving.

At the same time.

Up in the high sky, a tall figure walked toward the main hall as easily as if strolling along level ground. The man's features were near-perfectly sculpted, yet his face betrayed not a single emotion.

Noticing how several figures came streaming one after another out of the main hall and rushing straight in the direction of the inner gate, the man's footsteps paused, almost imperceptibly.

His eyes, frozen as if sealed in permafrost for a thousand years, settled on the destination at the end of the path those figures were taking — that vast, serene courtyard. All at once, the oppressive force emanating from his entire person sank sharply deeper, the crushing pressure surging out in all directions like a tangible, physical thing, making one's heart clench with irrepressible dread.