Chapter Forty-Eight

That gaze sent a chill through Cen Yan from skin to bone — completely unlike Xu Ziyang's usual warm and gentle appearance, as though two different people entirely.

Cen Yan frowned slightly, about to ask Xu Ziyang what had happened, when a Qingyang disciple came rushing breathlessly to Wusong Residence, his brow dripping with sweat, his expression fraught with urgency: "So you're all here. Honored guests, the Sect Master and Elder He are waiting in the main hall at the peak, for everyone to come discuss the important matter."

Cen Yan's group was reminded that the matter of the baleful energy was still unresolved. The baleful energy couldn't be left in Qingyang Heavenly Sect indefinitely — otherwise the sect's disciples would live in constant dread with no peace.

Though the immortal sects had no intention of exerting much actual effort, the appearance of doing so still needed to be maintained. He Ting smiled at the corner of his lips, his manner warm and pleasant, giving no one the slightest cause for complaint: "Please relay to Sect Master Lian — we will be there shortly."

The disciple responded respectfully and rushed back to the main peak to report.

Cen Yan, who placed the sect's affairs above all else, heard the disciple's words and immediately shifted his attention — he was the first to set off for the main hall.

Pei Zhan cast a contemptuous glance at Xu Ziyang, and was the second to move.

Chu Rong's engagement to Cen Yan hadn't been dissolved yet, and as a person, he couldn't leave Qingyang Heavenly Sect. Once the matter of the baleful energy was resolved, he would come find Chu Rong — and by then, dragon-scale jade pendant or not, Chu Rong would have no choice but to take it!

Jing Heng was the third to leave, Nan Xingye the fourth.

He Ting was the fifth to depart. As he passed in front of Xu Ziyang, Xu Ziyang turned his head to look at him — a flash of extremely sinister light passed through his eyes in an instant.

Xu Ziyang drew several deep breaths, reining in his loss of composure, and lowered his voice: "Gate Master He, I'd like to discuss a transaction with you."

He Ting looked sidelong at Xu Ziyang, his smile carrying a note of teasing: "What transaction? If it involves the baleful energy, the Gate of Heavenly Mechanisms won't take it."

The baleful energy was an enormously troublesome hot potato. The Gate of Heavenly Mechanisms was a business — it didn't do thankless work that yielded nothing.

"Not the baleful energy. Xu knows that the Gate of Heavenly Mechanisms deals in every business related to intelligence — not only selling intelligence, but spreading it widely." Xu Ziyang's face was expressionless, his gaze colder and darker than it had ever been. He enunciated each word with deliberate force: "Name your price, Gate Master. I want Chu Rong completely — ruined — in name — and — deed."

The last four words came out weighted with savage emphasis. He clenched his fists, the blood between his fingers flowing faster, the burning, seething resentment surging through his chest almost engulfing his reason.

He was furious. He had been the first one to get his hands on Chu Rong — why should Ning Yuan get to reap the advantage for nothing?

But relying solely on his own strength to take Chu Rong back by force from Ning Yuan was entirely out of the question.

Then there was only one way: destroy Chu Rong's reputation, leave him universally reviled, cause the Immortal Venerate to abandon him of his own accord, and drive Chu Rong to a desperate dead end — where he would have no choice but to return to his arms once more.

Four months ago, the evidence Cen Yan had investigated had been completely overturned by Chu Rong using the Truth Pearl. But certain leads involving those outside the sect had not yet been verified.

Those leads didn't need to be very real or very detailed. As long as they were spread around in a mix of true and false, enough to fan the flames and let them reach Chu Rong — that would be sufficient.

He Ting's footsteps stopped abruptly. His eyes narrowed faintly. He held Xu Ziyang's gaze for a moment, then the curve of his lips deepened: "He Ting accepts this transaction."

As for the price — once it was done, he would take it himself.

He had been wondering what method to use to get Chu Rong into his hands. And here, just as he was dozing off, someone had conveniently offered a pillow.

He Ting let out a pleased light laugh and strode away from Wusong Residence with large steps.

Xu Ziyang watched He Ting's retreating form, then lowered his head. He opened his bloodied palm and turned his head to look at the drenched figure not far away: "Weigh carefully what should and should not be said."

The warm, steady voice carried a threat with absolutely nothing concealed.

Yun Zhi gripped the mask in his hands. Every muscle of his strong frame pulled taut. On his dark face, the fear was plainly visible.

Xu Ziyang looked right past him as though he weren't there, and wasted no further words. He had investigated Yun Zhi — a man who had fled some disaster. If he left Qingyang Heavenly Sect, there was only death awaiting him. To survive, Yun Zhi had no second option.

Xu Ziyang fixed one more cold, long stare at Wusong Residence, then flicked out a Dust-Cleansing Technique to remove the blood from his palm, turned his back on it all, and left.

The group arrived at the main hall. Lian Ci and He Ming were already within, waiting. The two of them sat in sequence on the left side below the head of the hall, the main seat above left empty.

Yun Tan sat across from them, his back straight, one palm held upright before him, the smooth, round Buddha-beads hanging from the notch between his thumb and forefinger. His face, celestially beautiful, was serene and without joy or sorrow.

Seeing the group enter, Lian Ci and He Ming quickly rose, bowing slightly to greet each in turn: "Gate Master He, Valley Master Jing, Fellow Daoist Nan."

The three of them returned the courtesies one by one — their attitudes noticeably more distant than when they had left the main hall.

They were not fools. From the Immortal Venerate's behavior at the rear mountain hot spring, it was abundantly clear that he held Cen Yan in no particular regard. If that was the case, what reason was there to look at Qingyang Heavenly Sect in a favorable light?

But those immortal sect members who had remained in the main hall were unaware of any of this. Seeing the unusual manner of the three, they asked curiously: "The three of you stepped away midway — did something happen?"

At the question, all three of them changed expression, yet not one spoke.

The person who had asked wore a puzzled expression. Before they could press further, Lian Ci turned to look past the group and asked with a deferential manner: "Did any of you happen to see Immortal Venerate Ning Yuan?"

About an incense stick's worth of time ago, he had sent a disciple to the outer gate's rear mountain to invite the Immortal Venerate, but the disciple had searched all of the rear mountain and found no one.

Ning Yuan's standing in the cultivation world was transcendent. Without his presence, any discussion was impossible.

At Lian Ci's words, the expressions of the group shifted again — Xu Ziyang in particular went dark and still as standing water. Though it was concealed in a breath or two, Yun Tan caught every trace of it with perfect clarity.

Yun Tan lowered his eyelids, murmured "Amitabha" silently to himself, and settled back into stillness like a Buddha entering meditation — not moving again.

The sun sank and the moon rose.

Night draped itself over all of Qingyang Heavenly Sect. The cold, frost-like moonlight spilled in through the windows into the rooms of Wusong Residence. The air was thick with the fragrance of orchids.

On the bed, Chu Rong's face was flushed red. His crimson lips were parted, his breath coming in rapid gasps. His sweat-sheened long neck arched back, his supple body strung taut as a bow of white jade — and yet nothing more came from him.

In the next moment, his body went soft for who knew which time. His jade-white arms went limp and slipped from the man's ink-black long hair, falling to the bed, his palms sweated red.

Beneath the disordered hem of his clothing, there was redness and swelling — like lustrous white jade that, after being held and stroked for a long time, had become red jade threaded through with fine crimson lines.

Pitiful to look upon.

But more than that, it stirred the possessive instinct innate in men — making one unable to help wanting to press harder, and harder still.

Ning Yuan's breath caught. His throat moved with difficulty as he swallowed twice. He slowly raised his head and looked at the person on the bed.

Chu Rong's eyes were shut. He had fallen into an exhausted sleep. His temple-hair was half-wet, several strands clinging to his exquisitely beautiful cheeks. His lashes had been dampened into little clusters, hanging low over his lower eyelids, the tails of his eyes wet-red — like rain-beaten peach blossoms, vivid and captivating.

This disheveled, heat-lingering appearance could easily drive any man mad.

Ning Yuan's large hand controlling Chu Rong's slender waist tightened involuntarily. The veins on the back of his distinctly-knuckled hand strained visibly. Only after a long moment did he slowly release the force, and gently set the waist back down.

Ning Yuan bent one long, powerful finger and brushed the hair from Chu Rong's face. The back of his finger stroked once across his fine, jade-smooth cheek.

Chu Rong's body temperature had returned to normal. The Spring Entanglement's effects had finally been entirely eliminated — the danger of dying from the drug's backlash was now past.

Ning Yuan slowly drew back his hand and straightened Chu Rong's clothes, then sat at the bedside, his eyes lowering to gaze at the still-faintly-flushed face sleeping on the bed. Beneath his immaculate white robes, there was an obvious visible change.

Ning Yuan seemed entirely unaware of it. He flicked a Dust-Cleansing Technique with his fingers, making Chu Rong feel refreshed and clean all over, then drew the bedding over and covered him with it.

He then retrieved a vial of elite-grade spirit medicine from his storage space, lifted one of Chu Rong's pale palms with one hand, and with the other dipped into the medicinal ointment, carefully applying it over the densely-packed crescent-moon wounds covering his palm.

Elite-grade spirit medicine was hard to come by throughout the entire cultivation world, but its healing properties were, naturally, first-rate — it was absorbed at extraordinary speed. The ointment had barely been applied for a few moments before the wounds healed at a visible rate before the eye.

Ning Yuan lifted one corner of the bedding and gently tucked Chu Rong's hand inside, then dipped his finger in the ointment again and applied it to Chu Rong's scar-covered lips.

The lip flesh was warm, the texture extremely soft, and warm breath leaked out through the slight parting — fanning against the pads of Ning Yuan's fingers.

Ning Yuan's large hand paused. A bead of sweat traced its way down the sharp planes of his face, along his neck, and into the collar of his robe. The change beneath the hem of his clothing became more obvious still.

Ning Yuan's throat tightened slightly. His finger couldn't help but explore a little further into Chu Rong's mouth — and when his fingertip touched a trace of moisture, he closed his eyes briefly, withdrew his finger, and continued applying the medicine.

Once done, Ning Yuan set the spirit medicine aside. He sat again at the bedside, his downcast gaze resting on the sleeping person on the bed.

An hour passed quickly.

Ning Yuan cast a Dust-Cleansing Technique to remove the sweat from his own person, rose from the bedside, and opened the door.

Sensing someone outside the restriction, Ning Yuan pulled the door gently shut and shifted in two steps to the outside of Wusong Residence.

Yun Zhi was standing carefully at the main gate, holding the mask. The clothes on his body had half-dried from his body heat. The moment Ning Yuan appeared in the doorway, Yun Zhi startled with a fright, and the mask in his hands dropped.

Ning Yuan raised his arm slightly, and a surge of powerful spiritual energy dragged the mask flying toward him.

Over the past four months, he had spent every day and night with Chu Rong — he had seen this mask countless times. With a ripple of spiritual energy in his hands, Ning Yuan wiped away any trace of other people's scent from the mask. His cold, deep voice had no variation at all: "How did this mask come to be in your hands?"

He remembered — this mask should be in the hot spring in the rear mountain.

Ning Yuan had deliberately reined in his oppressive force, but the power of his bearing was still formidable and frightening. Yun Zhi's face blanched instantly. His large, strong body trembled and shook. Not knowing Ning Yuan's identity, he could only stutter out how the mask had come to him: "This is my Young Master's mask. P-please, honored Immortal, return it."

Ning Yuan seemed not to hear him. His imperious tone was like that of the master of Wusong Residence: "Why did Chu Rong come to be drugged?"

Drugged?

Yun Zhi was taken aback. Suddenly the memory of how wrong Chu Rong had seemed came crashing back — and in an instant, a bolt of clarity cut through his mind. No wonder the Young Master had looked so wrong — he had been drugged!

And before that, Senior Brother Xu had locked the Young Master away. Apart from Senior Brother Xu, no one else had been able to get to the Young Master. Who had administered the drug was, without needing to be said, self-evident.

Yun Zhi clenched his jaw and blurted out: "Senior Brother Xu again!"

Again?

Ning Yuan's sharp eyes sank slightly. The aura around him shifted with sudden violence — terrifying, as though it could obliterate heaven and earth: "You mean Xu Ziyang?"